Greek Mavericks: Giving Her Heart To The Greek. Jennifer Taylor
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grief. He couldn’t ignore the way her heart pounded so hard he felt it against his arm across her back. Her skin was clammy, her spine curled tight against life’s blows.
His hand unconsciously followed that hard curve, no longer just warming her, but trying to soothe while stealing a long-overdue shred of comfort for himself from someone who understood what he’d suffered.
He recovered just as quickly, shaking off the moment of empathy and rearranging her so she was forced to look up at him.
“I’ve been honest with you, haven’t I?” Perhaps he sounded harsh, but she had cracked something in him. He didn’t like the cold wind blowing through him as a result. “I would tell you if we were in danger. We’re not.”
* * *
Viveka believed him. That was the ridiculous part of it. She had no reason to trust him, but why would he be so blunt about everything else and hide the fact they were likely to capsize? If he said they were safe, they were safe.
“I’m still scared,” she admitted in a whisper, hating that she was so gutless.
“Think of something else,” he chided. The edge of his thumb gave her jaw a little flick, then he dipped his head and kissed her.
She brought up a hand to the side of his face, thinking she shouldn’t let this happen again, but his stubble was a fascinating texture against her palm and his lips were blessedly hot, sending runnels of heat through her sluggish blood. Everything in her calmed and warmed.
Then he rocked his mouth to part her lips with the same avid, possessive enjoyment as earlier and cupped her breast and she shuddered under a fresh onslaught of sensations. The rush hurt, it was so powerful, but it was also like that moment when he’d dragged her to the surface. He was dragging her out of her phobia into wonder.
She instinctively angled herself closer, the silk of her pajamas a wet, annoying layer between them as she tried to press herself through his skin.
He grunted and grew harder under her bottom. His arms gathered her in with a confident, sexual possessiveness while his knees splayed wider so she sat deeper against the firm shape of his sex.
Heat rushed into her loins, sharp and powerful. All of her skin burned as blood returned to every inch of her. She didn’t mean to let her tongue sweep against his, but his was right there, licking past her lips, and the contact made lightning flash in her belly.
His aggression should have felt threatening, but it felt sexy and flagrant. As the kiss went on, the waves of pleasure became more focused. The way he toyed with her nipple sent thrums of excitement rocking through her.
She gasped for air when he drew back, but she didn’t want to stop. Not yet. She lifted her mouth so he returned and kissed her harder. Deeper.
Her breast ached where he massaged it and the pulse between her legs became a hungry throb as he shifted wet silk against the tight point of her nipple.
His hand slid away, pulling the soggy material up from her quivery belly. He flattened his palm there, branding her cold, bare skin. His fingers searched along the edge of her waistband and he lifted his head, ready to slide his hand between her closed thighs.
“Open,” he commanded.
Viveka gasped and shot off his lap, stumbling when her knees didn’t want to support her. “What—no!”
She covered her throat where her pulse was racing, shocked at herself. He kept turning her into this...animal. That’s all this was: hormones. Some kind of primal response to the caveman who happened to yank her out of the lion’s jaws. The primitive part of her recognized an alpha male who could keep her offspring alive so her body wanted to make some with him.
Mikolas dropped one hand, then the other behind him, leaning on his straight arms, knees wide. His nostrils flared as he eyed her. It was the only sign that her recoil bothered him.
Contractions of desire continued to swirl in her abdomen. That part of her that was supposed to be able to take his shape felt so achy with carnal need she was nearly overwhelmed.
“You said you wouldn’t make me,” she managed in a shaky little voice.
It was a weak defense and they both knew it.
He cocked one brow in a mocking, I don’t have to. The way his gaze traveled down her made her afraid for what she looked like, silk clinging to distended nipples and who knew what other telltale reactions.
She pulled the fabric away from her skin and looked to the door.
“You’re bothered by your reaction to me. Why? I think it’s exciting.” The rasp of his arousal-husky voice made her inner muscles pinch with involuntary eagerness. “Come here. I’ll hold you all night. You’ll feel very safe,” he promised, but his mouth quirked with wicked amusement.
She hugged herself. “I don’t sleep around. I don’t even know you!”
“I prefer it that way,” he provided.
“Well, I don’t!”
He sighed, rising and making her heart soar with alarmed excitement. It fell as he turned and walked away to the corner of the room.
She had rejected him, she reminded herself. This sense of rebuff was completely misplaced.
But he was so appealing with his tall, powerful frame, spine bracketed by supple muscle in the way of a martial artist rather than a gym junkie. The low light turned his skin a dark, burnished bronze and he had a really nice butt in those wet, clinging boxers.
She ought to leave, but she watched him search out three different points before he drew the wall inward like an oversize door. The cabinetry from her stateroom came with it, folding back to become part of his sitting room, creating an archway into her suite.
“I haven’t used this yet. It’s clever, isn’t it?” he remarked.
If she didn’t loathe boats so much, she might have agreed. As it was, she could only hug herself, dumbfounded to see they were now sharing a room.
“You’ll feel safer like this, yes?”
Not likely!
He didn’t seem to expect an answer, just turned to open a drawer. He pawed through, coming up with a pink long-sleeved top in waffle weave and a pair of pink and mint green flannel pajama pants. “Dry off and put these on. Warm up.”
She waved at the archway. “Why did you do that?”
“You don’t find it comforting?”
Oh, she was not sticking around to be laughed at. She snatched the pajamas from his hand, not daring to look into his face, certain she would see mockery, and made for the bathroom in her own suite. Infuriating man.
She would close the wall herself, she decided as she clumsily changed, even though she preferred the idea of him being in the same room with her. He was not a man to be relied on, she reminded herself. If she had learned nothing else in life, it was that she was on her own.
Then she walked out and found a life vest on the foot of her bed. When she glanced toward his room, his lamp was off.
She clutched the cool bulk of the vest to her chest, insides crumpling.
“Thank you, Mikolas,” she said toward his darkened room.
A pause, then a weary “Try not to need it.”
VIVEKA WAS SO emotionally spent, she slept late, waking with the life vest still in her crooked arm.
Sitting up with an abrupt return of memory, she noted the sun was streaming in through the uncovered windows of Mikolas’s stateroom. The yacht was sailing smoothly and she could swear that was the fresh scent of a light breeze she detected. She swung her feet to the floor