Читать книгу Modern Romance July 2015 Books 1-4 - Кэтти Уильямс, Maisey Yates, Cathy Williams - Страница 16

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHAT A DIFFERENCE a day could make. Or a night. A night when Loukas had seemed determined to show Jessica everything she’d been missing.

Sex.

Her throat dried.

A devastating masterclass in desire and satisfaction.

She had hardly slept a wink and by rights she should have felt terrible when she met the crew to resume shooting the following morning. But terrible was the last thing she felt. She felt alive. As if all her senses had suddenly exploded. The diamonds, which yesterday had hung like a millstone around her neck, today made her feel pampered and decadent as they glittered against her skin—and the close-fitting silk of her bodice no longer felt constricting. She was conscious of the way it clung to her breasts—thrusting them upwards and giving her a bit of a cleavage and reminding her of the way Loukas had licked his way over every inch of them during the sensual night they’d shared.

‘Wow,’ said the photographer softly as she stood in the gondola—only today she had no trouble keeping her balance, despite the rocking motion of the distinctive craft. And when she was told to pout and look dreamy, she had no problem with that, either. In fact, it was difficult to look anything but dreamy when all she could think about was the man whose black eyes had grown opaque and smoky as he had lowered his head to kiss her.

But kisses could blind you to the reality and she had to keep reminding herself that it had only been about sex—because how could it ever be anything else? He’d made it clear that experience had hardened him. That he had changed and now there was no room in his life for marriage. She thought about the way his voice had grown cold when she’d asked about children, and—bearing in mind the things he’d told her—could she honestly blame him for not wanting any? All the things he’d told her about his childhood made her aware of just how grim his early life must have been. No wonder he’d been so reluctant to speak about it in the past. And then to discover out of the blue that he had a twin brother—a discovery like that must have rocked his world.

So she was going to have to be very mature. To accept the person he was, and if last night was the only night they would ever share, then she would accept that, too. No tears. No regrets. And definitely no recriminations. She’d had her chance a long time ago and she had blown it. She had no one to blame but herself.

This time Loukas didn’t watch over the photo shoot, telling her he needed to work, before slipping away from her room in the early hours. She supposed he hadn’t wanted anyone to see him leaving, knowing that it might muddy the waters if the crew discovered that the CEO was sleeping with the model.

She spent the entire day being photographed, but that ice-cube feeling was a distant memory. The ballgown was followed by a slinky white silk trouser suit, with nipped-in jacket and wide palazzo pants. The diamond necklace had been replaced with neat diamond studs and, with a nod to her previous career, she wore a tennis bracelet—a narrow row of diamonds, which glittered discreetly at her wrist. The last shot of the day was of Jessica wearing a monochrome mini-dress, teamed with waterproof boots as she stood in the centre of a flooded St Mark’s Square, and even though her arms were covered with goosebumps she didn’t feel particularly cold. Patti fed her sips of hot coffee and torn-off little pieces of croissant. Tourists gathered to watch, only today she didn’t mind, and when the art director called it a day and came over to congratulate her, she experienced a feeling of real achievement. She’d done what she had set out to do. She had pulled it out of the bag and given them what they wanted. She’d shown them—and herself—that she was capable of change, and wasn’t that a very empowering feeling?

They all trooped back to the hotel through the echoing streets of the darkening afternoon and Loukas was just coming down the sweeping staircase, leaving Jessica wondering whether someone had rung ahead to tell him they were on their way. Her heart pounded as she watched him move, so dark and so vital, capturing the attention of every person in the place. He walked over to talk to the art director and she tugged the cashmere wrap closer, feeling her nipples tightening beneath the soft material, afraid someone might notice and work out why. They chatted intently for a moment and then he looked round, his black gaze sweeping around until it had found her, and her heart began to race even faster as he walked across the foyer towards her.

A faint smile lifted the edges of his mouth. ‘I gather you excelled yourself today,’ he said.

She smiled, trying to ignore the sudden yearning deep inside her. Trying to convince herself that she only felt this way because he was a powerful, alpha male she’d spent the night with and that was how nature had conditioned her to react. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘I’m tempted to ask what has changed since yesterday,’ he murmured. ‘But I think we both know the answer to that, wouldn’t you say, koukla mou?’

She tilted her chin. ‘Are you looking for praise?’

‘Why would I need to do that when you gave me all the praise I could possibly want last night?’ His lashes shuttered down to half conceal the ebony glint of his eyes. ‘Would you like to repeat some of it, in case you’ve forgotten?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said hastily. She could see Patti and the others moving towards the elevator—presumably to pack—and her heart grew heavy as she realised that it had all come to an end. And she didn’t want it to come to an end. ‘I guess I’d better go and pack as well.’

‘Well, you could. Or you and I could stay on for an extra day and give ourselves a chance to see the city properly?’

She stared at him.

His eyes glittered. ‘What’s the matter, Jess—doesn’t the idea appeal?’

‘It’s not that. Surely you have...’ She tried to keep the tremor of excitement from her voice. She shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Work to do.’

‘I’m the boss. Work can wait—while I, on the other hand...’

His words trailed off, smoky, suggestive and edged with a raw hunger which left her in no doubt what he was thinking. But it had been a long time since Jessica had engaged in sexual banter and she’d forgotten the first rule about keeping it light.

‘What?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t want to wait,’ he said softly. ‘And I don’t intend to. I still want you. I want you so badly that I’m hard now, just standing this close to you. So hard that I want to rip those trousers from your delicious legs and put my hands where that silk has been.’

He had lowered his voice so that only she could hear, but even so Jessica found herself looking around, terrified that a passing guest would overhear, or that someone discerning would correctly interpret their body language.

‘Loukas,’ she said, only the word didn’t come out as it was supposed to do. It came out all throatily, like a husky invitation instead of a protest.

He shook his head, as if pre-empting her objections. ‘One night wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to cancel out eight long years of a slow-burning fever in my blood. A fever which has never quite gone away, no matter how many other women have graced my bed. Has it been like that for you too, Jess?’ His voice dipped. ‘I’m guessing so. Because you were wild for me last night. Wild,’ he finished silkily.

Her instinct was to play it down. To clamp down on the feeling before it had started to grow and take hold. It was a survival mechanism which had served her well in the past. It meant she’d been able to accept a promising tennis career which had ended before it had even begun. It had enabled her to turn down his offer of marriage because she’d known that had been the right thing to do. And this time round she knew it would be best if they kept last night as a one-off. A single, amazing night they’d shared, which was never going to happen again. Because one night was easy to be objective about; any more than that and she was running straight into trouble.

She opened her mouth to say no, but something in his face was making the words die on her lips. Was it a sudden softness about the eyes which reminded her of the man he’d once been, before life had taken him and roughed him up even more?

Because something about the way he was looking at her touched a part of herself she’d thought had died a long time ago, and she was surprised he hadn’t worked out for himself the reason why she’d been so wild for him last night. Not just because she’d been living in a sexual desert since he’d walked out of her life, but because he made her feel stuff. Stuff like joy and intense pleasure. Stuff like love.

She chewed on her lip. In the past she wouldn’t have been able to spontaneously extend a trip abroad, because Hannah would have been at home and Jessica had always prided herself on being there for her. But Hannah was thousands of miles away and nobody else knew or cared where she was. She could think of that as isolation, or she could think of it as being free. A negative or a positive—the choice was hers.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘It seems a pity to come all this way and not see something of the city.’

He slanted her a conspiratorial smile. ‘That’s what I thought.’

Her hands were trembling as she went to her room to change into jeans, sweater and a waterproof jacket—almost glad that the day was grey and misty and she could put on normal clothes. The kind of clothes she wore at home, which made her feel more like herself and not some manufactured glamour puss.

She met Loukas back downstairs and they left the hotel, but soon after the narrow streets had begun to swallow them up, he steered her into a darkened bar.

‘You need a drink,’ he said firmly. ‘And you missed out on lunch, didn’t you?’

‘It’s nearly four o’clock, Loukas. We won’t get lunch at this time.’

‘I know that. But Venice is a city which is prepared for all eventualities.’ He sat her gently down on a bar stool and nodded at the proprietor, who was polishing a glass. ‘You drink a glass of local wine, which the locals call an ombra, and you eat some of these delicious little snacks, which are known as cicchetti. See? Tiny little plates of seafood, vegetables and polenta. Come on, Jess. Relax. Stop looking so uptight.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Pretend it’s last night and I’m kissing you.’

Loukas wondered what she was thinking as she turned her remarkable eyes to his. He sensed a struggle within her, as if she was still fighting him off, and maybe it was that which drew him towards her. Was it her slight air of resistance—of restraint—which reinforced his growing realisation that this thing between them was still not settled?

Why not?

His jaw tightened. She should have been smitten with him by now—and that wasn’t arrogance, it was fact. One night of sex was usually enough to guarantee adoration from whomever had shared his bed, and their history gave Jess more reason than most to have fallen under his spell. But that was the thing with her. The closer you got, the more she seemed to pull away, and all it did was to fire up his dominant hunter instincts. He sipped at his wine. Was that the reason he wanted her so much—because she kept him at arm’s length unless he happened to be buried deep inside her body?

She sipped her wine, glancing round at the shadowy interior of the small bar as if soaking up the atmosphere.

‘You seem to know your way around Venice pretty well,’ she observed.

‘I do. It was another part of my grand tour, even though I had nothing very much in my pockets when I first arrived.’

‘So how did you survive?’

He shrugged. ‘There is always work if you are prepared to do anything—and I was. I went to all the great European cities and set myself a goal. Six months in each, by which time I wanted to feel as comfortable as if I was a native of that city.’

‘And was there any particular shortcut?’

‘Not one that you’d probably want to hear.’

Her cheeks went pink. ‘You mean—through women?’

He shrugged. ‘I told you that you wouldn’t like it.’

‘It doesn’t bother me at all.’

‘Liar,’ he said softly and leaned forward to brush his lips overs hers, tasting the wine and the warmth in that brief kiss. ‘Want to see some more of Venice?’

She nodded and he found himself linking her fingers through his as they started walking along the canal. Her hands were cold and despite their tennis-honed strength they felt fragile and small within his. He found himself thinking that he didn’t usually do this kind of thing. He didn’t wander hand in hand with a woman, pointing out the secret churches and hidden squares and feeling high with the sheer beauty of the city, almost as if he’d never really seen it before.

The afternoon became devoid of all natural light and as the streetlights began to glow, the deserted streets took on the atmospheric feel so beloved of film-makers. Loukas saw someone snap on a light in one of the great flats along the Grand Canal and a golden glow spilled down, turning Jess’s hair into molten gold. They wandered off down one of the narrow streets and he was thinking about taking her to that little bar near the Rialto, when he felt her tugging at his sleeve.

‘Did you hear that?’ she asked.

Frowning, he shook his head.

‘Listen,’ she said, putting her finger over her lips.

He frowned, but all he could hear was the lap of the water and the echoing sound of music coming from a long way off. ‘I don’t hear anything.’

‘Shh! There it is again.’

And then he heard it—would have recognised it instantly if it hadn’t held such poignant memories for him. The terrified sound of a child’s cry. He stiffened, every sense on full alert as he began to move purposefully in the direction of the sound. He could hear Jess’s rapid breathing beside him, just before he saw the huddled shape of a child ahead of them—a boy—his face streaked with tears, his brown eyes wide and frightened.

Jess began to run towards him, but Loukas caught her arm, speaking to her in English, in a low voice. ‘Wait. Be careful,’ he said.

‘Be careful?’ She turned on him. ‘What are you talking about, Loukas? He’s just a child.’

‘And this could be a scam. It’s a well-known method for fleecing tourists. Children used as decoys to lure unsuspecting foreigners. There are pickpockets in this city, just like everywhere else.’

Angrily, she shook his arm away. ‘I don’t care,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m willing to take the risk of losing a few euros. I want to help him. Let me go!’

But he shadowed her as she ran forward and the boy turned his face upwards and choked out his frightened words.

‘Aiutami,’ he said. ‘Aiuto.’

Remorse flooded through Loukas as immediately he crouched and looked into the tear-filled eyes. ‘I will help you,’ he said gruffly, in the same language. ‘Where are your parents?’

‘I don’t know!’ cried the boy and Jess put her arms around him as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and Loukas felt his heart clench as he watched her soothing him, listening carefully to what the child said in a breathless dialect he thought might be Sicilian.

‘He says he lost sight of his parents and when he heard them calling for him, he began to run,’ he translated. ‘Only he took the wrong turning and began to panic. He ran even faster, and that’s when he realised he could no longer hear them. He couldn’t hear anything. He isn’t hurt, but he’s frightened.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ she said fervently as she stroked the boy’s curly hair. ‘Venice is a beautiful city by day, but it must be scary if you’re a child and you’re lost. All that water.’ She shivered. ‘Tell him that we’re going to help find his parents.’

Loukas nodded as he lifted the boy to his feet and began to speak in a calm, low voice before turning to her and meeting the question in her blue eyes.

‘I’ve explained that we’ll take him to the questura—the police,’ he said. ‘And that we’ll probably find his parents there, waiting for him. Come on, Jess. He wants you to take his hand. Oh, and his name is Marco.’

‘Marco,’ she said softly as the little boy clung to her hip and wept.