not love?” His tone twisted the word so that it still didn’t sound as if he believed in it.
But Anny did.
“Maybe it will come,” she said hopefully. “Maybe I haven’t given him enough of a chance. He’s quite a bit older than I am. A widower. His first wife died. He—he loved her.”
“Better and better,” Demetrios said grimly.
“That’s another of the reasons I asked,” she admitted. “I just thought that if I had this one night…with you…then if he never did love me, if it was always just a ‘business arrangement’ at least I’d…have had this. It’s just one night. No strings. No obligations. I wasn’t expecting anything else,” she added, desperate to reassure him.
He was silent and again she had no idea what he was thinking. And he didn’t tell her. There was nothing but silence between them.
Seconds. Minutes. Probably not aeons, but it felt that way. Millions of years of mortification. What had been a magical night had become, through her own fault, the worst night of her life.
Outside she heard the muffled sound of a car passing in the street below and, nearby, the ticking of Tante Isabelle’s ornate French Empire brass-and-ebony mantel clock. Finally she heard him draw in a slow careful breath.
“All right, Anny Chamion,” he said, getting to his feet and crossing the room to hold out his hand to her. “Let’s do it.”
She stared.
At his outstretched hand. Then her gaze slid up his arm to his broad chest, to his whisker-shadowed jaw, to that gorgeous mouth, to the memorable groove in his cheek, to those amazing green eyes, dark and slumberous now, and more compelling than ever. She swallowed.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he said when she didn’t speak or even more. He looked at her, waiting patiently, and she knew he expected that she would have changed it.
But she couldn’t.
Faced with a lifetime of duty, of responsibility, of a likely loveless marriage, she desperately needed something more. Something that would sustain her, make her remember the passion, the intensity, the joy she’d believed in as a girl.
She needed something to hang on to, her own secret.
And his.
She reached up and took Demetrios’s hand. Then she stood and walked straight into his arms. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
When she slid into his embrace, Demetrios felt a shock run through him.
It was like the sudden bliss of diving into the water after a burning hot day.
It was pure and right and beautiful.
He could almost feel his body reawaken, as his eyes opened to Anny’s upturned face as she lifted her lips to his.
He took what she offered. Gently at first. With a tentativeness that reminded him of his first fumbling teenage kisses. As if he’d forgotten how.
He knew he hadn’t. He knew he’d been burned so badly by Lissa that he’d learned to equate kisses with betrayal.
But this wasn’t Lissa. These lips weren’t practiced.
These lips were as tentative as his own. Even more hesitant. Infinitely gentle. Sweet.
And Demetrios drank of their sweetness. He took his time, settling in, soaking up the sensations, remembering what it was like to kiss with hope, with joy, with something almost akin to innocence.
That was what they were giving each other tonight—a reminder of who they had been. Not to each other, but as a young man and a young woman with dreams, ideals, hopes.
He didn’t have hopes like those anymore. Lissa had well and truly ground those into the dust. But right now, kissing Anny, he could remember what it had felt like to be young, hopeful, aware of possibilities.
It was as powerful and intoxicating a feeling as any he could recall.
So why not enjoy it?
Why not celebrate the simple pleasure of one night with this woman who tasted of apple tart and sunshine, of citrus and red wine, and of something heady and slightly spicy—something Demetrios had never tasted before.
What was it? He wanted to know.
So he deepened the kiss, trying to discover more, trying to capture whatever was tantalizing him. He touched his tongue to hers and a second later felt the swirl of hers touching his.
At its touch his whole body responded with an urgency that surprised him. He might have deliberately forgotten these things, but his body hadn’t.
It knew precisely what it wanted.
It wanted Anny. Now.
But as much as he was willing to take her to bed, he resisted his body’s urgent demands to simply have his way with her right then and there.
Granted, this was going to be a one-off. But it wasn’t a sleazy one-night stand, a quick mindless exercise in sexual gratification.
She wanted it for reasons of her own. And Demetrios, understanding them, decided she had a point. Yes, he was older and wiser now. But he could still appreciate the hopeful young man he’d once been. There was something satisfying about paying tribute to that man.
But it wasn’t just about the past. It was about the present—the woman in his arms and making it beautiful for her as well. If he was going to be her memory, by God, he wanted to be a good one.
So he drew a deep breath and told himself to take his time as he let his hands slide slowly up her arms and over her back as he molded her to him.
She was warm and soft and womanly—and wearing far too many clothes. Demetrios couldn’t ever remember seducing a woman who had been wearing so many clothes. Anny was still wearing her jacket, for heaven’s sake.
Of course, he wasn’t actually seducing her. He was enjoying what had been offered, and giving pleasure—and memories—in return.
In doing so, Demetrios discovered how much pleasure there was in removing all those clothes. First he eased her jacket off, slowly peeling it off her shoulders and down her arms, then tossed it aside. His fingers eased themselves beneath the hem of her silk top and brushed her even silkier skin.
He caressed it with his fingers as he kissed his way down to nuzzle her neck. He traced the line of her bra beneath, brushed his fingers over her nipples, and smiled at the quick intake of her breath and the way her fingers clutched at his back.
He drew back to share the smile with her. She stared up at him, her lips parted in a small O that made him bend his head and touch his lips to hers.
This time her tongue was there first, tasting, teasing. And he felt his body quicken in response. The last thing he wanted now was to go slow. He wanted to rip their clothes off and plunge into her as fast and furiously as he could.
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. But he
