The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby

by Clare Connelly

  He was still. Completely still, so her mouth moved over his, her tongue tracing the outline of his lower lip, her breath warm against him, and then, after the briefest moment, he lifted his hands to the back of her head, holding her where she was, keeping her so close to him, and he opened his mouth, kissing her back. But not in the way she had kissed him.

  This was a kiss driven as much by a need to possess as his kiss had been the first night they’d met. There was madness in his kiss, his desperation for her completely overwhelming.

  The water rushed around them, chasing their ankles, its fervent pursuit matched by the coursing of blood in their veins.

  Hannah couldn’t have said if he pulled her to the sand or if she pulled him, but she was lying down then, her back against the cold ground, her legs bent, Leonidas’s body on hers, just as she’d fantasised about, his weight sheer bliss.

  His kiss didn’t relent, even as his hands pushed her shirt up, revealing the scrap of her underwear.

  He disposed of them and then his own shorts, lifting himself up to look at her, his eyes piercing her, confusion and something else moving through him.

  ‘I told myself we wouldn’t do this,’ he groaned, his voice tormented.

  She bit down on her lower lip, her own heart tripping in her chest as his arousal nudged at her sex.

  ‘Why not?’

  His answer was to nudge his arousal inside her, and she moaned low in her throat as she felt the power of his possession. It had been five months but her body welcomed him back as though he were her saviour. She arched her back instinctively, needing more, and he drove himself deeper, pushed up on his elbows so he could see her, watch her, as well as feel her reactions.

  Her insides squeezed him tight, muscles convulsing around him as he stretched her body to accommodate his length.

  ‘What are you doing to me?’ he groaned, and then said something in his native tongue, the words, spiced and warm, flickering inside her blood.

  ‘I don’t know but you’re doing it right back,’ she whispered, digging her nails into his shoulders before running them lower, finding the edge of his shirt and lifting it, trailing her fingertips over his back, feeling his smooth, warm skin beneath her and revelling in the contact.

  Higher the shirt went, until he pushed up off one arm, ripping it from his body and casting it aside, so that he was naked on top of her. She wanted to stare at him, but she was incapable of forming the words to demand that when he was moving inside her, his body calling to hers, demanding her response, invoking ancient, soul-deep rhythms and needs.

  ‘Christós...’ The word was dark, a curse and a plea. His expression was taut as he looked down at her, unable to fathom her, this, them. ‘Who are you?’

  There was no answer she could give; the question made little sense.

  He didn’t require an answer, in any event. He moved faster then, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth possessing hers as he kissed her until she saw stars and his hard arousal thrust deep inside her and everything she was in the past and would be in the future seemed to be coalescing in that one single, fragile moment.

  She dug her nails into the curve of his buttock as pleasure pounded against her, like one of those waves from her faraway childhood, incessant, demanding, ancient. She cried his name and he stilled, his body heavy on hers, but as she exploded with pleasure her muscles squeezed him tight and Leonidas dropped his arms to his side, holding himself steady above her, staring down at her, watching every last second of delirium take over her body.

  He stared at her so that when she blinked her eyes open, her own disorientation at what had just happened filling her with uncertainty, he saw it and he dropped his head, kissing her again, as though he knew how much she needed it.

  It was a brief reprieve, nothing more. She’d been drowned by their passion and then emerged for air, and now Leonidas was taking her back under with him, tangling her in his limbs, his hands roaming all of her body now, until he curved them behind her bottom and lifted her a little off the sand, so his arousal reached even deeper and she found insanity was once more in pursuit.

  His name tripped off her tongue, pushing into his mouth. With every thrust of his arousal, his body tightened, his buttocks squeezing, his muscles firm. She felt him beneath her palms, all of him, and then he moved faster, deeper and she was lifting into the heavens again, her body weightless and powerless to resist.

  He moved inside her and she called his name as she burst apart at the seams, Leonidas, over and over. She called to him—willing him to answer—and he did. He tangled his fingers through hers, lifting Hannah’s arms up above her head, his eyes on hers intense as his own explosion wracked his body, his release simultaneous with hers.

  Their breath was frantic, louder than the ocean and the flapping of birds overhead, their exhalations thick and raspy, drenched in urgency. Pleasure had made her lungs expire. He lay on top of her and she ran her fingers down his back, still mesmerised by the feeling of his skin, and this: the closeness, the weight, the intimacy.

  It lasted only seconds, and then Leonidas was rolling off, beside Hannah, onto his back on the sand beside her, staring at the dawn sky.

  ‘Christós...’ He said the word low and thick. ‘What are you?’

  Again, a question that was almost impossible to answer. He turned his head to stare at her and there was confusion in his eyes, and a look of resignation.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He reached out as though he couldn’t help himself, his fingers catching a thick section of her hair and running through it, his eyes on the brassy tones.

  ‘Are you real?’

  The question made no sense.

  She raised an eyebrow, propping up on one elbow, a smile tugging at her lips. ‘I’m pretty sure I am.’

  He didn’t smile. ‘I swore we wouldn’t do this.’

  Hannah expelled a sigh. ‘You said that. I heard you. It doesn’t make sense, though.’

  His frown deepened. ‘For four years I have been able to resist any woman in the world. For four years I have been single, and then you...’

  Hannah was quiet as his words ran through her mind and their meaning became clear. ‘You mean you hadn’t been with anyone since Amy died?’

  His expression was shuttered. He shook his head, his lips a grim line in his face. ‘No.’

  Hannah’s chest hurt, as if it had been sliced in half and cut wide open. ‘Why not?’

  His nostrils flared. ‘Many reasons.’ His hand lifted to her hair again, toying with the ends. ‘I enjoyed resisting temptation, choosing to be celibate, to be alone. And then I saw you and it was just like this. As though you are some kind of angel—or devil—sent to tempt me even when I know how wrong this is. I spent four years flexing my power here and you take it away from me completely.’

  Hannah’s voice was thick; she didn’t know if she was flattered or insulted. She suspected a bit of both. ‘Why is it wrong?’

  He pushed up to standing then, just as he had the night before when she’d touched on areas he preferred not to discuss.

  But she wasn’t going to let him get away with it twice. ‘I’m serious, Leonidas. Why is this wrong?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE WAITED AND WAITED and after a moment, she wondered if he wasn’t going to answer her. He simply stood there, naked as the day he was born, staring out to sea, and she moved towards him, coming around in front of him so she could look up into his stubborn face.

  ‘I don’t know much about sex,’ she said slowly, when he remained silent. ‘But I do know that I want to feel more of this.’ She gestured from him to her. ‘I do know this is amazing and hot and incredibly addictive.’

  He ground his teeth together, the action making his jaw tight, his expression grim. ‘That night shouldn’t have happened.’

  Hannah shook her head, rejecting bot
h the words and the sentiment. ‘Neither of us planned that it would, just like we didn’t plan for this to happen, but that doesn’t mean it was wrong.’

  He looked at her then, his expression impossible to interpret. ‘You are so young.’

  He said it as though it were a criticism.

  ‘I’m twenty-three.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve been very sheltered.’ He cupped her face then. ‘You deserve better than this.’

  ‘Than marriage to you?’

  ‘Better than a lifetime with me.’ His lips were grim. ‘I’m not the man you want me to be.’

  ‘And what do I want you to be?’

  He expelled a soft breath then stepped back a little, just enough to put some distance between them. ‘A clean slate.’

  The words were strange. Discordant. At first, she couldn’t make sense of them. But as he turned and pulled his shorts on, she saw the weight on his shoulders, the ghosts that chased him, and comprehension shifted through her.

  ‘You’re wrong.’ She dropped the words like little, tiny bombs. He didn’t turn around, but he froze completely still, so she knew he was listening. ‘I know you have a past, just like I do. But I’m not going to marry you if you’re telling me I’m going to be living with a brick wall. I’m not getting married if I think there’s no hope of having a living, breathing, red-blooded man as my husband.’

  He turned around then, his expression bleak at first, and then filling with frustration. ‘And sex ticks that box for you?’

  Hannah frowned. That hadn’t been what she’d meant, but at the same time she knew it was a start. What they shared, physically, was a true form of intimacy. She didn’t need to have loads of experience to recognise that. She could see it in his eyes when he held her. She could feel the uniqueness of what they shared. He was trying to fight it, and she knew why.

  Intimacy like this must surely lead to more.

  With Angus, she’d operated on the reverse assumption. She’d hoped their friendship would bridge the way to a satisfying physical relationship. And it might have, but it would never have been like this.

  Nothing like it.

  This kind of connection couldn’t be learned.

  It was raw and organic, primal, between two people.

  She glared at him, challenging him from the depths of her soul. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I’m not going to live here like a prisoner in a gilded cage, Leonidas.’ Her voice cracked as she firmed up on that resolution. ‘This island is stunning but it’s no place to live if you’re going to freeze me out.’

  ‘Does it look like I am freezing you out?’

  ‘But you want to,’ she insisted. ‘You want to fight this, not build on it.’

  His features tensed, his lips just a gash in his face, and she knew she was right.

  ‘And I won’t stay here if that’s the case.’ She tilted her chin bravely, when outside this island was a world she wasn’t sure she trusted any more. The reality of his wife and son’s murder was still exploding inside her, and she didn’t doubt there could be a risk to her.

  But there was risk here, too. Risk in living with a man who was determined to ice her out. What if he acted the same with their daughter? What if she were born and Leonidas made no effort to get to know her?

  His eyes narrowed. ‘How? You forget my island is practically inaccessible to anyone but me...’

  Hannah was breathless again, her pulse racing but for a wholly different reason. ‘Are you seriously threatening to kidnap me?’

  Frustration zipped through his body. ‘No.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Christós, Hannah. You can’t leave the island.’

  ‘Ever?’ she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest to still the frantic hammering of her heart.

  ‘Not on your own,’ he amended. ‘I was careless once before, I cannot risk it again. I won’t have more on my conscience.’

  And her rapidly thumping heart softened, aching, breaking for Leonidas.

  ‘I’m so sorry you lost them,’ she said quietly. ‘But I’m not going to be a prisoner to your fears.’

  ‘They should be your fears, too.’

  ‘I want to keep our daughter safe.’ Her voice was level, careful. ‘Somewhere between me living out there on my own and the luxurious prison you’re proposing is a middle ground we need to find.’

  His eyes held hers for several beats. ‘I cannot agree to that.’ The words were wrenched from him, gravelled and thick with emotion.

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded, her hands shifting to her hips.

  ‘You cannot imagine what it was like,’ he said, grimly. ‘To get that call, to see their bodies.’ He shook his head from side to side and stopped speaking, but his face was lined with grief.

  Tears bit at the back of Hannah’s throat; sympathy rushed through her. ‘I can’t even imagine that, you’re right.’ She lifted a hand to his chest, running it over his muscled flesh.

  ‘I made a choice after they died. I planned to stay single for the rest of my life.’

  Hannah’s stomach clenched.

  ‘I didn’t want this. I have done everything I could to avoid it.’ His words were heavy with despair. She felt it and wished she could take it away, but how? ‘I knew we shouldn’t have slept together. It was so selfish of me but I was careful, Hannah. I did everything I could to make sure this wouldn’t happen. I didn’t want this.’

  She wasn’t sure when she’d let herself care enough about him that his words would hold such a latent power to wound, but they cut her deep.

  ‘You shouldn’t have to live in this—what did you call it? Gilded prison? Because of me.’

  She couldn’t speak.

  ‘But you do.’ The words were grim. ‘Surely you can see that? I can’t risk anything happening to you, to her.’ He lifted a hand to Hannah’s stomach, curving it over the bump there. His eyes met Hannah’s with a burning intensity.

  ‘Let me protect you both. Please.’

  ‘I am,’ she said, quietly, stroking his chest, her eyes determined. ‘But this is my life we’re talking about.’

  He gazed at her, his expression strangely uncertain. ‘I know that.’

  ‘I want to marry you.’ The words felt right, completely perfect. ‘I know it’s the sensible decision.’ And strength surged inside her. ‘When my mum and dad died, I lost everything. Our home, my community, my school, my friends. I went to live somewhere new and different and I was miserable,’ she said, frankly, so captivated by her past that she didn’t see the way his expression changed with the force of his concentration.

  ‘I don’t want our daughter to ever know that kind of uncertainty. You’re her dad, and by doing this together, she’ll have two people who can love her and look after her. And as she grows older, we’ll surround her with other people who’ll love her and know her, so that if anything ever happened to us and she were left alone, she would eventually be okay. Don’t you see that, Leonidas? I need her to be okay, just like you do, but, for me, one of the worst things we can do is isolate her. Keep her locked up from this world, so we’re the only people she ever really knows. She deserves to live a full and normal life.’

  ‘How come you were sent to live with your aunt and uncle?’

  Hannah frowned. ‘There wasn’t anyone else.’

  ‘And you didn’t know them well?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’d only met them a few times. They weren’t close to my parents.’

  He frowned, lifting his hands to her face and cupping her cheeks. He stared down at her, his eyes ravaging her face. ‘You were deeply unhappy there?’

  Hannah didn’t want to think of her life in those terms; she hated feeling like a victim. And yet, what could she say? She’d been miserable. Only now that she was on the other side of the world and free from her aunt’s catty remarks did she realise what an oppress
ive weight they’d been on her shoulders.

  ‘I wasn’t happy.’ She softened the sentiment a little. ‘I’m not sure my aunt ever really liked me, let alone loved me.’

  He scanned her face but said nothing.

  ‘I spent more than a decade living with people who cared for me out of a sense of obligation. People who resented my presence, who undoubtedly wished I wasn’t in their life. I won’t do it again.’ Her eyes showed determination. ‘We didn’t plan this, we didn’t intend for it to happen, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make this marriage work.’

  Still, he was silent.

  ‘Less than six months ago, I was engaged to another man. I had my whole life planned out, and it looked nothing like this. I’m not an idiot, Leonidas. If I ever believed in fairy tales, I’ve learned my lesson many times over. This isn’t a perfect situation, but there’s enough here to work with. Our marriage can be more than a business arrangement, a deal for shared custody. We can make something of this—we just have to be brave enough to try.’

  His jaw was square as he turned to the water, looking at it, his face giving little away. ‘I want you to be safe and, yes, I want you to be happy, Hannah. I want our daughter to have the best life she can. But beyond that, stop expecting things of me. You say you no longer believe in fairy tales? Then do not turn me into any kind of Prince Charming in your mind. We are a one-night stand we can’t escape, that’s all.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  HANNAH STARED AT the black velvet box with a sense of disbelief. The jeweller was watching her, a smile on his face, and Hannah imagined how this must look from the outside. A tailor had arrived on the island earlier that day, armed with suitcases of couture, beautiful dresses, jeans, shirts, bathers, lingerie—everything the wife of Leonidas Stathakis might be expected to wear.

  The dressmaker had stayed for hours, taking Hannah’s measurements, and photographs of her for ‘colour matching’—whatever that was—and to discuss wedding dress options, before disappearing again. All the while some servant or other had taken the suitcases and carefully unpacked them into the room Hannah was using.