Robyn Donald - Sanchia's Secret

‘And does your wonderful independence,’ he queried in a dangerously silky voice, ‘keep you sated and warm at night?’

‘There are more important things in life than sex.’

He said something swift and angry in Greek, the language she had stubbornly refused to even consider learning. Switching to English, he said, ‘Or perhaps you work off that violent physical appetite of yours with strangers, with casual affairs?’

She’d kept so much from him she was tempted to add a whopping lie, but she said stiffly, ‘I don’t approve of petty, sordid affairs.’

So unnerved that she barely understood her own words, she yanked the door open and walked through, frowning when she saw she was in a passage. ‘Which way?’

‘To the left, second door down.’

He walked beside her, close enough to intimidate, not close enough to touch. Just as well—she’d go up like a fireball if he laid so much as a finger on her. All right, so it was merely the physical passion he’d called it, but oh, God, it was overwhelming—like being branded by him so that her body registered him, recognised him, yearned to know him intimately.

Feared him.

Because the one time she’d tried to break past the arbitrary limits her body had set, it had frozen in fierce, unreasoning rejection.

He asked coolly, ‘Does that mean there have been no affairs—or just no petty, sordid ones?’

‘Mind your own business!’ she retorted fiercely.

‘You are the person who used the word sordid.’ Stone-faced, he pushed the door open and stood back to let her through. ‘And any affair between us would never be petty. I promise you that.’

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