Greek Mavericks: Seduced Into The Greek's World

What he was offering her was a dream come true. All of her girlish fantasies come to life. It was what she had hoped would happen after their wedding two years ago. That wedding night that never actually eventuated.

Two years a wife, and she was still a virgin. Pining after a man who had held her heart as long as she could remember. It was enough to make her want to cry just thinking about it. Enough to make her want to curl up in a ball and wail for just how sorrowful a situation it was. She had wanted him for as long as she could remember, and she had been denied him. She had married him. And she had never once pushed. Not for anything. Even when she had decided that she would divorce him she had immediately rushed to his side the moment she had heard about his injury. Because what else could she do? Leon held all of her heart. There was no denying that.

It was why she had to divorce him even at the expense of the house if she wanted to retain her sanity. Because as long as she lived in hope she would never move on with her life.

And here he was, standing there, offering her hope. Offering her everything she had ever wanted to hear.

She just wasn’t strong enough to say no. She had been strong, for so long, in so many ways. She had done her best to be strong for her father when her mother had died, even if he had done his best to hold it all together for her.

She had stayed strong in the face of his illness, in the face of his impending death. She had stayed strong even as he had asked her to marry Leon, so that he would know that she was protected. Even while the very thought of entering into a loveless union with the man who held every last piece of her soul killed her by inches.

She could not sacrifice anymore. Not for one more moment.

Leon was offering to make this marriage work. He wanted her to be his wife in every way. How could she deny him?

How could she deny herself?

This time, she was the one who took a step forward. Moving toward him. Her heart was in her throat, pounding, making her feel light-headed, dizzy. But even so, she took another step toward him, and then another.

He was the one who closed the distance. He was the one who ran out of patience. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly up against his body, a feral growl on his lips. She could feel him. All of him. His heat, his hardness, the intense thrust of his arousal up against her hip.

Oh, how she wanted him. There were no words for the depth of her desire. For the depth of her longing, her need.

It wove itself around her body, like the vines that overtook the Tanner house, creeping ever higher until it threatened to consume her. Need wrapped itself around her throat, made it impossible for her to breathe. Impossible for her to think.

“Are you afraid of me, Rose?” His voice was so soft, so tender and so full of concern, it made her own heart ache in response.

“Of course not.”

“You look at me as though I am a monster of some kind.”

“Not you. This thing between us. All of this. It feels like a monster. Like something that could consume us both.”

He laughed, the sound rusty, hard. “Yes, I agree.” He dragged his thumb along her cheekbone, his gaze filled with wonder. “Has it always been like this?”

“For me,” she said, the word strangled. “For me it has always been like this.”

“I think it has been for me, too.”

She laughed. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“Of course I can. Just as I know I am generous.”

“I already told you we have differing opinions on that.”

“Which leads me to believe that I perhaps demonstrate the things I feel differently than people might usually. But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel them. This is an old feeling, Rose. I know it is. It’s as much a part of me as my blood. There’s nothing foreign about it. Nothing unusual. It simply is. And much like any other part of myself I’m not sure that you could remove it without destroying me completely.”

“You don’t say things like this,” she said, feeling almost desperate to pull away now. This was too much. Because this wasn’t him. Not really. This was not the kind but distant man she had always known.

The Leon that she knew did not feel this for her. If he did, he would have touched her a long time ago. If he did, he wouldn’t spend his nights in bed with other women.

But she couldn’t say any of that. Not in this moment. Not now. And she couldn’t pull away, either. Because no matter how strong the compulsion was, it could not begin to compete with the desire to stay in his arms.

“Let’s not talk,” she said. “Please, kiss me.”

He didn’t hesitate. He lowered his head, closing the distance between them. And she ignited. All of the need, all of the desire she had felt out on the terrace was magnified now. Magnified by the feel of his large hands spanning her bare waist, of her nipples pressing against the rough fabric of his shirt. Magnified by the fact that she was utterly and completely enslaved to him now. The fact that she was not trying to fight it anymore, even for a moment.

If this was a war, she was conquered.

This was wrong. But she didn’t care. She was doing the wrong thing. And she was doing it for herself. She had spent a great many years trying to do the right thing. And she had gotten nothing in return.

She wasn’t afraid of being wrong. She didn’t even feel guilty. She simply felt exhilaration. Freedom. Here she was in the arms of the man she had always wanted, and she would think of nothing else.

She had always imagined that the moment Leon touched her he would know that she loved him. That she would betray every part of herself if he so much as swept his hand over her cheek. But this was different. So different than how she had ever envisioned it. Because he assumed that she loved him. He also assumed that he loved her.

But because of that...there were no secrets to keep. This was no revelation for him. And there was nothing inside of herself to protect. It made her feel strong. It made her feel not quite so vulnerable.

It made her feel not so much like the neglected virgin bride she’d been.

She pressed her hands against his chest, reveling in the feel of him, in the hardness of his muscles, the evidence of his strength. Before she could think it through, before she could stop herself, she was working the buttons on his shirt, separating the fabric, brushing her fingertips over his bare skin.

She had been struck by his beauty the day he had walked into the library without a shirt. And now she was touching him.

Her fingers shook as she pressed them against his skin, as she traced the definition of his muscles, his coarse chest hair abrading her fingertips as she continued to explore him. He was everything a man should be. But then, of course he was. Her desire for men was shaped around him. Her needs had never been generic. Her need had always been for him. Always and only.

He held the back of her head with his hand, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving deep as he tasted her slowly, leisurely. His other hand slid low to cover her bottom, his fingers pressing deep into her flesh. It was a possessive hold. It was not a hold of a man who was unsure of what he wanted. He wanted her.

It didn’t matter what he had wanted in the past. This was now. And he was choosing her.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, pouring everything into the kiss.

She didn’t know what she was doing. She had no practical skill in the art of seduction. She had nothing more than her passion. And she doubted there was a woman alive who felt as passionately about Leon Carides as she did. She doubted there was a woman alive who felt this passionately about any man. This was nearly fifteen years in the making for her. And what she lacked in practical skill she more than made up for in desire.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, marveling at the way he was constructed. She doubted there was a man alive so perfectly formed. At least, there was no other man alive so perfectly created for her. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, did so in order to keep the tears from falling. Nerves, emotions, threatened to strangle her. This was desire like she’d never known existed. In the abstract, wanting him was something she could control.

Late at night in her bed, when she imagined being with him, when she imagined him touching her skin, she dictated the movements. She controlled how fast things went, how quickly she brought herself to completion.

In reality, she controlled nothing of what he did. And her need was a blazing wildfire, burning out of control. It was terrifying. Exhilarating. Intoxicating. It was so much more than she had ever imagined it could be.

But it was moving far faster than she had anticipated. The hand that had been resting on her bottom had now dipped down between her thighs, teasing her slick folds, ramping up her need until she could hardly breathe. If he moved his hand just a little bit higher, he would push her over the edge completely. With nothing more than a simple touch, a simple kiss, she knew that she would lose her control.

And so what if she did? She was past the point of caring. In fact, she embraced it. This was what she wanted. Wild. Beyond desire. Beyond shame.

It was as though everything between them had been burned to the ground. As though they had been given a chance to start again. No one else was given this chance. They were. This was for them. This was for her. This was her chance to make a new memory of herself. Even if he did remember everything in the past, he would remember this, too.

In this moment, she could create a new image for herself. He would finally see her as a woman, because he could no longer remember her as that plain, bookish girl she’d been.

If it was that that stood between them, if it was his affection for her father, whatever it was, that was lost here. Obliterated. Gone.

There was nothing but Leon. Nothing but Rose. Nothing but the need that was sparking between them, hot and out of control.

He growled, sliding his hand down to her thigh, hooking her leg up over his hip, then the other, bringing the damp part of her up against the hardness of his arousal, sending a streak of pleasure through her body. She gasped, and he began to carry her out of the room, carry her toward the bed.

“The bath,” she said, feeling dazed.

“I suppose we don’t want to cause a flood,” he said, depositing her at the center of the mattress and abandoning her as he went to turn the water off.

She had a moment to rethink then. A moment to gather her thoughts. A moment to flee.

She stayed where she was.

He appeared a moment later, filling the doorway, his broad shoulders, heavily muscled chest and narrow waist so utterly masculine, so completely captivating, it stole her breath.

And then there was the hard press of his erection against the front of his jeans. The absolute and complete evidence that he truly did want her.

She bit her lip, nerves threatening to swamp her.

“There’s that look again,” he said, his tone gentle. “Please don’t be afraid of me, agape.” He came to stand beside the bed, his hands on the snap of his jeans. “I only want to make you feel good. I want to make this a memory we share. I want... I want you to feel close to me.”

She tried to speak. She tried to say that she wanted that, too. But she already did feel closer to him than she ever had. But she couldn’t form the words. She couldn’t make her voice work. Couldn’t force anything through the tightness of her throat.

“Sometimes I wonder if you have lost your memory, as well,” he said, undoing his jeans then drawing the zipper down slowly.

Her heart nearly stopped. “I haven’t. It’s just that... You’re different. This is different.”

“I am sorry.” He pushed his jeans down his narrow hips, exposing his rigid arousal. He was so beautiful. So rampantly masculine. So...large.

“For what?” She managed to scrape the words past her dry throat.

“For the way I was.”

He joined her on the bed then, closing the distance between them, drawing her naked body up against the length of his. His erection was hard, so very hot against her skin. It was unfamiliar. It was wonderful. He ran his hands over her curves, warm, large, soothing. She found that she wasn’t as nervous now.

She just wanted. She was filled with a restless, overpowering ache that was threatening to unravel her completely. If she didn’t have more of him. More of this.

“What do you like?” he asked, his voice a rich, deep whisper that whisked along her veins.

“You,” she said, the deepest and starkest truth there was.

“Surely you must like something specific.”

“Everything you do. Everything you are. That’s what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” The admission poured from deep inside of her. From deep within her soul. And she couldn’t be embarrassed.

“You are too easy on me, I think. I think you should perhaps make me grovel. I think you should perhaps make me beg.” He leaned in, pressing a hot openmouthed kiss to her neck.

“I’m the one that’s about to beg,” she said, her voice breathless.

“There’s no need. I am at your mercy,” he said, “your willing slave.” He kissed a line down her neck, down to the curve of her breast, his breath hot across her sensitized nipples. Then he traced the outline of one tightened bud with his tongue before sucking her in deep. She gasped, arching up off of the bed, sensation shooting through her like an arrow, hitting its target unerringly.

“You are very sensitive,” he said, his voice rough. A smile curved his lips. “And do not ask how I know you are particularly. I simply do.”

She had not been about to ask him anything, if only because she felt as though her voice could no longer form words. Her brain certainly couldn’t muster up the amount of cells required to say anything. Indeed, sentence formation was beyond her. He had transformed her, transformed her into a creature of feeling and needing. Who could do nothing but simply wait for the next sensation to bombard her.

Still, she managed to speak. “This has only made your arrogance worse, I hope you know.”

“I am a terrible trial to you,” he said, a smile curving his lips. “I can see. But I feel you enjoy my arrogance.”

He transferred his attention to her other breast, repeating the motion that he had done with the first, sending another direct shot of pleasure straight through her system. She shifted, parting her legs, rubbing herself against his thigh, seeking some kind of release from the pressure that was building inside her.

“So impatient,” he said.

“I am,” she panted. “If you could kindly move a little bit faster.”

“I only have this one chance to make a memory of our first time again. If I never get my memories back this is all I will have. I intend to take my time.”

He licked and kissed his way down the tender skin of her stomach, moving to the vulnerable flesh on her inner thigh before sweeping his tongue right through her slick folds. She cried out, sensation racking her body, wave after wave of release shuddering through her. And when it was over, she was panting, shaking and ready for more. Ready for everything.

“Leon,” she said, feeling desperate. “I need you.”

“I’m not finished,” he said, lapping at her again, his fingers teasing the entrance to her body.

“I want to explore you,” she said. “I want... Everything you did to me I want to do to you.”

She wanted to taste every masculine inch of him. To glory over the way he was made. To revel in a fantasy long awaited. Come to scorching life finally, at long last.

“No. It is my turn.”

And before she could protest he worked a finger deep inside her, continuing to tease her with his wicked tongue as he did. This sensation, the penetration was new for her. She loved it. Loved the feel of having him inside her. He added a second finger, stretching her gently as he continued to tease her clitoris with his tongue.

He couldn’t know that she needed this. That she needed this introduction, this moment of preparation. And yet somehow he seemed to sense it.

Pleasure built all over again, and she found herself close to the edge once more. Needing him. Needing all of him.

“Not enough,” she said, panting.

“You want me inside of you?” he asked, his voice slurred as though he had finally had that drink he’d been craving for more than a week. As though she were the alcohol that he had so long desired. As though he was drunk on her, on her body. On desire.

“Yes,” she said.

He rose up, positioning himself between her thighs, kissing her lips deeply as he tested the entrance to her body with the blunt head of his arousal. She braced herself, tensing her muscles involuntarily as he thrust all the way home. Pain lanced her, sharp and unexpected. She had known it might hurt a bit, but this was more than a little pain. But then, Leon was more than just a bit of man.

She clung to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin as she tried to catch her breath. He just stared at her, his dark eyes inscrutable, unreadable. He flexed his hips, and she feared that he would pull away. Instead, he pushed back inside of her, groaning as he did.

And then they were lost. In need. In this intense, primal desire that had overtaken them both.

Pain was forgotten. Nerves were forgotten. Everything was forgotten but her desperate bid for completion. She ran her fingertips over his back, down to his strong muscled butt, back up again, sweeping over the square line of his jaw, the deep grooves around his mouth. She tilted her head to the side and kissed his neck, scraped her teeth along the tendon that was held so tight, that betrayed just how desperately he was clinging to his control. Just how close he was to losing his grip.

She could feel his muscles begin to tremble, could feel him growing closer to the edge. His own loss of control snapped hers. She cried out, arching against him, a deeper, more profound orgasm rocking her as her internal muscles tightened around him.

He thrust twice more. Hard, intense, a growl on his lips as he found his own release, holding her tightly against his body when it was all finished.

She was dazed. Storm-tossed. Completely and utterly at the mercy of what had just taken place between them. She could hardly remember her own name. And for one hysterical moment she imagined that was how Leon must feel. Wiped clean. Fresh. Remade.

There were worse things than being remade with him.

“Your ribs,” she said, suddenly remembering that he was injured. She moved her hand to touch his side and he caught hold of her, his dark eyes clearer now, his expression intense.

“Tell me,” he said, not moving from his position on top of her, his fingers like iron around her wrist. “How is it that my wife of two years was still a virgin?”

CHAPTER SIX

HIS WIFE WAS a virgin. There was absolutely no question about it. At least, she had been up until a few moments ago. What he didn’t know was why.

She was beautiful, and he was incredibly attracted to her. More than that, he had married her. It made no sense at all. Although he supposed it didn’t make any less sense than any other part of this situation they found themselves in.

A sense of cold dread filled his stomach and he turned toward her, his heart pounding hard. “Did you not want me? Did I force myself on you just now?”

“You know you didn’t. I said that I wanted you.”

“Then how is it we had never consummated our union?”

Rose looked as though she was going to curl in on herself. She moved away from him, sliding beneath the edge of the blankets, disappearing completely beneath them. “You were the one who didn’t want me.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t suppose it matters how it’s possible. Only that it is. And even knowing that, I said yes to you while you couldn’t remember how little you wanted me. In real life—whatever you want to call it—Leon Carides does not want Rose Tanner. You didn’t know that. I did.” She reappeared, her face peeking out from beneath the blankets. “I’m sorry.”

It took him a moment to process the words. It was taking him time to process all of this. “You are my wife.”

“You keep saying that like it means anything, but believe me, Leon, it has meant nothing to you over the past two years.”

“I want it to.” He didn’t know where the certainty came from, but he felt it all the same. Bone-deep and as real as anything. He had no memory, that was true. And it meant he counted on these feelings. They were all he had.

“You might not. You might not when you remember why you didn’t in the first place.”

“Why didn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” she said miserably.

“Start from the beginning. Why did we get married?”

“For the house. This house. For the company you run now. And for my father. He was dying, and you were like a son to him. He loved you, Leon. And he wanted all of this to be yours. I think... I think it brought him a lot of joy to know that you would be the one taking care of me. There was no one in the entire world that he trusted the way that he trusted you.”

Leon’s stomach tightened. Because to hear Rose tell it her father had trusted him, had cared for him. And he had done...what with that? He had married his daughter as a formality. And then had... Rose had said much about how he often went out. The thought made him feel sick.

“Rose,” he said, his tone grave. “When I go out what is it that I do?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her expression mutinous. “You like to drink.”

“What else?” he asked, his voice scraping his throat raw.

“You like... You like women.”

Pain lanced his chest, his brain, his ribs. Everything. “I have been unfaithful to you.”

“We don’t have a conventional marriage. As you can see now you have never touched me. Not before this. You kissed me on our wedding day and that was it. And you told me... You told me that it didn’t have to change anything. I think the offer stood for myself, as well. I think you expected I might go out and find a lover. But you are my husband, Leon, and I couldn’t—”

Of course she couldn’t. Rose was too sweet. So young, so innocent. He was older, harder. And he had no idea why he was the way he was. All he knew was that with everything a blank slate inside of him, without the built-in excuses, without the baggage, he was disgusted with himself.

He had been given this gift. This woman. This wife. And he had treated her with nothing but neglect.

“I want to do better,” he said finally.

“What?”

“I want to do better for you. Better for us. We have a chance to change things, to make a new start.” He shook his head then, his words tasting wrong in his mouth. “I suppose I have that chance. You remember everything. You know exactly who I am. You know exactly what I’ve done to you. And it seems the simplest thing in the world to ask for forgiveness when you can’t remember your sins. I don’t deserve it.”

“Leon, I should’ve told you from the beginning about our marriage. But... It didn’t seem...” She was blinking back tears now, and he hated that he was making her cry. He had a feeling he had done so more than once. “I think I didn’t want you to know because I was hoping this would happen. But that was manipulative of me.”

“I’m not angry. Not at you. I married you to get this house, to get your father’s company and to placate him, and what did you get?”

“Well, if we divorced after five years, I got the house.” She swallowed. “But I imagine you would have wanted us to stay married so that everything would stay with you, too. Marriage is different when you aren’t exactly living as a married couple. I think for you that’s never been an issue.”

“It is an issue to me now. And I’m not angry with you. How old am I, Rose?”

“Thirty-three,” she said.

“Ten years older than you.”