Kitabı oku: «The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby / The Innocent's Emergency Wedding»

CHAPTER TWO

PERHAPS SHE’D EXPECTED him to kiss her gently, to explore her slowly, but there was nothing gentle about this, nothing slow. It was a kiss of urgency and it detonated around them.

She made a groaning noise into his mouth, her desire roaring through her body, taking control of her.

This was not a warm, comfortable kiss. It was a kiss that redefined everything in her life, pushing new boundaries into place. She clung to his shirt for dear life and he kissed her deeper, his mouth moving over hers, demanding more of her, his tongue duelling with her own, his body cleaved to hers so not a breath of space remained between them.

It was a kiss of complete domination and she succumbed to it utterly.

‘Just this one night.’ He pushed the words into her mouth as he spun her body, tightening his arms around her waist and lifting her in his arms. He sat down on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap, pushing at her dress and making a guttural sound of frustration when he found the cotton of her underpants.

It was everything she wanted—the impermanence, the perfect treatment. She wanted to lose her virginity—it seemed ridiculous to be twenty-three and not know what sex was all about, yet the idea of a relationship made something inside her shrivel up and die.

She’d never trust another man, she’d never want love, or believe in love. She’d never be foolish enough to believe she was lovable.

But sex?

This?

This was a balm to her soul.

She tilted her head back as he pushed her dress higher, over her arms and then from her body altogether, so she wore only her underwear, flimsy cotton, with no care whatsoever that this man she’d met less than an hour ago was seeing her like this.

If anything, she found her total abandon to this—to him—liberating.

There was no room for any such rational consideration, though, when he unhooked the bra and discarded it carelessly, then began to trace one of her nipples with his tongue, circling the peach areola lightly at first, so she was trembling on top of him, straddling his lap.

He moved his mouth closer to the tip of her nipple and, finally, surrounded it completely, sucking on her flesh in a way that burst starlight behind her eyes.

She swore, uncharacteristically, and he echoed it in his native tongue, reaching between her legs and pushing at the trousers of his designer suit, unzipping them, unbuttoning them so that the arousal she could feel through the material was hard and naked.

He transferred his mouth to her other breast and the first, so sensitive from his ministrations, felt the sting of the cool, air-conditioned air and she arched her back in response.

It was completely overwhelming.

Or, she thought it was. But then, he moved his hand between her legs and through the waistband of her underwear, sliding a finger into her moist core, and she cried his name.

He stilled for a moment then moved his finger deeper, finding her sensitive cluster of nerves and tormenting it until she was panting, desperate, so desperate, before pulling his finger out, fixing her with a look of wonderment.

‘You are so wet.’

She was, and shaking all over, desire like an electrical current and it was frying her completely.

‘I know,’ she groaned as his hands moved to the top of her underpants and began to push at them. She shifted her body, lifting herself up so he could undress her completely, needing to be naked, needing him.

She had no experience but she had instincts and they were driving her wild, needing her to act, to feel, to do. She groaned as she stood shakily, naked before him, wanting to experience everything. There was a type of madness overtaking her, building within her.

She reached a hand out for his and he stood, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to his frame.

‘Who are you?’ he groaned into her mouth, the words making no sense.

‘Hannah,’ she said unevenly and he laughed, a husky sound.

‘Yes. But what kind of mermaid or angel or fairy are you to come here and do this to me?’

She swallowed his words, kissing him right back, her tongue duelling with his, passion making their breath harsh and loud in the still night air.

‘Leonidas,’ she groaned his name and his hands curved around her naked rear, lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his body as he strode through the penthouse towards what turned out to be a bedroom. It was huge with the same view towards Athens. He eased her down without bothering to turn on the lights so every sparkle of fireworks was like a jolt into the room.

Her hands tugged at his shirt with such desperation a button popped off and flew through the room.

She cursed softly under her breath, her eyes apologetic when they latched to his.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry.’

She nodded, but he finished the job, stripping the shirt from his body to reveal a broadly muscled chest that had her pulse ratcheting up yet another gear so she was almost trembling with the force of her own body’s demands.

‘Wow.’ She stared at the ridges of his torso, transfixed by the obvious strength there, and lifted her hands to trace his abdominals almost without realising it. ‘Work out much?’

She didn’t see the way his lips flickered into a smile, nor could she have any idea how rare that smile was. Her hands ran down his chest, finding the waist of his pants and pushing at them, her eyes lifting to his as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth.

She was completely inexperienced and yet Hannah felt no anxiety, no nervousness, nothing except desire bursting through her, jolting her body as though she’d picked up a bundle of live wires.

‘I want you,’ she said, in awe of how true that was. It went beyond needing revenge on Angus, it went beyond anything to do with Angus. There was nothing and no one in Hannah’s mind as she lifted onto the tips of her toes so she could claim Leonidas’s mouth with her own, her kiss curious, questioning and then desperate.

He kissed her back, their bodies moulded together, desire a flame that was growing bigger than either could control. ‘I want to take this slow,’ he groaned, his hands tangling in her russet hair, curling it up and holding it against her head. He took a step forward, pushing her backwards until Hannah collapsed onto the bed, his body following, the weight and strength of him an impossible pleasure.

‘I want this,’ she said again, more to herself than him. ‘Don’t take it slow.’

He lifted himself up to stare at her, his eyes showing emotions she couldn’t comprehend, or perhaps her ability to comprehend was blunted by the sheer force of her own feelings, which were overwhelming her, robbing her of sense and logic and reason.

‘You don’t know…’

His words were engulfed by her kiss. Hannah was sick of being patient; she was sick of waiting. She’d never known desire like this but that didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared to answer its call. ‘Please,’ she groaned. ‘Make love to me.’

The words were breathed into his being, sparkling like the light show beyond the window. Explosions of light, intense, glowing, hot. He separated her legs, nudging the tip of his arousal against her womanhood, and Hannah held her breath, she held everything.

For a split second, she contemplated telling him she was innocent, that she’d never done this before, but there was no time. He thrust into her and with her gasp he stilled, pushing up to stare down at her, his features harsh in the darkened room.

‘Theos, Hannah, was that…were you?’

‘Don’t stop,’ she said, shaking her head, but Leonidas was already pulling away from her, his body rock hard, his eyes pinning her with intensity. ‘Please don’t stop.’ Her heart crumbled. She hadn’t realised until that moment how desperately she wanted to know herself to be desirable. To know that someone wanted her enough to be unable to control their desire.

He swore under his breath and moved to the night stand, sliding open the drawer and pulling out a foil square. ‘Not once have I forgotten protection,’ he said thickly, the words coated in his own desires, which began to put Hannah’s heart back together again.

She watched as he unfurled a condom over his length then came back to the bed, his body weight returning to hers, bliss fogging into her mind.

‘You should have told me.’ The words lacked recrimination. They were simple. Soft. Gentle. Enquiring. As if he was asking her to assure him she was okay.

‘I didn’t know how.’

‘I’m a virgin?’

She laughed, despite the desire that was pulling at her gut. ‘I was a virgin.’

‘You are sure this is what you want?’

She nodded, lifting her hands up to cup his face. ‘Please.’

But he didn’t respond. Something tightened in his expression, his jaw moving as though he were grinding his teeth. ‘I meant what I said, Hannah. One night. Nothing more.’

‘I know that.’ She nodded, thinking of the situation she’d left behind, the mess her private life was in. The last thing she wanted was the complication of more than one night.

And it was the freedom he needed, the reassurance he obviously craved, because he pushed back into her. Gently this time, slowly, giving her time to adjust and adapt, allowing her inexperienced body a chance to get used to this invasion, to feel his presence and relish in it before taking more of her, more of her, until finally she was crying his name over and over, the foreign syllables tripping off her tongue as rushed breaths filled her lungs.

His mouth moved from hers to her cheek then lower to the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, his tongue flicking her pulse point while his hands roamed her body, feeling every inch of her, pausing where she responded loudest to his inquisition, teasing the sensitive flesh of her breasts, tormenting her nipples with the skill of his hands.

It was heaven.

Pleasure built inside Hannah like a coil winding tighter and tighter and she dug her nails into his back, moaning softly as the spring prepared to burst. She arched her back and rolled her head to the side, the fireworks gaining momentum as her own pleasure began to detonate. She lifted her hips in a silent, knowing invitation and he held her, his hands keeping her close to him, reassuring her as she lost herself utterly to the compelling, indescribable pleasure of a sexual orgasm.

It was intense and it was fast and it robbed her of breath and control. Her eyelids filled with light, her mouth tasted like steel. She pushed up on her elbows, staring into Leonidas’s eyes, feeling quite mad and delirious with what she’d just experienced.

But it was nowhere near over.

He braced himself above her on his palms, watching the play of sensation on her features, and then he began to move again, his body stirring hers to new heights, his dominance something that made her want to weep.

She knew though, instinctively, that giving into the salty tang of tears would be a bad idea. Even while she was part mad with pleasure, she didn’t want to show how completely he’d shifted something inside her, nor how much this meant to her.

Because Hannah felt a surge of feminine power and it was instantaneous and went beyond words. She didn’t need to tell him how much this meant to her; she felt it and that was enough.

Angus had made her feel precious and valued, he’d made her feel like an objet d’art and that had been nice. It had been better than knowing herself to be an unwanted nuisance, which was how she’d spent a huge portion of her childhood since the loss of her parents. But he’d never looked at her as though he would die if he didn’t kiss her.

He’d never looked at her as though the push and pull of their chemistry was robbing him of sense.

Leonidas was, though.

He moved his body and he stared into her eyes and she felt a cascade of emotions from him to her and none of them would be worth analysing, because this was just one night. A temporary, fleeting, brief night—a slice out of time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Leonidas cradled his head in his hands, staring at the floor between his feet. Early dawn light was peeking through the window. Hannah’s rhythmic breathing filled the room, soft and somehow sweet. Sweet? How could breath be sweet? He turned to face her on autopilot, his expression grim.

He didn’t know how, but it was.

She was sweet.

She’d been innocent.

He cursed silently, standing and pulling his pants on, watching her through a veil of disbelief. What the hell had come over him? Four years of celibacy and then he’d spontaneously combusted the second the beautiful redhead had literally bumped into him?

And it wasn’t the red hair, nor the passing resemblance to Amy. If anything, that would have been a reason to keep his distance. No, this was something else. A kind of sexual starvation that he supposed was only natural, given he’d denied himself this pleasure and release for such a long time. But, Theos, a virgin?

He hadn’t wanted that! He had wanted meaningless, empty sex. A quick roll in the hay to satisfy this part of him, to obliterate his grief, to remind him that he was a man, a breathing, living man with blood in his veins.

And instead, he’d taken a young woman’s innocence. He’d been her first.

A sense of disbelief filled him as he watched her sleeping, her gentle inhalations, her lips that were tilted into a smile even in her sleep.

He’d always be her first. No matter what happened, no matter who she slept with, he was that to her.

It wasn’t meaningless; it never could be. Thank God he’d remembered protection. He’d have put money on the fact she wasn’t on birth control—why would she be? He could think of nothing worse than that kind of consequence from a night of unplanned pleasure.

And it had been a night of pleasure, he thought with a strong lurch of desire in his gut. Despite her inexperience, she had matched him perfectly, her body answering every call of his, her inquisitiveness driving him wild, the way she’d kissed and licked her way over his frame, tasting all of him, experimenting with what pleased him, asking him to tell her what he needed.

He groaned, a quiet noise but she stirred, shifting a little, so the sheet fell down and revealed her pert, rounded breasts to his gaze.

His erection throbbed against his pants. He took a step back from the bed.

One night, and dawn was breathing its way through the room, reminding him that this was not his life.

Hannah was an aberration. A mistake.

He had to leave. He had to forget this ever happened. He just hoped she would, too.

Hannah woke slowly, her body delightfully sore, muscles she hadn’t felt before stretching inside her as she shifted, rolling onto her side.

A Cavalcanti masterpiece was on the wall opposite, the morning light bathing its modernist palette in gold, a gold she knew would be matched by the sheer cliffs of this spectacular island.

But none of these things were what she wanted to see most.

She flipped over, her eyes scanning the bed, looking for Leonidas. He wasn’t there.

She reached out, feeling the sheets. They were cold. Her stomach grumbled and she pushed to sitting, smothering a yawn with the back of her hand. When had they finally fallen asleep? She couldn’t remember.

A smile played about her lips as she stood, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it toga style around her, padding through the penthouse.

‘Leonidas?’ She frowned, looking around. The glass doors to the balcony were open. She moved towards it, the view spectacular, momentarily robbing her of breath for a wholly new reason.

He wasn’t out there.

She frowned, turning on her heel and heading back inside. It was then that she saw it.

A note.

And there was so much to comprehend in that one instant that she struggled to make sense of any of it.

First of all the letterhead. It was no standard issue hotel notepad. It bore the insignia of the hotel, but the embossed lettering at the bottom spelled ‘Leonidas Stathakis.’

Leonidas Stathakis? Her heart began to race faster as she comprehended this. She didn’t know much about the Stathakis brothers—she wasn’t really au fait with people of their milieu, but no one could fail to have at least heard of the Stathakis brothers. To know that they were two of the richest men in the world. There were other facts, too, swirling just beneath the surface. Snatches she’d heard or read but not paid attention to because it had all seemed so far away. Crimes? The mob? Murder? Was that them? Or someone else?

She swallowed, running her finger over the embossing, closing her eyes and picturing Leonidas as he’d been the night before. As he’d stood so close to her and their eyes had seemed to pierce one another’s souls.

Her pulse gushed and she blinked her green eyes open, scanning the paper more thoroughly this time, expecting to see a few lines explaining that he’d gone to get breakfast, or for a workout—those muscles didn’t just grow themselves—or something along those lines.

What she wasn’t expecting was the formality and finality of what she read.

Hannah

It shouldn’t have happened. Please forget it did. The penthouse is yours for as long as you’d like it.

Leonidas

She read it and reread it at least a dozen times, her fingers shaking as she reached for the coffee machine and jabbed the button. Outrage warred with anger.

It shouldn’t have happened.

Because she hadn’t been what he’d expected? Because she hadn’t been any good?

Oh, God.

Was it possible that the desire she’d felt had been one-sided? Angus had been engaged to her and been able to easily abstain from sex, yet he’d been fooling around behind her back.

Had she been a let-down?

Hurt flooded inside her, disbelief echoing in her heart.

She’d wanted to come to Chrysá Vráchia almost her whole life, but suddenly, she couldn’t wait to leave.

CHAPTER THREE

A WEEK AFTER leaving the island, Leonidas awoke in a cold sweat. He stared around the hotel room, his heart hammering in his chest.

Hannah.

He’d been dreaming of Hannah, the woman he’d met on Chrysá Vráchia. He’d been dreaming of her, of making love to her. His body was rock hard and he groaned, falling back onto the pillows, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe slowly, to calm down. To remember his wife.

And nausea skidded through him, because he knew he would never forget Amy. But for those few moments, when he’d lost himself inside Hannah, when he’d pierced her innocence, and possessed her so completely, he had felt…

He had felt like himself.

For the first time in many years he had felt like a man who was free of this curse, this guilt, this permanent ache.

He had lost himself in Hannah and, just for a moment, he had lost his grief.

He swore under his breath, and pushed the sheet back, his heart unable to be calmed. Leonidas walked to the plush kitchen of his Hong Kong penthouse, pressing a button on the coffee machine.

He watched it brew, an answering presentiment of disaster growing inside him.

‘Do you need me to talk to him?’

Leonidas focussed on sounding normal. But in the month since leaving Chrysá Vráchia, he’d had a growing tension, balling in his gut, and nothing he did seemed to relieve it. It was guilt, he knew. Guilt at having betrayed his vows to Amy. At having broken the vow he made himself, that Amy would be the last woman he was intimate with.

The limousine slid through Rome, lights on either side.

‘Yeah, sure, that’s even better,’ Thanos responded with sarcasm. Leonidas’s younger brother shook his head. ‘Kosta Carinedes will take one look at you and see Dad. Sorry.’

Leonidas winced—the physical similarities between himself and Dion were not news to him. ‘So how are you going to convince him to sell?’

‘He wants to sell,’ Thanos murmured, tilting his head as the car slowed at a corner and paused near a group of beautiful women wearing skimpy shorts and singlet tops. ‘He just doesn’t want to sell to us.’

‘Because of Dion?’

‘Because of our name,’ Thanos conceded with a nod. ‘And because I am, quote, “a sex-mad bachelor”.’

At this, Leonidas laughed, despite the bad mood that had been following him for weeks. ‘He’s got you bang to rights there.’

Thanos grinned. ‘Hey, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being sex-mad. We can’t all live the life of a saint like you.’

Leonidas’s expression shifted as though he’d been punched in the gut. He was far more sinner than saint, but he had no intention of sharing his slip-up with his brother.

‘Offer him more money,’ Leonidas suggested, cutting to the crux of the matter.

‘It’s not about money. This is his grandparents’ legacy. They built the company out of “love”,’ he said the word with sardonic derision, ‘and he won’t sell it to someone who’s constantly in the headlines for all the wrong reasons.’

Leonidas shrugged. ‘Then let it go.’

‘You’re kidding, right? I told you what this means to me? And who else is interested in buying it?’

Leonidas regarded his brother thoughtfully. ‘Yes. Luca Monato. And I know you two hate each other. But this is just a company. Let him have it, buy its competition and drive him into the ground. Far more satisfying.’

‘It might come to that. But I’m not done yet.’

‘What else can you do? I hate to point out the obvious, but Kosta’s right. You’re a man whore, Thanos.’

Thanos laughed. ‘And proud. You could take a couple of pages out of my book. In fact, why don’t you? I’ve got a heap of women you’d like. Why don’t you call one of them? Take her for dinner and then back to your place…’

Leonidas turned away from his brother, looking out of the window of the limousine as Rome passed in a beautiful, dusk-filled blur. He thought of Hannah, his body tightening, his chest feeling as if it were filling with acid. ‘No.’

‘You cannot live the rest of your life like this,’ Thanos insisted quietly, his tone serious now, their banter forgotten. There weren’t many people on earth who could speak plainly to the great Leonidas Stathakis, but Thanos was one of them, and always had been. Side by side they’d dealt with their father’s failings, his criminality, his convictions, the ruin he’d brought on their fortune and the Stathakis name.

Side by side, they’d rebuilt it all, better than before, returning their family’s once-great wealth—many times over. They were half-brothers, only three months apart in age, and they’d been raised more as twins since Thanos was abandoned on their doorstep by his mother at the age of eight. Their insight into one another was unique.

Leonidas understood Thanos as nobody else did, and vice versa. Leonidas knew what it had done to Thanos, his mother abandoning him, choosing to desert him rather than find a way to manage his dominant character traits.

‘What would you do?’ Leonidas drawled, but there was tension in the question. Tension and despair.

Thanos expelled a sigh; the car stopped. Thousands of screaming fans were outside on the red carpet, here to catch a glimpse of the A-list Hollywood stars who’d featured in the film of the premiere they were attending.

‘I can’t say. I get it—you miss Amy. What happened to her and Brax—do you think I don’t feel that? You think I don’t want to reach into that prison cell and strangle our father with my bare hands for what he exposed you to? But, Leonidas, you cannot serve her by living half a life. Do you think Amy would have wanted this for you?’

Leonidas swept his dark eyes shut, the panic in his gut churning, the sense of self-disgust almost impossible to manage. ‘Don’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Do not speak to me of Amy’s wishes.’

But Thanos wasn’t to be deterred. ‘She loved you. She would want you to live the rest of your life as you did before. Be happy. Be fulfilled.’

‘You think I deserve that?’

‘It was our father’s crimes that killed her, not yours.’

‘But if she hadn’t met me…’ Leonidas insisted, not finishing the statement—not needing to. Thanos knew; he understood.

‘It’s been four years,’ Thanos repeated softly. ‘You have mourned and grieved and honoured them both. It’s time to move forward.’

But Leonidas shook his head, his time on Chrysá Vráchia teaching him one thing and one thing only: it would never be time. He had failed Amy during their marriage, in many ways; he wouldn’t fail her now.

‘Tuna salad, please,’ Hannah said over the counter, scanning the lunch selections with a strange sense of distaste, despite the artful arrangements. In the four months since arriving in London and taking up a maternity-leave contract as legal secretary to a renowned litigator, Hannah had grabbed lunch from this same store almost every day.

Her boss liked the chicken sandwiches and she the tuna. She waited in the queue then grabbed their lunches and made her way back to the office as quickly as she could.

There was a wait for the lift and she stifled a yawn, sipping her coffee. Her stomach flipped. She frowned. The milk tasted funny.

‘Great,’ she said with a sigh, dropping it into a waste bin. Just what she needed—spoiled milk.

But when she got to her desk and unpeeled her sandwich, she had the strangest sense that she might vomit. She took one bite of the sandwich and then stood up, rushing to the facilities. She just made it.

It was as she hovered over the porcelain bowl, trying to work out whether she was sick or suffering from food poisoning, that dates began to hover in her mind. Months of dates, in fact, without her regular cycle.

Her skin was damp with perspiration as she straightened, staring at the tiled wall with a look of absolute shock.

No way.

No way could she be pregnant. Her hand curved over her stomach—it was still flat. Except her jeans had felt tight on the weekend, and she’d put it down to the sedentary job.

But what if it wasn’t just a little weight gain? What if she was growing thick around the midsection because she was carrying Leonidas Stathakis’s baby?

She gasped audibly, pushing out of the cubicle, and ran the taps, staring at herself in the mirror as the ice water ran over her fingertips.

Surely it wasn’t true? It was just a heap of coincidences. She had a tummy bug and her weight gain was attributable to the fact she was chained to a desk for twelve-hour days. That could also account for her recent exhaustion.

That was all.

Nonetheless, when she left the office much later that day, still feeling unwell, Hannah ducked into a pharmacy around the corner from the Earl’s Court flat she’d rented a room in.

She’d do a pregnancy test. There was no harm in that—it was a simple precaution.

In the privacy of her the bathroom, she unsealed the box, read the instructions, and did precisely what they said. She set an alarm on her phone, to tell her when two minutes was up.

She didn’t need it, though.

It took fewer than twenty seconds for a second line to appear.

A strong, vibrant pink, showing that she was, indeed, pregnant.

With Leonidas Stathakis’s baby.

‘Oh, jeez.’ She sat down on the toilet lid, and stared at the back of the door. Her hand curved over her stomach and she closed her eyes. His face appeared in her mind, unbidden, unwanted, and unflinchingly and just as he had been for months in her dreams, she saw him naked, his strong body and handsome face so close to her that she could breathe him in, except he was just a phantom, a ghost.

But not for long.

It shouldn’t have happened. Despite the fact she’d torn his note into a thousand pieces and left it scattered over the marble bench-top of the luxurious penthouse kitchen, his words were indelibly imprinted into her mind.

Well, regardless of his regret, and the fact he hadn’t respected her enough to say that to her face, she’d have to see him again.

There was nothing for it—she had to face this reality, to tell him the truth.

And she would—when she was ready.

Hannah checked the name against the piece of paper she clutched in her hand, looking around the marina with a frown on her face.

There was some event on, Capri Sailing Week or some such, and the whole marina was bursting with life. Enormous boats—or ‘superyachts’, as she’d been told they were called—lined up like swans, so graceful and imposing in the evening sun.

She knew from the search she’d done on the Internet that Stathakis Corp owned a boat that took part in the event. She also knew that Leonidas and his brother came to the event annually on their own ‘superyacht’. Photos had shown her a suntanned Leonidas relaxing on the deck, casting his eye over the race.

She’d closed out of the images as quickly as she could.

She didn’t need to see him again. Not like that.

This was going to be quick, like ripping off a plaster. She’d tell him she was pregnant—not that she’d really need words. At more than five months along, she was quite visibly carrying a baby.

She’d been so tempted just to call him. To deliver the news over the phone and leave it at that, just as he’d written her a note instead of having the courage to face her the next morning.

But it was cowardly and she wasn’t that. They were having a baby together—she couldn’t ignore the ramifications of their night together and nor could he. At least she knew that, no matter what happened next, he’d regretted that night.

He’d regretted it, he wished that it hadn’t happened, and he’d treated her with complete disdain and disrespect, skulking out in the middle of the night, leaving a note! It wasn’t as if she’d have begged him for more—they’d both agreed to it being one night only. It was the salt in the wound of him vanishing, not even bothering to say goodbye.