Irresistible Greeks Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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he groaned.
She thrilled at the husky way he said her name. She lifted her hand up to his head, cradling it against her palm so that she could crush his lips even closer. She could feel the silent, slow entry of his tongue and now it was her turn to groan. She felt all her strength melting away as she reached up to grip his powerful shoulders, encountering the structured lines of his jacket as she did so. And suddenly her eyes fluttered open and she pictured what they must look like. She saw herself as if she’d just floated up to the ceiling and were looking down on the scene below. A man still in his work suit, grappling with his estranged wife on the sofa as if she were a cheap date. Starting to have sex with her right there and then, without any preamble or attempt at wooing.
And she was just lying back and letting him.
She pushed him away and this time he must have sensed that she was engaged in more than provocative play-fight, because he didn’t object. His breathing was laboured and his smoky eyes were narrowed as he stared at her.
‘What’s the matter?’
Lexi struggled to sit up, fury heating her blood as she grabbed her glasses and put them on. She wondered, if she hadn’t stopped him, whether he would have simply unzipped himself and impaled her right there on the sofa.
‘You really need to ask that?’ she breathed.
‘I’m not in the mood for riddles,’ he said, frustration making him snap the words out.
‘It’s not a riddle and you’re not stupid. Think about it, Xenon. You bring me into your house, knowing that this is an already complicated situation which might require a little consideration on your part. But consideration has never been part of your vocabulary, has it? Even after I expressly told you that this wasn’t going to be anything other than a masquerade marriage—you leap on me with all the finesse of a sixteen-year-old boy.’
He watched as she got up from the sofa and began to smooth her dress down, his gaze following her as she went to stand in front of the French windows. The light from the garden highlighted the outline of her long, shapely legs and the strands of hair which had worked themselves free from her plaited hair. He felt the painful twist of lust deep inside him as he glared at her. ‘Maybe that’s because you make me feel like a sixteen-year-old boy again—with all the corresponding doubts and insecurities.’
‘Doubts and insecurities?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I don’t think so. You were born knowing how to handle a woman.’
‘Except perhaps for you,’ he said. ‘You were my one failure in a long and glittering career.’
Exasperated, she shook her head. ‘You see? Even when you’re making what might almost pass for an apology, you’re turning it into some kind of macho boast!’
‘I am what I am, Lex.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I am Greek and to be macho is woven into my DNA. I thought that’s what you liked. Don’t you remember telling me that my mastery turned you on?’
Lexi bit her lip. Yes, she’d said that, and more. Much more. Things which now made her wince. But at the time she had meant them. After years of having to cope and be strong for other people, she had fallen for a man who was just as strong. Someone who was looking out for her for a change. For once it had been blissful to let someone else take charge. To let someone else make all the decisions. She just hadn’t realised that she needed to keep her own strength and that it was wrong to rely on Xenon’s. That once you gave someone else permission to take control of your life, you ended up weak and helpless. So that she seemed to have no reserves left to cope with the misfortune which had befallen them.
‘I was younger then,’ she said. ‘And naïve.’
‘And now?’
She reminded herself that she was a grown-up and not some simpering girl. She was a woman who had found her own way in the world. Just because an incompatible marriage had thrown her temporarily off course, that didn’t mean she needed to hurl herself straight back into it. And hadn’t she made a deal with him? Wasn’t she doing this for Jason? For the baby brother who’d had such an unspeakable childhood?
She fiddled with her plait, and shrugged. ‘Now I’m just doing the best I can.’
Xenon felt a sudden wave of remorse wash over him because in that moment she seemed as fragile as he’d ever seen her. ‘You look tired,’ he said.
‘I am.’ The sudden compassion in his voice disarmed her. She saw the anxiety in his face and some stupid moment of weakness made her want to reach out to him. ‘There’s no need to look so stricken, Xenon. I was just as complicit as you in what just happened. And I’m not denying that I enjoyed it—I don’t think I’d get away with a lie that big.’
His blue eyes burned with intensity. ‘So share my bed tonight.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t. You know I can’t. It would cause too many problems and open up too many wounds. And we can’t risk that kind of pain again, for both our sakes.’
His narrowed gaze was thoughtful. ‘Then you’d better go upstairs and get some rest,’ he said. ‘And I’ll see you later at dinner.’
She straightened her dress and looked up. ‘We’re having dinner?’
‘Of course we are. We have to eat. Now go,’ he repeated roughly, forcing himself to turn away from her. Because her body was sending out a siren song so loud that it was almost deafening him. And he couldn’t trust himself not to pull her back in his arms and finish off what they had started.
‘LEX.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Wake up.’
Lexi stirred and stretched. She didn’t want to wake up. She had been in the middle of a dream—the kind you never wanted to end. A beachy type of dream with warm sand and the sound of the waves swishing against the shore. And there had been a man beside her. A man holding her tightly and kissing her and melting away all the cold sadness which was locked away inside her.
Her eyes fluttered open to find Xenon bending over her, and as his silhouette imprinted itself fuzzily in her line of vision she felt a sinking feeling of resignation. Because he was the man. Of course he was. Even her dreams were dominated by him.
Still a little groggy, she sat up and groped for her glasses and the room shifted into sharp focus as she put them on. She was in the rose room—a sumptuous suite of soft petal shades, with tall windows which overlooked the park. She had never actually slept here before, but it was still filled with memories she’d rather forget. Because she’d made love with her husband on this canopied bed. He’d straddled her over there, on that velvet chair. They’d done it on the carpet, too. In fact, they’d made love in pretty much every room in the house.
And they’d very nearly done it again.
She remembered that brief, erotic encounter on the sofa earlier and she felt the pounding of her heart; the heated rush of blood to her face as she recalled the intimate touch of his hands on her after so long without it. She shouldn’t have let it get that far and she shouldn’t have shown him how much she still wanted him. But how could she fail to want him when he was so damned gorgeous? When, even now, all she could think about was all the pleasure he had given her in the past and the way she used to choke out his name with disbelieving joy. She needed to remember the pain instead. To protect herself with the memory of how much he had hurt her.
She pushed her mussed hair back from her face and sat up, trying not to focus on the powerful thrust of his thighs, which were distractingly close. ‘What time is it?’
‘Seven o’clock. You’ve been asleep for a while.’ He studied her rumpled appearance. ‘Do you want to get changed for dinner?’
Of course she did, even