‘Nor did I.’
His eyes glittered as they saw right through her, boring into her soul. ‘A night out of time,’ he said, pulling her with him, away from the bar, weaving with skill and ease towards the glass doors that led to the hotel foyer.
People seemed to move for him—he had a silent strength that conveyed itself with every step he took.
And with every inch they covered, Hannah’s mind was yelling at her that this was stupid, that she was going to regret this, even as her heart and sex drive were applauding her impetuosity.
The hotel had been more than Hannah had expected, despite its billing as one of the world’s finest. It was true six-star luxury, from the white marble floor to the gold columns that extended to the triple-height ceilings, the glossy grand piano in one corner being expertly played by a renowned pianist, the enormous crystal chandeliers that hung overhead.
As they approached the lifts, a suited bellhop dipped his head in deferential welcome. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he murmured. ‘Madam.’
His gloved hand pressed the button to call the lift and Hannah stood beside Leonidas, waiting in complete silence. The lift arrived seconds later and Leonidas stood back, allowing Hannah to enter before him.
She stepped into the plush interior, her breath held, her senses rioting with the madness of what she was about to do.
But the moment she felt regret or doubt, she closed her eyes and conjured the image of Angus’s pale face brightened by his sensual exertions with Michelle and determination kicked inside her.
Not that she needed it—desire alone was propelling her through this, but anger was a good backup.
‘You are no longer engaged?’
The lift pulled upwards, but that wasn’t why her stomach swooped.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve left him—everyone—far behind.’
‘You are angry?’
‘No.’ She was. And she wasn’t. She was...hurt. Reeling. Confused. And if she was angry, it was mostly with herself, for having been so stupid as to believe him, to care for him, to get so hooked on the idea of the picture-perfect future that she’d stopped paying attention to the present, to whether or not Angus even made her happy.
The lift doors eased open silently, directly into a large living room. It took only a moment to realise they were on the top floor of the hotel and that this magnificent space must surely be the penthouse.
‘Wow.’ For a second, everything but admiration left her—this place was amazing. Every bit as decadent as the foyer but even more so because it was designed with a single occupant in mind. Everything was pale—cream, Scandinavian wood furniture, glass, mirrors, except for the artwork that was bold—a Picasso hung on one wall. There were plants, too, large fiddle-leaf figs that added a bold hint of architectural interest.
Sliding glass doors led to a balcony that showed a stunning view of Athens in the distance—glowing golden warm, an ancient city, so full of stories and interest.
‘This is beautiful.’
He dipped his head in silent concession, moving towards the kitchen and pulling a bottle of champagne from the fridge. She recognised the label for its distinctive golden colour.
She watched as he unfurled the foil and popped the cork effortlessly, grabbing two flutes and half filling them.
‘What brings you to Chrysá Vráchia, Hannah?’
There it was again, her name in his mouth, being kissed by his accent. Her knees felt shaky; she wasn’t sure she trusted them to carry her across the room.
‘A change,’ she said cryptically. ‘And you?’
His lips twisted and she felt something sharpen within him, something that sparked a thousand little questions inside her. ‘It’s routine. I come here every year.’
‘What for?’
He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode across the room, champagne flute in hand, passing Hannah’s to her as though he were fighting himself, as though he were fighting this.
And she couldn’t understand that.
If it weren’t for the gale-force strength of her own needs, she might have paused to ask him why he was looking at her with such intensity, why he stared at her in a way that seemed to strip her soul bare.
But the incessant thrumming of her own desire was all Hannah was conscious of.
‘Habit,’ he said simply, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
She bit down on her lip, and his eyes dropped to her mouth, so her desire became louder, more urgent, desperation rolling through her. This was crazy. Madness. Necessary.
Outside, a spark of colour exploded through the sky—bright red, vibrant, its beauty an imperative they both resisted.
‘Happy new year,’ she said quietly, unable to take her eyes off his face.
* * *
Happy new year? He stared at the woman he’d brought up to his penthouse, completely at a loss for what the hell had come over him. For four years he’d come here to pay his respects to Amy, he’d undertaken this pilgrimage, he’d come here to remember her.
For four years he’d resisted any woman he found desirable, he’d ignored his body’s hungers, he’d resisted anything except the debt he felt he owed Amy.
Then again, no other woman had ever slammed into his body. She had literally hit him out of nowhere, and the second his hand had curled around her arm, simply to steady her, his body had tightened with a whole raft of needs he no longer wanted to ignore.
He’d sworn he’d spend the rest of his life single, celibate.
Amy’s.
But right here, with the starlit sky exploding beyond the glass wall of his penthouse apartment, something within him shifted. It was as though an ancient, unseen force was propelling him to act, was reminding him that grief could coexist with virility, that he could have sex with a woman without it being a betrayal to his wife.
He had loved Amy, even when their marriage had been fraught and neither of them particularly happy. She was his wife, he’d made a promise to her, and he had sworn he’d love only her for the rest of his life. So wasn’t it loving another woman that was the true betrayal?
What did sex have to do with it?
No, denying his libido wasn’t about what he owed Amy. It was punishment.
Punishment for being the son of a criminal mastermind. Punishment for being careless, for thinking he could turn his back on Dion Stathakis and live his life without the long, gnarled fingers of that man’s sins reaching in and shredding what he, Leonidas, possessed.
He had been punishing himself because he deserved to feel that desperate pain of denial, that constant throbbing of need.
And he still should.
But there was something about Hannah that weakened his resolve to the point of breaking. He didn’t believe in angels and ghosts, he didn’t believe in fairy tales and myths, and yet, in that moment, it almost felt as if she’d been sent to him, a fragment of his soul, a promise that he could weaken, for one night, and go back to hating himself again tomorrow.
In the light of day, with the breaking of another year over this earth, he could resume his uneasy life.
But for tonight, or what was left of it, he could forget. With determination in his gaze, he put their champagne flutes down, knowing there was no turning back from this, no changing the immediate future.
‘Happy new year.’ And he dropped his head, surprising her completely if her husky little gasp was anything to go by, parting her lips so he could drive his tongue deep inside her and feel every reverberation of her body, he could taste her desire and welcome it with his own.
Just for this night, he would be a slave to this—and then, everything could go back to normal...
CHAPTER TWO
PERHAPS SHE’D EXPECTED him to kiss her gently, to explore her slowly, but there was nothing gentle about this, nothing slow. It was a kiss of urgency and it
detonated around them.
She made a groaning noise into his mouth, her desire roaring through her body, taking control of her.
This was not a warm, comfortable kiss. It was a kiss that redefined everything in her life, pushing new boundaries into place. She clung to his shirt for dear life and he kissed her deeper, his mouth moving over hers, demanding more of her, his tongue duelling with her own, his body cleaved to hers so not a breath of space remained between them.
It was a kiss of complete domination and she succumbed to it utterly.
‘Just this one night.’ He pushed the words into her mouth as he spun her body, tightening his arms around her waist and lifting her in his arms. He sat down on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap, pushing at her dress and making a guttural sound of frustration when he found the cotton of her underpants.
It was everything she wanted—the impermanence, the perfect treatment. She wanted to lose her virginity—it seemed ridiculous to be twenty-three and not know what sex was all about, yet the idea of a relationship made something inside her shrivel up and die.
She’d never trust another man, she’d never want love, or believe in love. She’d never be foolish enough to believe she was lovable.
But sex?
This?
This was a balm to her soul.
She tilted her head back as he pushed her dress higher, over her arms and then from her body altogether, so she wore only her underwear, flimsy cotton, with no care whatsoever that this man she’d met less than an hour ago was seeing her like this.
If anything, she found her total abandon to this—to him—liberating.
There was no room for any such rational consideration, though, when he unhooked the bra and discarded it carelessly, then began to trace one of her nipples with his tongue, circling the peach areola lightly at first, so she was trembling on top of him, straddling his lap.
He moved his mouth closer to the tip of her nipple and, finally, surrounded it completely, sucking on her flesh in a way that burst starlight behind her eyes.
She swore, uncharacteristically, and he echoed it in his native tongue, reaching between her legs and pushing at the trousers of his designer suit, unzipping them, unbuttoning them so that the arousal she could feel through the material was hard and naked.
He transferred his mouth to her other breast and the first, so sensitive from his ministrations, felt the sting of the cool, air-conditioned air and she arched her back in response.
It was completely overwhelming.
Or, she thought it was. But then, he moved his hand between her legs and through the waistband of her underwear, sliding a finger into her moist core, and she cried his name.
He stilled for a moment then moved his finger deeper, finding her sensitive cluster of nerves and tormenting it until she was panting, desperate, so desperate, before pulling his finger out, fixing her with a look of wonderment.
‘You are so wet.’
She was, and shaking all over, desire like an electrical current and it was frying her completely.
‘I know,’ she groaned as his hands moved to the top of her underpants and began to push at them. She shifted her body, lifting herself up so he could undress her completely, needing to be naked, needing him.
She had no experience but she had instincts and they were driving her wild, needing her to act, to feel, to do. She groaned as she stood shakily, naked before him, wanting to experience everything. There was a type of madness overtaking her, building within her.
She reached a hand out for his and he stood, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to his frame.
‘Who are you?’ he groaned into her mouth, the words making no sense.
‘Hannah,’ she said unevenly and he laughed, a husky sound.
‘Yes. But what kind of mermaid or angel or fairy are you to come here and do this to me?’
She swallowed his words, kissing him right back, her tongue duelling with his, passion making their breath harsh and loud in the still night air.
‘Leonidas,’ she groaned his name and his hands curved around her naked rear, lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his body as he strode through the penthouse towards what turned out to be a bedroom. It was huge with the same view towards Athens. He eased her down without bothering to turn on the lights so every sparkle of fireworks was like a jolt into the room.
Her hands tugged at his shirt with such desperation a button popped off and flew through the room.
She cursed softly under her breath, her eyes apologetic when they latched to his.
He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry.’
She nodded, but he finished the job, stripping the shirt from his body to reveal a broadly muscled chest that had her pulse ratcheting up yet another gear so she was almost trembling with the force of her own body’s demands.
‘Wow.’ She stared at the ridges of his torso, transfixed by the obvious strength there, and lifted her hands to trace his abdominals almost without realising it. ‘Work out much?’
She didn’t see the way his lips flickered into a smile, nor could she have any idea how rare that smile was. Her hands ran down his chest, finding the waist of his pants and pushing at them, her eyes lifting to his as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth.
She was completely inexperienced and yet Hannah felt no anxiety, no nervousness, nothing except desire bursting through her, jolting her body as though she’d picked up a bundle of live wires.
‘I want you,’ she said, in awe of how true that was. It went beyond needing revenge on Angus, it went beyond anything to do with Angus. There was nothing and no one in Hannah’s mind as she lifted onto the tips of her toes so she could claim Leonidas’s mouth with her own, her kiss curious, questioning and then desperate.
He kissed her back, their bodies moulded together, desire a flame that was growing bigger than either could control. ‘I want to take this slow,’ he groaned, his hands tangling in her russet hair, curling it up and holding it against her head. He took a step forward, pushing her backwards until Hannah collapsed onto the bed, his body following, the weight and strength of him an impossible pleasure.
‘I want this,’ she said again, more to herself than him. ‘Don’t take it slow.’
He lifted himself up to stare at her, his eyes showing emotions she couldn’t comprehend, or perhaps her ability to comprehend was blunted by the sheer force of her own feelings, which were overwhelming her, robbing her of sense and logic and reason.
‘You don’t know...’
His words were engulfed by her kiss. Hannah was sick of being patient; she was sick of waiting. She’d never known desire like this but that didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared to answer its call. ‘Please,’ she groaned. ‘Make love to me.’
The words were breathed into his being, sparkling like the light show beyond the window. Explosions of light, intense, glowing, hot. He separated her legs, nudging the tip of his arousal against her womanhood, and Hannah held her breath, she held everything.
For a split second, she contemplated telling him she was innocent, that she’d never done this before, but there was no time. He thrust into her and with her gasp he stilled, pushing up to stare down at her, his features harsh in the darkened room.
‘Theos, Hannah, was that...were you?’
‘Don’t stop,’ she said, shaking her head, but Leonidas was already pulling away from her, his body rock hard, his eyes pinning her with intensity. ‘Please don’t stop.’ Her heart crumbled. She hadn’t realised until that moment how desperately she wanted to know herself to be desirable. To know that someone wanted her enough to be unable to control their desire.
He swore under his breath and moved to the night stand, sliding open the drawer and pulling out a foil square. ‘Not once have I forgotten protection,’ he said thickly, the words coated in his own desires, which began to put Hannah’s heart b
ack together again.
She watched as he unfurled a condom over his length then came back to the bed, his body weight returning to hers, bliss fogging into her mind.
‘You should have told me.’ The words lacked recrimination. They were simple. Soft. Gentle. Enquiring. As if he was asking her to assure him she was okay.
‘I didn’t know how.’
‘I’m a virgin?’
She laughed, despite the desire that was pulling at her gut. ‘I was a virgin.’
‘You are sure this is what you want?’
She nodded, lifting her hands up to cup his face. ‘Please.’
But he didn’t respond. Something tightened in his expression, his jaw moving as though he were grinding his teeth. ‘I meant what I said, Hannah. One night. Nothing more.’
‘I know that.’ She nodded, thinking of the situation she’d left behind, the mess her private life was in. The last thing she wanted was the complication of more than one night.
And it was the freedom he needed, the reassurance he obviously craved, because he pushed back into her. Gently this time, slowly, giving her time to adjust and adapt, allowing her inexperienced body a chance to get used to this invasion, to feel his presence and relish in it before taking more of her, more of her, until finally she was crying his name over and over, the foreign syllables tripping off her tongue as rushed breaths filled her lungs.
His mouth moved from hers to her cheek then lower to the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, his tongue flicking her pulse point while his hands roamed her body, feeling every inch of her, pausing where she responded loudest to his inquisition, teasing the sensitive flesh of her breasts, tormenting her nipples with the skill of his hands.
It was heaven.
Pleasure built inside Hannah like a coil winding tighter and tighter and she dug her nails into his back, moaning softly as the spring prepared to burst. She arched her back and rolled her head to the side, the fireworks gaining momentum as her own pleasure began to detonate. She lifted her hips in a silent, knowing invitation and he held her, his hands keeping her close to him, reassuring her as she lost herself utterly to the compelling, indescribable pleasure of a sexual orgasm.
The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby Page 2
