Читать книгу Greek Tycoon, Waitress Wife - Julia James - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

THE ‘somewhere quieter’ that Alexeis had promised was quieter indeed. It was the dining room of his suite, overlooking the gardens of the Embankment below, and the dark, flowing Thames beyond. Her eyes had widened when she’d seen the view, but she had not objected or said anything, simply stared out over the river and the shore beyond.

‘The Festival Hall, the National Theatre, the Hayward Gallery—all the South Bank,’ said Alexeis, coming up behind her. His hand rested lightly and very casually on her shoulder as he pointed them out with his other hand. She felt warm beneath his touch, through the thin material of her blouse. She was like a gazelle, easily startled—easily affrighted—and so he kept his contact brief.

He stepped away, feeling a wry smile tugging at his mouth as his eyes flickered over her rear view. She had called her uniform ‘stupid’. He had another word for it. But it was not one he would use in front of her. Instead, he would merely—enjoy it.

As, indeed, he proceeded to enjoy her company over dinner. He set himself out to dissolve her self-consciousness, her doubt about what she was doing here with him. He ventured several conventional opening gambits, such as London’s cultural life, but she said, looking rather awkward, that she did not go to the theatre and didn’t know much about art. Immediately the memory of Marissa and her spouting self-importantly about the art world impinged in his mind, and he realised it was refreshing not to have to discuss such subjects. Whatever it was they did talk about—nothing too demanding or intellectual—he was very conscious of not being bored in any way. He was also conscious that he wanted her to feel comfortable and at ease.

And above all responsive to him.

But he was not overt. For her that would have been crass. This was not a female to come on strong to. This was one to…woo. A flicker came in his brain. Had that been the word he’d intended? Yes—and it was the right one, too. Nothing will happen that she doesn’t want, he reminded himself.

Beneath the undemanding topics of conversation he was selecting for her benefit—tourist attractions in London was the current one—he considered her objectively. She must be in her mid-twenties, at least, and though she was reserved, it was a quality he liked about her. She would not have had appeal for him had she been otherwise. Nor, at that age, was it likely she was a virgin. Again, had she been, he would not have been in the slightest bit comfortable about what he was doing. But as it was—

She’s here of her own volition, and I’ve all but spelt out to her that she only has to say the word and I will send her home untouched! I intend no harm to her—none whatsoever! Only a night we will both enjoy…

With final resolution, he closed his mind down on the matter. He was here to enjoy the evening—and, even more, the night ahead, he hoped. He wanted to ensure, as he was certain he was more than capable of doing, that she, too, took as much enjoyment as he did.

Satisfied with his conscience, he poured them both more champagne.

The meal was leisurely, superbly cooked and presented, and highly enjoyable. When, finally, it was over, Alexeis dismissed the waiting staff and guided her to the sofa for coffee, making sure he sat at the far end from her. He did not want her getting nerves at this stage.

His eyes rested on her.

He wanted her. It was very simple. Very uncomplicated. She was a beautiful female of a type he had never before encountered—a complete antidote to the kind of self-assured, self-regarding, sharply sophisticated women that were his usual fare. And he was intrigued by the prospect of what it would be like to experience her.

He was already diverted by the difference in his approach to her from his usual style. He had to be careful, he knew, not to appear to patronise her. She obviously had no experience of the kind of lifestyle he took for granted, and he wanted her to find enjoyment in the occasion. It was as if he wanted to—to indulge her.

It was an odd thought. He did not usually indulge the women he selected for his bed—if he had, they would have taken ruthless advantage of it. But this girl? No. Instinctively he knew that she would not do so.

Yet again, the novelty that she presented intrigued him.

He watched, his long lashes swept down over his dark eyes, as she nibbled from a rich chocolate truffle served on a silver filigree dish.

‘I shouldn’t, I know,’ she said, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. She was not quite looking at him, as she had not quite looked at him all evening. ‘But I can’t resist.’

Alexeis smiled, stretching his arm out along the back of the sofa, but making sure it did not impinge into her body space. His eyes washed over her—the clinging blouse, the white apron, the tight skirt and the black stockings. The effect was erotic, yet very subtly so. He felt desire rise in him, and anticipation.

‘Then don’t,’ he answered. ‘Don’t resist.’

Her eyes fluttered—and satisfaction eased in him. Oh, she might be unaware of how alluring she looked, but she was not unaware of her own response to him. Or of what it was that was happening between them.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

She finished the truffle—supremely conscious, he could see, of his regard—and then reached for her coffee. He did likewise, his eyes going to the hemline of her skirt, riding up over her knees. He felt his arousal quicken. But he must hasten slowly, he knew—draw her to him with extreme care—or he would frighten her off. Again the novelty of having to do so intrigued him.

As she sipped her coffee, he could see that she was becoming nervous, uneasy. There was an abstracted, unfocussed air about her. Then, as she finished the cup, she set it down on the coffee table and got to her feet. Alexeis’s eyes followed the movement.

She stood, looking down at him.

‘I ought to go,’ she said. There was constriction in her voice. Agitation in the way she stood. ‘I ought to go,’ she said again.

Alexeis simply looked up at her, his pose still as relaxed as ever.

‘Do you want to?’ he asked.

She looked down at him, the soft fronds of her hair framing her face, the blackness of her stockings and the tightness of her skirt emphasising the slender length of her leg. He could see the swell of her breasts through the tight whiteness of her blouse.

He had not the least intention of letting her leave.

Of letting her want to leave.

She didn’t speak, only looked at him. With indecision in her eyes, colour in her cheeks. He set down his coffee cup, but otherwise did not move.

‘I would like you very much to stay,’ he said.

She bit her lip. Alexeis got to his feet and came up to her. She did not move.

His eyes rested on her.

‘I promised you,’ he said in a low voice, ‘that I would at any time call the car to drive you home. That is as true now as it was then. And if you wish it I shall do so. But…’ His eyes rested on her with an intent he wanted her to feel. ‘I would like, before I do so, to do one thing. This—’

He stepped forward. In a single fluid movement, before she could back away or realise what he was going to do, he slid his hands around the frame of her jaw, slid his fingers into the silken mass of her hair, cupping her head, tilting it to him, and then, closing up to her, he lowered his mouth down to hers.

She was as soft as honey, as warm and sweet. He parted her lips to taste the sweeter appeal within.

She made no resistance to him. None. With a tiny sigh, deep in her throat, she parted for him, letting him taste her, letting his tongue glide into her mouth, deepening his kiss so that as the tender swell of her breasts brushed against him he could feel, with a deep, sensual satisfaction, their tips harden.

Ruthlessly, he increased the sensuality of his kiss, one hand slipping from her jaw to glide with sensuous leisure down the supple length of her spine, drawing her yet closer against him. Curving down over the rounded swell of her bottom so barely covered by the enticing tightness of her skirt.

As he drew her against him, his stance altering instinctively to accommodate her body against the cradle of his hips, he felt her give a soft gasp. It aroused him yet further, and he let his hand edge further down, seeking the hemline of her skirt and ruching it upwards, so that his hand splayed over only the barest, sheerest material between it and her naked flesh.

God, but she was lovely to kiss, to caress. Her sweet, enticing body yielding to his, moulding to his, her tender mouth open to his to taste at will—

Desire speared in him—strong, aroused. Insistent.

He dragged his mouth from hers, still holding her against him. From somewhere, somewhere that required all his strength, he found his voice.

‘Do you still want to leave, Carrie?’

She was staring at him blindly, her pupils huge, lips parted. He could see the hectic pulse at her throat, feel the agitation of her heart against his chest, the peaked tips of her breasts.

She made no answer.

With triumph surging through him, he lowered his mouth to hers again.

Carrie lay, curled back against Alexeis’s strong, hard body. Her mind felt overwhelmed, her body still glowing, pulsing, with what she had experienced.

Which had been something even the most fervid imagination could never, never have imagined!

Oh, God, it had been incredible—amazing! Unbelievable!

Disbelief, wonder, seared through her.

I never knew it could be like that! Never!

She had not stood a chance, she knew—not a single chance of changing her mind. Not from the moment when, filled with the sudden inescapable realisation of why she had come here, she had suddenly felt that she was far, far out of her depth. All the temptation of the evening had suddenly coalesced into reality. The reality of what she was allowing to happen.

Why not? The voice had said to her again.

But at that fateful moment last night, looking down at the superb, lounging figure of the man who had simply knocked the breath from her body the first time she’d set eyes on him, the only words in her mind had been quite, quite different.

Oh, my God—what am I doing—what am I doing?

But she had known—known absolutely—what she was doing. Had known it all evening and had gone with it. Gone with the voice that had tempted her.

And she had known in that moment of standing there, at the end of the evening, that the moment of decision had come. She had known why she was there—known exactly why. There had been only one decision to be made—did she want to stay? To accept what was going to happen? To succumb to the temptation that had been beckoning her all evening?

She stared ahead of her, out over the dimness of the bedroom. What might she have answered had Alexeis not kissed her?

She didn’t know. Because he had kissed her, and in that very first moment, when his cool, long fingers had slid into her hair and his mouth had come down on hers, there had been only one decision—and it had already been made.

And she could not—did not—regret it! Not now, as she lay there, scooped back against the fantastic body that had done things to hers that she had never known were possible! How could she possibly regret it?

It had been a feast of sensuality—a banquet! His touch on her had melted through her like lava, drawing from her a response she had not thought possible. Touch after touch, each more arousing than the last, each more devastatingly intimate, until at last the sensations in her body, so incredible, so exquisite, had fused into an endless stream, intensifying until she was molten. Helpless in his arms, her head threshing from side to side, her body had been incandescent, burning like a flame that consumed all sense, all knowledge, all consciousness, making the whole world only what she was feeling, as if the whole universe were inside her head and nothing else existed!

Only the man making her feel that way. Only the one she’d clung to, cried out to, clutched with her hands, lifted her body to, to catch more, yet more, of that incredible, incredible experience—

She felt the afterglow still infusing through her, in her flesh. Her eyes were heavy, lids sinking. Her lashes fluttered. Around her waist she could feel, like a band, his strong arm pinioning her to him. Holding her where he wanted her to be.

In his arms. His bed.