Greek Bachelors: Buying His Bride: Bought: The Greek's Innocent Virgin / His for a Price / Securing the Greek's Legacy

He finished yet another length, and turned, but this time his body collided with something soft and yielding.

She gave a soft gasp and swallowed a mouthful of water as she sank below the surface of the pool.

‘Theos mou—’ Angelos immediately hauled her back to the surface, his hands sliding round her waist to support her as she choked and coughed. In the water she was slippery and lithe, and she rested her hands on his shoulders as she regained her breath. His fingers felt the smoothness of her skin and the surprising delicacy of her frame. He’d just decided that touching her had been a mistake of monumental proportions, when she looked at him. The light in her eyes changed from a sparkle of blue to a deeper shade and Angelos suddenly wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone in his life before.

Without thinking, he lowered his head and kissed her. Instantly her mouth opened in response to the demands of his. He probed with his tongue and the hot, sweet flavour of her mouth sent fire spurting through his veins. His fingers tightened on her waist and he pulled her hard against him, feeling her lithe, sinuous body twine itself around the hard length of his like a delicate flower seeking support and strength. She pressed herself against him, clearly as hungry for him as he was for her, and the last desperate flicker of self-restraint died inside him.

He was immersed in her—the scent of her, the feel of her, the race of her heart against his seeking hands—and his physical arousal was so powerful that it obliterated all other thought.

The water of the pool lapped quietly around them, and his kiss changed from exploratory to hard and savagely urgent. Fantasy merged with reality as her legs wound themselves around his waist and he felt her feminine mound press against him. He slid her costume from her shoulders. Her nipples were hard against his chest, physical evidence that her degree of desperation was no less than his. His hands swift and skilled, he tugged her costume down her legs. She unwound herself from him for long enough to free herself of the wet cloth, and then she was pressing against him again, and this time it was her hands that were doing the exploring.

Angelos felt her seeking fingers close around him. Light exploded in his head and a desperate urgency consumed him. The entire focus of his world became this one moment. This one woman.

Pumped up, and more aroused than he’d ever been in his life before, he closed his hands over the top of her thighs, driven by an almost primal need for satisfaction. In the water she was weightless, and she writhed and moved against him as she searched instinctively for the ultimate connection. Taking control, Angelos dug his fingers into her soft flesh and angled himself slightly until the tip of his erection finally met the burning heat of her damp core. The contact drew a gasp from her lips, and for a moment they remained poised on the very edge of the final intimacy. Then Angelos could wait no more. He entered her with a smooth, expert thrust and drove himself full length into her soft, quivering body.

She was exquisitely, maddeningly tight, and as her moist feminine heat closed around him his world imploded. Dimly he registered the sudden tension in her body, and felt a sharp pain in his shoulders as she dug her nails into hard muscle. His brain tried desperately to decipher the signals, but she was hot, so unbearably, deliciously hot after the cold of the water, that it took him a moment to clear his head sufficiently and register that something wasn’t as he’d expected. He tried to control his own reaction, but at that moment her vice-like grip on his shoulders eased and she slid her arms round his neck, drawing closer to him as she moved her hips and pressed herself to him, urging him on.

Her soft moans of excitement drove him over the edge and his mind emptied. Blind to everything except the lure of immediate pleasure, Angelos surged into her again and again, losing himself in her soft heat, his usual self-control entirely absent, obliterated by a degree of sensation so overwhelming that it fell outside even his experience.

He felt her sudden gasp of disbelief, felt her body tremble against his, and then she shot into a climax so intense that the aftershocks ripped through his failing control. His own excitement amplified by her abandoned, extravagant response, he ground into her one more time before his body erupted and agonising pleasure transported him into a different stratosphere.

Angelos recovered first and, despite the unusually slow workings of his brain, realised that he had to do something with the limp, satiated woman who was currently clinging to him, her arms around his neck, her head buried in his shoulder.

Although they were shielded to some extent by the lush foliage that crowded and coloured the terrace, it was still an extremely public place.

What the hell had they both been thinking?

And then he realised that neither of them had been thinking at all. If he had been thinking then he wouldn’t have chosen the swimming pool as a venue for an erotic encounter with a woman. The concept of sex as a spectator sport had never interested him and, given that sex was clearly an experience that was entirely new to her, he could only assume that she hadn’t been thinking, either.

And that, of course, raised any number of questions.

But none of them could be voiced at this particular moment.

His stunned reaction to the realisation that she had been a virgin was eclipsed by the more immediate need to return her exquisite body to the swimming costume before someone walked onto the terrace and saw her naked.

Discovering that his skills at dressing a woman were by no means as well developed as his skills at undressing, Angelos slid a hand down her leg and attempted to ease her back into the costume. Despite marshalling all his powers of concentration, her full, creamy breasts were temptingly close and his movements were hindered by the fact that she flopped limp and unresisting in his arms.

‘We have to get you dressed,’ he breathed with exasperation, finally sliding the costume as far as her waist and then lifting her away from him in order to tackle the arms.

She was as limp as a rag doll, and when her eyes finally lifted to his she appeared to have difficulty focusing. With a soft curse he yanked at the straps of her costume and slid them over her arms until her body was finally covered.

Having achieved that first objective, Angelos lifted one of her hands and placed it on the side of the pool, so that she could support herself in the water. Then he stepped back from her, consciously placing distance between them. ‘Talk to me.’

His sharp command was met by dazed silence. She was looking at him as though he was from another planet, and he knew the feeling because he’d never felt so disconnected from reality in his life. Finally her lips moved, but no sound emerged. She appeared to be having difficulty forming words.

Against his will, his eyes were drawn to the softness of her mouth and he felt his body stir again. Perplexed and infuriated by the effect she was having on him, he stepped forward again, put his hands on her waist and lifted her bodily out of the water. It was clear to him that if there was any hope of a conversation it wouldn’t be with both of them half naked in the pool—and anyway, the cold water was proving to be a remarkably ineffective libido-dampener.

Having lifted her clear of the water, Angelos placed his hands on the side and the muscles bunched in his shoulders as he levered himself upwards and sprang from the pool.

Water streaming off his body, he prowled over to the nearest sun lounger and reached for a towel. Securing it firmly around his waist, he took several deep breaths. Only then, when he was confident that he was back in control, did he turn to face her.

She hadn’t moved.

She was still seated on the side of the pool, where he’d left her, like a doll whose body wasn’t capable of independent movement.

With a soft curse he strode over to her, hauled her to her feet and wrapped a towel around her shivering frame with businesslike efficiency. Then he pushed her into the nearest chair, his mind returning to its usual state of focus now that she was covered. ‘Start talking.’

Talking?

He wanted her to speak about what had just happened?

Feeling dazed, and slightly removed from what was happening around her, Chantal stared at him blankly.

She had no idea what she was supposed to say. For her it had been—

She gave up trying to find the words. What exactly did he want to hear? That she was now a different person from the one she’d been yesterday? That it had surpassed her wildest dreams? That she could have happily stayed in that pool with him for the rest of her life?

Her gaze slid to his, but the contact was too much, too intimate, and she looked away immediately. But not before a disturbing image of him half naked had been imprinted on her brain. He was a vision of masculine power, with water glistening on his powerful torso, his eyes disturbingly intent as they rested on her face.

And still she couldn’t speak—because the words were all jammed together in her head and she had no idea how to articulate the fact that everything felt different now.

Why didn’t he say something? Or was he pretending that it hadn’t happened?

She was just contemplating that disturbing possibility when she saw his mouth tighten.

How did he manage to look businesslike and intimidating, wearing just a towel?

‘Speak to me,’ he demanded, and his sharp tone finally roused her from her semi-conscious state.

‘It was amazing,’ she said faintly. ‘You’re very good.’

Shock flared in his dark eyes and he muttered something in Greek under his breath. ‘That is not what I was asking you,’ he breathed, faint colour highlighting the perfection of his bone structure. ‘Let’s do this another way. I’ll ask the questions. You answer. Obviously you’re not Isabelle Ducat.’

Realising that she’d just embarrassed herself, Chantal coloured deeply and shrank deeper inside the towel.

She’d just assumed that he’d wanted to talk about the sex because, for her, no other issues existed. What they’d just shared had driven everything else from her head. But obviously he wasn’t similarly afflicted. For him there were issues much, much more important than talking about the sex. Like her identity.

Buying herself a little more time, she cleared her throat and tried avoidance tactics. ‘What makes you think I’m not Isabelle Ducat?’

‘Because the list of Isabelle’s previous lovers reads like a telephone directory,’ Angelos informed her helpfully. ‘Whereas I now know that your list contains only one name. Mine.’

His blunt reminder of the intimacy they’d just shared caused the colour in her cheeks to deepen still further. Wriggling like a fish on a hook, she breathed deeply and told herself that he couldn’t absolutely know. Could he? ‘I don’t see how you—’

‘Don’t even go there,’ he warned in a soft voice. ‘Unless you want me to treble your blushes by describing in meticulous detail exactly how I know.’

She breathed in and out and concentrated on a point between his feet and his knees. ‘Oh.’

‘Look at me,’ he demanded, and she shrank slightly lower in her seat.

She couldn’t look at him. It was just too, too embarrassing.

He sighed heavily. ‘Please will you look at me?’ This time his voice was slightly less autocratic, as if he knew that he wasn’t going to achieve his objective by sheer force alone.

Reluctantly, she looked. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Start with who you really are.’

Who was she?

She wasn’t sure she knew any more. She certainly didn’t feel anything like the person she’d been half an hour previously.

Would her body ever feel the same again? ‘I’m not Isabelle.’

‘I know that.’ His wide, sensuous mouth compressed as he struggled to contain his volatile nature. ‘What I don’t know is who you are and why you took her identity.’

‘I didn’t take her identity. Not really. You were the one who thought I was Isabelle.’

‘You were in possession of her ticket.’

‘Which just goes to show that external appearances can be deceptive.’

‘The only deception around here was yours.’

Sensing a dangerous tension in him, Chantal felt her heart bump against her chest. ‘It’s true that I used the ticket, but I didn’t pose as her. I didn’t once use her name, and you weren’t supposed to see the ticket.’

‘This conversation is going round in circles and you are making no sense. How did you obtain the ticket in the first place?’

It was like being on the witness stand, being cross-examined by a very unsympathetic prosecutor.

What would he say, she wondered, when he discovered that the truth was even worse than the lie? ‘It’s a long story.’

‘Give me the short version,’ he ordered in a tense voice. ‘I’m a guy who likes to get straight to the point, and we’ve already taken the long route. Let’s try it from a different direction. How do you know Isabelle?’

‘I don’t know her. I met her in the hotel where she was staying.’ Unable to look at him, Chantal examined each strand of the soft fluffy towel that now enveloped her. ‘I was—’ oh hell ‘—I was cleaning her room.’

There.

She’d said it.

Bracing herself for his reaction to her shocking confession, she sat there waiting, her fingers coiled in the damp folds of the towel.

Angelos said nothing.

Clearly he was so appalled that he’d flown a cleaner out to his island on his private jet that he couldn’t even find the words to express his disgust. She gave a tiny shrug and tried to ignore the pain that tore at her insides.

‘It’s all right.’ She tried to sound dismissive. Casual. ‘Go ahead and say what’s on your mind.’ After all, she was used to it. Used to being judged and instantly dismissed. Struggling to close her armour around her. She lifted her eyes to his and she found him watching her from beneath thick dark lashes that concealed his expression.

‘I’m still waiting for you to explain how you came to have the ticket.’ He spoke with exaggerated patience. ‘I’m assuming that if I wait long enough you will get to the point in the end.’

‘I’ve reached the point.’

He rubbed his fingers over his forehead, as if to ease the tension. ‘Chantal—that is your name, isn’t it?’ He spoke slowly and softly, as if he were hanging onto control by a thread. ‘I’m not a very patient man. If a member of my staff had taken as long to tell me something as you have, I would have fired them by now.’

She stiffened defensively. ‘I just told you I was working as a cleaner.’

‘I heard you. At the moment I’m not interested in your career choice. What I’m still waiting to hear is how you came by the ticket.’

‘But—’

‘I’m not good with long, involved stories,’ he informed her, his tone exasperated. ‘Get to the point, please, before we both age any further.’

Chantal opened her mouth to say that she’d thought that the fact she was actually a cleaner was the point, but the burning impatience in his eyes made her think twice. Obviously he wanted more. ‘I was cleaning her room. She was having a complete tantrum about what she should wear—flinging clothes all over the place and expecting me to pick them up. I thought she needed help, so I told her which dress I thought suited her best, and she just exploded in a rage. What did someone like me know about how to dress for an event like that? What did I know about attracting a rich man? I suffered fifteen minutes of verbal abuse, and then she decided that she wasn’t going at all. So she flung her ticket in the bin and checked out of the hotel. I think she left Paris that same afternoon.’

‘So you took the ticket out of her bin?’ He condensed her lengthy confession into a few very blunt words.

‘It sounds bad, I know. But—’

‘—But you wanted to prove her wrong about not being able to attract a rich man?’

Affronted, Chantal glared at him. ‘Of course not! It was nothing to do with attracting a rich man. It was a confidence thing.’ She subsided in her seat. ‘She made me feel so small—as if I were a completely different species to her.’ She could have told him the rest of her story, of course, but there was no way she was doing that, when she’d already told him far, far too much about herself. As far as she was concerned she’d given him everything he was having. The rest was staying locked inside. She straightened her shoulders. ‘And that’s why I took the ticket. It wasn’t about meeting men. I needed to prove to myself that she was wrong about me. Just for one night I wanted to dress up and be in her world.’

‘You borrowed one of her dresses?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I would never have fitted into one of her dresses—and anyway, I wouldn’t have done something like that. I made my own dress.’

‘In the space of a few hours?’

Stung by his disbelieving tone, Chantal frowned at him. ‘I’m good at sewing.’ She’d had to be. It was the only way she could afford to dress the way she wanted to dress.

‘So you turned up at the ball, like Cinderella, just to prove to her that she was wrong?’

‘It wasn’t about her at all. It was about me. I was proving it to myself. She made me feel—’ The confession sat like a leaden lump in her mouth. ‘She made me feel worthless. Less than her. I wanted to prove to myself that the people at the ball were just people. That I could mix and mingle in that world.’ It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was all he was getting from her.

‘So that explains the bizarre conversation we had on the night of the ball when you wouldn’t tell me who you were,’ he muttered. ‘Finally I understand all that rambling about stereotypes and people not judging other people.’

‘That’s what they do,’ Chantal said simply. ‘People judge all the time, based on a number of superficial factors and their judgements are almost always wrong.’

‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you to tell me the truth?’

‘You’re joking! Of course not. You would have had me thrown out. And anyway, you were furious when you saw I’d been talking to your father.’

‘Not because you were talking to him, but because you gave him the impression that we were seriously in love. The fact that you are here today is purely a result of the lies you told that night.’

She stared at him numbly. The warmth and passion they’d shared only moments ago had gone. ‘I sat next to your father because he was the only friendly face in the place. I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know who you were. And then he and I started to talk and—’

‘And?’

She was silent for a moment, unwilling to confess that her imagination had run away with her. She didn’t want him to know the impact he’d had on her at their first meeting. ‘It was just a misunderstanding,’ she said lamely, and he muttered something in Greek under his breath.

‘You let me carry on believing that you were Isabelle, despite having had ample opportunity to tell me the truth. And I suppose the reason for that is all too obvious.’ His tone was suddenly cool. ‘I was offering you an all-expenses-paid holiday on a Greek Island. No wonder you stayed silent.’

It was the worst thing he could have said to her.

‘You think I came here for a free holiday? That’s not what happened!’ Deeply offended by his interpretation, she leaped out of her chair, clutching the towel like a shield. ‘You were the one who insisted that I came.’

‘And you didn’t resist.’

Her heart was pounding. ‘I came because you led me to believe that it would make a difference to your father, and I care about him. He was very kind to me.’

‘So you made this enormous sacrifice for a guy you’d met once?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You were doing me a favour by agreeing to fly by private jet to a secluded island for a few weeks of relaxation?’ He was tying her in knots and he knew it.

‘I don’t care what you believe. It’s the truth. But you’re obviously so cynical and suspicious of women’s motives that you think there’s only one possible interpretation. Maybe you should give all your money away. Then you’d know, wouldn’t you?’ Still smarting with indignation, she blinked rapidly to clear the tears that had sprung into her eyes. He wasn’t worth crying over. No man was worth that. All she could do now was pick up the pieces and start again. And learn from her mistakes.

But first she needed to get out of here.

After what they’d just done she could no longer stay as his guest. It wasn’t possible.

Before she could move, Maria appeared on the terrace, an apologetic look on her face. She said something in Greek to Angelos and he gave a low growl, almost vibrating with impatience at the interruption.

‘Theos mou, not now—’ He raked his fingers through his glossy hair and then cast a look at Chantal. ‘I have been waiting for this phone call—the timing isn’t good, but I have to take it. We’ll finish this conversation later.’

Not if she had anything to do with it.

Still bruised by his total lack of sensitivity, she didn’t respond.

What was there to finish?

He’d made his feelings perfectly clear, and she really didn’t want to listen to any more.

He thought she was some sort of cold-blooded gold-digger.

Wrung out with the emotion of it all, Chantal watched in silence as he strode across the terrace. He was as cool and in control as ever. There was no evidence to suggest that he was a man caught up in the middle of an emotional crisis. Which was yet another fundamental difference between them, she thought numbly, her eyes clinging hungrily to his broad, muscular shoulders until they disappeared from view along with the rest of him.

She still wasn’t sure how the whole thing had happened, or why it had happened. All she knew was that she felt like a balloon that had been popped before the party started.

Apart from acknowledging her utter lack of experience, Angelos apparently hadn’t given a second thought to what had happened in the pool.

And yet she’d been unable to think of anything else. Every time he’d fired a question at her, she’d just wanted to say, ‘But what about the sex?’

It had been the most shocking, exhilarating, explosive experience of her life, and having suddenly discovered the depth of her sexuality she could now barely focus on anything else. The memory of their encounter was so clear that it dominated her mind in full, glorious Technicolor and her body ached in a way that was deliciously unfamiliar.

All the way through their conversation she’d just wanted him to stop talking, take her in his arms and do it all over again. Because she’d truly believed that what they’d shared had been unique and infinitely special.

And that was why she’d done it, of course. Because it had felt absolutely right. For the first time in her life she hadn’t even stopped to question what she was doing.

But it hadn’t been special for him, had it?

It hadn’t even been worthy of comment. To him it had just been sex. And not just sex, but sex that obviously wasn’t even worth remarking on. Disappointing sex. In fact, judging from his reaction, the whole episode had obviously been an entirely forgettable experience—nothing more than an exercise session for him—while the verbal exchange that had followed had possessed all the warmth and intimacy of a business meeting.

She cringed as she forced herself to face the truth.

He hadn’t been able to get her out of the pool fast enough, had he?

She’d been ready to wind her arms round his neck and start it all again, but he’d lifted her out and plonked her on the side, clearly not sharing her desire for a repeat performance.

Obviously, as a woman, you couldn’t win, she thought gloomily. Too much experience, like Isabelle, made you a slut. Too little made you boring.

Alone on the terrace, she released her death grip on the towel and allowed it to slide to the floor. Her costume had almost dried in the heat, and she ran a finger over her thigh, wondering if her body felt different on the outside—because it certainly felt different on the inside.