have the capacity to tell. His hand pushed up her skirt, his impatient fingers tugging aside the flimsy fabric of her panties so that he could feel her, slide against her, letting out a grunt, a mirthless sort of half-laugh, as he felt her buck against his touch, her shudder of pleasure immediately starting to build and grow.
Quickly pulling away, he released her from his grasp, letting her leg drop to the ground. Feeling in the pocket of his jacket, he took out a condom, ripping open the packet with his teeth at the same time as shrugging off the jacket and unbuttoning his trousers so they fell to the ground. His boxer shorts went next, before he rolled the condom onto himself with one deft movement.
Then he was all hers again, picking up her arms and moving them around his neck, so that when she clung on, holding him as tightly as he knew she would, he was able to lift her off her feet and wait for her legs to wrap around his waist, as he knew they would, her shoes clattering to the floor.
With his free hand he tugged her panties aside again. Only this time it wasnât his finger that nudged against her, it was the head of his arousalâhot and hard and silky and perfectly positioned to sink into her.
It felt like the most erotically glorious promise in the world.
And a second later that promise was delivered.
Suddenly he was inside her, smooth and hard and deep, filling her body and soul, and her every heightened emotion tuned in to nothing except this one incredible moment. Her mew of pleasure turned into a shriek of need, wordlessly commanding him not to stop, to keep going, faster, deeper, to take her to that place she had feared she would never find again.
Which was exactly what he did. Their bodies banged heedlessly against the wall behind them, until Calista could hang on no longer and, screaming out his name, found her shuddering, hollowing release. She felt Lukas stiffen, his body go into a rigid spasm, before he too gave in to the inevitable and roared his surrender into the tangle of her hair.
PUSHING HIMSELF AWAY from the wall with the palms of his hands, Lukas caged Calista between his locked arms. He wasnât going to give her any more spaceânot yet. Not while his breath was still heaving in his lungs, his heart hammering in his chest. He stared down at the top of her head, registering the way her slight figure shook, even though she had returned both feet to the floor, rearranging the skirt of her dress as if to pretend nothing had happened.
Well, it had. He had exacted his revenge.
All the hours he had spent plotting and scheming had finally come to fruition. Exactly as he had planned. Exactly on his terms. All done in the name of retribution.
At least that was what he had told himself. But, in truth, lying awake at night and reliving that fateful evening they had spent together had become something of an obsession. And conjuring up Calistaâs image had not been purely about revengeâfar from it. It had become his guilty pleasure. The soft swell of her breasts, the silky touch of her pale skin, her fresh scent, her sweet breath... The memory had transported him from the dismal walls of his cell to a very different place indeed.
He had lost count of the number of times he had travelled the length of her body in his mind, leaving no part of her soft curves untouched by his attentions, and his own body had responded in the most carnal way as heâd listened to the dry snoring of his cellmate in the bunk above him and cursed to hell the situation he had found himself in.
But now he was free. Now he had achieved his goal.
So why wasnât he feeling it? Why wasnât he getting the satisfaction he so badly craved? Why wasnât it enough?
The sex itself had more than lived up to its promise. Just like the first time, there had been something about the connection between themâthe chemistry, the fitâthat had taken it beyond just sex to another level, as if they had been created solely for the gratification of each other. Not in an easy, comfortable wayânot in the way of friends or gentle loversâbut with a wild, dramatic energy.
Like asteroids colliding in the vastness of space, their paths predetermined by a higher being, they had exploded against one another, set each other alight. And ultimately they had blown each other apart.
He could take her againâright here and nowâhe felt himself harden at the thought of it. In fact he could take her over and over againâkeep her here in his villa until he had got her out of his system once and for all. After all, didnât she deserve it after the way she had treated him?
He was halfway to crazily convincing himself it was a good idea when he stopped, looking down at himself. A thirty-one-year-old man, standing there with his pants around his ankles. A man whose desire for the woman in front of him was dangerously close to being out of control.
Perhaps he needed to take a step back to examine his motives. And fast.
Dropping his arms, he wrenched off the condom and quickly disposed of it, then saw to his pants and trousers, buttoning the waistband as he turned away.
âDo you want that drink now?â He spoke over his shoulder, not wanting to look at Calista for fear of what he might see in her eyes. He needed another drink before he could do that.
âLukas...?â
She whispered his name like a baffled question. The way she might speak to a person she had come across after a very long timeâsomeone who had changed so irrevocably, so much for the worse, that she couldnât be sure it was him. Well, this was him now. And she had better get used to it.
With two glasses of whisky in his hand he turned, bracing himself for what he would see. But still she got to him, those green eyes of hers instantly finding their target, making the glasses clink together in his hand. It was a look of turmoilâof confusion and hurt and something Lukas refused to acknowledge, let alone try to analyse.
He had made her feel bad. But hadnât that been his intention? He refused to let his conscience prick him now.
Striding towards her, he handed her a glass, noticing the way her hand shook as she reached for it, immediately raising it to her lips to take a sip. The whisky seemed to restore her, and the flush of colour in her cheeks lessened from feverish red to a gentle pink.
âYes, Calista?â He returned her question with the mocking sarcasm built up over five bitter years. He saw her flinch.
âWhatever has happened to you?â
âLet me see...â He pretended to consider. âLies, betrayal, deceit, the death of my father, and...oh, yes, four and a half years rotting in an Athens jail.â
He watched as she shook her head. âI have no idea who you are any more, Lukas. Do you know that?â
âNo? Well, maybe that makes two of us.â He took a deep slug of whisky. âAnd yet still you let me push you up against a wall and have my way with you. Why is that, do you suppose?â
âI... I donât know.â
âStill you come apart at the very first touch of my hands, urging me on as if you canât get enough of me, screaming my name as you take what you so badly need
