‘TELL ME,’ MAX SAID, ‘how are you with helicopters?’
Ellen stared. ‘Helicopters?’
‘Yes. I’ve got one on standby,’ he informed her. ‘There’s a property out in the Chilterns I want to take a quick look at, and a helicopter is the fastest way.’
‘I’ve never been in one,’ Ellen said.
Max grinned. ‘Great—a new experience. You’ll love it.’
He bore her off towards the kerb, where his car was hovering. He wasn’t giving her a chance to object, just as he hadn’t given her a chance to run out of that fashion house. When she’d finally emerged from the changing room he’d wanted to punch the air, like he had the night before. And now she had looked—fantastic!
Straw-coloured trousers neatly hugged her trim hips, and a casual cashmere sweater in oatmeal superbly moulded her generous breasts. A long jacket and a swish leather handbag completed the outfit.
Behind her came the sales assistant, with more clothes, and they all totted up to a good half-dozen or more capacious carrier bags.
His driver climbed out of the car to put the bags in the boot as Max helped Ellen into the back of the car.
She was in a daze—no doubt about it. She’d handed over her credit card, wincing at the huge total, but then tightening her mouth in defiance. Another watercolour would have to be sold—but this time she would get the benefit of it.
And it was money well spent—she’d seen that the moment she’d taken in her reflection, seeing not frumpy, lumpy Elephant Ellen but a tall, good-looking, athletic, fashionably dressed woman who could stride through the world with assurance and poise. It was a good feeling—a brilliant feeling!
A bubble of happiness rose in her, as if she’d just drunk a glass of champagne. She was going to enjoy this—enjoy everything! Including the novelty of a ride in a helicopter.
Her eyes widened in excitement as the noisy machine rose into the air, skating high above the River Thames. London became increasingly miniature, and then was left behind as the countryside approached. She gazed spellbound as they flew, then circled over the property Max wanted to assess.
It was another large country house, Victorian gothic in style, and far larger than Haughton. Only then did a shadow cross her eyes, for it reminded her of the danger to her home. Oh, he could buy anywhere he liked—so why insist on buying the one place in the world she so desperately loved?
Conflicting emotions swirled in her. Max had been so good to her, and even though she knew why he was doing it, it did not detract from the gift he had given her.
I will always, always be grateful to him.
* * *
It was a gratitude she voiced yet again that evening, as they dined in the Michelin-starred restaurant at the hotel.
‘All I’ve done, Ellen,’ he said, and smiled, ‘is show you what was always there—that’s all. You’ve always been like this—but you hid it. And now you don’t any more. It’s as simple as that.’
His eyes washed over her, liking what they saw. She was wearing the teal-blue dress he’d instinctively known would suit her, and it did—much to his satisfaction—and her hair was loosely gathered into a chignon at the back of her head. Her make-up—another purchase that day—was not as striking as it had been for the ball, but it gave her smoky eyes and long lashes and a soft, tender mouth...
He dragged his gaze away, returning to his study of the wine list. The arrival of the sommelier diverted him some more, and when he was done with his discussion and selection he turned back—to find Ellen looking around the dining room and getting the attention from male diners that she well deserved. He was glad to see it—it would do her good.
All the same, he reached out to touch her arm, with an atavistic instinct to show the other males she was spoken for.
Her gaze came back to him. ‘So, will you buy that place you looked at this afternoon?’ she asked.
As she’d glanced around the room she’d become conscious that she was being looked at by other men, and whilst it had given her a little thrill of confidence in her new appearance it had also, with her not being used to it, been somewhat disconcerting. She was grateful to have Max with her. He seemed...reassuring.
How odd that Max Vasilikos should seem reassuring to me—yet it’s true.
A thought flickered through her mind. Could this man who had wrought this seismic revolution within her, with whom she’d spent the most amazing twenty-four hours in her life and still counting, really be the same man who was threatening Haughton, threatening to wrest from her all that she held most dear? It was hard to think of it.
‘Maybe.’ He was answering her now. ‘Of course I’ll need to look over it in person. But it ticks a lot of boxes. It’s on at a good price, I like the look of it and it’s close to London.’
‘Much closer than Haughton!’ she heard herself say quickly.
Max’s eyes veiled. ‘Haughton is quite different,’ he said. ‘I have...other plans for it.’
‘If you manage to buy it!’ Ellen riposted, her chin going up.
But even as she spoke she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to talk about Haughton, about how he wanted to buy it. For now—just for now—she only wanted to enjoy the present, this wonderful time with him. Nothing more than that. All the difficult, painful stuff could be left to one side. For now at least.
He gave a guarded smile. ‘As you say,’ he murmured, offering nothing more than that.
The sommelier returned with his choice of wine and he busied himself sampling it, nodding his approval.
He glanced across at Ellen. ‘So,’ he said, ‘did you enjoy the helicopter ride?’
‘It was amazing!’ she exclaimed. ‘A completely new experience.’
His long lashes dipped over his dark eyes. ‘Well, new experiences are what you should be having, Ellen. Lots and lots of amazing new experiences!’
Was there a subtext to what he was saying? He was conscious of it. He was determined for her to have experiences with him... But he also wanted to indicate to her how her life could, and would, open up once she was free—not just of the chains that had made her think herself plain and unattractive, but of those that bound her to a house that had become a weapon against her stepmother and stepsister.
‘Tell me,’ he said, taking the subject further, ‘when were you last abroad?’
She thought. ‘Um... I took a school team to the Netherlands in the autumn term,’ she recollected. ‘And I did a field trip to Iceland with some sixth-formers—that was extraordinary. The geology and geography is breathtaking!’
Skilfully Max drew her out, and then equally skilfully drew her into contemplating where in the world she might yet like to go, exchanging his own views and experiences with her as their food arrived and they started on their meal.
An idea was forming in his head, but it would be premature to voice it now. He could sound her out, however, in general...
‘And what about sun, sea and sand—tropical beaches and all that?’ he ventured. ‘Or did you do all that as a child in holidays with your parents?’
She shook her head. ‘No, my mother preferred cultural destinations—so I’ve been to places like Florence and Paris and so on. Done all the museums and art galleries. I’m not sure I’d like to go back to those places again,’ she said. ‘They’d have sad memories for me now.’ A shadowed look permeated her expression.
He nodded in sympathy. ‘I’ve never gone back to where I was raised except once. And that,’ he said, ‘was to buy out the taverna my mother once slaved away in. I bought it, and now run it as a place to train unemployed young men—of which Greece now sadly has all too many—in useful skills.’
She looked at him. ‘Would you never live in Greece again? Never settle there?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve let it go, Ellen. Cut my ties to a painful past and made a new life for myself. A better life by far! One I’d never known I’d dreamed of until I started to make the dream come true.’ His eyes rested on her, his expression intent, challenging. ‘Maybe, Ellen, it’s time for you to do the same. Make a new life for yourself. Think about the future instead of clinging to a past that is gone.’
He’d spoken deliberately. It had to be said, after all. For her own sake as well as his.
She needs to be free—free of her chains. Free to move on. She needs to see the truth of that.
But a mutinous look had closed down her face and her eyes dropped, refusing to meet his gaze. ‘This isn’t a subject for discussion,’ she said tersely. ‘I don’t want to sell you Haughton and that’s that.’
Inside her head thoughts were teeming. She was immediately wary, reminding herself just who this man was and why he was interested in her, in spending time with her.
He’s a stranger who wants to buy your home—and he’ll use any means to get it. Including all this that he’s doing for you now. Oh, he may have given you a priceless gift, freeing you from what that witch Chloe did for so long, but don’t think it’s for your sake he’s done it—it’s for his. That’s why he’s done it.
From the corner of her eye she saw the waiter approaching with their dessert and was glad of the diversion.
For a moment Max went on gazing at her, fulminating. Her constant obdurate stonewalling was frustrating. Then, with an intake of breath, he let it go. He’d made his point—he would let it be. He hoped she would take it on board internally, even if she did not accept it yet. Besides, he thought as he rested his gaze on her closed face as she doggedly focussed on her food, he wanted to dismiss the subject himself. He didn’t want to think about the house she was refusing to sell, or her convoluted reasons for that. No, what he wanted to think about right now was something far more immediate.
The effect that she was having on his libido.
He’d been resolutely repressing it all day, but now, sitting opposite her, with her newly revealed beauty playing havoc with his senses, he knew without a doubt what he wanted to happen between them.
Even if she didn’t own a single brick of the house I want to buy from her I’d still be doing this—still be spending the day with her, the evening with her.
And the night too...?
His eyes drifted over her face, visually caressing the curve of her cheek, the length of her lashes, the sweep of her hair, the lush, inviting richness of her mouth whose sweetness he had tasted so tormentingly as he’d bade her goodnight. He tore his gaze away, only for it to slip downwards, to see how the soft material of her dress shaped and pulled across the generous swell of her breasts, and into his head leapt the memory of how they had danced last night, her body so intimately close to his. He wanted to feel her in his arms again, closer and closer still...
He reached for his glass of wine, started to speak again to take his mind back into safer territory for the moment. Besides, he wanted to remove that fixed, closed look on her face. Wanted to see it soften again, become animated with interest and engagement with him. Wanted to see her smile at him again.
‘So, tell me,’ he opened decisively, ‘this eco-resort of mine in the Caribbean—do you think it’s the kind of place that would appeal to someone keen on an active holiday?’
It was a deliberate trail—something to catch her attention, make her look at him, take her away from that dark mental interior where she brooded on her father’s resented second marriage. It seemed to work, for she lifted her head, blinking for a moment.
‘What sort of activities will there be?’ she asked.
Max waved a hand expansively. ‘Well, water sports, definitely. Nothing motorised—that would be out of keeping—but sailing, windsurfing, kayaking...that sort of thing. Snorkelling and scuba diving, of course—the reef is notable, and I’m hiring a marine ecologist to advise me on the best way to preserve and nurture it. All the sports will have to be outdoors, but to be honest there probably isn’t room for a tennis court. Plus it would require a hard surface—again, out of keeping. We’d run beach volleyball maybe,’ he finished.
He found himself on the receiving end of an old-fashioned look. ‘Well, that would be popular as a spectator sport—for the male guests, certainly,’ she commented drily.
Max’s riposte was immediate. ‘It would be popular with me if you were taking part, even more certainly.’
The sweep of his long lashes over his revealing glance gave him the satisfaction of seeing her dip her gaze as his compliment registered. He followed through seamlessly.
‘So, does it tempt you to come out and check over the place yourself? Try everything out before the first guests arrive later in the season?’
Ellen stared at him. ‘Go to the Caribbean?’ she said, as if he’d suggested a jaunt to Mars.
Max lifted a hand nonchalantly. ‘Why not? You’ve got time before term starts again, haven’t you? Plenty of time to cross the Atlantic.’
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Gave a slight shake of her head as if that was all she could manage. He let it go. He’d planted the idea—he would harvest it later. When the time was right.
He started to talk about coral reef conservation. It was as good a subject to pass the time as any. He was enjoying the meal, enjoying spending this convivial time with her—no doubt about that. And there was even less doubt that he was looking forward to what he wanted to happen afterwards...
* * *
The elevator, when they walked into it some time later, seemed too small, too empty. And as it whooshed them up to the top floor of the hotel Ellen could feel her stomach dropping away. But it was not just from the effect of the lift. No, it was caused by the man she was sharing it with.
He stood a few feet away from her and gave her a quick smile as the doors opened, waiting for her to emerge. The soft, deep carpet of the penthouse-level corridor muffled all sound. It was completely deserted. A strange sensation of electricity started to run in her veins, along her nerve fibres, just as it had throughout dinner, in little jolts and quivers, every time she’d let her eyes rest on him.
Inside the suite, only a table lamp was lit, creating an atmosphere that was...intimate.
‘Nightcap?’ Max asked, strolling towards the drinks cabinet.
For a second—just a second—Ellen heard in her head the answer that she could give—should give. Thank you, but no. It’s been a long day. I really must turn in. But instead she heard her voice saying, ‘Lovely.’
She walked to the sofa. She could feel her heart thumping in heavy slugs, feel that electric current setting off again, humming through her veins. Carefully she lowered herself down, deliberately kicking off her shoes, tucking her legs under her and resting her elbow on the sofa’s arm. A moment later Max was placing a small measure of liqueur on the coffee table in front of the sofa and then lowering himself on to the far end, his free hand cupping a cognac glass. It was a large sofa, but it suddenly felt very, very small.
She took a tiny sip of the sweet, orange-scented fiery liquid—no more than a sip, for it was strong, she knew, and she’d already drunk wine at dinner. A supreme sense of self-consciousness filled her—but not like anything she’d ever known before. This was nothing like the embarrassingly awkward consciousness of her ungainly body, her unlovely appearance that she was so bitterly used to feeling.
No—this was utterly different.
A lioness—that’s what he called me last night!
And that was what she felt like—with her lithe body toned and honed, not an ounce of excess fat on it, yet rounded and womanly. She was supremely conscious of the way her hip was indenting the cushions of the sofa, the way the soft jersey of her dress was stretched over her breasts. Breasts that seemed fuller, somehow...heavier.
She felt the alcohol creaming in her bloodstream, heating it. Making her feel different...oh, so different. Free...bold...daring.
Daring enough to sit there with the devastating homage to manhood that was Max Vasilikos, whose lidded eyes were resting on her, whose sensual smile was playing around his mouth. His long lashes were veiling but not concealing the expression in his deep, dark eyes. That thrill came again in her...electricity crackled along her nerve fibres. She was no longer the person she had been—she was someone else now. Someone new.
Someone a man like Max could desire?
Because why else was he sitting there so close, so intimately, his eyes holding hers as if by a silken thread that was drawing her towards him, closer and closer yet? Why else—unless he desired her?
Wonder and hope welled up in her. Was this truly happening? All those long, lost years when she’d been trapped in despising her body, her face...were they really over? Was it possible that she could now reach out and take what was surely every woman’s right—could taste and enjoy the sensual pleasures of the flesh?
A memory pressed at her of her time at university, studying sports science, when all about her everyone had been pairing off, partying...and she had not dared. She’d felt excluded, forbidden from trying to join in. Had drawn back and hidden away, feeling herself unworthy—for who could want a woman like her? Men could only possibly want women like Chloe...who was the total opposite of herself.
I banished myself—did not dare to try and claim the place that every other woman was claiming.
But now—oh, now she did dare! She did dare to lean back into her end of the sofa, to relax and take a deep, easing breath.
And the absolute proof of her right to dare was the expression in Max Vasilikos’s eyes now, as he twined his gaze with hers. The dim light cast shadows, created an atmosphere that was as heady as the liqueur she was sipping. She felt relaxed, languorous. And yet that low electric current was humming all the time, fuelling the charge that was building up in her, circuit by circuit.
Desire quickened in her veins. Desire made her eyelids heavy. Her breathing was shallow, her awareness of the sheer, raw physicality of Max becoming heightened...super-aware, ultra-aware.
I want this! I want what is to happen. I want it with all my being. To taste what I have denied myself so long...what I have never dared to take...
Yearning filled her, fusing throughout her being.
He moved first.
Wordlessly he placed his cognac glass on the table. Wordlessly he reached to remove her glass from her hand and do likewise. Wordlessly he curved his hand around the nape of her neck. Silently, his heavy-lidded eyes lambent upon her he drew her lithe, pliant body towards him.
And as his mouth closed over hers in the sweet heat of his kiss there was only one conscious thought left in her head.
If Max Vasilikos desires me, then I am desirable indeed!
And then all conscious thought fell from her.
Now there was only sensation—sensation so strong, so overpowering, so arousing, so incredible, so blissful, so pleasurable, so fantastic that there was room for nothing else at all in her entire existence. His kiss was as skilled as it was consuming, unhurried—leisurely, even—as touch by touch, graze by graze, his mouth explored hers, slowly at first, skimming her lips, then deepening moment by expert moment, deepening until she was lost, yielding to what he was arousing in her, igniting in her, as each touch of his lips set new fires within her. Fires that he stoked, and stroked as his fingertips explored the nape of her neck, grazed the tender lobes of her ears, as his mouth moved to nuzzle at them softly, sweetly, arousingly.
She felt her breasts engorge and strain, and then a hand was cupping one, and a whole explosion of sensation ignited within her. A soft gasp sounded in her throat as he coaxed her cresting nipple to exquisite arousal. Her hand pressed against the hard-muscled wall of his chest, fingers splaying out, finding as if by instinct the shirt buttons, reaching between, within, slipping one and then another undone as if this were a skill that had been innate inside her all her life.
She heard him groan as her palm slid across the bare skin of his chest, slid down to where his belt snaked around his hips, eased along the rim of it. And he groaned again, his hand tightening on her breast, his mouth devouring hers now.
Excitement ripped through her, raw and intense. She pulled her mouth away, gazed at him, lips parted, eyes flaring, spearing her free hand into the hair that feathered at the base of his skull, shaping it with her fingers. There was an urgency in her now. A sense of power. She felt ripped, pumped, with adrenaline flowing in her, strong and purposeful. She knew what she wanted. Who she wanted.
A lioness seeking her mate...
His mouth curved into a smile. A smile of triumph. She knew it, gloried in it.
Their eyes twined together as they half lay upon the sofa that was suddenly much too small.
With a single fluid movement he got to his feet, scooping her up with him. She gave a cry that was half a gasp, for she knew just how much she weighed, even though it was muscled mass, not fat, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest. As if she were a feather he carried her through to his bedroom, lowered her down on the bed. But he didn’t come down beside her, remaining on his feet.
He wasn’t idle, though. He was shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt, ripping the tie from him, ripping everything from him. Her eyes widened—how could they not?—and then, belatedly, she started to work off her own dress.
A hand stayed her.
‘Oh, no,’ growled Max. ‘That’s for me to do.’
He drew her back to her feet, utterly shameless in his own nakedness, his own rampant arousal. And she, because of that, was shameless too, standing there in front of him, fully clothed, her hands reaching up to her head, pulling off the hairclip so that her tousled locks fell with a single sensuous shake of her head, rippling down her back.
She heard him growl in satisfaction, saw his eyes flaring in the near darkness, for the only light came from the dim lamp in the lounge beyond. It was all the light they needed, and now he was stepping towards her, his hands catching at the hem of her dress, drawing up the soft jersey material in a slow, unstoppable movement until he’d eased it clear off her shoulders and freed her from it, casting it unwanted to a nearby chair. Now it was just her, with her hair rippling down her back, and the underwear she stood in.
But not for long.
Her own hands reached behind her back and she unhooked her bra deliberately, displaying herself, her eyes holding his all the time, her chin lifted, lips parted, knowing exactly what she was doing. Her breasts were freed, the bra discarded to the floor, and she stood there, showing her body to him as he was showing his to her.
His expression changed. ‘My beautiful lioness...’ he said, and his voice was low, deep, husky. His hand reached forward and the tips of his fingers simply grazed across her peaked nipples, so that they flowered even more, and a whisper of delight, of pleasure so exquisite, rippled through her so that she gasped and her head fell back, her long tousled hair brushing across the lower reaches of her arching spine.
He cupped her full, engorged breasts, heavy in his hands, and then his mouth found hers again, slowly, sensuously, with an intensity of arousal that she knew, with a kind of glory inside her, was the beginning of ultimate consummation.
She let him press her down upon the bed, let his body come over her, felt the crushing, arousing weight of him. He was kissing her still, one hand still enclosing a breast, the other now despatching the last remaining obstacle to his imminent possession. She lifted her hips as he discarded her panties and then she let his hand slide between her thighs, parting them for him. Whirls of pleasure rose within her, each one more intense than the last. A mist descended over her consciousness. She was no longer a thinking being—only a feeling one. Giving herself to the ultimate sensation.
He nestled himself within the apex of her body, and she felt with a mix of shock and exultation just how ready he was for this. How ready she was...
He took her hands, lifted them above her head so that the peaks of her breasts lifted too, and she gazed up at him. He smiled. Slow, intimate—possessive.
With an instinct older than time she felt her hips lift a little, straining towards him, yearning for his possession. His name was on her lips. An invitation—a plea. His smile deepened. And then, in a sudden fluid movement, he pulled away from her—only a fraction, but it was enough to cause alarm to flare in her eyes. Until she realised what he was doing—reaching into the drawer beside his bed...finding protection. Her protection.
She shut her eyes—there were things that even as a lioness she could not cope with! She heard him laugh, as if he realised that. A kiss nuzzled at the tip of her nose.
‘Safe to peek now,’ he said.
Amusement was in his voice, but it was only on the surface. Below was something deeper, and far more primal. She opened her eyes, looked deep into his, and even in the semi-darkness the naked desire there, the raw arousal, shocked her like electricity jolting through her body— her inflamed, aroused body.
For one long moment he gazed down at her. ‘My lioness,’ he murmured. ‘My strong, beautiful lioness!’
And then, with a slow, deliberate tensing, he lowered himself to her as her thighs parted for him, as her hips lifted to his, as her body opened to his. Taking possession of her.
As she did of him.
There was tightness, but no resistance. She drew him into her, her body welcoming his, glorying in it, her delicate silken tissues gliding him in, sending a million nerve endings firing, shooting volley after volley of pleasure through her.
How could it be so good—so good to feel like this? How could this fullness be so incredible? This fusion, this melding of their flesh?
She dimly realised that for a moment he did not move, with supreme self-control, letting her body accommodate itself around him, letting her revel in the fullness of their fusion, letting her body reach the same level as his, poised at the brink.
Her hands were on his shoulders, braced against him, and his hands were bearing his weight, for he did not want to crush her. He wanted to see her face—a face that was raised to him in wonder, in beauty—in the moment before the ecstasy took her...took him...
And then, with the slightest shift in muscle, he moved, letting himself release.
He saw it happen in her face, saw her eyes distend, and then he was beyond everything but his own conflagration which swept up through him like a firestorm, burning him to ashes. Burning her with him.
She cried out in wonder, in amazement, in pleasure, and the sound of her cry shook him to his core. Her spine arched, her hips straining at him, nails clutching at his shoulders, head thrown back so that he could see the ecstasy that was in her face, the wonder and the joy. He felt her body thrash around him, pulsing with consummation, felt her thighs straining taut against his, and then his arms were around her, holding her, cradling her, keeping her safe within his embrace as her body burned.
And then slowly, oh-so-slowly, she slackened in his arms—slowly, oh-so-slowly, she stilled, her eyelids fluttering, her breath ragged, her skin dampened with a silken sheen. He held her tight against him, still half possessing her, then slackened away from her. He smoothed her hair, so fine and soft, and spoke to her in his native tongue. He knew not what he said. And she was like one who had gone beyond—gone far beyond, to a place she had never been before.
He held her while her taut muscles relaxed, released their tension, became soft and lax. She was letting him rock her gently, oh-so-gently, and he held her, still murmuring to her, as he brought her back slowly, carefully...oh-so-carefully.
He kissed her forehead, with scarcely any energy left in him to do so, and then a great lassitude swept through him. An exhaustion of the senses, of the passions. He turned her in his arms, her body still damp, her eyes still glazed, and kissed her bare shoulder, nestling her into him, holding her close and safe and warm against him.
‘Sleep,’ he said, his voice a murmur. ‘Sleep now...’
He saw the ghost of a smile cross her mouth. It was all that she could manage and he asked for no more—not now. She had given all and taken all, and now they would rest, exhausted and complete, embraced by each other.
Sleep took them both.