Modern Romance October 2019 Books 5-8. Annie West
Читать онлайн книгу.
on his lips. Lips that were strong in his face, powerful and compelling. Lips that had kissed her and tipped her world upside down.
‘But you…’
He arched a brow, silently prompting her to continue.
‘You left me breathless,’ she admitted, even when a part of her wondered if she should say as much, if it didn’t leave her exposed and vulnerable, weakened in some way. ‘I can’t explain it. I felt desire for the first time in my life and I…’
‘Go on,’ he prompted, the words a little throaty, and she was so glad: glad that maybe he was affected by her confession in some way.
‘I felt desirable for the first time in my life, too. I liked it. I liked the way you looked at me.’ She turned away now, clearing her throat, looking towards the window.
Leonidas leaned forward, surprising her by placing his hand on hers. Sparks shot from her wrist and through her whole body. ‘Your fiancé was an idiot for giving you a moment’s doubt on this score.’
Her laugh was dismissive, but he leaned further forward, so their knees brushed. ‘You are very, very sexy,’ he said, simply, and heat began to burn in her veins.
‘I don’t mean that,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You don’t need to… I just meant to explain…’
‘I know what you meant.’ He sat back in his seat, regarding her once more. ‘And I am telling you that you are a very sensual woman. You have no idea how I have been tormented by memories of that night, Hannah Grace May.’
THE MEDITERRANEAN GLISTENED just beyond the window of his study. On the second floor of his mansion, and jutting out a little from the rest of the building, this workspace boasted panoramic views of the ocean. Leonidas braced his arms on the windowsill, staring out at it, his breath burning in his lungs, his head spinning as comprehension sledged into him from both sides.
In Capri, he’d acted purely on instinct.
His wife and child had died, but here was another woman, another child, and they weren’t Amy and Brax—they’d never be to him what Amy and Brax were—but they were still his responsibility.
The fact he would never have chosen to become a father again was a moot point.
She was pregnant.
They were having a child—a daughter.
His chest clutched and he slammed his eyes closed, the taste of adrenalin filling his mouth. A thousand and one memories tormented him from the inside out, like acid rushing through his veins.
Amy, finding out she was pregnant. Amy, swelling with his child. Amy, uncomfortable. Amy, in labour. Amy, nursing their infant. Amy, watching Brax learn to walk. Amy, patiently reading to Brax, loving him, laughing at him.
Amy.
His eyes opened, bleakness in the depths of their obsidian centres.
If sleeping with another woman was a betrayal of Amy, what then was this? Creating a whole new family, and bringing them to this island?
He grunted, shaking his head, knowing that wasn’t fair. Amy would never have expected him to close himself off from life, from another relationship, another family.
But Leonidas had sworn he would do exactly that.
The idea of Hannah ever becoming anything to him besides this was anathema. Theirs was a marriage born of necessity, a marriage born of a need to protect his child, and the woman he’d made pregnant. It was a marriage of duty, that was all.
Flint formed in his eyes, his resolution hardening.
They would marry—there was no other option. Even if it weren’t for the possible threat to Hannah’s life, Leonidas acknowledged his ancient sense of honour would have forced him to propose, to insist upon marriage. Growing up in the shipwreck of his father’s marriages hadn’t undone the lessons his grandfather had taught him, nor the unity he’d seen in his grandparents’ marriage.
Their child, their daughter, deserved to grow up with that same example. Hannah deserved to have support and assistance.
And what else?
His body tightened as he flashed back to the way he’d responded to her that night, the way desire had engulfed him like a tidal wave, drowning him in his need for her. The way he’d kissed her, his mouth taking possession of hers, his whole body firing with a desperate need to possess her, even when he’d spent the past five months telling himself their night together had been a mistake.
It had been a mistake. It should never have happened, but it had, and, looking back, he didn’t think he could have stopped it. Not for all the money in all the world. There had been a force pulling him to her; the moment their bodies had collided he’d felt as though he’d been jolted back to life. He’d looked at her and felt a surge of need that had gone beyond logic and sense. It had been an ancient, incessant beating of a drum and ignoring it had not been an option.
Perhaps it still wasn’t…
Glass. Steel. Designer furniture. Servants. More glass. Famous art. Views of the ocean that just wouldn’t quit. Hannah stared around Leonidas’s mansion, the luxury of it almost impossible to grapple with, and wondered if she’d stepped into another dimension.
Did people really live like this?
He had his own airfield, for goodness’ sake! His private jet had touched down on the island, a glistening ocean surrounding them as the sun dipped towards the horizon. She’d expected a limousine but there’d been several golf carts parked near the airstrip and he’d led her to one of them, opening the door for her in a way that made her impossibly aware of his breadth, strength and that musky, hyper-masculine fragrance of his.
When he’d sat beside her, their knees had brushed and she’d remembered what he’d said to her in the plane. ‘You have no idea how I have been tormented by memories of that night.’
Her belly stirred with anticipation and heat slicked between her legs.
At first, she hadn’t seen the house. Mansion. She’d been too distracted by the beauty of this island. Rocky, primal in some way, just like Leonidas, with fruit groves to one side, grapevines running down towards the ocean and then, finally, a more formal, landscaped garden with huge olive and hibiscus trees providing large, dark patches of shade in the lead up to the house.
Leonidas had given her a brief tour, introducing Hannah to the housekeeper, Mrs Chrisohoidis, before excusing himself. ‘I want to get some things organised.’ He’d frowned, and she’d felt, for the first time, a hint of awkwardness at being here, in the house of a man she barely knew, whom she was destined to marry and raise a child with.
‘Okay.’ She’d smiled, to cover it, thinking that she had her own ‘things’ to organise. Like the room she was renting in Earl’s Court and the job she was expected back at in a few days, and an aunt and uncle who deserved to know not only that she was pregnant but also that she was getting married.
None of these were obligations Hannah relished meeting and so she decided, instead, to explore. There was plenty of house to lose herself in, and with the approach of dusk, and only the occasional staff member to interrupt, she went from room to room, trying to get her bearings.
The property itself was spectacular. The initial impression that it was a virtual palace only grew as she saw more and more of it. But what she did realise, after almost an hour of wandering, was that there was a distinct lack of anything personal. Beyond the art, which must surely reflect something of Leonidas’s taste, there was a complete lack of personal paraphernalia.
No