The Greek's Nine-Month Redemption

by Maisey Yates

  “Stop it,” she said.

  “You’re so desperate to forget what happened between us.”

  “Nobody likes to remember rock bottom, Apollo. I consider having sex with you my own personal walk through the valley of the shadow of death.”

  “I’m honored, I’m sure.”

  “Honored isn’t what you’re supposed to be.” She arched one finely groomed brow, her lips twisted into a sneer. She was so self-righteous when she was just as guilty as he was. So sure she was above this attraction that burned between them when she was just as enslaved.

  He wanted her. The angrier he got with her, the more he wanted her. Whatever this thing was, the sick, twisted desire that was exploding between them, he couldn’t measure it or assign a number to account for it. He couldn’t parse it the way he could a business acquisition. It wasn’t the simple desire he felt for the sort of woman he usually picked up to spend a few hours of fun with. It was much, much darker.

  It was forbidden. Something he had told himself he couldn’t have.

  Perhaps that was why it was coming to bite him in the ass now. He didn’t typically practice restraint. Maybe by creating forbidden fruit, by placing it in the middle of his personal garden and telling himself he could not eat it, neither could he touch it, he had created temptation.

  That made the most sense. Since Elle looked like original sin. A brilliant, shining apple he wanted to bite into.

  And why shouldn’t he? His reasoning for resisting her didn’t matter now. He didn’t want to honor her father. And he still wanted to kiss that puckered expression off her face. So why the hell not?

  “You don’t like me,” he said, that darkness compelling him now. “And yet, you do want me.”

  “Come now, Apollo, don’t tell me you like every single one of your bed partners. We both know that sex isn’t love,” she said, tilting her chin upward, a faint blush spreading across her cheekbones, adding a kind of dissonance to her bold words.

  Elle was certainly playing the part of experienced woman. She had gone up in flames in his arms, an equal participant in the conflagration. And yet, it didn’t all ring true. Didn’t quite piece together in a way that made sense.

  He wasn’t sure he cared to analyze it. It wouldn’t change his actions either way.

  “Perhaps. But sex and hate don’t typically go together,” he said. “And you claim to hate me.”

  “I do,” she said, green eyes flashing. “I hate you for what you’ve done to my father. To me.”

  “Not enough to leave the company.”

  “That would be abandoning it altogether. What he built. What he’s trying to keep hold of, in spite of you. I won’t do that.”

  “I do admire your dedication. Your loyalty.”

  “Why do you admire my loyalty? You don’t possess any of your own.”

  “We admire the things in others we struggle with ourselves, do we not?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t know. I certainly don’t admire anything in you.”

  He chuckled, turning to face her, closing some of the distance between them. Her eyes widened and she backed against the wall. It reminded him a little bit too much of what had happened the last time they had been alone in an enclosed space together.

  “I think there are a few things you admire about me,” he said, moving in a little bit closer. Her eyes widened, her pupils expanding, the green in her eyes reduced to a thin ring. Her mouth dropped open, soft and round, and begging to be kissed. To be explored. “You most certainly admire what I can do to your body. I think we both know that.”

  “I do possess some restraint,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “Do you?” he asked, his voice sounding rough, ragged even to his own ears. “Perhaps we should test it.”

  He reached out and hit the stop button on the elevator, his stomach tightening, feeling as though a fist had closed around it.

  He reached out and took hold of her arm, mimicking that day out by the pool.

  “You want me,” he said. “Admit it.”

  “I will not,” she said, reaching out, shoving him. But then her hand lingered on his chest, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, terrified.

  “You want me even now,” he said.

  And it felt imperative he make her admit it.

  She tapped against his chest with her fingertips before slowly curling her fingers around the material of his shirt.

  Then she pulled him to her, kissing his lips hard, deep.

  He tasted anger, and a hint of shame on her tongue. And he knew just how the two mixed together, because he felt it, too.

  She groaned, pushing away from him suddenly, but he wrapped his arm around the back of her head, holding her steady, working his fingers through her thick, red hair. “You want me,” he growled, “don’t deny it.”

  “Wanting isn’t the same as having.”

  With his other hand, he opened the top button on her blouse. “It’s the same for us.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” she said, sounding desperate.

  “I think it does,” he said, his voice rough. He didn’t know himself. Not at all.

  She reached between them, pressing her palm over his hard length, stroking gently through the fabric of his dress pants.

  “I dreamed about you,” she said, her voice hushed, her words rushed. “About this.”

  “So did I,” he said, placing his hand over hers and increasing the pressure of her touch. “Every night.”

  “Have you had another woman since you had me?” she asked, her tone fierce.

  “No.” He suddenly thought of her touching some other man like this. “Have you had another man?”

  She shook her head, curling her fingers around his arousal. “No.”

  He growled, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, rage and relief burning through him. The very idea of another man putting his hands on Elle made him angry. He wanted her. It had been too long. Nine years. Nine long years lusting after Elle St. James, even as he hated her family. Even when he was overtaken by the desire to see their destruction, he wanted her. It was unacceptable.

  He would burn it out. He would burn it out and then it would be over. Afterward, he could discard her if he wished, but this would finally end.

  He stripped her clothes from her body as quickly as possible, nearly tearing the delicate fabric of her blouse in his haste. Definitely tearing her panties.

  She didn’t protest. Instead, she made a sweet little sound of pleasure as he wrenched the lace fabric away from her skin, as he stroked his fingers over her wet flesh, so slick, so perfect. She wanted him. There was no denying it, no faking it.

  He could feel the evidence for himself.

  He stripped all of her clothes from her body this time, leaving her completely bare to his gaze. He had spent so many years fantasizing about what she might look like. The size of her breasts, the color of her nipples. That beautiful thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Yes, he had woken up from a deep sleep many times thanks to a dream about Elle’s naked body. He had been—for so long—consumed with the curiosity of what lay beneath her prim clothes.

  Now, he didn’t have to wonder. Now he knew. But he had a feeling she would still haunt his dreams.

  No. Because you will have her until you are finished with her.

  Yes, he would. Even if burning it out meant reducing them both to ash.

  He stripped his suit jacked off and cast it onto the floor, spreading it as wide as he could. Then he swept her into his arms, and lay her down on the fabric.

  He didn’t have time to worry about anything. He was too needy. Too desperate. Two more things to add to her list of sins, because ever since he had made his fortune, ever
since he had pulled himself up from poverty he had ensured he was never needy or desperate.

  He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh and she shuddered. Then he kissed her again, gratified to feel her tremble beneath his lips as he moved closer and closer to the heart of her desire.

  “I am desperate to taste you,” he said.

  She bit her lip, closing her eyes and turning away as he flicked his tongue where she most wanted it. “Apollo,” she said, “you don’t have to...”

  He planted his palms firmly on the soft globes of her ass, pulling her more firmly up against his mouth, tasting her deeply in response to her protest. She wiggled beneath him, and he wasn’t certain if she was trying to get away, or if she was trying to move herself closer.

  Either way, he didn’t care. Either way, he was going to get what he wanted.

  He brought his hands into play, stroking her with his fingers, thrusting one deep inside of her, reveling in how slick, how ready she was for him.

  She was sweet, like dessert. A flavor he had never realized he craved until he had her on his tongue. And now, he knew that this was the thing he had been missing. This was what he had craved all this time.

  He stroked her deeply, adding a second finger to the first. And she shattered beneath him, her internal muscles tight around him as she shuddered out her release.

  “Oh, Apollo,” she said, leaving no doubt that she knew exactly who she was with. Leaving no doubt that she wanted him. No one else but him.

  “Are you ready for me, agape?”

  She didn’t speak, she only nodded.

  He freed himself quickly from his slacks, not bothering to undo the buttons on his shirt, not bothering to move his hands any lower than his hips. And he thrust inside of her, the breath hissing through his teeth as she closed around him.

  Yes, restraint was for other men. For better men.

  He was going to conquer. Conquer his desire, his rage.

  He would seize what he wanted. The only question was why he hadn’t done it sooner.

  He brought his hips against hers, his pelvis coming into contact with her clitoris every time he thrust deep inside of her warm, willing body. And he was lost, lost in this, in her. In Elle. And he didn’t give a damn that they were in an elevator, he didn’t care that he was using her. Nothing mattered but this.

  He gave himself over to it completely, lost himself in the rhythm of her body, the slow, slick glide of their flesh, the soft, sweet sounds she made. The words that poured from her lips, hoarse whispers begging him to continue. To take her harder, faster, just please, please.

  Inside, he was begging himself to hold off on finding his pleasure. He didn’t want to go over the edge without taking her with him.

  He wanted to do more than that. He wanted her screaming. He wanted her just as lost, just as obsessed as he was. Just as desperate to burn out the flame before it consumed his entire being. Utterly. Irrevocably.

  He refused to be alone in this, in this destructive obsession. He would destroy her along with him.

  That thought crystallized, clear and sudden in his mind as his release washed over him in an uncontrollable, endless wave. And then beneath him, she arched her back, crying out her own pleasure, her fingernails digging into his back, even through the fabric of his shirt. And he relished the slight bite of pain that came with the unending onslaught of pleasure. It was the only thing rooting him to the earth. The only thing keeping even part of himself under control.

  And as she shuddered out her release beneath him, as he skinned his hands over her bare skin, he realized exactly what he would do.

  He would have her until he was through with her. Would build her up as the public face of the company. And when the time was right, he would drop the blade on the guillotine.

  He would remove her from her position as CEO, and with that final move, remove the St. James family from his life. Close the chapter forever.

  He would not simply burn out their desire, he would destroy her along with it.

  He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. “Now there, agape, I’m not so bad, am I?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ELLE HAD OPTED to keep her mouth shut from the time she had slowly collected her clothing off the floor of the elevator. She stayed silent as Apollo’s driver took them to her apartment and all while she packed her bags, with Apollo looming in the corner of her apartment, until they made their trek to the airport and boarded his private jet.

  She attempted to keep the awestruck expression off her face as she gazed around the aircraft. She knew that he was rich. She just hadn’t quite realized that he was private jet rich. She had been raised in very fortunate circumstances but, even so, her father didn’t own his own plane.

  Well, he certainly wouldn’t now even if he had before. Because of Apollo. And it would do well for her to remember that.

  The problem was she did remember. While they had made love or...whatever it was you called what the two of them had done, she was aware of who he was. How much he had done to destroy her family’s legacy.

  Still she wanted him.

  She felt... She felt completely and totally frazzled. Somehow, she had ended up kissing Apollo again. And the moment they touched, it didn’t stop there. It never stopped there. It couldn’t.

  Apparently.

  “Do you approve?” he asked, sinking into the plush leather chair next to one of the windows that looked out on the tarmac. “Or am I to take that expression to mean you are terrified of your surroundings? It’s very difficult to say.”

  “I like the plane. I’m a little bit afraid of being alone at thirty thousand feet with you.”

  “Afraid you’ll join the mile high club?”

  Dammit, yes. “I think we can both agree that whatever has been going on between us is not a good idea.”

  “It’s a terrible idea. Take your seat so that we can ready for takeoff.”

  She looked around, elected to sit in the chair farthest from his. “For the record, I still hate you.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware,” he said. “I think that was what you screamed in my ear only a few hours ago. Oh, no, I think what you actually screamed was ‘more’ and ‘harder.’”

  “It isn’t like you weren’t complicit.”

  “Complicit. Explicit.”

  “What exactly is your goal here, Apollo?” she asked. She didn’t trust him. Not one bit. She was not in a position to refuse his command that she fly with him to Greece. Neither did she entirely trust his explanation.

  “That depends,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his body all leashed power and tension. “Are you speaking of business—” his gaze raked over her body “—or pleasure?”

  “I thought we both agreed that the pleasure angle is a poor one for the two of us to take.”

  “It is. It’s a terrible idea, agape. We hate each other. As you have stated many times. Or, more to the point, you hate me. I have no such strong feelings about you.”

  “No,” she said, her tone biting, “you don’t feel anything for me or my father. You simply destroyed us for your own pleasure.”

  “Your father’s company was hemorrhaging money long before I came by to deal with it.”

  “So why didn’t you help him?”

  “That’s a complicated issue, Elle,” he said, his words hard.

  “I don’t have any trouble understanding complexities. Go right ahead and explain.”

  “There is more between your father and I than you know.”

  “Enlighten me,” she said, the words escaping through clenched teeth.

  “Not now. But understand what I’m doing is for a bigger purpose.”

  “Your ego? Honestly, you’re unbelievable. He gave you everything. He loved you best from the beginning,” she said, vo
icing the words that she never had before. Words she had long believed. “And now you’ve betrayed him for money.”

  “Love,” he spat. “What is love, Elle? Tell me that. Is it what your father feels for you? As he moves you around like a pawn, desperate to put you between me and his queen? Did he love me, or did he see me as another tool he could use? I don’t put any stock in love. It has never done anything for me, so I will hardly defer to it now.”

  Her heart was pounding hard, her throat tight. And she knew what she wanted. She hated herself then, more than she had ever hated him. “What do you want from me?”

  “In the short term? I intend to burn this thing out between us. A fire can’t keep on forever, can it?”

  “Are you suggesting we sleep together while we are away from New York?”

  “I’m doing something much stronger than suggesting.”

  Rage turned to excitement, flickering at the center of her being and radiating outward. The idea of being with him again, of touching him again, made her hands shake. “I didn’t realize you got off on coercing women into your bed.”

  “We both know I didn’t have to coerce you into it at all. Also,” he said, his tone pointed, “we have never made it to a bed.”

  The thought of being in bed with him seemed...luxurious. The chance to explore his body at her leisure, rather than finding herself at the mercy of the explosion that occurred between them every time they touched. The force of it propelled her, made it impossible for her to think, impossible for her to resist. What would it be like to make the decision to have him? To give herself all night to indulge in that long-held desire for him.

  She had always wanted him. And she had hated him for it. She’d been so angry that he was so...untouched. So utterly uninterested. So she’d pushed at him, tried to make him angry if she couldn’t make him want her. She’d taunted him. And finally, she’d decided to taunt him sexually.

  She could remember very clearly choosing the smallest, brightest bikini she could possibly find—one that absolutely clashed with her red hair, but one she felt would get her the attention she desired—to try to catch Apollo’s eye when he came home to the family estate over break.