Her Guardian's Christmas Seduction

by Clare Connelly

  No man had ever touched her like this. No man had ever kissed her like this.

  She made a keening noise of surprise and need, and tilted her head back, but it bumped against the door. She didn’t care.

  Her legs were wrapped around his waist and he rolled his hips, driving his erection against her, so that she felt the strength of his need through their clothes.

  Something like flame was moving through her, bringing with it the blinding brightness of fireworks detonating at close range. They were popping on the periphery of her vision. She was a being of lava and heat and she feared her whole body was changing into something else. Like a phoenix, she was rising from the ashes of the little girl she’d once been.

  “The other one,” she cried out, as something dangerous slithered through her, making her legs shake and her breath rushed.

  He laughed, but transferred his mouth, punishing this nipple now, while his fingers lifted to her other breast and he palmed it in place of his mouth, feeling its weight in his hand, his fingertips massaging the peach aureole of her nipple.

  “Stavros,” she cried out, terrified by what she was feeling, but addicted to it at the same time.

  Pleasure burst around her, an orgasm – her first. She tilted her head back, banging it against the door, crying out in waves as sensations lifted her up, carrying her away into the shiny, shiny sky.

  “So responsive,” he murmured with an approval that made her toes curl. “Just like I’ve dreamed.”

  It was a tiny admission but one that meant everything to Claudia. He’d dreamed of her, as she had of him.

  “Please,” she whispered, pleasure still holding her high above the earth. She didn’t know what she was asking for. Only that she was incandescent with the newness of what she was feeling and that he was the only answer to the question that lay in her mind. “Stavros.”

  He groaned, moving away from the door and carrying her to his desk. She was wearing an ankle length skirt, long and floaty, and when he propped her arse on the edge of the desk he pushed it up around her hips, his fingers demanding as they sought flesh. He found the lace of her underwear and pulled at it; Claudia wriggled her bottom up so that he could slide them off her more easily.

  Knowing that she was exposed to him was a heady, intoxicating rush of pleasure. His fingers found the apex of curls at the top of her legs and brushed over them. She cried out at the intimacy of his touch, at the promise of what was to come.

  “Stavros,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. She couldn’t do this unless he knew the truth. Could she?

  But would he still want her if he knew she was a virgin?

  Or would his code of honour reassert itself? Would he walk away from this?

  Knowing that there was every chance in the world he would regret what was about to happen, she reached for his face, splaying her fingers wide over his cheeks. “I want this,” she said earnestly, her eyes locked to his.

  “No kidding.” It was a laugh. A dismissive, gruff retort to what he saw as an unnecessarily obvious statement.

  His fingers moved down his body, finding the button to his jeans. He pushed them down, low on his hips, and then drew his underwear with them, moving quickly, urgently, desperately.

  Then his hands were on her waist, pulling her towards him.

  It all happened so quickly.

  Claudia had barely a moment to realise that this was the moment, that there was no more foreplay, that this was happening, and then he thrust deep inside of her, so hard and fast, removing the invisible barrier of her innocence with that single motion, so that blinding pain stung her body, making her cry out – and not in a good way.

  Stavros swore, jerking his head back, his eyes locked to hers and now he was the one who was drowning. He was the one who couldn’t cope.

  The pain was over. It was just a second of discomfort and adjustment, and then the feelings of desire were back, warming her up from the inside, so that she smiled at him. “I want this.”

  He stared at her, emotions she couldn’t comprehend all over his face. But he was pulling away from her, and she couldn’t let that happen. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him close and she moved instinctively, rocking her hips back and forth, watching as colour spread along his cheeks and he compressed his lips until they were a white gash in his face.

  His fingers pressed into her hips and she feared the worst, that he was going to bring this to an end. But he held her still, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning her with their intensity. And then, he began to move, gently, slowly, watching every single flicker of emotion that passed over her face, watching as she climbed higher and higher into the universe, pleasure spreading through her.

  He moved. He controlled their movements. He controlled everything.

  Claudia arched her back, staring up at the ceiling as divine, complete satisfaction burst through her. She was incandescent. She cried out his name, she cried out words that were impossible to understand.

  She was lost. She was completely enslaved to the sensations he had stirred.

  She flicked her head forward, her eyes meeting his as the waves continued to roll her. He was watching her, his own breathing tortured, his face flushed.

  He watched her, and as she slowly regained control of herself, he withdrew. A torturous, aching emptiness shocked Claudia.

  She groaned at his desertion, and confusion was swift to follow. He turned away from her, pulling his pants into place and zipping them up. Only the rapid movement of his back gave any indication that he was affected by what they’d just done.

  No. What she’d done.

  Claudia had no personal experience but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew that Stavros hadn’t experienced the same rapturous relief that she had.

  “Stavros?” She whispered, not even sure what she wanted to say. “You didn’t… um, finish.”

  He spun around, and she realized that he was angry! No, he was furious! It pushed everything else from her mind.

  “What the actual hell?” He demanded, storming back to her, his eyes scanning her face as though he barely recognized her. “Of course I didn’t ‘finish’, Claudia. I presumed you’re not on birth control?”

  She gaped at him, shocked that such a simply consideration had completely eluded her. She shook her head, numb, not just with what they’d done but with his reaction to it.

  “You think I’d run the risk of getting you pregnant?”

  His anger was something she didn’t expect. She had no answer for it.

  “You were a virgin?” He demanded, hands on his hips, his expression inscrutable. “What the hell kind of game are you playing?”

  “Game?” She whispered, shaking her head. “It’s not a game.”

  His eyes squeezed shut for a moment and then he pierced her once more with this startling gaze. “I thought you were experienced. My God, Claudia. How dare you?”

  “How dare I?” She repeated, not quite able to grasp the source of his indignation. “I never lied to you.” Her teeth were juddering together. “In fact, I tried to tell you the truth.”

  “Not enough. You didn’t try anywhere nearly hard enough.”

  “You wouldn’t listen!”

  “If you’d said the words, ‘I’m a virgin’, believe me, I would have listened.”

  Claudia knew that, didn’t she? It was one of the main reasons she hadn’t said those exact words.

  “I would never have slept with you if I’d known.” He spun away from her, and strode over to the windows. He stared out, his autocratic profile showing his dark emotions.

  Claudia was bereft. Her heart, her stupid heart, was splintering into a billion pieces. His rejection, always awful, was more intense than any pain she’d ever known. Getting a grip was imperative. She had survived his rejection the first time and she would again now.

  And all the more so if she could be brave and make him see that she was in control.

  She pushed up to standing, wincing as muscles that had n
ever before been tested gave little sharp cries of complaint. She straightened her skirt and looked around for her sweater. It was on the floor by the door. She scooped it up and pulled it on quickly, her back to him. But he was still looking out the window, so it made no difference anyway.

  “Stavros?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Look at me.”

  Slowly, begrudgingly, he turned to face her. “You didn’t listen to me when I tried to tell you that you know nothing about who I am. Maybe now you get it.”

  He swore, jerking his head back in shock. “You slept with me to prove a point?”

  She hadn’t. She’d slept with him because she’d wanted to, because she’d wanted to fiercely and with all of herself. But she wouldn’t admit as much to him.

  Her chin tilted defiantly and she shrugged. “I can think of worse ways to make a point.”

  She wrenched the door open and moved through it before her shield of bravado could slip. She wouldn’t let him see how hurt she was by his swift rejection of what they’d just shared. But inside, she was breaking apart.

  *

  His world was falling apart.

  He stared at his office, his desk in disarray, and shock iced through his veins. What the hell had just happened?

  Sleeping with Claudia wasn’t the problem. He was no fool. The heat between them had been going to explode from the minute she begged him to take her to bed, three years earlier.

  It was all kinds of wrong. Not just because she was his ward and the daughter of his friend. Not just because he had been entrusted with looking after her.

  He was fifteen damned years older than her. At twenty-one she was barely older than a teenager. And he’d just taken her against his desk, taken her innocence, as though it meant nothing. And then he’d yelled at her.

  He swore loudly in Greek, the word ricocheting around his office, slamming back against him with renewed anger.

  He ran his hand over the back of his neck, rubbing the muscles there.

  He hadn’t just yelled at her. He’d blamed her, and he’d shamed her. What an A-grade asshole move. Hell, he hadn’t even undressed her, or himself. He’d been so impatient to take her, and he’d been too rough. His eyes shut on a wave of guilt. If he’d known it to be her first time, he would have spent hours teasing her and tormenting her with sensual promise, until she was incandescent with pleasure. He would have relaxed her and eased her into what they were to share.

  Instead, he’d treated her like his equal. Like any number of the women he’d been with. Suddenly, he hated, loathed, and despised that he had been her first. He’d slept with more women than he could remember. He’d had meaningless sex. He used to like meaningless sex.

  But not with Claudia. And not for her first time.

  Her first time! How the hell could she still have been a virgin? He slammed his eyes shut and the litany or paparazzi photos he’d seen over the years ran before his eyes.

  Claudia stumbling out of nightclubs at two in the morning, arm in arm with one man. A week in the French Riviera with another. At the Oscars with a film star. Then drunk at the Vanity Fair after party, wearing a sheathe of a dress that left little to the imagination.

  He groaned as he shook his head. None of it made any sense.

  And strangely, somehow, it did. He’d believed the press. She was beautiful – stunning – glamorous, moved in the kind of social circle where morals were seen as an optional extra. And yet she wasn’t like that. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.

  The certainty that he’d just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life lodged in his chest, hard and sharp. He’d stuffed up, and he had no idea how to fix it. He only knew that he had to fix it, or he’d never forgive himself.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE PUDDING WAS STILL bubbling merrily away, with no idea that its creator had just undergone a severe trauma. Claudia burst into the kitchen, tears sparkling on her lashes, and moved straight to the Aga. The water had half gone. She topped it up and then stepped back, propping her hips against the kitchen bench.

  What the hell had she just done?

  She couldn’t rewind that decision. She’d lost her virginity to Stavros Aresteides, the most arrogant man in the history of the earth. If she needed any further proof of that, she didn’t need to look far beyond the fact that he’d shouted at her seconds after pulling away from her.

  She swore softly under her breath and then moved towards the kettle, flicking it on with force. She was standing, waiting for it to boil, when he entered the kitchen.

  Whatever he’d been about to say flew out of his mind the minute he smelled the pudding.

  And the minute he saw the dejected slump of her shoulders, and knew himself to be responsible.

  “Claudia?”

  She stiffened visibly. “What?”

  “I think I prefer ‘yes, sir’,” he muttered, reminding her of the game they’d played while she decorated the Christmas tree. Hadn’t that been a prelude to this? Hadn’t it all been?

  Their coming together had been inevitable from the moment he’d shown up at her apartment.

  “What do you want?” She repeated, still not looking at him. “And I should warn you, I’m armed with boiling water.”

  “I stand warned,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

  She didn’t want to. But nor did she want him to know how upset she’d been. She sucked in a steadying breath and quickly dashed at her eyes, making sure there were no tears on her cheeks.

  She turned around slowly, defiance in all her features. “What?”

  Stavros bored his eyes into her, seeing through her, studying her, watching her in a way that made Claudia feel even more exposed than when he’d been inside of her.

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” he said with a dismissive shake of his head. “Your exploits are famous. You’ve had dozens of lovers.”

  Claudia shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I know that now.” He frowned, a line creasing between his brows. “But you must be experienced. I mean, you’ve had dozens of … boyfriends.”

  “No.” She closed her eyes on a wave of mortification. “I haven’t.”

  “A few? Some?”

  “No.” Her cheeks flushed.

  “But the pictures…”

  “A few pictures,” she muttered. “That’s all it took for the press to decide that every man I was seen with was a romantic interest.”

  He swore. “Why didn’t you …”

  “What, Stavros? Deny it? Why? Why fuel the fire?”

  “Because none of it is true.”

  “I don’t particularly care what people think of me,” she said with a shrug. “My friends know who I am.” The inference sat between them, thorny and uncomfortable. Her friends knew who she was. He, Stavros, did not.

  Her first lover and he had no damned clue about her.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

  “What for?” She sniffed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you sorry we had sex? Or that you were such a bastard about it.”

  “Both,” he said with a grimace. “Your first time shouldn’t have been like that.”

  Her eyes were huge in her face as they met his. “What should it have been like?”

  He dragged a palm over his jaw. “It should have been with someone you cared about, for a start. It should have been with someone … someone who was in love with you.”

  Claudia spun away from him on the pretense of making a cup of tea. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t hear him admit that he felt nothing for her without acknowledging and displaying the pain that cascaded through her as a result.

  “It sure as hell shouldn’t have been on my desk.”

  Claudia sobbed. She couldn’t help it. Her emotions were in overdrive despite her best efforts to control them.

  His hands on her arms surprised her. She jerked but he held her tight, dropping his mouth to the side of her neck. “Let
me show you what it should have been like.” He turned her gently, his eyes imploring her. And perhaps, if it had been as simple as that, she would have agreed. But she saw the shame on his face. The apology.

  The sympathy.

  And it was that final emotion that strengthened her resolve.

  She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. She never had done.

  “I think it’s better if we leave it at that,” she muttered, fixing her gaze over his shoulder. “It was very instructive.”

  “Instructive?” He repeated.

  “Yes. I’m twenty-one and until half an hour ago I was still a virgin. It was time for me to grow up.” She cleared her throat and stepped away from him, grabbing her cup of tea as she went, seeking refuge on the far side of the kitchen.

  “I’m glad I could be of service,” he said softly.

  “You were.” Her smile was brittle. “But now, I want to go back to London”

  He frowned, his expression one she couldn’t decipher. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You think I can stay here?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Nothing has changed, Claudia. If you return to London, the press will have a field day. You will be hounded once more.”

  “And being under the same roof with you is any better?”

  He winced visibly at the comparison and she knew she was being unfair. What had happened hadn’t been his fault. She’d wanted him just as much as he had her. More, probably, because she had zero experience and her body had been burning up for a man’s touch. Any man’s touch? Or his?

  She knew the answer to that.

  “You know why you are here,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what I will do if you leave.”

  “You’re not serious? You can’t honestly be blackmailing me with my own inheritance?”

  He shrugged his shoulders unapologetically, a glint of determination firing in his eyes.

  “Nothing has changed. I still want to protect your father’s legacy, which means keeping you out of the spotlight.”