Modern Romance March 2020 Books 5-8

His name was on her lips and he paused on the stairs to drop the swiftest kiss upon her, as if to answer her, and then he was taking her into his room, lowering her down upon the bed as gently as if she were fragile porcelain.

He stood back, and in the dim light she realised he was swiftly, urgently peeling his clothes from himself, exercising the most ruthless self-control as he did so. Then, gloriously, he was coming down beside her, and whilst her eyes widened instinctively as the lean, naked strength of his body was revealed to her—along with the evidence of his desire for her—suddenly she had to turn her head away, as if it were a sight too much for her. She could feel heat beating up in her, like a kindled furnace racing flames through her veins.

The weight of his body beside her dipped the mattress and her body rolled to his as his hand reached out to clasp hers, while the other hand gently, inexorably, turned her head towards him.

He was propped on one elbow, looking down at her. ‘I can’t hide my desire from you,’ he said. His voice was low, intent. ‘I want you so much… I ache for you…’

His strong fingers were warm on her cheek as she gazed up at him, the breath tight in her lungs, her heart thumping beneath her ripened breasts, which were straining at the material of her top. Her own evidence of her aching desire for him…

‘And now, my most beautiful, beautiful bride, we can share all there is between us—all our desire.’

He paused, and she saw again the absolute self-control he was exerting. She said his name, and as she did so it was as if that iron self-control was released. With a rasp in his throat, he brought his mouth down on hers again, and this time there was no urgency, only slow, sensual desire designed to arouse, to draw from her with every silken glide the quickening of her own desire.

It melted through her, feeding the hunger that now rose in her—a hunger not just for his mouth, his lips and tongue, but for so much more of him. For all of him.

But to have all of him—all of that powerful, glorious body beside her—she must divest herself of what separated them. Restlessly, still beneath his silken mouth, she moved her legs, as if to free herself of the folds of her dress. Then his hand was on her thigh, performing that very office for her, and with a sudden movement, a low laugh, he had lifted himself from her, flipping her over with an effortless twist.

‘You must allow me to do what it will be my exquisite pleasure to do,’ he informed her, and his voice was nothing more than a husk, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

And allow him she did. She let his hand move to the zip at the back of her dress and slide it slowly, achingly, down, exposing the graceful curve of her spine. With the slightest movement of his hand he had also unfastened her bra, she realised, and now, as she gave a gasp, he was peeling both dress and bra from her supine body, casually lifting her hips to allow him to slide it from her completely.

She gave another gasp, for somehow her panties had disappeared with the other clothes, and with burning consciousness she realised that she was lying there, her body naked to his view and to the sensuous stroke of his fingertips…

A sigh went through her. A sigh of bliss and pleasure as slowly, making indulgent trails and whorls, he explored the contours of her back, from the delicate nape of her neck, down the long elegant sculpture of her spine, to the ripe roundness of her hips and the sweet mound below.

She felt her fingers sink into the bedding, heard herself give a long, languorous sigh, heard his low, husky laugh as she did so.

Yet even as she sighed at the sweet, sensuous pleasure of his touch, she knew it was not enough. A hunger was building in her, an ache, a longing… A restlessness… She felt her legs moving, scissoring, her hips flexing.

In instinctive answer to her need, Leon rolled her over again, and with another gasp she realised she was gazing up at him now, her body exposed to his. She heard him say something in Greek—a low growl whose words she did not know but whose meaning she did.

A kind of glory filled her as she lay there. For the very first time in her life a man was gazing upon her nakedness, and she knew that her nakedness was for him alone, only for him. Only for Leon…

She lifted her arms to loop them around his neck—but not to draw him down to her, only to raise her breasts to him, ripe and swollen, their peaks cresting. She was offering herself to him. And his mouth was lowering to them, his lips coming around one and then the other, and the pleasure of it consumed her, made her cry out.

Her spine was arching now, as his hands shaped the swell of her breasts, feasting on them. There was an urgency now in his movements, in his mouth as its touch drew from her a quickening of her flesh. She moved again, that hunger, that restlessness consuming her. She wanted more…and yet more. She wanted everything—everything he could give her, bestow upon her.

She felt his body lower to hers—felt with yet another gasp how strong and powerful his manhood was, pressing upon her. Instinctively, with a knowledge as old as time itself, she slackened her thighs, opening her body to his. He was kissing her mouth now, feasting upon it as he had upon her ripened breasts. She felt her hips lifting to his in invitation, with a hunger that came from the very core of her being.

And yet he drew back, though with a little cry she tried to hold him.

‘Not yet—’ That rasp of absolute self-control was in his voice again. ‘Not yet,’ he urged again, his mouth against hers, ‘or I will hurt you. And I would give all the world not to!’ He brushed his mouth against hers. ‘Trust me—trust me on this.’ There was a smile in his voice now. ‘Be patient…’

‘I can’t!’ she cried, her voice breathless, infused with the urgency that was filling her body. ‘I can’t! I want you so much, Leon—I didn’t know… I didn’t realise how this would be!’

Her legs moved again, that restless hunger consuming her. Her hand grasped at his hip, seeking to draw him down on her again, to feel the hard pleasure of his body upon hers, to open herself to him, to his possession.

But her restless movement was stilled. His palm was on her abdomen, splayed out, holding her still.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘It will be better for you this way—trust me.’

There was a command in his voice, but somewhere deep within herself she did not mind. She wanted to give herself to him, she ached to do so with all her being, but he had asked her to trust him and trust him she would.

And then, as his palm slid downwards into the vee of her thighs, she realised that everything up till this moment had been only the hors d’oeuvre before the banquet of the senses he was giving her.

Her hand spasmed on his shoulder and her head fell back, a gasp coming from her that silenced all that had come before. ‘Oh, sweet heaven…’

Had she spoken aloud? Perhaps… For he had given that low, seductive laugh again, and dropped a soft, sensual kiss on her mouth.

‘Sweet heaven,’ he said huskily, ‘is exactly where I am going to take you.’

Her eyes fluttered shut. Sensations so exquisite she could not believe the human body could experience them quivered through her as his skilled fingertips sought and found her tender folds. She felt her spine arch again, heard low, helpless gasps break from her as the pleasure he engendered mounted and mounted and mounted, until it was unbearable…just unbearable…

‘Leon… I can’t… I can’t…’

The soft kiss came again. ‘Then don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t fight it, my most beautiful, beautiful one. This…this is for you…’

One last sweet touch, one last, sweet pressure, one last pang of unbearably exquisite hunger…and then flame sheeted through her. An inferno of flame, lifting and burning her, consuming her, turning her body to liquid fire. She was threshing her limbs, moving her head upon the pillow, her spine arching like a bow. She cried out in glory and in wonder, in an ecstasy whose existence she had never even glimpsed. Her body was pulsing, convulsing…

And then, with a sudden movement, Leon’s body was over hers, fusing with hers, and they were becoming one flesh, melded together, and he was surging within her, strongly and powerfully. A cry broke from him, deep and low, and her hands clawed over his shoulders. His hands snaked around her hips, lifting her to him, and her thighs locked around him. He threw his head back, the powerful sinews of his neck exposed, the pulse at his throat surging with the intensity of his release.

Time stopped. Eternity started. An eternity of ecstasy that brought sobs from her throat.

Her arms cradled him to her as ecstasy turned to weeping, emotion overpowering her, overwhelming her. He was rocking her in his arms, saying her name over and over again, and still she sobbed.

He drew back from her, though she tried to keep him with her.

‘Ellie, have I hurt you? Have I hurt you?’ Horror was in his voice.

She did not answer—could not. She only pulled him back to her, and he let her…let her pull his head onto her shoulder, let her arms hug him to her as if she would never let him go. And as her body slowly stilled he realised, with a flood of gratitude and relief, that her tears were not from pain…

His arms came around her, turning her so that it was now she who lay cradled in his arms. He hauled her to him, stroking his hand down the long, tangled tresses of her hair, his voice soothing her, calming her, quietening her as her trembling body eased and stilled.

And still he stroked her hair, murmuring the words that she needed to hear and he needed to speak. Until her body was quiet in his embrace and the sweet lassitude of passion spent swept over them both and sleep possessed them—as they had possessed each other in the glory and ecstasy of their union.

CHAPTER TEN

SLOWLY, ELLIE MOVED. Rousing herself from the depths of a slumber so profound it seemed to have taken her to a distant world. Slowly, she lifted heavy eyelids, blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the uncurtained window. The pillow her head was resting on seemed to be flexing, shifting position, and she realised with a rush of dawning consciousness that it was not a pillow, but a shoulder… Leon’s shoulder.

He moved again, lifted his head now, and his lips brushed hers softly and tenderly. ‘Good morning…’

There was a smile in the murmur, and a smile in the deep, dark eyes pouring into hers. And in the ordinary words of greeting there was the sweetness of intimacy that brought memory rushing in upon her.

She did not answer him—could not. Could only lie there, gazing up at him, quite helpless to do anything else. Not wanting to do anything else. Her heart was rich and full, and she was in the only place in the whole world she wanted to be! In Leon’s arms.

How wonderful he’d made it for her—and how right, how absolutely right it had been, that it was Leon who had taken her on that journey she had never taken before. Her eyes glowed with all she felt.

‘Now, that,’ Leon murmured, ‘is a look worth getting up for in the morning!’ He made his voice light, with laughter in it—but there was a lot more than laughter.

No woman had ever gazed at him like that, with everything in her eyes…

He felt a warmth start to fill him—as if… A thought came to him, strange but powerful, as if something frozen deep inside him was thawing. He found himself wondering at it… It was as if something he had held on to for too long—so many years—was melting away from him. But what it was he did not know.

He had known it would be special between them—his desire for her had been so instant, so overpowering from the moment he’d first seen her—but more than that it had been special because of what she’d told him. That he would be the very first to show her all that could be between a man and woman.

But is it even more than that?

His eyes searched her face…so beautiful. Her eyes were gazing up at him, and he felt again that strange sense of something thawing deep inside him. It was disquieting, disturbing, and he was glad when a smile broke across her face, dispelling those thoughts he could give no name to, no reason for, and she gave an answering laugh to his, her eyes warm upon him.

He dropped a kiss on the tip of her delicate nose. ‘Time for breakfast,’ he told her.

For himself, he would have lingered all morning here in bed with her, but he knew he must not indulge himself—he had been as gentle as he could with her, and he must be considerate still.

‘I could demolish—what is it you call it?—a full English!’

Which was exactly what he did some twenty minutes later—a whole pile of bacon and sausages and fried eggs and tomatoes and mushrooms, and a mountain of fried bread—out on the sunny deck, watched by Ellie with a smile of doting indulgence on her face as she delicately crunched toast and marmalade.

Replete, finally, Leon pushed his empty plate away. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m ready to start the day. What shall we do?’

He knew exactly what he wanted to do, but that was out of the question. Time, instead, for some more diversion. Energetic diversion, preferably.

‘Shall we take the rowing boat out again?’ he ventured.

‘Oh, yes, please!’ came her immediate answer, her face lighting up. ‘And another picnic lunch on that little islet?’

‘Whatever you want,’ Leon promised her. ‘Absolutely whatever you want…’

His gaze rested on her, warm and golden.

My princess bride—my very own princess bride! Made mine at last.

In the days that followed, in the same easy-going way of those days they’d spent together already, the intimacy of passion and desire that he had craved—as she, too, did now, he thought—they seemed to be bathed in a kind of perpetual golden light.

Which was odd, really, for the sunny weather they’d had since the wedding had broken, and rain swept in from the west, drumming on the lake, on the deck, on the windows of the cottage.

But Leon was glad of it—grateful for it.

For now, indoors, hunkered down by a roaring fire, toasting muffins on long forks or lolling on the sofa, drinking champagne, their arms around each other, watching rom-coms and thrillers and anything else that took their fancy on the TV, it really was as if the rest of the world simply no longer existed.

And that suited him fine—just fine.

Oh, soon he would be showing Ellie off to the world—his radiant princess bride!—but right now all he wanted was simply to revel in having her entirely to himself. This was new to him, he knew, being constantly with a single woman. And it felt good—very good indeed.

As he gazed down at her now, snuggled up to him on the sofa as the rain lashed down outside, he felt again that same strange feeling that had come to him as he’d woken that first morning with her in his arms, as if something were thawing deep inside him. And with it came that same feeling of disquiet…

Deliberately, to dispel that strange feeling, he bent his head to brush her mouth with his, letting his lips glide sensuously, arousingly, across hers. He felt her mouth respond, move against his, deepening the kiss. His hand closed over the sweet mound of her ripening breast and he felt his own body quicken…

Making love, he discovered, beside an open fire, on a soft deep hearthrug, was a blissfully pleasurable experience, sating him completely…banishing all disquieting thoughts.

He kept them banished—they had no place in his marriage. Not in the glittering marriage he had made to crown the achievements of his life, obtaining for himself a wife whose royal blood flowed in the veins of the most beautifully alluring woman he had ever known, whose embrace fired in him an intensity of desire that flared between them every time…

And it continued to do so, just as intensely, in the weeks that followed, even after they’d left the haven of their honeymoon cottage and set off into the wider world again. A world which welcomed them with open arms and showered invitations down upon them as they embarked upon an exhaustive round of every fashionable high-society event in the social calendar so that he could be seen with her.

He revelled in it all, and the radiantly beautiful Princess Elizsaveta—his wife, his bride!—made an entrance wherever she went, en grande tenue.

They were photographed and fêted, deluged with invitations to balls and dances, to house parties and yacht parties, beach parties and polo parties—every kind of glittering gathering of the highest of high society. They had become the most glamorous, fashionable newlyweds in Europe and beyond.

It was a world away from the life Ellie had lived with either of her parents, in very different ways—whether with her mother, accompanying her stepfather on location, or with her father at the royal palace in Karylya. But with Leon at her side she gave herself to it all—to the non-stop hectic whirl of endless socialising, dressed in couture gowns, adorned with jewellery and every chic accessory she possessed. To make herself beautiful for Leon. To dazzle the world for him…

Leon.

Her gaze went to him now, as they strolled companionably along the terrace above the marina in Monte Carlo. They’d just come from a lavish bash on one of the multi-million-pound yachts moored below, and the hour was late.

She felt desire quicken within her. How effortlessly fabulous he looked, as he always did, in a superbly fitting tuxedo, moulding his tall, muscled body, with his loosened tie giving him a raffish look, as did the edge of regrowth along his jawline.

Her stomach gave a little flip, anticipating what would come when they were back in their hotel suite.

The intensity of her desire—the desire his touch always unleashed in her—washed through her. It had swept her away—he had swept her away!—into a world she had never known, of physical desire and sensual bliss.

She slipped her hand into his, rejoicing in the strength of his clasp, the warmth of his fingers meshing with hers. She was eager to get back to their suite. To have Leon all to herself, to take him into her arms and to feel that sweet, eager desire released in her…

But even as she felt the rush of desire flushing through her, something stayed her.

What they had, she and Leon, was a comfortable camaraderie in the day and a burning ecstasy in the night. By day, friends. By night…lovers. Lovers fuelled by an intensity of passion that burned between them without quenching.

A sense of restlessness possessed her suddenly. These weeks with Leon had been wonderful, an adventure she had embraced as they had travelled across Europe and beyond to wherever the jet set roamed and gathered, living it up by day and by night, dressed to the nines whatever the time of day, looking her very best for Leon. But it was a rootless existence, staying in hotels or other people’s homes. Always with people all around them.

She felt a longing to be done with it—at least for a while. To have Leon to herself again, as she had on their honeymoon. Simple days…and searing nights.

Because if she did—if she had Leon entirely to herself—then perhaps…

Perhaps something more could grow between them—something more than friendship and desire…

Is that what I want? More than what I have now with Leon?

The question plucked at her, seeking an answer. An answer she could not give.

She broke off her thoughts. Leon had paused in their strolling, and was looking out over the marina. She welcomed the diversion from her sudden restlessness.

‘So, what do you think—shall we hire a yacht for ourselves?’ He turned to glance at her.

The idea beguiled her. She pointed to a yacht that was considerably smaller than most of the others, but looked leaner and faster. It also looked as if it wouldn’t need a crew.

We could be alone together on it and sail off into the sunset, she thought wistfully. Away from all the crowds and the people and the parties. We could be alone together again, the way we were on our honeymoon…just Leon and me…

A yearning filled her to have Leon all to herself again, but he was speaking.

‘Sure you don’t want that one?’ he quizzed, pointing at a mega-yacht lit up like a Christmas tree, the size of a floating hotel, dwarfing the other yachts and sporting not one, but two helidecks and three underlit swimming pools.

She gave a gurgle of laughter, knowing he wasn’t serious, and glad to have her unexpectedly pensive mood lifted by humour. She made some archly disparaging remark about ‘vulgar oligarchs’ and left it at that.

Leon chuckled and drew her away, strolling with her hand in hand back to their nearby hotel.

His mood was good—very good.

As ever, Ellie had been fêted today, as she always was, wherever he took her, and he’d loved seeing her the cynosure of all eyes, her beauty and natural charm radiant. His glance was warm as he looked upon her in her ivory evening gown, diamonds around her slender throat. How incredibly beautiful she was—and how absolutely and totally his!

The two months since their honeymoon had just flashed by, in a whirl of pleasure and travel and hedonistic enjoyment. His vast wealth was being managed by the highly paid professionals he’d appointed, and overseen by himself, so all he had to do now with his money was enjoy it.

With Ellie at his side. His perfect princess bride.

How right I was to marry her—how perfect she is for me!

It was a now-familiar refrain that came to him again, in the small hours of that night, as she lay in his arms in the sensuous aftermath of their slaked desire. This marriage he had made so deliberately, to set the seal on his achievements, was proving even better than he’d anticipated! They were good together, he and his princess bride—comfortably companionable by day, and by night…

Oh, by night she exceeded all his hopes and intentions! He had known from that very first exchange of glances across the penthouse floor lobby, which had signalled their physical responsiveness to each other, that when the time came to claim his bride how good—how very good!—it would be. But the reality had been way, way better!

He eased his hand over the soft roundedness of her hip and felt sleep beckon, his thoughts faintly flickering. Was it because he had been the very first man to lead her into the pleasures of intimacy? Or because she was no passing affair but the woman who was his wife, his bride, his dazzling Princess, prized above all other women?

The questions drifted across his slowing thoughts but no answers came. There was only one certainty—the one he lived by and would always live by.

He would never deceive himself—deceive her—by calling it by a name that was nothing but a delusion, destructive and dangerous.

No, what drew him to her—and she to him—was desire. Honest and true, burning between them. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly. This was all he wanted—desire, and the slaking of it, with his beautiful, passionate bride. Nothing more.

In his close embrace, her body languorous and sated from the bliss and pleasure still throbbing through her, Ellie felt her hectic heart rate slow and sleep start to creep over her. As it did so, she felt memory start to play in her drowsy thoughts. The memory of how she’d stood on the terrace, overlooking the marina, wanting to sail off into the sunset with Leon…only with him…the man she desired so, so much…