Michelle Reid - Hot Nights with a Greek - The Greek's Forced Bride / Powerful Greek, Unworldly Wife / The Diakos Baby Scandal

The sudden pound her heart had taken up settled back to its normal pace when she discovered that she was alone, the only sign that she had shared the bed at all through the night revealed by the indent she could see in the other pillow and the way Leo had thrown back the sheets when he’d climbed out.

Then the whispering suggestion of a sound beyond the bedroom door told her what it was that had awoken her in the first place, and she was up, rolling off the bed and running for the bathroom, only becoming aware as she did so that she was still wearing the white top she’d spent most of the day yesterday in.

So he’d shown a bit of rare sensitivity by not stripping her naked, she acknowledged with absolutely no thought of gratitude stirring in her blood. Leo had taken her to pieces yesterday brick by brutal brick, so one small glimpse of humanity in him because he’d put her limp self to bed and had the grace to leave her with some dignity in place did not make her feel any better about him.

She stepped into the wet room, with her hair safely wrapped away inside a fluffy white towel, frowned and at the range of keypads and dials, trying to work out how she could take a shower without having to endure a thorough dousing at the same time. Leo Christakis was one of life’s takers, she decided. He saw an opportunity and went for it. He’d wanted her so he just moved in on her like a bulldozer and scooped her up.

Water jets suddenly hit her from all angles, making mockery of the buttons she’d pushed to stop them from doing it. A gasping breath shot from her as the jets stung her flesh. The sensation was so acute it made her look down at her body, half expecting to see that it had altered physically somehow, but all she saw was her normal curvy shape with its pale skin, full breasts and rounded hips with a soft cluster of dusky curls shaping the junction with her thighs.

But she had changed inside where it really mattered, Natasha accepted. She’d become a woman in a single day. One stripped of her silly daydreams about love and romance, then made to face cold reality—that you didn’t need love or romance to fall headlong into pleasures of the flesh.

You didn’t need anything but the desire to reach out and take it when it was right there in front of you to take.

Rico was like that. So was her sister, Cindy. They saw, they desired, so they took. It was there to take, so why not? Now she might as well accept that she’d joined the ranks of takers because she could stand here letting the shower jets inflict their torture on her and try to convince herself that she’d been blackmailed and bullied into Leo’s bed, but it was never going to be the truth.

She’d wanted, she’d let him see it, Leo had taken, now it was done. What a fabulous introduction to the reality of life.

Bernice was walking in from the terrace when Natasha came out of the bathroom back in the bathrobe once again. Feeling a hot wave of shyness wash over her, Natasha felt like diving back into the bathroom and hiding there until the housekeeper had gone but it was already too late.

Bernice had seen her. ‘ Kalemera, thespinis ,’ the housekeeper greeted with a smile. ‘It is a beautiful day to eat breakfast outside, is it not?’

‘Perfect.’ Natasha managed a return smile, ‘Thank you, Bernice,’ she added politely.

Walking towards the wall of glass as Bernice left the room, she pushed her hands into the deep pockets of her robe and stepped out into a crystal-clear morning bathed in sunlight and the inviting aroma of hot coffee and toast. By the sudden growl her stomach gave she was hungry, Natasha realised, which shouldn’t surprise her when she’d barely eaten anything the day—

Her mind and her feet pulled to a sudden standstill. For some crazy reason she just had not expected to find Leo out here seated at the table set for breakfast. However, there he sat, calmly reading a newspaper with a cup of hot coffee hovering close to his mouth.

Her soft gasp of surprise brought his eyes up from the newspaper, his heavy eyelashes folding back from liquid-dark irises that swamped her in heated awareness as they stroked up the length of her from bare toes to the tangling tumble of her unbrushed hair.

‘Kalemera,’ he murmured softly, and he rose to his feet.

It was like being hit head on by all the things she had not allowed herself to think about since she’d woken up this morning—the man in the flesh. Even though he was wearing a conventional business suit a warm tug of remembered intimacy made itself felt between her thighs. She found her eyes doing much the same thing as his eyes had done, feathering up the length of his long legs encased in smooth-as-silk iron-grey fabric, then his torso covered by a pale blue shirt and dark tie. By the time she reached his clean-shaven face with its too-compellingly, strong golden features, she was blushing and annoyed enough by it to push up her chin.

‘Good morning,’ she returned in cool English.

A half-smile clipped at the corners of his mouth. ‘You slept well, I trust?’

He met her challenge with mockery.

‘Yes, thank you.’ Natasha kept with cool.

Pulling her eyes off him, she dug her hands deeper into her robe pockets, curled them into tense fists, then made herself walk towards the table and slip into the chair opposite him, expecting Leo to return to his seat, but he didn’t.

‘Bernice was unsure what you preferred to eat for breakfast so she has provided a selection.’ A long, lean hand indicated another table standing to one side of the terrace, which was spread with covered dishes. ‘Tell me what you would like and I’ll get it for you.’

Glancing at it, then away again, ‘Thank you, I’m fine with just toast.’

‘Juice?’ he offered.

A small hesitation, then she nodded. ‘Please.’

He went to pour the juice from the jug set on the other table. You couldn’t get a more pleasantly generated scene of calm domesticity if you tried, Natasha noted—though there was nothing domesticated in the way her eyes had to follow him or the way they soaked in every inch of his powerful lean frame like greedy traitors.

Looking away quickly when he turned around, she pretended an interest in the daytime view of Athens glistening in a hazy sunlight. Then one of his hands appeared in front of her to set down the glass of juice. Ice chinked against freshly squeezed oranges. He did not move away and another of those hesitations erupted between them sending out vibrating signals Natasha just did not want to read. And he was standing so close she could smell the clean, tangy scent of him, could feel the sheer masculine force of his sexuality that to her buzzing mind was barely leashed.

Then he brought his other hand around her to settle a rack of toast next to the glass of juice.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

‘My pleasure,’ he drawled—and he moved away to return to his seat, leaving Natasha to pull in a breath she had not been aware she had been holding on to.

He picked up his coffee cup and his newspaper.

Tugging her hands out of her pockets, she picked up the glass and sipped the juice. The sun beat down on the gardens below them while the overhang from the roof suspended above the terrace kept them in much pleasanter shade.

She was about to help herself to a slice of toast when she saw her mobile telephone lying on the table and her fingers stilled in midair.

‘Bernice found it in my jacket pocket. I had forgotten I had it.’ He might give the appearance of being engrossed in his newspaper, but he clearly was not.

Having to work to stop yet another polite thank-you from developing, Natasha pressed her lips together and nodded, then picked the phone up, her fingers stroking the shiny black casing for a few seconds before she flipped the phone open and looked at the screen.