trousers.
He entered her with a thrust that brought him to his knees with her straddled across him with his hands clamped to her hipbones.
‘Oh, dear God,’ she groaned against his devouring mouth as her body went wild for him.
But he lost it first, shooting into her like a man experiencing his first release. He couldn’t control it, could not control the gasping pants that shot from his pulsing body. When she joined him his grip on her hips was locked tight. And as she went limp against him he crumbled sideways, his arms shifting upwards to control her fall as they landed in a tangle of trembling limbs on the bedroom floor.
What now? Claire wondered as she reached rock-bottom of the slow slide back to wretched sanity. Another quick withdrawal followed by a walk-out? She even tensed herself in preparation for it.
‘I’m still here.’
His voice sounded like gravel, vibrating against her cheek where he had her face pressed against him. He hadn’t let go of her, and she was still lying with her limbs locked around him.
‘I’m going nowhere.’
‘Why not?’ she whispered.
‘You were right about me,’ he said. ‘I do prefer to stand alone. I don’t find it easy to be open with my feelings. But—as God is my witness, Claire, I want you. I want this with you!’ His arms tightened round her. ‘And if that means I must change then I will damn well change!’ he vowed. ‘And I will start by holding you like this for as long as you want me to.’
He meant it—he really meant it! The tears came back, but she wasn’t sure what they were for any more.
‘Say something,’ he prompted huskily, and she felt the tremor in his lips as they brushed her brow.
Say something, she repeated to herself. But what dared she say? Could she take a chance on this actually meaning something? The trouble was, she loved this man—had known that for quite a while now—while he seemed to only lust after her. How long did lust last? Especially with a man as self-contained as Andreas?
‘I want to go to bed,’ she said.
There was a short, sharp pause, then a heavy sigh as he went to get up.
‘Your bed,’ she added, lifting her face out of his shirt-front so she could look warily into his equally wary eyes. ‘I want to sleep in your bed, in your arms all night and wake up still there in the morning,’ she told him huskily.
‘Then what?’
Claire gave a helpless little shrug. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered honestly. ‘What do you want?’
‘You,’ he said gruffly, then repeated it. ‘I want you.’
Her poor heart fluttered, attempting to reach out and grab those words because they were the closest thing she’d had to a declaration of caring from him.
CHAPTER TEN
DEATH was a strange thing. It brought some people closer together and pushed others wide apart. In Claire’s own experience, she had lost more than a father when he’d passed away; she’d also lost lifelong friends who could not deal with the tragedy of the situation.
But when she stood beside Andreas as they buried his grandmother she found herself being drawn closer to the last person she would have expected, when Desmona suddenly broke down and began weeping so desperately that Claire didn’t think twice about going over and gently placing her arms around the other woman.
‘You were very kind to her, considering the circumstances,’ Andreas remarked much later as they were preparing for bed.
They shared a room now. They shared a life. Claire was even daring to think that they were sharing a marriage.
‘She needed someone,’ she answered simply. ‘It had never occurred to me until Desmona broke down like that that she and your grandmother must have been close.’
‘Desmona has been a member of this family for many years,’ he reminded her. ‘We all—care for her, though sometimes she makes it difficult to do so,’ he added dryly.
‘Is that why the family wanted you to marry her?’ she asked curiously. ‘Because they care for her?’
‘No.’ He laughed, a softly mocking, sexily husky sound that curled up her toes. ‘Wanting me to marry Desmona was an act of expediency. She owns rather large blocks of shares in some of our most lucrative companies and they wanted to keep them in the family.’
‘But she is in love with you,’ Claire pointed out. ‘Or why would she agree to marry you?’
‘Desmona loves Desmona,’ he murmured sardonically. ‘But she loves money even more. Marrying me would have given her relatively free access to the Markopoulou fortune once again. A very worthy cause in her eyes, believe me.’
‘You’re so cynical sometimes,’ Claire sighed.
‘Then reform me,’ he invited, and covered her mouth, effectively ending the discussion when other, far more important things demanded her attention: mainly this man, who had become the centre of her universe so quickly that she didn’t dare let herself consider just how deeply she had let herself fall in love with him.
So the next few weeks went drifting by without her giving a single thought to their original agreement. The plaster-cast came off her wrist, and with Andreas looking indulgently on, she celebrated by jumping fully clothed into the indoor swimming pool with a shriek of delight because she had been so looking forward to being able to do that. They visited London a couple of times to appear in front of an adoption panel who wanted to reassure themselves that they were, indeed, fit parents for Melanie.
But there was no problem there. For they were lovers. They were husband and wife. They were a couple in every sense of the word, which showed in the way they responded to each other.
Life was wonderful, life was great. Claire had never been so happy. And the only blot on her otherwise perfect existence was the way her aunt Laura still hadn’t bothered to get in touch with her.
‘I have to be in Paris for a few days from tomorrow,’ Andreas informed her one morning over the breakfast table. ‘Would you like to come with me?’
‘Yes!’ she agreed, thinking, Paris! The most romantic city in the world, and she was going to go there with the most wonderful man in the world. ‘Will my aunt be there?’ she questioned impulsively.
It was so many weeks since she’d watched his face close up that seeing it happen now came as a bad shock. ‘We will not discuss your aunt,’ he said coldly.
‘But why?’ Claire demanded. ‘Why are you so determined to keep the two of us apart? It isn’t as though she can hurt me, you know. I understand her better than you think I do.’
He got up from the table. ‘We will not discuss her,’ he repeated, and walked arrogantly away.
‘Then I’m not coming to Paris,’ she threw after him. Childish, she knew. Petty, she knew. But she felt childish and petty at that moment.
And
