Читать книгу Modern Romance November 2019 Books 1-4 - Эбби Грин - Страница 20

PUSHING ASIDE THE festive wrapping paper, Lucy felt her eyes widen as she pulled a circlet of glittering diamonds from the dark leather box. ‘Oh, Drakon,’ she said.

‘Do you like it?’

‘How could anyone not like it?’ she questioned shakily, slipping the bracelet over her wrist and holding it up in the air so that it sparkled like a ring of rainbows in the winter sunshine. But the truth was that it felt too expensive. Too impersonal—and nothing like the ink-spot sapphire which he’d picked out himself. She wanted to know who’d chosen it but she also didn’t want to know, for fear that it might have been Amy or one of his assistants. And in the meantime—how humble was her own little present going to look in comparison to this?

A little awkwardly, she walked over to the Christmas tree and bent to retrieve the gift she’d placed there earlier. ‘It’s not very much,’ she said as she handed it to him.

‘I’m sure it will be perfect,’ said her new husband, his voice carrying the bland reassurance of someone who was impossible to buy for.

But she saw his face change as he pulled out a small picture from within the neat folds of holly-strewn paper.

‘You don’t like it?’ she questioned anxiously as he stared at it in silence.

‘I… It’s a line drawing of Prasinisos,’ he said slowly, lifting his head to look at her. ‘Where on earth did you get it?’

‘I found it in London just before the wedding. There’s a tiny shop in an arcade close to Leicester Square station which specialises in maps and drawings of small islands. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it there. You haven’t already got it, have you?’

He shook his head as he turned it over, his thumb caressing the worn leather frame, and an odd kind of smile touched the corners of his lips. ‘No, I haven’t got it.’

‘I know it’s only—’

‘It’s not only anything,’ he corrected, almost fiercely. ‘It’s probably the most personal gift anyone has ever bought me. And now I think I’d better thank you properly, don’t you?’

Lucy smiled and bit her lip. ‘If you like.’

‘I really did think you might have learned to stop blushing by now.’ He gave a low laugh and she felt as if she’d just won the lottery. ‘Come here.’

It was a Yuletide like no other Lucy had ever experienced, but then she’d spent so many of them on her own these past few years that maybe she had simply forgotten what it was like to celebrate. For lunch they sat down to a festive feast which had been prepared for them by Spiros, the chef. There were shiny crackers and napkins embroidered with stars on the table, and shiny christopsomo bread, which was traditionally eaten on Christmas Day. The delicious loaf was flavoured with cinnamon, oranges and cloves and Drakon told her that it translated literally as ‘Christ’s bread’. Afterwards, they ate lamb with salad and a delicious walnut-covered cake called melomakarono—which was also traditional.

After retiring to their bedroom for a sex-jammed siesta, Drakon drove her to his favourite cove, a curving crescent of deepest blue, and Lucy kicked off her shoes immediately, feeling the pale, soft sand between her toes as she gazed out at the glimmering horizon. ‘I’d love to go for a swim,’ she said, a little wistfully.

‘It’s way too cold.’

‘I guess.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, it’s pointless wishing because I haven’t brought my costume.’

‘And because only a crazy person would swim on a day like this.’

Lucy stared out at the sapphire water on which the winter sunshine was dancing in undulating lines of liquid gold, telling herself that this might be Greece but it was still winter and Drakon was probably right—only a crazy person would want to swim on Christmas Day. Yet something was compelling her to take to the water and she couldn’t work out if it was just a sense of feeling so intensely alive, or the powerful sense of hope which had been building up inside her since their plane had touched down on Prasinisos. Because despite her initial misgivings about the trip, this felt as if it was rapidly turning into a proper honeymoon. Not just the sex, which had been perfect as always—but because Drakon had revealed a chink in his steely armour and allowed her to look inside at the man beneath. He had confided stuff about his family which made her understand him a little better and didn’t that spell only positive things for their future together?

He was standing silhouetted against the shoreline, his black hair ruffled and the light breeze blowing at his linen shirt, which was tucked into a pair of faded jeans, and he looked so utterly gorgeous that a thrill of pleasure ran through her. Was that what made her feel so uninhibited? Why she suddenly peeled her sweater over her head and dropped it on the sand, before starting to unbutton her jeans?

His black eyes narrowed as the denim slid to the sand. ‘Now what are you doing?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘You’re not planning on going skinny-dipping are you, Lucy?’

She registered his tone of mocking incredulity and forced herself to focus on her smile rather than the goosebumps which greeted the removal of her jeans. ‘Why not?’ she queried innocently as she unclipped her bra and wriggled out of her knickers. ‘Didn’t you say you owned this beach and nobody ever came near it?’

She relished the look in his eyes as she turned to pound across the beach and ran into the water. She was too intent on forcing herself to plunge straight beneath the icy depths to take any notice of what Drakon might be doing, but she was curving her arm into a powerful front crawl when she realised he was swimming right beside her, black hair plastered to his head like a seal, his naked body gleaming olive-gold underneath the water. In silent acknowledgement of his unspoken challenge, Lucy set off, racing in a line parallel to the shore, and gave it everything she had. She was the strongest female swimmer she knew, but it wasn’t nearly enough to beat her powerhouse of a husband.

He made it look so effortless and was barely out of breath when eventually she swam into his waiting arms, and he laughed against her wet neck and kissed it over and over again as she wrapped her legs around his back. The exercise had given her immunity against the chilly sea and it felt perfectly natural for Drakon’s hands to begin a sensual exploration of her body beneath the surface of the water. And perfectly natural for her to do the same to him. His mouth was on hers—it tasted salty and cold and her nipples were like bullets as they pressed into his chest. A small butterfly beat of awareness at her clitoris was making itself insistently known and he gave a small groan of pleasure when she curled her fingers around his hardness.

‘I want to do it to you now,’ he whispered.

‘Then do it,’ she whispered back.

He covered her mouth with his seeking lips and Lucy’s brain just went to mush. His lips were on her neck and then her breasts. His hungry fingers were parting her aching folds and as he nudged his moist tip against her, she tightened the grip of her legs around the jut of his hips. She gasped with pleasure as he made that first thrust, tilting to accommodate the huge width of him, and the angle of his penetration made her gasp some more. She came very quickly, glad he was supporting her buttocks as he choked out his own fulfilment, and she could feel the rough rasp of his jaw as his head sank against her shoulder, his mouth pressing against her wet hair.

‘I never thought I’d make love in the sea,’ she said, once she could trust herself to speak again.

‘And your verdict?’

‘It was…okay,’ she said, and he laughed.

‘Just okay?’

She shrugged.

‘Then maybe I’d better do it to you again,’ he growled with soft intent and Lucy only pretended to run away from him.

Afterwards they swam back to shore and dressed with numb fingers, hastily pulling clothes onto their still-damp bodies. But any coldness was forgotten the moment they got back to the heated car where soft blankets were stashed on the back seat and Drakon must have arranged for Spiros to make a thermos of creamy hot chocolate, lightly laced with brandy, which they drank from a shared cup.

‘Drakon?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Did you…did you plan this?’ questioned Lucy suspiciously, surveying him across a cloud of steam.

‘The outing?’

‘The sex.’

There was a pause. ‘Put it this way, I like to cover every eventuality.’ The smile he gave her was automatic but suddenly Drakon found himself looking away from her searching blue gaze to stare at the horizon ahead. He swallowed, still reeling from the intensity of what had happened back there in the water. Not just because it had been outside—he certainly wasn’t a secret exhibitionist craving to be observed in flagrante—and he’d meant what he said when he’d told Lucy that his beach was completely private.

No. It wasn’t that. It had more to do with the closeness he’d felt when their bodies had been locked together in that urgent, underwater coupling. Almost as if they’d been part of the same body. It had felt…unsettling. Disturbing. It had brought with it echoes of the past. Of things happening which were outside his control—and that was a feeling he’d vowed never to replicate. More than that—hadn’t he felt the twist of something unknown in his heart when she’d held her face up to his and he’d started to kiss her? There was something about her sweet enthusiasm which was difficult to resist and that wasn’t the only thing about her which was dangerous. Somehow she’d manged to peel away some of the defensive layers which were such an intrinsic part of his make-up. He’d talked about stuff he usually kept locked away and in the process she’d made him feel as if she’d burrowed inside his head.

He felt his skin icing as he started up the engine and the four-by-four ascended the cliff road, past the rocky outline of the man’s face. Well, it wasn’t going to happen again. She wasn’t going to get any closer than she already had and maybe he needed to show her that, once this honeymoon was over. Despite the thoughtfulness of her Christmas present, which had affected him in a way he hadn’t been expecting, it didn’t actually mean anything, did it? This was never intended to be anything more than a marriage of convenience and it was pretty inconvenient to have a wife who was always prying like that. He was silent on the drive back to the villa and glad when his phone started vibrating the moment they entered the complex and he could excuse himself to deal with a phone call from one of his brokers in New York.

‘I’m not sure how long this will take,’ he called to her, over his shoulder.

‘No worries. Honestly, I’m fine.’ The dreamy note in her voice hinted at inner satisfaction. ‘Take as long as you need,’ she called back.

Left alone while Drakon retreated to his glass office, Lucy wandered around, feeling deeply content. It felt almost as if she were floating. As if she were walking on air. She didn’t even mind her new husband shoehorning in a little work, despite his avowed intention to put business on the back burner during their honeymoon. Who cared if he’d succumbed to a call from his busy empire when this brief time together had exceeded all her expectations? When their interactions as a couple had filled her with the tentative hope that they shared a basic compatibility which could grow, if they nurtured it—and that maybe this marriage could become more than she’d ever dreamed it could be.

She texted Sofia, who informed her that Xander had discovered the use of his hands while they’d been away and had been trying to grab the soft toys attached to the sides of his cot.

Lucy texted back.

Sounds very advanced for a seven-weeker! Can’t wait to see you both tomorrow. X

And it was true. She couldn’t. Funny how you could bond with a tiny baby, even when you didn’t realise it was happening. Even when it wasn’t your baby. Couldn’t they become a real family, she wondered hungrily, even if it was a somewhat unconventional family?

She glanced up as Drakon returned, his expression slightly preoccupied as he walked into the room. ‘Is everything okay?’ she questioned.

‘Mmm?’ He glanced across the room at her as if he had only just noticed she was there. ‘I’m going to have to deal with a conference call a little later.’

‘Oh? Must you?’

‘Yes, I must,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’m afraid it can’t be helped.’

It was disappointing. Of course it was—and part of her wanted to ask him to put whatever or whoever it was on hold, so they could enjoy every last second on the island. But Lucy was made of stronger stuff than that. She might have sometimes resented the military life in which she’d grown up, but being an army brat had taught her how to be strong and resilient. She needed to remind herself why Drakon had married her. Mostly because he wanted a mother substitute, but hand in hand with that went his own need for a supportive wife. She had to look on anything else as a bonus, rather than with any sense of entitlement.

‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘I might do some packing so we aren’t rushing in the morning.’

And that was how Lucy spent the last evening of her honeymoon. She took a long bath and washed all the sea water out of her hair. Then she packed her case and started reading a previously unopened novel she’d brought with her.

And though it was difficult to empathise with a woman who found herself marooned in a snowy cottage on Christmas Eve with a brooding stranger—why on earth had she set out for the cottage when the weather forecast had been so atrocious?—Lucy gave it her best shot.

At least Drakon made it down in time for dinner but he ate more perfunctorily than with any obvious signs of enjoyment and refused Spiro’s home-made baklava, which made the chef go into a slight sulk. Only at bedtime did things settle into an agreeably familiar pattern, when her new husband took her to bed. He pulled the duvet over them like a private snowy tent and began to kiss her, and all the faint frustrations of the evening were forgotten. He made love to her very quickly, as if he were seeking some sort of release—but Lucy wasn’t going to analyse that either. She just revelled in the elation which pulsed through her veins afterwards. Because this was bliss. Being in Drakon’s arms was like finding her own tiny piece of heaven. Through heavy-lidded eyes she studied his profile, his skin silvered by the moonlight which flooded in from the windows, his indifferent expression giving nothing away.

‘Did you sort all your business out?’ she questioned.

He frowned. ‘Are you really interested in talking about that right now?’

Was that censure which underpinned the hint of mockery in his voice? ‘I thought you might want me to show some interest,’ she said, a little defensively.

‘Well, I don’t. At least, not in that. Only in this.’

Lucy’s head fell back against the pillow as he gave a featherlight flick of his tongue against her nipple and she squirmed when he licked some more and his hand crept down between her thighs. And although warm desire flooded through her, it was followed by a feeling of frustration which had nothing to do with the physical. Because this was a familiar pattern with Drakon, she recognised. He used his physicality to distract her from subjects he had no desire to pursue. And it worked. Every time. That was the magical yet ultimately infuriating thing about her husband. That he had the power to manipulate her. To use sex to quieten or console her—and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it.

They left the island at noon the following day and arrived in London just as dusk was falling and the Christmas lights in the city were starting to glow in the fading light. Inside the lobby of the luxury apartment block shone a glittering tree she’d barely noticed before the wedding—and this evening it seemed to symbolise a faded air of festivity which echoed her own increasingly flat mood. In the elevator she badly wanted Drakon to kiss her but he was busy looking at his phone and Lucy knew she needed to ruthlessly prune any romantic fantasies instead of allowing them to grow. They’d had a great honeymoon. So what? That didn’t change anything, did it? That didn’t mean he’d suddenly started to care for her, did it? Yet she had started to care for him even more than she’d done before. That was the truth of it.

Be careful, Lucy, she thought. Be very careful.

The elevator doors slid open and she walked straight into the apartment, where a smiling Sofia was waiting with Xander in her arms. The baby was dressed in a green sleepsuit covered with red-nosed reindeers and Lucy felt a welling up of something hard in her chest which took her breath away as she cradled the infant. He was so tiny and helpless and…she’d missed him, she realised with a wrench. Had Drakon missed him too? she wondered, turning her head to speak to her husband.

‘Drakon? Look. See how he’s…’ But Lucy realised she was talking to an empty space. That Drakon had slipped from the room without a word and, from the fading sound of his conversation, it appeared he was already on the phone to somebody.

She tried not to let it bother her as she played with the baby. She bathed him and fed him and sang a crooning little song she remembered from those long hours of night duty when she’d worked in the neonatal unit at St Jude’s hospital. She gave Sofia the evening off and, once Xander was asleep, Lucy changed into a dress she’d never worn before. Before she’d met Drakon, she would never have dared. Silky scarlet jersey clung to her hips and the slashing V neckline gave an uncharacteristic glimpse of shadowed cleavage. Spiky-heeled black shoes with scarlet soles completed the outfit and she styled her hair into a fashionably messy topknot which the Granchester hairdresser had showed her how to do.

Zena had prepared a meal which she’d left for them and Lucy was just lighting tall candles in the dining room, when Drakon walked into the room. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone and she could see the faint darkness of chest hair, which arrowed downward in a beguiling path. He hadn’t changed since they’d arrived back from Prasinisos, she realised, narrowing her eyes. He must have been on the phone all this time. He was looking around the room, taking in the holly-strewn centrepiece with tall silver candles which adorned the table and the bottle of champagne which protruded from an ice bucket.

‘This all looks very…festive,’ he observed, with the air of a man who had just been told that his dentist was about to make an unscheduled visit.

‘Doesn’t it?’ Lucy said brightly. ‘Zena must have gone to a lot of trouble and it’s still…well, it’s still Christmas.’

He turned his attention to her outfit. ‘Is that why you’re dressed like the personification of seasonal sex in your Santa-red dress?’ he questioned huskily. ‘Because you want me to unwrap you?’

Lucy swallowed as her nipples tightened in time to his slow scrutiny. ‘I don’t see why not,’ she whispered. ‘We might no longer be on honeymoon, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still make love after dinner every night, if you want to, which I’m rather hoping you do.’

‘Who knows what either of us will want? This is still all very new—to both of us.’ He picked up the champagne bottle and began to tear the foil from its neck. ‘Let’s just take it one day at a time, shall we, Lucy?’

His voice was soft but entirely devoid of emotion, and as she looked into the unfathomable darkness of his eyes Lucy wondered whether he intended his words to sound more like a threat than a promise.