The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Wife. Helen Bianchin
at his feet.
Fascination, the thrill of the chase…and the instinctive knowledge he knew precisely how to touch, with his hands, his mouth, to gift the ultimate pleasure. And take it for his own.
Flame and heat, searing, exultant at its zenith. But afterwards…what then?
‘Are you done?’ His barely audible voice held a faintly teasing quality, and she wondered with sudden shock just how long she’d stood there looking at him.
Please God, surely it was only seconds?
Soft warmth flooded her cheeks as she battled for composure, and she glimpsed his faint smile an instant before he lowered his head and brushed his mouth against her own.
His lips were warm, and she felt the teasing sweep of his tongue as it lightly caressed the shape of her mouth in a kiss that tore the breath from her throat. For it held the hint of more, so much more.
All she needed to do was tease the edge of his tongue with her own in silent invitation.
Except she didn’t. Couldn’t.
A faint tremor shook her body, and she prayed fervently he didn’t sense it.
Ilana was unprepared for the way his mouth hardened against her own as he cupped her face with his hands and went in deep, conveying evocative intimacy with practised ease.
It rocked her senses, and she was aware of a quickened pulse-beat, the seemingly loud thudding of her heart as she became lost in a sensual pool so intense there was only the man and the sensations he aroused.
Worse was her own unbidden response…something which surprised and devastated, given no man, not even her ex-fiancé, had managed to reach so deep into her emotions.
Almost as if he knew, he lightened his touch, withdrawing a little until he lifted his head.
For a moment she could only look at him, her eyes wide and impossibly dark as she caught something in his expression she was unable to define.
Then it was over as he released her, and she tried valiantly to assure herself it meant little.
Just a kiss, when celebratory hugs and kisses were being gifted in abundance.
And knew she lied.
His kiss struck a chord and stirred emotions in a place where she’d locked and thrown away the key.
A strangled sound escaped her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t tear her eyes from his.
Please, an inner voice decried. I don’t want this.
There was nothing she could read in his dark gaze, and she managed a faint smile as her attention was caught by another well-wisher.
Except his touch lingered, and she felt as if she was acting on autopilot long after he withdrew from sight. Why had he kissed her like that?
To impress her?
Or was he merely playing a game with her in order to make Danika jealous?
The latter thought brought a surge of anger and fostered a sense of deep resentment. There was no way she’d allow herself to be used as a pawn by any man…especially Xandro Caramanis!
What was more, she’d tell him so.
Arabelle’s win brought an invitation to participate in a charity fundraiser, requests to view her summer designs and firm bookings for months ahead.
‘I’ll go backstage and help the girls load our clothes into the van,’ Micki indicated quietly, and Ilana inclined her head.
‘I’ll come with you.’
The atmosphere was lighter, the models had changed into their own gear and most had left, together with the hair-stylists and make-up girls.
Camaraderie reigned, and, if there was disappointment from the designers who didn’t place, it didn’t show.
Ilana and Micki’s assistants had everything in hand. Shoes, accessories, faux jewellery were all individually boxed. Garments restored to their dress-bags, and it was only a matter of shifting them out to the van for transporting back to the workroom.
‘A word before I leave.’
Ilana summoned a smile as she turned to face Danika. ‘Thanks for filling in,’ she reiterated, and the model’s shoulders lifted in a dismissive gesture.
‘It’s what I do.’
And not the purpose of the conversation, if the model’s venomous glare was any indication.
‘Hands off Xandro.’
Her gaze was remarkably steady. ‘They were never on him.’ True. His hands had been on her.
If looks could kill, she’d drop dead on the floor.
With an elegant flounce Danika swivelled towards the exit and swiftly moved out of sight.
It was no secret the model had the hots for the Greek-born tycoon. Along with many of the city’s socialites.
Except Ilana Girard…the one young woman from whom Danika had nothing to fear.
The irony of it brought forth a wry smile.
‘We’re done.’ Micki lifted a hand and Ilana met it mid-air. ‘Now let’s party!’ She named a bar within walking distance, linked arms with Ilana and headed towards the exit. ‘Liliana will be there, of course.’ She waited a beat. ‘And Xandro.’
Ilana’s heart gave a sudden jolt, then settled into a faster beat. ‘Why Xandro?’
Micki lifted up a hand and ticked off a finger as she listed a few reasons. ‘Because he kissed you like a man determined to have more of you. He happened to be deep in conversation with your mother when I extended the invitation. And it’s high time you started dating again.’
‘You took it on yourself to arrange my life?’
‘Just the night,’ her friend and partner assured with a wicked grin. ‘What follows is none of my business.’
‘Nothing, absolutely nothing is going to happen.’
‘Uh-huh.’
Ilana shot her a dark glance. ‘I’m not interested.’
‘Ah,’ Micki allowed quietly. ‘But he is.’
‘I very much doubt it was more than a challenge.’ Her voice held wry humour. ‘Kiss the ice maiden and see if you can make her melt.’
‘And did you? Melt?’
In an ignominious puddle. Not that she’d admit it to anyone. ‘He’s practised in the art of kissing.’
‘No toe-curling, gut-wrenching, off-the-planet reaction?’
In spades, and then some.
She managed a light shrug. ‘Not really.’
Team Arabelle were already seated when Ilana and Micki walked into the trendy bar, and there was champagne on ice, finger food spread out on the table.
Xandro rose to his feet, indicated a seat next to his own, and before Ilana could refuse Micki took the chair opposite, leaving no choice.
There were champagne toasts, much light-hearted laughter…and her stomach executed a painful somersault as Xandro touched his flute to her own and held it there a few seconds too long. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and she felt suddenly out of her depth.
He was seated too close, his thigh only a few centimetres from her own, and she was far too aware of his potent masculinity.
Ambivalent feelings coursed through her veins, teasing her with what could be…if only she had the courage to reach out for it.
Followed by the fear of opening her vulnerable heart to a man who might destroy her.
It was far wiser