Thirty minutes later I’m exactly where I want to be and I don’t regret my impulsive actions one bit. I’m committed now, and I want to enjoy every second with no remorse, no fear.

I kick off my shoes and abandon them in the sand. The fine, soft grains slide over my bare toes as I wiggle. Sinking down on the blanket next to Christos, I’m surprised to see he’s discarded his shoes and socks and rolled up his jeans.

I stare at his feet, for a man they are nice, strong-boned and masculine. It feels intimate and familiar somehow to be sitting here with him, our feet bare, sharing the light blue blanket I keep in my office for just this occasion. I don’t want to think about what’s happening or where this is going or where we’ll end up.

All I want is to enjoy the moment and not worry.

I raise my face to the sun, close my eyes and breathe in deep. The smell of the lake, the warm breeze, the waves gently lapping against the shore mix with the sounds of the city to create a melody. For the first time in what feels like forever, my muscles uncoil, loosen and relax.

When I can no longer ignore the man sitting next to me, I open my eyes and stare out into the water. Without looking at him, I say, “You’re staring.”

“I can’t help it.” He wraps his strong fingers around my wrist. “You’re beautiful.”

Uncomfortable with his praise, I shake my head. “You don’t have to keep saying that.” I wave my hand in the air, encompassing the scene around us. “You’re winning.”

Instead of rising to the bait, he shrugs. “I’m winning because you want me to. I’m telling you you’re beautiful because that’s what I think.” He gives me a wicked grin. “Haven’t you heard I have impeccable taste?”

I had actually, but I roll my eyes instead of affirming his statement.

Tracing a finger over the fine bones in my hand, he says, “Once you know me better, you’ll see I call it like I see it.”

“Oh?” The day is too perfect to ruin, I lose the steam to argue. “So what would you change about me in this moment?”

His lips quirk and he gives me a long, slow once-over that has my toes curling in the sand. “Right now just one thing.”

Most men would give a “not a thing” line that would be as transparent as cellophane, but not Christos. A tiny grain of what feels a lot like trust worms its way into my heart.

He trails a hand up my bare arm and touches the band holding my dark-blonde hair back. “I like your hair down better.”

He slips it out of the tight, sleek ponytail before I can answer.

The luxurious sensation of strands slipping free of their binding to fall loose and free around my shoulders has shivers tingling the length of my spine.

Strong fingers tangle in my hair as he combs through the locks. I tilt my head back, close my eyes to the bright sun, and let him do what he wants.

How long has it been since I’ve been touched like this? With care?

While I know he wants me—the sexual tension between us grows by the second—his touch, curiously, holds no expectation. “Do you remember the Solutions Inc. presentation?”

“Of course.” I’d had to sit in an enclosed room with him for over an hour, with a bunch of high-powered professionals in black suits. We’d been positioned across from each other and my attention kept drifting off the men responsible for the decision-making and onto the man across from me.

That had been one job I hadn’t wondered why I lost.

He sweeps my hair to the side and moves to kneel behind me. A soft brush of lips along the curve of my neck has me going stiff. Those large palms of his run over my shoulders and begin to knead tight muscles until I relax under him once again. When his thumbs press a knot in my shoulder and circle, I’m unable to hold back the moan.

“Feel good?”

“Yes.” Is that my voice? All soft and sweet?

“Good,” he says, and increases his pressure until the knot magically loosens and releases. “At the presentation, you had your hair bound into this tight twist at the nape of your neck.” His fingers brush over the spot as though remembering. “And all I could think about was taking those pins out, one by one, until your hair looked exactly like it does right this second.”

“A mess?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “I like you messy.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe because it makes you real.” His thumbs find another knot and begin to knead. “I might have had some other impure thoughts.”

The sun warming my skin and his hands on my back has my muscles like liquid; a smile tugs at my lips. “I’m not touching that one.”

“Chicken,” he says with a chuckle. His mouth drops down to the shell of my ear. “What if I tell you anyway?”

“I think we’ve already proven I can’t stop you.” My breath catches in my throat as I sit perched on the edge of expectation. Wanting to know his thoughts but unwilling to ask for them.

“The suit you had on was this dark gray number with a wide belt and sky-high black heels that made you look like you’d stepped out of the Maltese Falcon.” The seduction in his tone makes my nipples pucker tight. “In my fantasy, after I took down your hair, I would strip you of your belt, that jacket, and rip your blouse right off.”

Mouth suddenly dry, I lick my lips, tasting the summer air on my skin along with my desire. His hands slide down my back, working out the kinks. Anticipation flows in my blood like fine wine. “All I could think about was pushing your skirt over your thighs and spreading you across that table. I can picture you there, arms stretched wide, your legs spread, cunt wet. I’d like to pretend I thought about lavishing your body with the attention it deserves, but that would be a lie.”

My lungs begin to burn and I realize I’ve stopped breathing. I suck in air and attempt to calm my pounding heart. Liquid heat pools between my thighs with each passing word he speaks.

“Do you want to know what I imagined?” he asks, his mouth still next to my ear while his fingers massage the bumps of my spine.

“Yes.” The word is out before I can stop it. Unable to help myself, I lean against his chest, as I’d wanted to all day.

Teeth gently scrape the line of my jaw and his arms come around my waist so his large palms slide over my stomach. He shifts behind me, bracketing his thighs with mine until his cock nudges my lower back.

Reflexively, I stiffen, and his fingers stroke as he murmurs nonsensical sounds in my ear until I once again fall limp.

“I wanted to take you,” he says. “Fuck you. Possess you. Fill you up until my come spilled onto your thighs.”

Legs quivering, I bite down on my bottom lip, thankful I’m sitting down.

His fantasy had been my fantasy too.

I want what he wants. I want to be claimed. Filled.

That day, I too had thought of him spreading me over that glossy mahogany conference table. That day, as we’d been sitting across from each other, we’d been thinking the exact same thing.

Although, unlike him, I’d never have admitted it.

Behind me, he moves, and all his heat leaves with him.

I sit up, straightening my back until my posture is once again proper. Loss washes over me as the mood breaks and I cool in an instant. I fear I’ll never be that relaxed with him again. That somehow if there’s ever a time I’m going to give in, it’s right now.

Irrational anger that it’s been stolen away pricks over my skin.

A large palm strokes my spine. “Relax, Juliet, I’m not going anywhere.”

I hate that he sees me so clearly. Sees everything—my need for him, my fear and my hope. Vulnerable is not good, he can crush me, and I’m letting it happen. Before I can say anything scathing, he stretches out his legs and pulls me down to his lap.

Brows snapping together, I glare at him. “What are you doing?”

“I thought you’d be more comfortable.” His fingers curl around my wrist. “You need to eat.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Obviously.” Irritation flashes in his eyes and he rakes his free hand through his hair. “Christ, Juliet, a man needs the patience of a saint with you. Now get over here.”

His disgruntled expression calms me in a way that softness couldn’t have.

I need his humanness in the face of mine. Especially when I’m so far from perfect.

In answer, I shift until I lie on my back and place my head on his thigh.

He brushes my hair off my cheeks. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes.” I meet his gaze. “But it was easier than it should be.”

“Progress.” He reaches into the bag next to him to pull out one of the sandwiches he’d brought to my office. Green eyes flicker to my mouth, cling for a moment before he hands it to me.

Our fingers touch and a jolt of awareness runs up my arm. Damn chemistry. It’s so strong between us, almost a live, tangible thing. It messes everything up, makes him impossible to resist.

For today, I decide, I don’t need to think about it. The truth is I want to be with him, in this moment. I want to forget all the reasons I’m sure he’ll hurt me. I’ve been aching for him and now he’s here.

I’ll treat it like the gift it is. For now.

I unwrap the paper that holds the lunch he’s brought me. It’s a girl sandwich, stuffed full of vegetables and some sort of white spread on multi-grain bread. Suddenly my stomach growls and I realize how empty it is. I take a bite. It’s delicious. I moan with appreciation. When I swallow, I say, “This is so good.”

“I got it from a store by my office, the girl at the counter insisted you’d love it.” He toys with a lock of my hair as he smiles down at me.

“Aren’t you eating?”

“I will later.” He chuckles. “I’m assuming you don’t want stray crumbs falling over your face.”

“True enough, but I can get up.” I move to sit, but the palm of his hand flattens over my stomach, pushing me back down.

“Don’t even think about it.” His thumb strokes the under curve of my breast and my nipple beads in response, as though begging to be touched. “I’ve pictured you lying like this a million times, and you’re not ruining it for me.”

I blink up at him. “You have?”

“Yes, Juliet. I have.” He trails a finger over my ribs, between the swells of my breasts, over my collarbones before shifting strands of my hair through his fingers. “I don’t just want your body—although I want that almost to the point of desperation—I want you. All of you.”

And today, I want him to have it.

---

The afternoon passes with a laziness I haven’t experienced in a long time. To my surprise, Christos is fun to be around, funny even. As the hours slip away, so does my guard, and I find myself relaxing. In all the ways I’ve pictured being with him, lying comfortably on a beach isn’t one of them.

As we talked, he told me about his family, his mother and father who’d come over as Greek immigrants to rear him and his two younger sisters in America. He entertained me with stories of summers in Greece and even managed to slip in wanting to take me there. He said his family lived in a tiny village off the sea and it was the most beautiful spot in the whole world, and I believed him.

I listen with rapt attention, asking him questions I’ve always wanted to know but never dared I’d get a chance to ask. His parents are still alive and he goes to their house for dinner every Sunday night. He’s close to his sisters and their families. He has three nieces and two nephews he adores and lavishes with so many gifts he is often admonished by his sisters.

He laughs. “My sister Anna didn’t appreciate it when I bought Peter a drum set.”

A wide grin splits my face, and I shake my head. “He’s the nine-year-old?”

“Yes. Demetrius,” he says, rolling the word over his lips so it is pronounced with an accent, “is eighteen months, a little too young to be a drummer.”

I tuck a lock of hair behind my ears. “You know she’ll pay you back someday.”

“That’s her promise.” His expression is resigned but his affection is clear in his tone. “I’ve gotten my fair share of drum solos left on my voicemail.”

Since the day I met him, I’ve built him up in my mind as someone remote and untouchable. To find him so incredibly down to earth makes my perception shift. It’d been swaying for weeks, but now it settles. For the first time I look at him and see not the adversary, or the untouchable Greek god, but the man.

Turns out he is human after all.

Those green eyes catch mine and the world melts away. Silence and heat take the place of the cars and people. The waves lapping along the sand fade into the background and it’s just us.

His eyes darken, and a subtle alertness tenses his muscles. Full lips fall open, as if to say something, but no words come. Amazed, I watch the intake of his breath expand his chest before he presses his mouth closed.

I do this to him. Me. I put the desire and hunger in every line of his face.

I give up. Right then and there in the middle of Oak Street beach, I touch him. Reach for him. One finger traces the path over the line of his strong jaw.

I marvel as he stiffens under my touch.

I touch a spot under his ear, smooth over the cords of his neck, skim down his Adam’s apple, into the hollow of his throat. His mouth beckons, and I run the pad of my thumb over the curve of his lower lip. Smooth and slightly damp, the brush of his skin acts like an electric shock that rockets up my arm.

Tension radiates off him, and I can feel his power in his restraint.

I love the coil of his muscles, the pull and bunch under my fingertips. Revel in the way he holds himself in check as he lets me explore. Dominance is part of his nature and I know how hard it is for him not to take over.

It makes me want him all the more. Moreover, it makes me want to feel that passion unleashed and unrestrained.

I dip my head so our mouths are only a fraction of an inch apart, but instead of kissing him, I lick. Run my tongue over his bottom lip. Stroking. Teasing. Pleasure and desire spiral through me as his fingers dig into my thighs, but he remains absolutely still. Letting me have my way.

I nip. My teeth sinking into the plump flesh as I run my palms over his chest, loving the way he flexes like a panther ready to pounce.

I brush my mouth over his and whisper, “I want something.”

“Anything,” he says in a hoarse voice.

I lift my head and meet his gaze, wanting him to understand this isn’t a joke. “I want what you described from your conference room fantasy.”

The late-afternoon sun pours over his hair so it gleams blue-black and his eyes flash. “Tell me.”

“Fuck me.” I brush my lips against his. “Possess me. Fill me up.”

Dark lashes close as he breathes in deep, and moments stretch between us. When he looks at me again, my stomach clenches.

The predator is out.

And I want him more than I want air.

Long fingers grip my chin. “If I do, you’ll be mine. And I’ll never let you run again.”

It’s exactly what I want, what I need—not to be allowed to run, but I don’t say any of this. Instead, I meet his gaze and say simply, “I know.”