Modern Romance July 2015 Books 1-4. Maisey Yates

he said.

      ‘So,’ she repeated, more to gain time than anything else.

      ‘Aren’t you going to invite me inside?’ he questioned.

      Every fibre of her being was screaming at her to say yes. To open the door and do what she wanted to do more than she could remember wanting anything. She knew exactly what would happen. The look on his face told her that it would be quick. He would rip at her clothing. Push aside the damp panel of her panties with impatient fingers. She could almost hear the rasp of his zip as she pictured him freeing himself. Her fingers were itching to reacquaint themselves with that silken, steely shaft—to rub it up and down until he began to groan...

      Blood rushed through her veins as she thought of that first intimate touch just before he entered her—the moist tip of him pressing against her—and she could have wept with longing and frustration. Would he be able to tell that there had been no lover since him? That he had been the one and only man she’d ever been intimate with? Would he laugh in disbelief if he knew, or would it simply make him gloat with insufferable pride? That he was still able to make her—the cool and contained Jessica Cartwright—into someone she barely recognised.

      He had offered her the job and was now making it very clear that he wanted her. For a man with Loukas’s reasoning, one would automatically follow the other. Payback time. And would that be such a terrible thing? If she had sex with him again it might make her look at things more rationally. Reassure herself that she’d built him up in her mind because she’d been young and impressionable. And this was a modern world, wasn’t it? She should be able to sleep with whom she pleased.

      She opened her mouth to say yes, but something stopped her—and that something was the look in his eyes. Was that triumph she could read there?

      Some of the heat left her blood. She thought about how she’d feel in the morning if she woke up and found him beside her. Would she be able to deal with the aftermath of such a rash act? She doubted it. Because intimacy terrified her. It brought with it hurt, and pain. And surely only a fool would do something in the knowledge that it was going to bring them pain.

      She shook her head. ‘No, Loukas,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’

      He bent his head forward, as if he didn’t believe her, as if he could change her mind by shortening the physical distance between them. His breath was warm against her face.

      ‘Are you sure?’ he whispered.

      It took every bit of will power she possessed to step back and shake her head, but will power was something she was good at. It was will power which had made her stand outside in all weathers, smashing ball after ball over the net while her father shouted at her. Will power which had dragged her out of bed on those cold winter mornings while the rest of her schoolfriends had snuggled beneath the duvet while their mothers made toast.

      ‘Quite sure,’ she answered. ‘I’m going to bed. Alone. Goodnight.’

      The faint flare of surprise she saw in his eyes gave her no real pleasure. It didn’t cancel out the ache in her body or the yearning in her heart. Stepping inside her suite, she shut the door on his hard and beautiful face and resisted the desire to smash her fist against the wall.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      FRUSTRATION WAS NEVER a good feeling to wake up to, but Jessica supposed it was preferable to regret.

      Standing beneath the pounding jets of the shower, she scrubbed furiously at her skin, as if doing that would wash the Greek from her memory, but nothing could shift the annoying thoughts going round and round inside her head. Had she been crazy not to invite Loukas into her suite, to kill the fantasy of her ex-lover once and for all? To make her realise that she’d been building him up into some kind of god for all these years, when in reality he was a mere mortal?

      She reminded herself of the evening they’d shared. He had shown her no real affection, had he? He had taken her to dinner, then made a cold-blooded move on her afterwards. He had made her feel more like a potential conquest than an object of desire. Was she so desperate for sex that she was regretting not having settled for that? No, she was not. She needed to keep her wits about her and she needed to stay in control.

      Pulling on a pair of linen trousers, she buttoned up her shirt and twisted her hair into a bun and was just clipping pearl studs into her ears when the phone beside the bed shattered the silence. She hesitated for a moment before picking up the handset. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Sleep well?’

      The deep voice washed over her like dark honey. It made staying in control seem like the hardest thing in the world.

      ‘Like a log,’ she lied. ‘Did you?’

      ‘No, not really.’ His voice dipped. ‘I kept being woken up by the most erotic dreams imaginable and they all seemed to involve you. I blame you for my disturbed night, Jess.’

      ‘Because you didn’t get what you wanted?’

      Loukas didn’t answer. If only it were as simple as that. If only his frustration could be put down to the fact that she’d stopped him making love to her—but it wasn’t that simple. It was starting to feel complicated and he didn’t do complicated. Why had it become so important to possess her again, and why was she so determined to fight him?

      He knew she wanted him—she’d made that very clear—and yet she had resisted. He wondered if she revelled in the power it gave her—to tap into that icy self-control which she pulled out just when you were least expecting it. She had fallen apart in his arms the moment he’d touched her, and yet still she had said no.

      His mouth hardened. He was aware that he had the double standards of many men to whom sex had always come easily, but his attitudes had been reinforced by the unhappiness of his childhood and the things he had witnessed. Those things had soured him towards the opposite sex and the women he had met subsequently had done little to help modify his prejudices.

      But Jess was different. She had always been different. Not just because she was streamlined and blonde, when his taste had always tended towards fleshy brunettes. She was the one woman who had walked away from him. The one he had never been able to work out. She had that indefinable something called class, which no amount of money could ever buy. It had been her aloofness which had first drawn him to her—something he’d never come into contact with before. That sense of physical and emotional distance had fascinated him and so had she. She was the first woman he’d ever had to woo. The first—and only—woman he’d ever bought flowers for. Had she secretly laughed at his cheap little offering—when sophisticated bouquets had awaited her when she walked off the tennis court? He’d often wondered whether it had been her secret fantasy to take someone like him as her first lover. Someone as unlike her as possible. Someone who knew what it was all about, but who could safely be discarded afterwards. Her piece of rough. Had he served his purpose by deflowering her and introducing her to pleasure?

      He considered the options which lay open to him. He could walk away now. Leave the new advertising campaign in the hands of the experts, and keep his own input to the bare minimum. Or he could pay her off with an overinflated sum, since money was the reason she was here. He could find a fresher, newer model, with none of the baggage which Jessica Cartwright carried. And he could easily find himself another lover. One who would not cold-bloodedly shut the door in his face, but who would welcome him with open arms and open legs.

      But he had not finished with her. Not yet. His list was not yet completed. He had met his brother. He had dealt with his mother’s betrayal and uncovered all the dark secrets she had left behind. He had built up a fortune beyond his wildest dreams. He had made some of his peace with the world, so that only Jessica remained—and he needed her. He needed to take his fill of her, because only then would he be free of her and able to walk away.

      ‘Maybe I didn’t get what I wanted last night, koukla mou,’ he said softly, ‘but I always get there in