Клэр Коннелли – The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby (страница 3)

‘How about I buy this round and you can get the next?’ she said with a lift of one brow.

It was by the far the most forward she’d ever been in her life but seeing Angus in bed with Michelle had robbed Hannah of the ability to feel embarrassment.

His frown deepened. Then, he nodded a little, just a shift of his head. ‘You have a deal, Miss…’

‘Hannah,’ she said, her own name emerging a little husky. She darted her tongue out and licked the outline of her lower lip, her eyes holding his so she saw the way the black shifted, morphing to inky and coal.

‘Hannah,’ he repeated, his European accent doing funny things to the simple two syllables, so her gut lurched.

‘And you are?’

Surprise briefly flashed on his features. ‘Leonidas.’

His name was just what she’d expect. Masculine, spicy and sexy, it suited him to a T.

‘You have a table?’ she asked, shifting her eyes to where he was sitting. A couple had already claimed it. She spun around and saw the same fate had befallen her own seat.

‘I was just on my way to my room.’ He said the words slowly, the frown not leaving his face, the statement almost spoken against his will.

But the question in the words didn’t fail to reach Hannah’s ears, nor her awakening libido. Desire throbbed low down in her abdomen, so heat flamed through her.

‘Were you?’

Plan for seduction or not, Hannah knew she was moving dramatically out of her realm of experience.

‘It has a view back towards Athens. Perhaps we could have our drink on my balcony?’

Hannah had no idea if he was seriously offering to show her the view, or if this invitation was for so much more—she hoped the latter, and had every intention of finding out.

It was stupid. So stupid, so completely out of character, but she wasn’t acting from a rational place. Hannah had had her heart and trust broken and, wounded, she needed something. She needed to know she was desirable. She wanted to know what sex was all about. She had to push Angus way out of her mind.

And this man with his darkly quizzical gaze and mysterious, brooding face was everything she wanted—for one night only.

‘I…’ This was it. Her moment of truth. Could she do this?

The bar was busy and a woman passed behind Hannah, knocking her forward so Hannah’s body was once again pushed against Leonidas’s. This time, his hand reached out to steady her but it lingered, curving around her back and holding her there. Her eyes lifted to his, and doubts filled her. They were mirrored back to her, a look of confusion in his eyes, uncertainty on his face.

‘I want you to come upstairs with me.’ He said the words almost as though they were a revelation, as though he was completely surprised by the pull of this desire.

Hannah’s pulse was like a torrent of lava, hot and demanding in her bloodstream. She wanted that too, more than anything.

‘I just got out of a relationship,’ she heard herself saying, her expression unknowingly shifting so her green eyes were laced with sadness. ‘I was engaged, actually, until recently. I’m not looking for anything. You know, anything more than…’ She looked away, shyness unwelcome, yet impossible to disguise.

‘I don’t do relationships,’ the man said quietly. ‘I don’t generally do one-night stands, either.’

Generally.

The word was like an axe, preparing to fall. Hannah’s eyes slid back to his and the hand that was at her back, holding her pressed to him, began to move up a little, running over her spine with a possessive inquiry that warmed her from the inside out.

‘Nor do I.’

‘Theos…’ He said the word under his breath. ‘I didn’t come here for this.’

There was an undercurrent of emotion to his words, a sense of powerlessness that pulled at Hannah’s heartstrings. And if she weren’t completely drowning in this torrent of desire, she might have asked him about it. She might have insisted they find somewhere to talk. But desire was taking over Hannah’s body, and she reached her hand around behind her back so her fingers could lace with his.

‘Nor did I.’

His eyes glittered as they saw right through her, boring into her soul. ‘A night out of time,’ he said, pulling her with him, away from the bar, weaving with skill and ease towards the glass doors that led to the hotel foyer.

People seemed to move for him—he had a silent strength that conveyed itself with every step he took.

And with every inch they covered, Hannah’s mind was yelling at her that this was stupid, that she was going to regret this, even as her heart and sex drive were applauding her impetuosity.

The hotel had been more than Hannah had expected, despite its billing as one of the world’s finest. It was true six-star luxury, from the white marble floor to the gold columns that extended to the triple-height ceilings, the glossy grand piano in one corner being expertly played by a renowned pianist, the enormous crystal chandeliers that hung overhead.

As they approached the lifts, a suited bellhop dipped his head in deferential welcome. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he murmured. ‘Madam.’

His gloved hand pressed the button to call the lift and Hannah stood beside Leonidas, waiting in complete silence. The lift arrived seconds later and Leonidas stood back, allowing Hannah to enter before him.

She stepped into the plush interior, her breath held, her senses rioting with the madness of what she was about to do.

But the moment she felt regret or doubt, she closed her eyes and conjured the image of Angus’s pale face brightened by his sensual exertions with Michelle and determination kicked inside her.

Not that she needed it—desire alone was propelling her through this, but anger was a good backup.

‘You are no longer engaged?’

The lift pulled upwards, but that wasn’t why her stomach swooped.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve left him—everyone—far behind.’

‘You are angry?’

‘No.’ She was. And she wasn’t. She was…hurt. Reeling. Confused. And if she was angry, it was mostly with herself, for having been so stupid as to believe him, to care for him, to get so hooked on the idea of the picture-perfect future that she’d stopped paying attention to the present, to whether or not Angus even made her happy.

The lift doors eased open silently, directly into a large living room. It took only a moment to realise they were on the top floor of the hotel and that this magnificent space must surely be the penthouse.

‘Wow.’ For a second, everything but admiration left her—this place was amazing. Every bit as decadent as the foyer but even more so because it was designed with a single occupant in mind. Everything was pale—cream, Scandinavian wood furniture, glass, mirrors, except for the artwork that was bold—a Picasso hung on one wall. There were plants, too, large fiddle-leaf figs that added a bold hint of architectural interest.

Sliding glass doors led to a balcony that showed a stunning view of Athens in the distance—glowing golden warm, an ancient city, so full of stories and interest.

‘This is beautiful.’

He dipped his head in silent concession, moving towards the kitchen and pulling a bottle of champagne from the fridge. She recognised the label for its distinctive golden colour.

She watched as he unfurled the foil and popped the cork effortlessly, grabbing two flutes and half filling them.

‘What brings you to Chrysá Vráchia, Hannah?’

There it was again, her name in his mouth, being kissed by his accent. Her knees felt shaky; she wasn’t sure she trusted them to carry her across the room.

‘A change,’ she said cryptically. ‘And you?’

His lips twisted and she felt something sharpen within him, something that sparked a thousand little questions inside her. ‘It’s routine. I come here every year.’

‘What for?’

He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode across the room, champagne flute in hand, passing Hannah’s to her as though he were fighting himself, as though he were fighting this.

And she couldn’t understand that.

If it weren’t for the gale-force strength of her own needs, she might have paused to ask him why he was looking at her with such intensity, why he stared at her in a way that seemed to strip her soul bare.

But the incessant thrumming of her own desire was all Hannah was conscious of.

‘Habit,’ he said simply, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

She bit down on her lip, and his eyes dropped to her mouth, so her desire became louder, more urgent, desperation rolling through her. This was crazy. Madness. Necessary.

Outside, a spark of colour exploded through the sky—bright red, vibrant, its beauty an imperative they both resisted.

‘Happy new year,’ she said quietly, unable to take her eyes off his face.

Happy new year? He stared at the woman he’d brought up to his penthouse, completely at a loss for what the hell had come over him. For four years he’d come here to pay his respects to Amy, he’d undertaken this pilgrimage, he’d come here to remember her.

For four years he’d resisted any woman he found desirable, he’d ignored his body’s hungers, he’d resisted anything except the debt he felt he owed Amy.

Then again, no other woman had ever slammed into his body. She had literally hit him out of nowhere, and the second his hand had curled around her arm, simply to steady her, his body had tightened with a whole raft of needs he no longer wanted to ignore.