Free The Greek's Unwilling Bride by Sandra Marton Page B

occurred to me that you’d be jealous.”
    â€œJealous? Of you and that woman? Your ego isn’t big, it’s enormous! I don’t even know you.”
    â€œGet to know me, then.”
    â€œThere’s no point. I’m not interested in getting involved.”
    â€œI’m not asking you to marry me,” he said bluntly. “We’re consenting adults, you and I. And something happened between us the minute we saw each other.”
    â€œUh-huh. And next, you’re going to tell me that nothing like this has ever happened to you before.”
    Laurel put her napkin on the table and slid to the end of the banquette. She’d listened to all she was going to listen to, and it wasn’t even interesting. His line was no different than a thousand others.
    â€œLaurel.”
    He caught her wrist as she started to rise. His eyes had gone black; the bones in his handsome, arrogant face stood out.
    â€œCome to bed with me. Let me make love to you until neither of us can think straight.”
    Color flooded her face. “Let go,” she said fiercely, but his hand only tightened on hers.
    â€œI dreamed of you last night,” he whispered. “I imagined kissing your soft mouth until it was swollen, caressing your breasts with my tongue until you sobbed with pleasure. I dreamed of being deep inside you, of hearing you cry out my name as you came against my mouth.”
    She wanted to flee his soft words but she couldn’t, even if he had let her. Her legs were weak; she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears.
    â€œThat is what I’ve wanted, what we’ve both wanted, from the minute we saw each other. Why do you try to deny it?”
    The bluntness of his words, the heat in his eyes, the memory of what she’d felt in his arms, stole her breath away and, with it, all her hard-won denial.
    Everything Damian had said was true. She couldn’t pretend anymore. She didn’t like him. He was everything she despised and more, but she wanted him as she’d never wanted any man, and with such desperate longing that it terrified her.
    Her vision blurred. She saw herself in his arms, lying beneath him and returning kiss for kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist as she tilted her hips up to meet his possessive thrusts.
    â€œYes,” he said fiercely, and she looked into his eyes and knew that the time for pretense was over.
    Laurel gave a soft cry. She tore her hand from Damian’s, shot to her feet and flew from the restaurant, but he caught up to her just outside the door, his fingers curling around her arm like a band of steel.
    â€œTell me I’m wrong,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “and so help me God, I’ll have my driver take you home and you’ll never be bothered by me again.”
    Time seemed to stand still. They stood in the warmth and darkness of the spring night, looking at each other, both of them breathing hard, and then Laurel whispered Damian’s name and moved into his arms with a hunger she could no longer deny.

CHAPTER FIVE
    T HEY WERE INSIDE the limousine, shut off from the driver and the world, moving swiftly through the late-night streets of the city. The car, and Damian, were all that existed in Laurel’s universe.
    His body was rock-hard; his arms crushed her to him. His mouth was hot and open against hers, and his tongue penetrated her in an act of intimacy so intense it made her tremble. She felt fragile and feminine, consumed by his masculinity. His kiss demanded her complete surrender and promised, in return, the fulfilment of her wildest fantasies.
    There would be no holding back. Not tonight. Not with him.
    Wrong, this is wrong. Those were the words that whispered inside her head, but the message beating in her blood was far louder. Stop thinking, it said. Let yourself feel.
    And she could feel. Everything. The hardness of Damian’s body. The wildness of his kisses. The heat of his hands as he