Читать книгу Greek Affairs: In His Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger / Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon's Bed / Bedded by the Greek Billionaire - Carol Marinelli, Anne Mather - Страница 15

HELEN’S lips parted beneath his, and, moving his hand to the back of her neck, Milos deepened the kiss. Pushing his tongue between her teeth, he completely forgot that it was only his efforts that were keeping them afloat. Without anything to keep them buoyant, they sank to the bottom of the pool, their mouths still glued together.

It was an incredible experience. Milos knew he had never felt anything like the dizzying exultation that filled his head when Helen’s fingers curled around his nape, denoting her submission, and not even the buzzing in his ears, reminding him of his lack of oxygen, prevented an urgent surge of need from sweeping over him.

His hand trailed down her body, grazing the hard peaks of her breasts before fastening on the slender bones of her pelvis. He parted his legs, bringing her more fully into him, letting her feel the turgid pressure of his erection. He rubbed himself against her, but his lungs were labouring for air, and, judging by Helen’s submissive behaviour, she wasn’t about to save them. With a feeling of regret, he pushed down with his feet and sent them rising steadily to the surface.

Within seconds she had torn herself away from him. Splashing wildly through the water, she made for the steps out of the pool. And, because Milos took rather longer to recover, she’d stumbled out of the water before he could stop her.

She paused once, bending forward as if the effort had defeated her. She was coughing, her hands braced on her knees, trying to suck air into her burning lungs. Then she turned to give him a tortured look.

‘You—crazy—fool,’ she got out with difficulty, her voice made husky by her distress. ‘What in God’s name did you think you were doing?’

Milos took a deep breath and swam smoothly to the side. ‘Well, not trying to drown you,’ he said wearily as she retreated up the steps. ‘Stop panicking. No harm has been done.’

‘Just—stay away from me,’ she told him unsteadily, but he could tell from the way her eyes flicked to the row of cabanas that she was undecided what to do next. Safety might lie in the villa, but her clothes were in the cabana.

Spreading his arms wide, to indicate she had nothing to fear from him, Milos climbed out of the pool. Unlike her, apparently, he was still suffering the after-effects of that kiss, and like her he took a few moments to steady his breathing.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last, though it pained him to say it. ‘I suppose you think that shouldn’t have happened.’

‘Damn right!’ Her voice quivered, but he could see she was determined not to back down.

Milos lifted his shoulders. ‘Then you shouldn’t have provoked me.’

Helen gave an indignant snort. ‘Because I asked if you were wearing—swimming gear?’ she exclaimed hotly.

‘No. Because you wouldn’t believe me,’ he retorted smoothly. ‘And as you can see, I am adequately covered.’

It wasn’t the most sensible thing to say in his present position. When her eyes dropped automatically to his boxer shorts, his treacherous body couldn’t help but respond.

And she noticed.

‘You—you’re shameless,’ she said, winding protective arms about her midriff. ‘Do—do you ever think of anything but sex?’

Milos stared at her in disbelief. Theos, he knew he hadn’t imagined the instinctive response he’d felt in those moments before he’d been forced to push up to the surface of the pool. She’d been just as involved as he’d been, and it infuriated him that she could stand there and pretend that what had happened had been all his doing.

But what was new?

‘You—amuse me, do you know that?’ he demanded between his teeth, although what she really did to him didn’t bear description. ‘You deluded yourself that you had no part in our lovemaking fourteen years ago, and you’re doing the same again now.’

‘No, it’s you who is deluding himself,’ she told him swiftly. ‘I didn’t want to come here, Milos. You made me. And now I’d like to go back.’

‘I’ll just bet you would,’ he muttered, barely audibly, as he bounded up the remainder of the steps and wrapped his arm about her waist. Then, for the third time that day, he damned his soul by covering her trembling mouth with his.

There was a moment when he thought she was going to resist. Her hands came up and dug painfully into his shoulders, but her anger didn’t last. When his tongue invaded her mouth, filling that hot, wet cavern with a greedy hunger, she uttered a helpless little moan of submission. Then, her fingers spread and lingered, gripping his arms now as if to save herself from falling.

He didn’t attempt to hide his response to her eagerness. A hot lust was pounding through his veins and the memory of what they had once shared was like a fever in his blood. He was blind to everything but the knowledge that he wanted her again. He wanted to taste her, to tempt her, to show her that what had been between them was by no means over.

With a groan vibrating in his chest, he hooked his thumbs into the vest top, pulling it down far enough so that he could lick the moist hollow between her breasts. She tasted so good, her heat surging to meet his tongue despite the pool-induced chill of her skin. She melted under his hands, swaying helplessly against him. She was making sensuous little sounds, too, her fingers moving restlessly into his hair.

He knew she was no longer in control of her emotions. Milos felt a surge of satisfaction at the thought of how easily she’d succumbed to his demands. She might hate him later, but right now she was breathing heavily, her limbs soft and trembling against his.

His eyes dropped to her breasts and, bending his head, he pushed the stretchy fabric low enough for him to take one engorged nipple into his mouth. He rolled it against his tongue, hearing the whimpers of pleasure she was making, and contemplated how she would react if he slipped his hands inside the bikini briefs.

But before he could act on it, before he could do anything more than press her even closer to his throbbing erection, the sound of spinning rotor blades rent the air. They were accompanied by the roar of powerful engines, and Milos needed no crystal ball to know what they presaged.

He swore then, in his own language, but the words he used were scarcely adequate to describe his frustration. There was no longer any opportunity to expose more of Helen’s delectable body, and, while common sense might applaud that reality, his emotional needs were fairly screaming their regrets.

Reluctantly, he pulled her top up over her breasts and placed his hands on her shoulders. Somehow, he had to rescue this situation before the pilot of his helicopter stepped out of the aircraft. It wasn’t going to be easy with Helen gazing up at him in wide, uncomprehending inquiry. There was so much he wanted to do with her, so much he still had to say. And now, skata, it was too late. Too late, especially, to tell her how she made him feel.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he knew at once that he’d said the wrong thing.

‘You’re sorry,’ she echoed, and as the words took root he saw the dreamy expression draining out of her eyes and something else, something much less attractive, taking its place. ‘Oh, yes. You’re very good at being sorry after the event.’

‘You don’t understand—’

‘Oh, I think I do.’

‘My helicopter is here,’ he said, through clenched teeth. ‘It’s just arrived. Didn’t you hear it? It’s come to fly me to Athens for the conference.’

‘Where’s Milos?’

Helen’s lips tightened. How ironic that that should be the first question Melissa asked when she and Rhea got back to the villa at San Rocco. Not Where have you been? Or Did you have a good time? Just Where’s Milos? As if he was the person her daughter most wanted to see.

‘He’s getting ready to leave for Athens,’ Helen replied, amazed that she could answer the question so coolly. ‘He was—we were at Vassilios when his helicopter arrived.’

‘His helicopter! Wow!’ Melissa was impressed. She turned to Rhea, who was just behind her. ‘Is it really his helicopter?’

‘It belongs to the company,’ said Rhea evenly, but Helen was aware that the girl’s eyes were on her, not on Melissa. ‘It’s more convenient than a plane.’

‘Cool!’ Melissa’s eyes sparkled. ‘Imagine that: having a helicopter you can use any time you feel like it.’

‘Anyway, he said you knew all about it,’ Helen put in, addressing herself to Rhea. ‘He sends his apologies for not saying goodbye.’

Rhea nodded, her eyes still thoughtful. ‘He’s attending a conference about reducing oil pollution,’ she said absently. Then, ‘Did he have time to bring you back?’

‘No. Stelios did that.’

But Helen didn’t want to think about that now. It was enough to know that she could still smell the pool water on her body, could still feel the possessive touch of Milos’s hands, Milos’s mouth. What must he have thought when she’d scuttled into the cabana and pulled on her clothes without even taking a shower? What was she supposed to make of the look on his face when he was forced to bid her a public goodbye?

Shaking off the remembrance, she tried to speak casually. ‘I—er—I suppose we should be going, too.’

‘But we haven’t had lunch,’ objected Melissa at once, turning to Rhea for support. ‘You said Marisa would have everything ready.’

‘And I meant it.’ Rhea seemed to gather herself, putting out a hand towards Helen as if in apology. ‘My mother’s housekeeper will be most offended if you deny her the chance to show off her culinary skills,’ she insisted. But Helen was still left wondering if she truly wanted them to stay.

‘Well …’

She hesitated, and Melissa took the chance to speak again. ‘Come on, Mum,’ she persisted. ‘It’s not as if you’ve got anything else to do.’

Which was true, Helen admitted silently. Now that Milos had left the island, she didn’t have to worry about him turning up unexpectedly. She ought to have been feeling relieved that he was gone. But all she really felt was defeated.

‘All right,’ she said at last, earning herself a delighted whoop from Melissa. Her father was expecting them to stay, after all, and it would save a lot of unnecessary explanations.

And, in spite of her reluctance, the visit was not so bad. She’d expected to find it hard to talk to Milos’s sister, but she didn’t. The girl had evidently decided it wasn’t Helen’s fault that her brother had deserted them, and over a meal of stuffed vine leaves, a crisp green salad, and a sticky sweet dessert, she made an effort to be friendly.

She told Helen about the course she was taking at college and her plans to set up her own interior-decorating business as soon as she graduated. Her father had agreed to finance her for the first year, and Helen thought how lucky Rhea was to have such loving and supportive parents.

It made her wonder if she’d have felt differently about her own situation if she hadn’t cut her father out of her life. Would he have recommended that she marry Richard if she’d confided her pregnancy to him? Of course, her mother had been concerned about what other people were going to think when they discovered Helen was unmarried and expecting a baby. She’d never really got over the gossip that had ensued when Sam had walked out.

Of course, if her father hadn’t walked out, Helen would never have met Milos Stephanides. She’d never have found herself pregnant with a baby whose father’s identity she’d kept secret even from her mother …

‘Where are you going?’

Sheila Campbell turned from the television when Helen appeared in the sitting-room doorway. She was obviously surprised to see her daughter dressed and ready to go out when she’d said nothing about having a date earlier in the day.

‘I’m going to meet Sally at the coffee bar,’ said Helen quickly, mouthing the first lie that came into her head. She had thought of making Richard, her current boyfriend, her excuse, but her mother was bound to ask Richard about it later on and she couldn’t have that.

‘Sally? Sally who?’ Sheila frowned, and Helen wished her mother were not so interested in everything she did.

‘Sally Phillips,’ she said, hoping she sounded convincing. ‘You don’t know her. She’s in my English tutor group.’

‘Oh?’ Sheila shrugged and turned back to the television. ‘Well, don’t forget it’s a school night. I shall expect you home before half past ten.’

‘Oh, Mum!’ Helen gave a resigned sigh. ‘I’m not a child, you know.’

‘But you are still a student. And I don’t have time to haul you out of bed in the morning.’ She sniffed. ‘In any case, I thought you told me you preferred to see Richard at weekends.’

‘I do.’ Helen was indignant. ‘And I’m not meeting Richard Shaw. As I say, I’m going to the coffee bar. Is that all right?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ Sheila was dismissive. ‘Oh, go on. Enjoy your evening. But don’t you miss the last bus home.’

‘I won’t,’ said Helen guiltily, wondering if Milos would bring her back to her door. Well, to the end of the street, anyway, she amended, feeling again the frisson of excited anticipation she’d felt since she’d agreed to have a drink with him.

They were meeting in the bar of his hotel and Helen wondered if she’d been entirely wise in agreeing to that. But at least she could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t see anyone she knew at the Cathay Intercontinental. The rates there were phenomenally high. Or so she’d always believed.

She just hoped that what she was wearing wouldn’t look totally out of place. She would have liked to have worn her new slip dress and the suede jacket she’d been saving up for for ages, but that would have been foolish and she knew it. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to become suspicious, so the tight-fitting jeans and black parka would have to do. But she had put on the purple silk shirt her mother had bought her for her last birthday under the parka, away from Sheila’s prying gaze.

Which made her feel really sneaky and she didn’t like it. She was no better than her father, she thought, keeping secrets from her mother.

But when she walked into the foyer of the Cathay Intercontinental and found Milos standing near the entrance waiting for her, she was selfishly glad she had deceived her. He looked so good in his dark suit and turtle-neck sweater, and she could hardly believe this gorgeous hunk was waiting for her.

But he was. He came towards her at once, his dark disturbing eyes making her whole body feel hot and alive. She tried to tell herself it was natural for him to look at a woman in that way. But there was something intensely personal in the melting heat of his gaze.

‘Hi,’ he said softly, and, although he made no attempt to touch her, Helen felt as if his hands had stroked over every inch of her skin. ‘I’m glad you came. I wondered if you would. I was afraid your mother would change your mind.’

‘She doesn’t know I’m here.’

Her denial was instinctive, and she thought how pathetic she must sound to a man like him. Dear God, he would think she didn’t have a mind or a will of her own. Or that she was scared to tell her mother something she knew she wouldn’t like.

Milos’s lips compressed. ‘So where does she think you are?’ he inquired, and Helen shifted somewhat unhappily beneath his curious stare.

‘At the coffee bar,’ she said quickly. Then, ‘I suppose you think I’m stupid, not telling her where I was going.’

Milos shook his head. ‘I think it was probably very wise,’ he said drily. ‘I got the distinct impression that your mother didn’t like me.’

Helen gave a rueful smile. ‘She has reason, don’t you think?’

‘Because I’ve invited you to have a drink with me?’ he asked. ‘Surely that’s not so unforgivable. I want to get to know you better. I’m hoping we can be friends.’

Friends?

Helen let that go, but she was under no illusion that her mother would ever allow her to be friends with a man who worked for her father. Still, it was nice to know that he didn’t have an ulterior motive, and she was woman enough to feel flattered that he should want to see her again.

‘Let me take your coat,’ he said now, and although Helen suspected she should keep it on—just in case—she obediently unfastened the zip. Besides, glancing about her at all the glamorously clad women entering and leaving the lobby, she could see that her parka was very much out of place. At least her shirt was new and fashionable, its deep vee neckline and string ties at the waist giving her a spurious look of maturity.

Her coat was deposited with the cloakroom attendant and then Milos directed her into the cocktail bar that adjoined the famous restaurant. A waiter, recognising her escort, immediately found them a corner table, and Milos made sure she was seated comfortably and then ordered champagne.

With hindsight, Helen had realised that she shouldn’t have drunk any champagne. She wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol, for one thing, and, for another, she’d never tried anything but beer before. And then only at a party when she would have looked a prude to refuse it. But she hadn’t liked the taste on that occasion and had dumped most of the bottle down the loo.

Champagne, as she discovered, was different. It was much sweeter, and the bubbles fizzed pleasantly on her tongue. In addition to which, it seemed to give her confidence and she found herself chattering on about the subjects she was taking to A level, and her ambitions for the future, with an uncharacteristic lack of reticence.

In no time at all, it seemed, it was eight o’clock, and when Milos invited her to stay and have dinner with him it would have been churlish to refuse. Besides, she didn’t want to. She liked being with Milos; she liked the envious female eyes that were cast in her direction. But most of all she liked it that he made her feel like a woman, an attractive woman that he was proud to be with.

They struck a snag when Milos summoned the waiter and asked if he had a table in the restaurant. The man was most apologetic, but the earliest he could accommodate them was at half past nine, which Helen insisted was much too late. If, as she was considering, she intended telling her mother where she’d been after the event, she had to get home at an acceptable time.

‘Send the head waiter over, would you?’ Milos asked now, politely but a little autocratically, Helen thought, and almost immediately the maître d’ presented himself, looking decidedly embarrassed at having to disappoint an apparently important guest.

‘We knew you were staying in the hotel, Mr Stephanides,’ he said, pressing his hands together a little diffidently. ‘But you did not reserve a table, sir, and one of our other guests, Prince Halil Mohammad—’ he said the other man’s name with some deference ‘—made an unexpected late reservation for himself and his entourage to dine in the restaurant.’ He threw up his hands in apology. ‘I am so sorry, sir.’

Milos was regarding him coldly, and Helen was feeling almost sorry for the man himself when he said, ‘I suppose you would not consider dining in your suite, Mr Stephanides. I would be happy to arrange for you to be served immediately. With the management’s compliments, of course.’

Helen’s cheeks turned pink then. She knew what the man was saying was reasonable. If, as he said, Milos did have a suite of rooms, then it wasn’t as if he was suggesting they had dinner in Milos’s bedroom.

But before she could make any comment, Milos intervened. ‘I think not,’ he said curtly, obviously expecting her to object. ‘I suppose I’ll have to make other arrangements.’

‘I wouldn’t mind.’

Helen could hardly believe she’d said the words. But the knowledge that to refuse would make her look like the kid she was had her accepting the maître d’s suggestion with apparent ease.

‘You’re sure?’

Milos was looking at her now, and she felt the frisson of excitement she’d felt earlier stirring inside her again. It might be the champagne, but she didn’t regret coming here. This was so much more thrilling than spending an evening watching Richard getting progressively wasted.

So, ‘I’m sure,’ she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret her recklessness. ‘Thank you.’