Greek Affairs: In His Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger / Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon's Bed / Bedded by the Greek Billionaire. Carol Marinelli
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Milos’s jaw hardened. ‘That’s not what I want to do, and you know it.’
Helen angled her neck beneath his hand. ‘That sounds ominous.’
‘Helen!’ He spoke harshly. ‘Don’t make this any harder than it already is. You’re just an eighteen-year-old student, while I—I’m not.’
She was actually seventeen, but Helen didn’t think this was a good time to say that. But it did explain why he’d offered her champagne.
‘You’re not old,’ she said instead. ‘And I’m not exactly inexperienced, you know.’
Milos breathed deeply. ‘Where are you going with this?’
‘Where do you want to go?’
She was being deliberately provocative, but she trembled when his fingers tightened on her nape.
He was going to kiss her, she thought unsteadily, hoping she wouldn’t regret this. She wanted him to kiss her, she told herself. She wanted to have some point of reference so that when she let Richard kiss her again she’d be able to gauge which of them was the best.
But Milos didn’t kiss her. He just stared at her with tormented eyes, and she felt herself shrinking beneath his dark disturbed gaze.
‘I know you don’t mean to be cruel,’ he said grimly. ‘But, Helen, this isn’t a game. Whatever experience you think you’ve had, forget it. You’re going to hate me if I take you at your word.’
‘I’m not.’ The protest burst from her, a need to reassure him now taking precedence over her own fears. ‘I like you, Milos. And I thought you liked me. What could possibly be wrong with that?’
It was the last coherent moment she had. When Milos’s lips touched hers, she forgot all about Richard, all about her parents, all about everything except the sensuous brush of his mouth against hers. Any thoughts of a rational nature were swiftly shattered by those featherlight caresses and the quivering they aroused inside her seemed to swell and expand until even her skin felt almost too brittle to contain it.
His mouth played with hers as his fingers had played with hers earlier. And, in no time at all, she was reaching for him, clutching the lapels of his suit jacket, giving herself up to the unimaginable pleasure of his kisses. She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted, but she wanted more, and it was her amateurish efforts to get close to him that changed the whole tenor of his embrace.
Muttering a groan, Milos’s mouth fastened on hers, pressing her back against the cushions behind her. She felt the erratic pulse of his heart beating against hers as he deepened and lengthened the kiss, the unsteady brush of his hand against her breast as he sloughed off his jacket and loosened his tie.
Then his tongue was stroking over her lower lip, forcing its way between her teeth and into her mouth. Hot and wet, it was unbearably sexy, and Helen’s senses went into overload. Ignoring the warning prick of her conscience, she sank lower on the cushions until Milos was practically lying on top of her.
Somehow the buttons of her shirt had become unfastened, making it easy for him to slide his hand inside. His strong fingers cupped her breast over her bra and that sensual caress caused an ache of desire to flower deep in her belly. Heat spread over her and through her, and when he bent his head lower and sucked her nipple through the cloth she couldn’t prevent the convulsive cry that escaped her.
‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked at once, pushing himself up to look down at her, and she gave a violent shake of her head. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ she assured him huskily, winding her arms around his neck. Then, shyly, ‘Don’t stop.’
Milos closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I don’t want to stop,’ he admitted unevenly, and as he lowered himself onto her again she felt the insistent pressure of his erection hard against her stomach. ‘But, this is crazy! Theos—I want to make love with you, Helen. And it’s tearing me up because that’s not going to happen.’
‘Why not?’
She heard herself ask the question, but she didn’t regret it. This was so different from anything she’d shared with Richard that in her present frame of mind she found it hard to believe it could possibly be wrong.
‘Because we hardly know one another,’ he told her roughly. ‘And, quite honestly, I can’t imagine your mother allowing us to see one another again.’
Helen couldn’t imagine that either, but she didn’t say so. However, it did make her want to prolong this evening for as long as possible, and if that meant what she thought it meant, then so be it. She had to lose her virginity sooner or later, she reminded herself, and she’d rather it was with him than someone else.
Cupping his face in her hands, she opened her mouth against his and felt his teeth bite into the lower lip. But, ‘I can’t do this,’ he said against her lips, and with a muffled oath he thrust himself up and away from her.
Helen was devastated. She’d thought he was as committed as she was, but it was obvious he was still in control of his feelings. With a little moan of anguish, she turned onto her side facing the back of the sofa, burying her suddenly tear-wet face in the cushions.
‘Don’t,’ she heard him say in a tortured voice. ‘Helen, don’t make me despise myself, any more than I do already.’
‘You don’t despise yourself,’ she muttered, her voice muffled against the soft fabric. ‘You despise me.’ She broke off with a sob. ‘I should never have come here.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Milos agreed harshly, but now his voice was much nearer, and when she rolled onto her back she found him hunkered down beside her. He put out his hand, his thumb smearing a tear from her wet cheek. ‘Moro mou, what am I going to do with you?’
Helen sniffed. ‘What do you want to do with me?’
‘Now that’s an unnecessary question, and you know it,’ he said unevenly. ‘If I said I wanted to take you to bed, to take away all your clothes so I could look at you, you’d run a mile.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, please—’ Milos shook his head, his thumb moving to her mouth and running almost cruelly over her lips. ‘We both know you’ve never done anything like this before.’
Helen’s face burned. ‘How do you know?’
For an answer, Milos moved his hand to the juncture of her legs, cupping her mound with a practised hand and causing her to buck a little jerkily beneath his touch. ‘See,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t need any more proof.’
‘You—you startled me, that’s all,’ she protested, but Milos only gave her an old-fashioned look.
‘Oh, right,’ he said drily. ‘I suggest you dry your eyes and I’ll take you home.’
‘I don’t want to go home.’
He scowled. ‘What you’re doing is—dangerous.’
‘Because you want me?’
‘Get up, Helen.’ Milos gnawed at his bottom lip. ‘Don’t make me have to do it for you.’
Her lips trembled a little, but she didn’t move. If he wanted her to leave, he would have to make her. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
‘Helen!’ he said grimly, speaking through his teeth.
‘Milos!’ she countered.
He swore then and, with some force, he thrust his arms beneath her and hauled her up into his arms. He got to his feet and for a heartstopping moment he held her there, cradled against his chest, their eyes, their mouths, only inches apart. Then, determinedly, he lowered her to the floor.
But it didn’t work out as he’d intended. Her arms were around his neck and when he set her on her