CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

A RISTOPHANES DIDN ’ T KNOW what was happening to him. He’d expected to come into her flat, dismiss the doctor, then perhaps order her to bed—rest was important—while he stayed up all night working. However, it was only once he’d arrived that he realised he hadn’t brought anything to do his work on, and so he was looking at an entire evening of wasted time. An abhorrence that had made his already foul temper even fouler.

Dismissing the doctor hadn’t been an issue, but then he’d heard the bathroom door open, so he’d gone into her tiny hallway only to find yet another aggravation: her standing there staring at him, wrapped up in the most ridiculous dressing gown he’d ever seen.

It was pink and fluffy, and she had a towel around her head, and she should not have looked so completely and utterly adorable. In addition, everything male in him knew she was naked beneath that dressing gown, and wanted to see if her skin was as pink as the robe and what would happen if he pulled at her towel and her hair tumbled down her back.

He wanted to know what would happen if he kissed her.

An absolutely unacceptable situation.

He’d been telling himself on the way over to her flat that it was only because he was worried about her, that was why he’d been drawn back to her. Nothing to do with the softness of her mouth, or the darkness of her eyes. Nothing to do with her delectable curves or the silkiness of her hair.

Physical attraction was nothing. It happened all the time. It wasn’t special or singular.

It was the attraction of the mind that fascinated him, that drew him. He’d much rather have an interesting woman over a beautiful one any day of the week.

Yet right now, with her backed against the wall, looking up at him with darkened eyes, he didn’t care about her mind. What he wanted was to rip aside all that fluffy pink and find the beautiful body beneath it. Touch it. Kiss it. Taste it.

Bury himself inside it.

It was the stupidest thing he’d ever felt and he was appalled by the baseness of his own desires. By how he seemed to have no control over them whatsoever.

He’d never, for example, become so angry with himself that he’d crowded a woman up against a door, or flung her own beauty back in her face. He’d never let himself care enough to even think about doing that.

Yet here he was, doing all of the above.

She should have been scared, since he was clearly behaving like a lunatic, yet instead she’d reached up and touched his face, her fingers soft against his cheek.

What are you waiting for? she’d said, the words hitting something deep inside him.

As if he’d been waiting indeed and now here she was, ready for him.

A preschool teacher... Not inherently bad, yet not on a par with Angelina, a professor at Harvard. Why had he left her for this woman? Why was his body insisting that Nell was what he wanted, when his head was positive it was Angelina?

‘I don’t know you,’ he ground out, wanting her to understand. ‘I don’t do this with women I don’t know.’

There was something soft in her eyes, something hot that sent fire all the way to his groin. She stroked his cheekbone lightly, as if he were hers to touch however and whenever she wished, and that didn’t make any sense either. He didn’t like people touching him when he wasn’t in bed with them. He found it distracting.

Yet her touch... He wanted it. He wanted it.

‘I don’t do this with men I don’t know,’ she said in her husky voice. ‘So, I suppose that makes us even.’

He should shove himself away, put some space between them. She’d hurt herself, for God’s sake. What was he doing holding her against the door like this?

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. His body wanted him to stay right here, where he could smell the soap and shampoo she’d used, something sweet and simple that made him ache for reasons he couldn’t name. And she was so warm. He wanted to pull the tie of that ridiculous dressing gown, discover if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

‘Then why?’ It was rapidly becoming difficult to think, which never happened to him, and he hated the feeling. Yet he seemed to be powerless against it. ‘Why do you want me?’ It was obvious to him why she’d want him—he was, after all, who he was. Yet he wanted to hear her say it. ‘Why do you want this ?’

Her silky red lashes lowered, fanning against her pink cheek. ‘I... You’re...’ She paused, as if searching for the words, then her lashes lifted once more, her eyes wide and dark. ‘When I was out, I dreamed of you, and when I woke up, you were holding my hand. And you’re...beautiful. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.’

He wanted to growl with satisfaction, an unbearably primitive response. Women wanted him, it was true. The lovers his assistants scheduled for him always, without exception, wanted him. He took it as read most of the time.

But the way Nell said it made him fierce and triumphant and feral.

It made him want to ravage her right here against the door.

He eased closer, so the pink fluffy edge of her dressing gown was brushing against his shirt. ‘To be clear, I wanted sex tonight,’ he said. ‘So is that what you’re offering?’

She flushed almost as pink as her robe, and yet she didn’t look away. ‘As it happens, I wanted sex tonight, too. But the man I was going to have it with ghosted me.’

Another thing he didn’t understand. How could anyone have ghosted her?

‘Why?’ he demanded, suddenly enraged at the thought.

‘He said I was too uptight.’ She kept on staring at him, throwing the words at him like small hard stones. Challenging him, he thought. ‘That I wasn’t what he was looking for.’

For once, Aristophanes didn’t think about the words that came out of his mouth and asked the question that had been taunting him all night. ‘Was that why you weren’t wearing any underwear? Was that for him?’

She flushed even deeper, making the darkness of her eyes even more apparent. ‘Yes. But he never got to see under my dress because he ghosted me before I could show him.’

‘Good,’ he said fiercely. ‘His loss is my gain. Why don’t you show me, instead?’

She searched his face for one long moment, an emotion he couldn’t name flickering in her gaze. Then her hand dropped from his cheekbone to the tie of her robe and she pulled it. The fluffy fabric of her robe slowly slid open.

And she was indeed as pink as her gown, her skin gloriously flushed from her shower, all freshly scrubbed and glowing and silky. Her breasts were as full as her curves had promised, and everywhere else she was gently rounded. She was biteable, lickable, and the sweet little thatch of auburn curls between her thighs...

God save him.

Satisfaction unfurled in him, lazy and hot, and he almost bared his teeth in yet another primitive growl. Yes, she wanted him. She wanted him .

She had her head half turned away, as if afraid to see his expression, so he reached for her chin and gripped it, turning her back to face him. ‘Don’t look away from me,’ he ordered. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

Instantly that little chin hardened in his grip. ‘I’m not ashamed, I’m—’

‘You’re as beautiful as I said you were.’ He wasn’t sure why it was so important that she understand that. Perhaps it was only that the thought of a woman as gorgeous as this one being ghosted by some bastard who didn’t realise what he had was insupportable. ‘Shall I prove it to you?’

She took a breath, the pulse at the base of her throat racing frantically. Her eyes were dark as midnight and he couldn’t stop himself from closing the gap between them, easing himself against her silky little body.

She shivered all over at the contact. ‘Yes.’ The word escaped on a breathless puff of sound, and he’d never heard anything so sweet. ‘Please.’

He took one hand from beside her head then reached for one of her own, drawing it between them, looking into her face as he held her palm down over the front of his trousers, where he was so hard he ached.

Her eyes widened and her full mouth opened, her fingers giving a small convulsive squeeze that sent the breath from his lungs.

All rational thought had left his brain, all his higher thought processes non-functional. He was nothing but primitive hunger and base instinct now, and, for once in his life, he didn’t care. So he didn’t hide his reaction. She should know what she did to him. Especially when he was going to do the same to her.

Holding her gaze, he lifted his other hand from the wall and gently laid it at the base of her throat, fingertips brushing the frantic beat of her pulse. She shivered, gasping softly, her head falling back slowly against the door, lashes lowering as he let his hand slide from her throat to the luscious curves of one breast. Her skin felt like silk, smooth and warm, the soft weight of her breast as his palm cupped it literally perfect.

She made a sound deep in her throat, her back arching as she pressed herself into his hand. Her nipple was hard and when he stroked his thumb slowly back and forth across it, teasing it, she made another of those passionate, wanton sounds.

Beautiful little woman.

Perfect little woman.

He bent his head and kissed her, taking one of those breathless moans into his mouth. She tasted exactly the way he’d thought she would, so sweet. No, she tasted even better, and now he was hungry. Starving.

He kissed her deeper, hotter, and she let him, arching against his hand as he teased the taut peak of her breast, and then kissing him back. She was unpractised, but that only added to the sweetness, and when she squeezed him again, slightly harder, the last trace of rational thought left his head.

There was only one thing he wanted now. Only one.

He wanted to be inside her and as quickly as possible.

Nell had no idea how it had happened. How she’d got herself to this point, her dressing gown open, pressed up against a door as the world’s most incredible man cupped her bare breast, turning her into a starving beast. But, however it had happened, she didn’t care.

She should be resting and nursing her head, yet all that pain had vanished, lost under the onslaught of the most overwhelming tide of pleasure. She’d never dreamed her body would be capable of this, and yet she couldn’t deny what she felt now. It was glorious.

Aristophanes Katsaros was better than any drug.

His hand gently stroking her, the press of his muscular body. The heat of him. The hard length of his shaft pressing against the material of his trousers and into her palm. A big man in every way.

She’d lost her virginity to her first boyfriend in her last year of high school. It had been a very disappointing and embarrassing ten minutes in the back of his car and she hadn’t been in any hurry to repeat the experience. But then she’d met Clayton and...

Well. She and Clayton had never got this far, and she’d told herself it was because she’d wanted to wait, but now she knew that was a lie. She’d never wanted to wait. She’d never wanted Clayton at all. Not as she wanted this man, this stranger who’d rescued her unconscious from a rainy street. Who’d held her hand and cared enough about her to make sure she was okay. Who’d made her feel more wanted than anyone else ever had in her entire life.

Perhaps that was why she’d found the courage to pull the tie on her dressing gown, baring herself to him. That and the look in his eyes. Why don’t you show me, instead? he’d ordered and all she’d been able to think about was yes, yes, she wanted to show him. She wanted him to see her.

Her courage had left her for a second the moment her gown had fallen open, but then he’d taken her chin in his hand and turned her back to face him, his silvery gaze electric, blazing with fire. There had been no doubt that he’d liked what he saw and he’d wanted her to know that too.

Now she couldn’t imagine anything she wanted more than to strip away the confining material of her dressing gown. Pull open his shirt, touch his skin. Be naked with him. They’d both been intending to have sex so why not? They could have it now, right here, she didn’t care. She’d have him any way he wanted it.

Nell moaned into his mouth as his hand slid from her breast down over her stomach, fingertips grazing the curls between her thighs. ‘Yes,’ she breathed, hardly aware she’d even spoken. ‘Oh, yes, please...’

He gave another of those deep, sexy growls and then his fingertips were sliding over the slick, sensitive skin of her sex, exploring, stroking, teasing. She shuddered and, without thought, reached for the button of his fly, desperate to touch him as he was touching her. But then he growled again, pulling away, and before she could process what was going on, he’d dropped to his knees in front of her.

She barely had time to gasp before his hands gripped her hips, pinning her hard against the door, and his mouth was on her stomach, licking a slow, lazy path down to where she was hot and wet, and so needy she thought she’d die.

He held her against the wood, nuzzling against her, licking, exploring, tasting. Then his tongue found the most sensitive part of her and flicked over it, making her shudder and shake. Her hands were buried in his hair, the thick black strands silky against her fingers, and she gripped him tight, unable to hold in the sounds he brought from her.

No one had ever touched her like this, tasted her like this.

No one had ever made her the sole focus of their attention.

No one had ever made her feel as if she was being slowly and thoroughly worshipped, as if they couldn’t get enough of her.

No one had ever made her feel as if she might die from pleasure.

Her eyes drifted closed, colours swirling behind her closed lids as everything inside her drew tight, as if she were an arrow about to be launched into the sky.

‘That’s it,’ she heard him murmur, his breath against her skin as she trembled. ‘Scream for me, woman. Scream, so I can hear it.’

Then he did something with his tongue and she did scream, pleasure unleashing in a wild storm through her body, her cries echoing in the small space of the hallway as the orgasm took her.

She was still panting, wondering how on earth she was standing upright, when his hands slid beneath her thighs and she was lifted against the door as if she weighed nothing. He pinned her there with his body, holding her pressed to the wood effortlessly, and his hand was back between her thighs, touching her, stroking her back into trembling hunger once again. Then he pulled open his fly, spread her delicately with his fingers before pushing into her slowly, so very slowly.

His silver gaze didn’t leave hers, pinning her as surely as his body, holding her mesmerised as she felt her body open for him, stretching to take him. She groaned, nothing but the feel of him inside her, a heavy, aching fullness that made her want to pant and claw at his back.

‘You are perfect.’ His voice was raw, guttural, and he bent, his teeth grazing the tender skin of her shoulder, making her shiver in delight. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

She had never felt perfect. She’d always felt as if there was something missing, something that made her less interesting, less intriguing, less worthy almost, than her cousins. They were mystified by her, and so were her aunt and uncle. Sometimes she felt as if they didn’t know what to do with her and—worse—weren’t interested in finding out, so they just left her to her own devices.

Now, even though her towel had fallen from her head and her wet hair was draped like seaweed across her shoulders, and her dressing gown was half off, she didn’t feel uninteresting or unworthy. She didn’t feel as if she was missing something.

She felt beautiful. As if she really was as perfect as he’d told her she was.

Nell squeezed her legs around his waist, pulled his shirt half open and slid her hands inside it, feeling the hot velvet of his skin. He was all hard muscle, the crisp brush of hair, and he smelled spicy and musky and male, and she was desperate for him.

He was perfect too.

Then he began to move and everything slid away. Her embarrassment and shame at Clayton’s no-show. Her anger at Aristophanes’ overbearing manner. Her self-consciousness and fear that this would end the way so many of her relationships with people had ended, with her not being enough for anyone... They all vanished. There was no room for them, not when the pleasure inside her was growing and filling every space.

A part of herself she’d never realised she had, a more primal part, began to take over. It was hungry and passionate, with no inhibitions. It only wanted more of the pleasure he was giving her, making her sink her nails into his back and moan as he moved deeper, harder.

But while she might have lost all sense, he apparently hadn’t, because she felt him slide one of his hands behind her head, cupping the base of her skull in his large, warm palm, projecting her injury as he moved inside her.

For a second Nell loved him for that. Then the knife edge of pleasure grew sharper, and she felt again the tightness gather, the bow being drawn back, ready to launch her into the sky. He shifted, changing his angle, the friction so perfect it brought tears to her eyes, and then the tightness inside her was released and she was flying, soaring into the sky in a wild, glorious rush. Dimly she heard him say her name in a low, guttural roar before he too joined her in the sky.

Time passed as she floated slowly back down to earth, both of them still leaning against her bedroom door locked together as if nothing could tear them apart, their breathing slowly easing.

This moment, too, was perfect, and she didn’t want to move. Yet then she felt him shift his grip on her, lowering her to the floor, cold air moving over her heated skin as he pulled away. His hands gently pulled her robe closed, wrapping her up, and it hit her suddenly that he was preparing to leave.

Nell didn’t think. Operating entirely on instinct, she reached out and grabbed his hand, holding on. ‘Don’t go,’ she said and if it came out sounding a little more desperate than she wanted it to, she didn’t care.

He went still, his gaze full of storm clouds. ‘I’m not. I have to stay with you for twenty-four hours, remember?’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ She took a little breath. ‘I meant stay with me.’

His beautiful face was unreadable, yet there was lightning in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘There can be nothing more than this, Nell,’ he said after a long moment. ‘Only a night. We can never see each other again after that, understood?’

There was a second where she wanted to know why, but then dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter why. The only thing that mattered was that he was here and he wanted her, and that once wasn’t enough for either of them.

‘Understood,’ she said hoarsely.

The quality of his attention changed then, sharpening, focusing on her, studying her as if she was a complex problem he was desperate to solve. ‘How are you feeling?’

She felt something inside her release then, in a silent exhale. ‘Pretty good. Though... I could always feel better.’

His gaze became pure silver. ‘The doctor is gone, but perhaps you need my help?’

‘I do,’ she agreed, her heartbeat already ramping up.

His fingers tightened around hers. ‘Then come here, woman. Show me where it hurts and I’ll kiss it better.’