The Greek's Secret Son. Julia James

was easing her panties from her quickening thighs.

      He lifted himself from her, one hand splaying into her hair as it spread in tumbling golden curls across the pillow. His eyes burned into hers. ‘You are so, so beautiful,’ he said. ‘So beautiful...’

      She could say nothing, could only gaze upwards, hearing her mind echoing his words... He was beautiful! He with his sable hair and his sculpted cheekbones, with eyes you could drown in. His hard, lean body that her hands were now lifting themselves to of their own accord.

      Her fingertips traced every line, every contour of the smooth, honed muscles. He seemed to shudder and she felt his muscles clench, as if what she was doing was unbearable, and then his mouth descended again.

      Hungry...oh, so hungry.

      And there was a hunger in her too. A ravening hunger that was as instinctive, as overpowering, as her need to be held and kissed and caressed by this most blissfully seductive of men. It was making her body arch to his, the blood rush like a torrent in her veins, drowning her senses, turning her into living flame. Never had she imagined that passion could feel like this! Never had her daydreams known what it was to be like this, in the arms of a man filled with urgent desire.

      And she desired him.

      She clung to him, not knowing what she was doing, only that it was what she burned to do. Her body arched to his, her thighs parting. She heard him say something but was lost to all coherence.

      He seemed to pause, pull away from her, and it was unbearable not to have his warm, strong body over hers. And then, with a rush of relief, she felt him there again, kissing her again, his hands urgent, every muscle in his body tautening. She felt his body ease between hers, felt his hips move against hers, felt—

      Pain! A sudden, piercing stab of pain!

      She cried out, freezing, and he froze too. He gazed down at her, his eyes blind, then clearing into vision. Words escaped him. He was shocked.

      He lifted from her and the pain vanished. Her hands reached for him, her head lifting blindly to catch his mouth again. But he was still withdrawn from her.

      ‘I didn’t know—I didn’t realise—’ The words fell from him. Shocked. Abrupt.

      She could only gaze up at him. Devastation was flooding through her.

      ‘Don’t you want me?’ It was all that was in her head now—the devastation of his rejection before.

      ‘Tia...’ He said her name again. ‘I didn’t realise that I would be the first man for you—’

      Her hands pressed into his bare shoulders. ‘I want you to be! Only you! Please—oh, please!’

      Conflict seared in him. He burned for her, and yet—

      But she was pressing her body against his, crushing her breasts against the wall of his chest. Lifting her hips to his in an age-old invitation of woman to man, to possess and be possessed.

      ‘Please...’ she said, her voice a low husk, a plea. ‘Please—I want this so much—I want you so much.’

      Her hand slid around the base of his skull, pressing against it, drawing his head down. She reached up with her mouth, feeling as her lips touched his a relief go through her that sated all her ardent yearning, all her desperate desire.

      She opened his mouth under hers and Anatole, with a low, helpless groan, abandoned all his inner conflict, let himself yield to what he so wanted to do...to make her his.

      * * *

      It was morning. The undrawn curtains were letting in the light of dawn. Drowsily, wonderingly, Tia lay in Anatole’s arms. There had been no more pain, and he had been as gentle with her as if she were made of porcelain—though the soft tenderness of her body now proclaimed that she was flesh and blood. But there was only a fading ache now, and in the cocoon of his strong arms it mattered not at all.

      His arm was beneath her shoulder, her head lax upon it, and she smiled up at him, bemused, enchanted. His dark eyes were moving over her face, his other hand smoothing the tendrils of her silken hair from her cheeks. He was smiling back at her—a smile of intimacy, endearment. It made her feel weak with longing.

      Bliss enveloped her, and a wonder so great that she could scarcely dare to believe that it was true, what had happened.

      ‘Do you have to return to work?’ Anatole was asking her.

      She frowned a little, not understanding. ‘The agency will open again at nine,’ she said.

      Anatole shook her head. ‘I mean, do you have to take up another position? Are you booked to be a carer for someone else?’

      Her frown deepened. She was understanding even less.

      He smoothed her silken hair again, his eyes searching her face. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said to her. ‘I want you to stay with me.’

      He watched her expression change. Watched it transform before his very eyes. Saw her cerulean blue eyes widen as she took in the meaning of what he’d said.

      His smile deepened. Became assured. ‘I have to go to Athens this week. Come with me—’

      Come with me.

      The words echoed in his head. He was sure of them—absolutely, totally sure. He felt a wash of desire go through him—not for consummation but for continuation.

      I don’t want to let her go—I want to keep her with me.

      The realisation was absolute. The clarity of his desire incontrovertible.

      ‘Do you mean it?’

      Her words were so faint he could hardly hear them. But he could hear the emotion in her voice, see how her expression had changed, how her eyes were flaring wide, and in them hope blazed, dimmed only by confusion.

      He brushed her parted lips. ‘I would not ask you otherwise,’ he said, knowing that to be true.

      His arm around her tightened. She was so soft in his arms, so tiny, it seemed to him, nestling up against him.

      He smiled at her. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Will you come with me?’

      The shadow of confusion, of fear that she had misunderstood, that he did not really mean what he’d said, vanished. Like the sun coming out, her smile lit up her face.

      ‘Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!’

      He laughed. He had had no fear that she would say no—why should she? The night they had spent together had been wondrous for her—he knew that—and he knew that he had coaxed her unschooled body to an ecstasy that had shocked her with its intensity. Knew that her ardent, bemused gaze in the sweet, exhausted aftermath of his lovemaking betokened just what effect he’d had on her.

      And if he wanted proof of that today—well, here it was. She was gazing at him now with a look on her face that spread warmth through his whole being.

      He brushed her lips with his again. Felt arousal—drowsy, dormant, but still present—start to stir. He deepened his kiss, using slow, sensuous, feather-light touches to stir within her an answering response. He would need to be gentle—very careful indeed—and take account of the dramatic changes to her body after their first union.

      He felt her fingertips steal over his body, exploring...daring...fuelling his arousal with every tentative touch and glide...

      With a deep, abiding satisfaction he started to make love to her again.

      * * *

      It was several days before they went to Athens. Days in which Tia knew she had, without the slightest doubt, been transported to a fantasy land.

      How could she be anywhere else? She had been transported there by the most gorgeous, the most wonderful, the most shiveringly fabulous man she could ever have imagined! A man who had cast a glittering net of enchantment over her life.

      That