Wed For His Secret Heir. Chantelle Shaw
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crashed over her and swept her up in a maelstrom of intense pleasure that went on and on, pulsing, pounding through her, tearing a low cry from her throat.
Even when the ripples of her orgasm started to fade, he continued to move inside her with an urgency that took her breath away. He gripped her hips and reared over her, his head thrown back so that the cords on his neck stood out. Incredibly, Ava climaxed for a second time, swift and sharp, as Giannis gave a final thrust and emitted a savage groan as he pressed his face into her neck while great shudders racked his body.
In the afterglow, a sense of peace enfolded her and she lay quite still, not wanting him to move away, not ready to face the reality of what had just happened. Gradually the thunderous beat of his heart slowed. She loved the feel of his big, strong body lying lax on top of her and of his arms around her, holding her close. Her limbs felt heavy and the lingering ripples of her orgasm triggered delicious tingles deep in her pelvis.
So that was what poets wrote sonnets about, she thought, smiling to herself. There wasn’t something wrong with her, as Craig had suggested. Sex with Giannis had been mind-blowing and had proved that her body was capable of experiencing the most intense passion. From Giannis’s reaction he had enjoyed having sex with her. She wasn’t frigid. She was a responsive, sexually confident woman.
He lifted his head at last and looked down at her, his dark eyes unfathomable, making Ava realise once again that even though they had just shared the most intimate act that two people could experience, she did not know him. Oh, she’d gleaned a few facts about him on the Internet. Mainly about his business success or which model or actress he’d dated, although there was actually very little information about him. She knew nothing about the real Giannis Gekas—his family, his interests, even mundane things such as what kind of food he liked. There was an endless list of unknowns—all the tiny snippets of information that people at the beginning of a conventional relationship would find out about each other.
All she knew was that they had been drawn together by a combustible sexual chemistry, and when she became aware of him hardening once more while he was still buried deep inside her, nothing else mattered.
‘You are irresistible, omorfiá mou,’ he murmured. ‘I want you again.’
Excitement coiled through her and she wrapped her legs around his back to draw him deeper inside her. He groaned. ‘You would tempt a saint. But first I need to change the condom. Don’t go away.’ He dropped a brief but utterly sensual kiss on her mouth—a promise of further delights to follow—before he lifted himself off her and strode into the bathroom.
Ava watched him, her gaze clinging to his broad shoulders before sliding lower to the taut curves of his buttocks, and molten heat pooled between her thighs. Everything about tonight felt unreal, as if she was in the middle of an erotic dream that she did not want to end.
GIANNIS STEPPED OUT of the shower cubicle and blotted the moisture from his skin before he knotted a towel around his hips and walked into the bedroom. He glanced at the bed and saw that Ava was still fast asleep. Her honey-blonde hair spilled across the black silk pillows and her hand was tucked under her cheek. She looked young and unexpectedly innocent but looks were deceptive and there had been no hint of the ingénue about her last night.
The memory of her standing in front of him in stiletto heels, sheer black stockings and a minuscule pair of knickers had a predictable effect on his body, and he was tempted to whip off his towel and wake her for morning sex. But there wasn’t time, and he felt no more than a fleeting regret as he turned away from the bed, striding over to the wardrobe to select a shirt to wear with his suit. While he dressed, he thought about his schedule for the day.
He had meetings in Paris in the afternoon and a social function to attend in the evening. But first he planned to drive to his house in Hertfordshire that he had recently purchased, to inspect the renovations that had been completed and pay the workmen a bonus. It would be useful to have a permanent base in the UK, but another reason he had bought Milton Grange was because the grounds included a particularly fine garden. Giannis hoped that his mother might like to visit the house in the summer, and perhaps tending to the roses would lift her spirits, which had been low lately. Although there was nothing new about that, he thought heavily.
He had spent most of his adult life trying to make his mother happy. His conscience insisted that caring for her was a small penance and could never atone for his terrible lapse of judgement that had resulted in the death of his father. He despised himself even more because he found his mother difficult. Even his sister had suggested that their mitera’s relentless misery was intended to make him feel guilty.
Giannis sighed as his thoughts switched from his mother to another thorn in his side. Ever since Stefanos Markou had announced that he intended to sell Markou Shipping and retire from business, Giannis had tried to persuade the old man to sell his ships to him. The Markou fleet of six small cargo ships would be an ideal addition to The Gekas Experience.
TGE already operated ten vessels offering luxurious cruises around the Mediterranean and the Caribbean. River cruising was becoming increasingly popular and Giannis wanted to expand the company and make TGE the world leader in this emerging tourist market. The Markou fleet of ships would need major refurbishments to turn them into high-end luxury river cruisers, but it was cheaper to upgrade existing ships than to commission a new fleet of vessels.
To Giannis’s intense frustration, Stefanos had rejected his very generous financial offer. That was to say—Stefanos had not actually turned him down but he kept adding new conditions before he would sell. Giannis had already agreed to employ the entire Markou Shipping workforce and retrain the staff so that they could work on his cruise ships. Far more problematic was Stefanos’s insistence that he wanted to sell his company to a married man.
‘Markou Shipping’s ethos is family first,’ Stefanos had told Giannis. ‘Many of the current staff are second or even third generation employees and they share the company’s values of loyalty and propriety. How do you think they would feel if I sold the company to you—a notorious playboy who regards women only as pleasurable diversions? But if you were to choose a wife and settle down it would show that you believe in the high ideals which my great-grandfather, who started Markou Shipping one hundred years ago, held dear.’
Giannis had no desire to marry, but a rival potential buyer had shown interest in purchasing the Markou fleet of vessels. Norwegian businessman Anders Tromska was married and the father of two children. Stefanos approved of Tromska for being a dedicated family man who had never been involved in any kind of scandal or photographed by the paparazzi with a different blonde on his arm every week.
Giannis was prepared to increase his financial offer for the fleet of ships. But for once he had discovered that money could not solve a problem. It seemed that the only way he might persuade Stefanos to sell to him was if he magically conjured himself a wife.
He slipped his arms into his jacket and pushed the Markou problem to the back of his mind for now, turning his thoughts instead to a happier situation. His beloved Nerissa—a classic motor yacht which had been his father’s first boat—had been repaired and restored after it had been vandalised.
Giannis had kept the boat moored at St Katharine Dock and he stayed on it whenever he visited London. He had been furious when he’d heard that a gang of youths had boarded the boat one night and held a party. A fire had somehow started in the main cabin and quickly ripped through the boat. It turned out that a cleaner who worked for the valeting company employed to maintain the boat had stolen the keys and taken his thuggish friends aboard Nerissa. The gang had escaped before the police arrived, apart from the cleaner, who had been arrested and charged with criminal damage.
The manager of the boat valeting company had been deeply apologetic. ‘The youth who took the keys to your boat has a police record for various petty crimes. His social worker persuaded me to give him a job. To be honest he seemed like a nice lad, and his sister who accompanied him to his interview was anxious for me to give