Heiress's Defiance

by Lynn Raye Harris

  She sounded breathless. “And what would you do if I said no? Leave me here?”

  His stomach clenched. “Of course not. But I would drop you at the door and keep driving.”

  Her eyes flashed. “And do what? Find a companion for the evening?”

  He barely suppressed a groan. “Lucillitsa, I am a grown man, capable of dealing with an erection without needing to blindly use it on the nearest female. If you say no, I’ll live. But I won’t be happy about it.”

  She stepped into his space again, tilted her head up to look at him as she ran her fingers over his jaw. “God knows I should say no. But I can’t. I want to be with you, Christos. As soon as possible.”

  He grabbed her hand and hurried back toward the town square and his car. It was a few minutes walking, but they reached it in almost record time. He started the powerful engine and raced through the streets, heading for the long climb back to his house that perched like a silent watchman over the sea.

  Just a few minutes and she would be his again. He would possess her on his big, lonely bed with the sounds of the sea crashing into the rocks below. He would take her so thoroughly she would never forget this night.

  Christos roared around a corner—and screeched to a halt. A herd of goats ranged across the road, bleating and staring into the headlights with spookily iridescent eyes. They were in no hurry to move, so he reversed and shot back down the road and up another that led to a secluded overlook. He shoved the car into park and got out. Then he wrenched open Lucilla’s door and pulled her into his arms before backing her against the side of the car.

  His mouth dropped to her shoulder and she gasped. “What are we doing here, Christos?”

  “I don’t want to wait,” he said, his fingers going to the zipper at her back. He tugged it down until the bodice of her dress fell free. Overhead the stars filled the sky like millions of fireflies winking against a velvet blanket. A slice of moon hung low in the sky, painting the sea with a pearly brush.

  Lucilla’s breasts were pushed up high in the bra, their creamy swells inviting him to lick them where they touched. He dipped his tongue into the hollow between them and then across one soft mound. She gasped and clutched his shoulders and he felt exultant inside. He reached behind her and unsnapped the bra, dropping it inside the car. Her breasts fell free, their crests budding tight, beckoning his mouth.

  He cupped them in his palms, dipped his head to suck one perfect nipple between his lips.

  “Christos … Oh, I can’t think when you do that….”

  “Don’t think,” he murmured. “Don’t do anything but feel.”

  He finished unzipping her dress and then let it fall. She gasped when it did, and he caught it, urged her to step out of it so he could toss it inside the car. Not that he wanted to take time for that, but she wasn’t going to appreciate him trampling her clothing in the dirt.

  “You, too,” she said. “I want to touch you.”

  Her fingers were on his buttons and he let her work them while he continued to make love to her breasts. She was so sensitive, so lovely. And then she shoved his shirt off his shoulders, and he let it fall, uncaring about his own clothing.

  Her hands slid over his skin, touching and probing, and pleasure buzzed inside him. His body needed hers so badly, but he couldn’t take her roughly when he was already planning to take her against the side of a car. She deserved better, but he was unable to wait for the time it would have taken them to go the long way around to his house.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her, framing her hips with his hands. Her panties were a tiny scrap of silk that he pulled down until she could step free. These he dropped, uncaring where they landed.

  “Christos, you aren’t—”

  “I am,” he said firmly, pressing a kiss to the curls at the apex of her thighs. He felt the shiver rack her body then and he knew she needed him as much as he needed her. He glided his hands up her inner thighs, parted her with his fingers and licked the bud of her sex as she cried out.

  She fisted a hand in his hair. The other clutched the side of the Mercedes, presumably because her knees were weak. God, he hoped her knees were weak. He lifted one of her legs and propped it on his shoulder. And then he ran his tongue the length of her, tasting her thoroughly.

  She began to moan as he relentlessly tasted her, darting his tongue inside her, then around her clitoris until she started rocking her hips to get him where she wanted him. He tightened his focus to the tiny, sensitive button of flesh while she moved against him, her hand on the back of his head now, directing him. He clutched her bottom in his hands, held her firmly while he drove her toward the edge of her own personal cliff. He wanted her to come, wanted her to explode and scream his name into the night.

  He felt her stiffen—and then she did precisely that, her body jerking as his name broke from her lips. It filled him with satisfaction—and an overwhelming urge to be inside her while she shattered around him the next time.

  He shot to his feet and unzipped his trousers, freeing himself. Then he lifted her against him. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed her back against the car. Her body was still shuddering when he found her entrance and thrust inside her.

  Her inner muscles clamped down on him as he swallowed hard and tried not to lose himself with the first thrust. He found his control—barely—and then pulled out of her before slamming back in again.

  Lucilla moaned as he repeated the motion. His blood pounded in his ears as the tension gathered low in his spine. She rolled herself forward, sought his mouth as she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed her, their teeth clashing almost painfully with the force of their joining. He gentled the kiss, but he did not gentle his possession of her body. She was so hot and wet and warm, and his skin was on fire with the need to make her call his name again.

  But somewhere along the way he lost his control, his body giving in to the sensations rioting through him. He felt as if his skin was about to curl into a crisp as he slammed into her, deeper and harder than before. He held her hips hard, pressed her against the Mercedes and used her body for his pleasure.

  And for hers, he realized when her muscles tightened and she cried his name once more. It was almost a sob, a plea, and his heart filled with the need to cherish her, to worship her. He thrust into her several more times—and then jerked out of her at the last minute, spilling himself on her thigh.

  Lucilla had never had sex like that in her life. It had been so raw, so edgy—so necessary to breathing and living—that thinking about it on the long car ride back to his villa had her wound into knots by the time they arrived.

  They hadn’t spoken in the aftermath. He’d handed her the dress, helped her pull it up and zip it. She’d forgone the bra, and it seemed as if her panties were lost for all time somewhere on Kefalonian soil.

  Christos had yanked his trousers up and zipped them, then found his shirt and tossed it into the back of the car. He’d kissed her once, swiftly, then swatted her lightly on the bottom and helped her into the seat before going around to his side.

  They coasted into the garage of his home and then went into the darkened house. Her brain whirled. What had she been thinking to have sex with him again? Was she crazy? And, even more insane, when could she do it again?

  She wanted to drop her head into her hands and groan. Everything she desired for her career and her family was within reach if she would only walk away. But she couldn’t. God help her, but from the moment she’d stood beside that ossuary with him, she’d lost her strength of will to walk away.

  He stopped in the moonlit living room and turned to her. She stood there with her bra and purse in her hands, her stomach clenching, and waited.

  “I apologize for being rough,” he said, and she put her fingers over his mouth to stop him. She’d loved every moment of what he’d done to her. He’d taught her things about herself, about her body and her pleasure, that had been more of a revelation than she would have thought possible at this
point in her life.

  “Please don’t ruin this night by apologizing. I think what just happened between us is probably the most honest we’ve been with each other. I liked it. A lot.”

  He swept her against him and took her mouth, gently this time. Just that light, sweet kiss sent the butterflies swirling again as she relived the beautiful strength of his lovemaking just minutes ago. As long as she lived, she would never forget the Greek night spread above them like a sheltering cape or the sound of his voice when he uttered her name in his moment of crisis.

  “I want more, Lucillitsa. As much as you can give me for the rest of the night.”

  She tried not to focus on that one phrase—the rest of the night—while her heart managed to beat faster and ache all at the same time. He was confusing, this man, and somehow so very necessary at the same time.

  “I want more, too.”

  She thought he might lead her to his room and gently undress her, but he swept her into his arms and carried her through the house, up the stairs and into the large master bedroom. He set her down and undressed her quickly, then undressed himself, and they fell onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and hot, wet kisses. This time he sheathed himself, and then he was inside her, stroking into her as perfectly as he had before.

  Only this time—this time—she felt the sweetness of their joining all the way to her heart.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THIS TIME WHEN Lucilla woke, she was not alone. Christos lay beside her, his big body stretched out, an arm above his head as he lay on his stomach. Sometime in the night, one of them had thrown the covers off. She propped herself on an elbow and studied the strong lines of his shoulders and the total perfection of his features where his face turned toward her.

  There was a pinch in her heart that was not characteristic as she looked at him. Somewhere in the night, her world had shifted on its axis—and everything became sharper and clearer than before, as if she’d been viewing the world through the wrong magnification and someone had turned the dials.

  She didn’t want to analyze the warm, possessive feelings flooding through her as she looked at him, or the wave of sympathy as she thought of him in the cemetery. She sat up and looked closely at his back, at the web of his scars where they crossed and recrossed, weaving a tapestry of pain.

  “What are you doing, agapi mou?”

  She started, her skin tingling with heat that he’d caught her. There was nothing for it but to confess. “I’m looking at your back, Christos.”

  He rolled over and put both hands behind his head. He was gloriously, beautifully naked—and this was the first time she’d seen him that way in full daylight. His thick shaft lay against his leg—and it was beginning to stir. Her belly churned with fresh butterflies.

  “I have something you can look at,” he said, and her eyes whipped to his to find him grinning lazily.

  “I like looking at all of you.”

  He grabbed her and pulled her on top of him, until they were pressed full length against each other. Oh, the heat of his skin on hers was marvelous. Decadent. Had she ever been this casual with another lover?

  “And I like feeling all of you,” he told her, his voice making her tingle in all the right places.

  She lifted her hand and pushed hair back from his forehead. His eyes were hooded as he watched her and she couldn’t make out what he felt—other than lust, which was patently obvious the way his penis kept growing against her abdomen.

  “I want to know what happened to you,” she whispered, and his eyes shuttered. Just like that, all the warmth left them and she knew she’d gone too far. But he’d brought her here to tell her things and she wanted to know. Needed to know in order to understand him.

  “You can’t guess?”

  She traced her finger over his lips. “Your father?”

  Now his eyes were glittering with heat. Angry heat. “Of course. He was a cruel man. He liked to cause pain.”

  Her father had generally ignored her and her siblings after her mother left, and she’d always thought that was cruel in a way. How naive she’d been. Her father hadn’t been cruel so much as self-absorbed and casually indifferent to his children’s needs. He wasn’t a monster; he was just a flawed man.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” she said, her throat tight.

  “I’ve had worse.” Christos flipped her onto her back, his body hard and insistent against hers. “Have I told you enough now, agapi mou? Is there anything else I can do for you, any other way I can strip my soul bare for your curiosity?”

  His voice had an edge to it that should have worried her. In the few short months he’d been at the Chatsfield, the one thing she knew about him was that he did not get emotional. And yet this man had shown her sides of himself she hadn’t known existed last night.

  “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just … I care.” Especially when she’d been the one to force him to confront this part of his life again.

  He dropped his gaze to her bare breasts. “I’d rather not talk about this right now,” he murmured thickly.

  Could she blame him? Her heart ached for him and her soul wanted to comfort his. She only knew one way to do that. What he needed right now was the physical connection between them. He would not accept her pity, but he would accept the comfort of her body.

  “Then we won’t talk. Make love to me, Christos. That’s what you can do for me right now.”

  He entered her body in a single thrust and her eyes snapped closed at the intensity of it. He filled her, made her crave nothing but this. Right now, this moment, she would give anything she had to feel like this for the rest of her life. It was so unexpected that tears sprang against the backs of her eyes. She’d set out to ruin him but perhaps she’d ruined herself instead.

  His cheek against hers was everything she needed in this world. She turned her head and kissed him as the tears she’d been holding in escaped and trickled down her cheeks.

  His voice was suddenly strangled as he lifted himself above her. “Lucilla mou, don’t. You tear me apart when you cry.”

  “I don’t mean to.” It was almost a sob.

  He bracketed her cheeks between his broad hands and kissed away her tears—and her heart broke open with everything she felt and everything she’d been trying to contain. Somehow, she’d fallen in love with him. With this man who infuriated her and challenged her and made her feel incredibly sexy and alive. Everyone thought Christos was cold and unemotional, but she knew the truth. He’d cut himself off because he’d been hurt and he kept himself apart because he didn’t know how to trust anyone.

  She wanted him to trust her. To love her. Lucilla shivered with the strength of her emotions—and the fear that she could lose everything if he wasn’t capable of returning those feelings.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair and brought his mouth to hers. She kissed him brutally, desperately. She couldn’t bear to have him be tender right now, not when her heart was so fragile. She needed his strength and his passion, his overwhelming virility.

  He held her hard against him, his kiss matching her own. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest but she dared not hope it was for the same reason hers pounded.

  “Lucillitsa,” he groaned when she shifted her hips.

  “I want to fly, Christos,” she whispered. “Make me fly.”

  They spent the next couple of days wrapped up in each other, but Christos knew they would have to return soon. The emails and phone calls from the office were increasing, though neither of them liked to talk about it. Right now they were supposed to be on a tour of Chatsfield locations, not lounging in bed together in the middle of the afternoon.

  So many things remained unsaid between them. It could not keep going this way, but he was reluctant to bring reality back into their relationship. He did not do long term, but he could see making an exception for Lucilla. Just for a while, of course. Not forever. He definitely did not do forever. The mere idea made him go ice-cold with dread.

>   And yet the idea of letting her go also made him cold. He did not like feeling these contradictory emotions. Not at all.

  It was the chaotic state of his thoughts that led him to start the conversation at dinner that night. They’d returned to the taverna to eat and, this time, perhaps enjoy the experience a bit more. But he found he wasn’t enjoying it the way he should.

  He couldn’t quite keep his eyes from straying to Lucilla as she sat and watched the band in the square. Her face was so expressive, especially when she thought no one was watching her. She was beautiful and almost carefree, which annoyed him since he felt as if he were weighted down by cares at the moment.

  The strains of the Zeibekiko began and Lucilla’s eyes widened a moment later.

  “What is happening?” she asked, glancing over at him.

  Christos turned to look. A man had started to dance—alone, as was traditional—and it was clear his dance was for a woman who sat near. She smiled and clapped and the man whirled and glided in his own rhythm. He snapped his fingers, stepped back and forth, and shot smoldering looks at his lady.

  The woman looked happy, and the man—well, the man looked intense and determined. And more than a little bit in love with the woman.

  “It is a Zeibekiko. He dances for her.”

  Lucilla’s breath shortened. “Oh, how romantic.”

  Yes, it was—or could be. Christos did not look again. Instead, he took some bills from his wallet and laid them on the table.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and her gaze snapped to his. Her brow knit with confusion—and then with worry. He felt like an ass, but he stood and took her hand and they walked away from the dancing man and his lady.

  “That was lovely,” she said. “Is it traditional for a man to dance for his sweetheart?”

  “It can be, yes.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to discuss this with her, but he didn’t. That couple looked happy, in love, and Christos had no idea what that was like. Or why anyone would want it. And he didn’t want to think about it.