Six Greek Heroes. Cathy Williams
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hurt you and I should not have added to your pain in that way.”
Oh, man, when he got going on the remorse thing, he took it seriously. And it made her feel guilty because while he’d hurt her, it had not been in addition to the pain of loss, but to the pain of a lifetime lived as Andrea’s daughter.
“Thank you for your concern, but honestly, I’m used to comments like that.”
The sound he made said her words had not soothed him.
She sighed, unable to stifle the urge to reach out, to touch in an age-old gesture of comfort. Her fingers settled gently against his hair roughened arm and it was all she could do to remember what she was going to say. Oh, yeah…
“I’m not angry with you.” Not anymore. “Matthias was a kind and caring man. I’m sorry he died the way he did. I’m sorry my mother’s life ended the way it did, but I don’t blame you for pointing out the truth. I am her daughter and I’ve learned to live with that.”
An indecipherable expression settled over his angular features. “Earlier, I was worried you might take your story to the tabloids, but I realize now you would not do so.”
Chills of horror skated along her nerve endings. “Never.”
“Andrea courted publicity of the worst kind.”
“And I had to live with it all my life.”
“You did not like it.”
“I hated it. As a child, I got teased and was expelled from two different private schools because of her behavior.” Andrea had been caught having sex with one of Rachel’s teachers by the man’s wife and the second time, she’d been arrested for cocaine possession. “It wasn’t much better at university. The world seems like such a big place until you’re the one in the middle of ugly media attention.”
And by then, her mother had married a rich Greek tycoon old enough to be her father. It was the stuff of fantasy for would-be journalists making their name in the tabloid press.
Which was why Rachel had legally changed her last name upon graduation. She’d never told Andrea, not wanting a big scene, but no one in Rachel’s current life knew that she was related to a woman notorious for her sexual exploits and questionable social activities.
In the United States, the story of Rachel Long, daughter of Andrea Long Demakis, simply did not exist.
Being shy and rather average looking had its advantages.
She realized this time it was she who continued to hold on to him and quickly pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”
“I do not mind.”
She swallowed. “Yes, well, I should get back. I’m sure I can sleep now,” she said, lying through her teeth, but needing to get away from his unnerving presence.
His hands caught her waist, halting her body and her breathing all in one go. “Are you sure?”
“I…” She choked trying to get air into her lungs and he pulled her closer, soothing her back, his expression too heated to be labeled concern.
She started to breathe again, but still couldn’t speak. His silver gaze was doing things to her insides she’d long since convinced herself was the stuff of fantasy. Shivery sensations traveled along nerve endings she didn’t even know she had and a heavy, aching sensation in her womb radiated downward to make her thighs clench.
Firm, masculine lips tilted in a knowing smile and she was sure he knew just what was happening to her.
He never broke eye contact as he drew her near until their bodies barely touched and she could not help the involuntary shudder that went through her at contact.
His eyes filled with primal male triumph. “Yes. I knew you felt it too.”
“Felt what?” she asked, knowing her attempt at prevarication was hopeless.
He ignored it completely.
“I need to know.” His head lowered until his lips were a breath from hers. “Don’t you wonder too?”
She would have asked, “Wonder what?”, but his mouth closed over hers.
And she stopped thinking.
All she could do was feel.
It was entirely alien, this merging of their mouths, the mingling of their breath, the gentle seduction of knowing lips. She had not known men like him, with so much power and masculine strength, could be gentle.
Her hands went to his chest of their own accord, drawn by a lure as inexplicable as it was inescapable. She tentatively explored the ridges of muscle that had fascinated her earlier and her fingertips encountered hard points. Mesmerized by this unexpected indicator of his excitement, she investigated the phenomena completely.
He groaned and yanked her into his body, his hold growing fierce, the kiss turning incendiary. Fiery passion sizzled between their lips and she did not pull away. That fact registered with what was left of her conscious mind along with the realization she felt not one iota of fear.
There was no room inside her for anything but an all-consuming erotic craving and physical delight, both sparked by him. He tasted good, so different from her and yet infinitely right and desirable.
Without really knowing how it had happened, his tongue was in her mouth and he was teaching her how to find pleasure in an intimate kiss she had always considered much too invasive. She wanted to give it back and copied his movements with instinctive feminine sensuality she had been sure she no longer possessed.
Growling, he lifted her off the sand, grinding his pelvis against hers and causing shock waves to ripple throughout her body.
But still, she felt no trepidation…nothing that would dilute the molten lava of need flowing through her veins.
When he pressed against her bottom, causing her thighs to drift apart, it was the most natural thing in the world to lift her legs and lock her ankles tight behind his back. Her skirt rucked up, leaving her skin bare against him in an unbearably exciting connection and sexual hunger exploded inside her as her sweet spot rubbed against his hardened male flesh.
She needed something and she pressed herself against him as intimately as possible, gyrating her hips to increase the sensations exploding in her most intimate flesh.
His hand trespassed the silk of her panties to touch a place that had not been touched in seven years. The feel of his fingertip at the entrance to her body brought forth a rush of dew drenched pleasure. Then his finger moved to possess her and old fear rushed through her in an unstoppable torrent, dousing her pleasure and filling her with a desperate need to be free.
She tore her mouth from his. “No. Stop. What are we doing?”
“You do not know?” he asked incredulously, his voice thick with desire.
She didn’t answer. Could not answer. The feel of that finger almost inside her had brought forth memories that would drown her if she let them.
Unlocking her ankles, she frantically tried to scramble from his arms.
After a second of unequal struggling, he let her go, spewing words in Greek she had no desire to know the translation for.
“I’m sorry,” she jerked out, yanking her skirt down to cover her wobbly legs.
Her heart was beating her to death, her palms were damp and her mouth was cottony and dry.
His hands clenched and she stepped back, unable to prevent a reaction born of the past but called forth in the present.
His face a mask of frustrated desire, he threw his head back and inhaled deeply before looking at her again.
When he did, the feral intensity had been muted, but his mouth was set in a grim line. “No. It is I who should apologize. A man should not take advantage of a woman’s weak emotional state. It was wrong