Chapter ONE
THE CAR PARK was as quiet as she’d hoped it would be. Inside her trusted Mini’s soothing cocoon, Perla Lowell bit the tip of her pen and searched fruitlessly for the right words.
Four lines. Four paltry lines in two hours were all she’d managed to come up with. She swallowed her despair. Three short days from now she’d have to stand up in front of friends and family and make a speech...
And she had no words.
No, scratch that. She had words. But none rang true. Because the truth... No, she couldn’t...wouldn’t subject anyone to the truth. Her whole life for the past three years had been a colossal lie. Was it any wonder her hands shook every time she tried to write? That her heart pounded with self-loathing for the lies she had to perpetuate for the sake of appearances?
But how could she do anything else? How could she repay kindness with humiliation? Because doing or saying anything else other than what was expected would bring devastation that she couldn’t live with.
Anger mingled with despair. With a vicious twist she ripped the paper in two. The cathartic sound echoed through the car and spilled out into the night air. As if loosening the stranglehold she’d exercised on her emotions for longer than she cared to remember, the tears she’d been unable to shed so far now pierced through her tightened chest into her throat.
Her fingers gained a life of their own. Two halves of paper became four, then eight. She ripped again and again, until the sheet spilled through her hands in little wisps of illegible confetti. She upended her hands and watched the mess strewn all over the passenger seat. With a jagged groan, she buried her face in her hands, expecting finally, finally, to shed a tear.
The tears never came. They remained locked inside, as they had been for the last two weeks, taunting her, punishing her for daring to wish for them when deep down she knew to cry would be shamefully, deeply disingenuous.
Because, deep inside, she felt...relieved. At a time when she should’ve been devastated, she felt a shameful lightening of being!
Slowly, she dropped her hands and stared through the windscreen. Her vision cleared and she focused on the palatial Georgian structure in front of her.
Despite its recent multi-million-pound revamp, Macdonald Hall had retained its quintessential old English charm, along with its exclusive membership-by-invitation-only Macdonald Club, and the extensive gold standard golf course that lay beyond the imposing fa?ade.
The centuries-old establishment’s only nod to the common man was the cocktail bar, which was open to the public from seven until midnight.
Perla sucked in a deep breath and glanced down at the ripped paper. Guilt bit deep as she acknowledged how good it’d felt to let go. Just this once, to not hold herself back, to not watch her every word or smile when she felt like cursing her fate. To be normal...
The feeling wouldn’t last, of course. There was still tomorrow to get through and the next day, and the next.
Dark anguish had her reaching for her bag.
She was far enough away from home not to be recognised here. It was, after all, why she’d driven for over an hour to find a quiet spot to compose the hard-to-find words.
Granted, her journey had been futile so far. But she wasn’t ready to return home yet; wasn’t ready to face the cloying compassionate gestures and well-meaning, concerned but probing looks.
Her gaze refocused on Macdonald Hall.
One drink. Then she’d drive back home and start again tomorrow.
Opening her bag, she searched for the small brush to run it through her hair in an attempt to tame the unruly curls. When her fingers touched the tube of lipstick, she nearly dismissed it.
Scarlet wasn’t really her colour, and normally she wouldn’t even glance at one that described itself as Do Me Red; she only had the sample lipstick because it’d come free with a book purchase. She would never dare to wear anything so bold. So daring. Even on other women, she found the colour too sensual, too look-at-my-mouth.
Fingers trembling, she uncapped the tube, angled the rear-view mirror and carefully applied the lipstick. The unexpected result—the wanton, blatantly sultry image that stared back at her—had her rummaging through her bag for a tissue to reverse the damage. When she came up empty, she paused. Her gaze slowly slid back to the mirror.
Her heart hammered.
Was it so bad? Just for tonight, would it be so bad to look, to feel like someone else other than Perla Lowell, complete fraud? To forget the pain and unrelenting humiliation she’d suffered for the last three years, if only for a few minutes?
Before she could change her mind, she fumbled for the door handle and stepped out of her car into the cool night air. Her party days might be long behind her but even she knew her simple black sleeveless dress and low black pumps were appropriate for a cocktail bar on a quiet Tuesday night.
And if it wasn’t, the worst that could happen was she would be asked to leave. And right now, being thrown out of an exclusive cocktail bar where no one knew who she was would be a walk in the park compared to the monumental farce she had to go through.
A smartly dressed concierge greeted her and directed her through a parquet-floored, oak-panelled hallway to a set of old-fashioned double doors with the words Bar fashioned in burnished gold plate above them.
Another similarly dressed man opened the door and tipped his cap to her.
Feeling seriously out of her depth, Perla took fleeting note of the discreetly expensive wood and brocade décor before her eyes zeroed in on the long, low-slung bar. Seriously intimidating rows of drinks were displayed on a revolving carousel and, behind the bar, a bartender twirled a sterling silver set of cocktail shakers while chatting to a young couple.
For a split second, Perla considered turning on her heel and marching straight back out. She forced herself to take a step and another until she reached the unoccupied end of the bar. She’d come this far... Sucking in another sustaining breath, she slid onto the stool and placed her handbag on the counter.
Now what?
‘What’s a fine girl like you doing in a place like this?’
The cheese-tastic line startled a strained laugh out of her as she turned towards the voice.
‘That’s better. For a second there, I thought someone had died in here and I hadn’t been told,’ the bartender’s white smile, no doubt tailor-made to drive hormonal girls wild, widened as his gaze traced her face in blatant appraisal. ‘You’re the second person to walk in here tonight looking like you’re a fully paid-up member of the doom-and-gloom brigade.’
In another lifetime, Perla would’ve found his boyish, perfectly groomed looks charming. Unfortunately, she existed in this lifetime, and she’d learnt to her cost that the outside rarely matched the inside.
She willed her smile in place and folded her hands on top of her purse. ‘I...I’d like a drink, please.’
‘Sure thing.’ He leaned in closer and his eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘What’s your poison?’
Her gaze darted to the cocktails on display. She had no clue what any of them were. The last time she’d been in a bar like this, the drink in fashion had been Amaretto Sour. She wanted to ask for a Cosmopolitan but wasn’t even sure if that was still in vogue these days.
She gritted her teeth again and contemplated walking out. Sheer stubbornness made her stay on the stool. She’d been pushed around enough; endured enough. For far too long she’d allowed someone else to call the shots, to dictate the way she lived her life.
No more. Granted, the scarlet lipstick had been a bad idea—it was clear it drew far too much unwanted attention to her mouth—but Perla refused to let that stand in the way of this one small bolstering move.
Squaring her shoulders, she indicated a dark red drink with lots of sunny umbrellas sticking out of it. ‘I’ll have that one.’
He followed her gaze and frowned. ‘The Pomegranate Martini?’
‘Yes. What’s wrong with it?’ she asked when he continued to frown.
‘It’s a bit...well, lame.’
Her lips firmed. ‘I’ll take it anyway.’
‘Come on, let me—’
‘Give the lady what she wants,’ a low, dark drawl sounded behind her right shoulder. The smooth but unmistakable cadence in the masculine voice spelled a foreign accent, possibly Mediterranean, that caused a shiver to dance down Perla’s spine.
She froze in her seat, her back stiffening as sensation skittered over her skin.
The bartender visibly paled before nodding quickly and sidling off to prepare her cocktail.
Perla felt his silent presence behind her, a palpable force field that bore down and surrounded her with unmistakable power. Her mind shrieked with danger, but for the life of her she couldn’t move. Her hand tightened over the strap of her handbag, her fingers plucking frantically at the beads that decorated the dark satin exterior.
‘Turn around,’ came the low command.
Her back stiffened some more. Another man who wanted to push her buttons. ‘Look, I just want to be left alone—’
‘Turn around, if you please,’ he instructed again in that low, growly voice.
Not please but if you please. The slightly old-fashioned turn of phrase piqued her curiosity. Coupled with the dark rumble of his voice, Perla was seriously tempted to do as he asked.
But not enough to give in. She remained facing forward.
‘I just saved you from becoming the potential target of a chancer with delusions of swagger. The least you can do is turn around and talk to me.’
Despite her stomach flipping again at the impact of his voice, Perla’s lips tightened. ‘I didn’t want nor need your help...and I don’t really want to talk to anyone so...’
She glanced towards the bartender with the intention of cancelling her order. The long drive here...the inspired words she’d hoped to write...the idea of a quick drink...the courage-lending scarlet lipstick—probably that most of all—had all been an unmitigated disaster. Again she felt pain tighten her chest and fought to keep her emotions under strict control.
Behind her, the man who thought he was her saviour stood in imposing, stifling silence. She knew he was there because his scent lingered in her nostrils—intriguingly spicy, masculine and raw—and she could hear his firm, steady breathing. Again an alien sensation skittered over her skin. The urge to look over her shoulder scythed through her but she refused the urge. She’d failed herself in so many things. Perla refused to fail at this one thing.
Lifting her hand, she tried to catch the bartender’s attention but his gaze was focused behind her...on the man whose presence, even without her knowing who he was or her having seen him, spelled power with a capital P.
She watched in stunned silence as the bartender nodded in answer to a silent command, rounded the counter with her drink and headed towards a dark corner of the bar.
Outraged, Perla finally turned to find the man—tall, dark-haired and incredibly broad-shouldered—retreating to the table where her drink had been placed along with another, presumably his.
Pure anger spiked through her. Her heels landed on the polished wood floor and she was marching over to him before she fully registered her intention. ‘What the hell do you think you’re—?’
He turned to face her and the words dried in Perla’s throat.
Gorgeous. Astoundingly. Gorgeous. The description lit up like a neon sign in her head—bright, bold, insistent. And so unbelievably real, Perla could only stare in astonishment. Even as she took in the sheer vitality of his olive skin, the lethal bone structure that made up his striking features and the tinge of grey in his hair and designer stubble—her personal, stupidly debilitating weakness—she knew she should never have turned around; never have followed him.
She should’ve heeded her instinct and walked straight out.
Dear Lord, hadn’t she learned from her mistake? She gave a slight shake of her head and tried to step back. She had no business being here; no business staring at a man the way she was staring at this stranger. If anyone found out...
Move!
Her feet wouldn’t comply.
Deep hazel eyes bored into hers, then slowly traced her body from head to toe and back again. Perla found herself holding her breath, her fingers once again working frantically over the beads on her handbag.
The breathtaking stranger’s gaze paused at her hair. ‘Is that colour real?’ he rasped in that knee-weakening, pulse-stroking voice.
‘Excuse me?’
‘That shade of red. Is it real?’ he demanded.
A little bit of her entrancement receded. ‘Of course it’s real. Why would I dye—?’ She stopped as it occurred to her then that he didn’t know her and therefore wouldn’t know that the last thing she concerned herself with was vanity in the form of artificial hair colour. There was no one to please or pander to and she was too busy surviving to think about frivolous things such as what colour to dye her hair. ‘It’s real, okay? Now will you explain what you’re playing at? That’s my drink you’ve just commandeered.’
‘Your manners seemed to have deserted you. I’m merely redressing the situation.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘Please sit down.’
Lifting an eyebrow, she remained standing.
With a shrug, he remained standing too.
She blew out an irritated breath. ‘My manners haven’t deserted me. You stepped in and took over a situation I had under control. What did you think, that the bartender would’ve vaulted over the counter and assaulted me in plain sight of the other customers?’ she snapped.
He broke his fascination with her hair and dropped his gaze to capture hers. ‘What other customers?’ he asked.
‘The couple over there—’ She broke off as she looked around. The young couple were gone. Aside from a waiter who was clearing a few other tables, only the tall stranger and bartender remained in the bar. As she watched, the waiter walked through a set of swinging doors and disappeared.
She swallowed. ‘This is a reputable place. Things like that don’t happen here.’
‘And what exactly do you base that statistic on? Are you a frequent visitor?’
She flushed. ‘No, of course not. And I’m not na?ve. I just...I just think—’
‘That predators in Savile Row suits are less vicious than those in hoodies?’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
‘No, that’s not what I meant. I came here for a quiet drink.’ Her gaze dropped to the bold and garish-looking cocktail standing next to his dark-coloured spirit.
This was fast getting out of hand, and she needed to think about getting back. Or she would have more explaining to do.
He indicated the chair one more time. ‘You can still have it. And you needn’t worry about making conversation. We can sit here and not...talk.’
His words piqued her curiosity. Or maybe she just wanted a distraction from the pain and chaos that awaited her the moment she left this place.
She forced herself to look at him—really look past the surface hurt-your-eyes gorgeousness of the man—past the powerful shoulders underneath the impeccable suit and loosened silk tie. His hair was slightly ruffled, as if he’d shoved a hand through it once or twice.
The brackets around his mouth were deeply grooved and when she chanced another look into his eyes, what Perla glimpsed made her heart hammer.
In that instant she knew he wasn’t here to prey on unsuspecting or vulnerable women. That wasn’t to say women would be safe from the sensual aura and sheer charisma that oozed from him. Far from it.
But for tonight, in this very moment, whoever this man was, the emotions lurking in his eyes weren’t of a predatory nature. The pain she saw resonated with her on so deep a level, she found it hard to breathe through it.
His eyes narrowed, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. He stiffened and his mouth firmed. For a moment she thought he was going to change his mind about his earlier invitation.
Abruptly he moved a step forward, touched the back of the chair. ‘Sit down. Please,’ he repeated.
Perla sat. In silence, he pushed her drink towards her.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
He inclined his head and raised his glass towards her. ‘To not talking.’
She touched her glass to his; a surreal feeling overtook her as she stared at him over the rim of her glass and took a sip of her cocktail. The potent alcohol hit the back of her throat, warming and cooling at the same time. The tartness of the pomegranate burst on her tongue, making her close her eyes in a single moment of pleasure before the strength of his scrutiny propelled her eyelids back open.
Once again, he seemed fascinated with her hair. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to fiddle with it. She sucked harder on her straw, partly to finish the drink quicker so she could leave and partly because it gave her something to do other than stare at this hauntingly beautiful man.
They sipped their drinks in silence.
With a very unsettling amount of regret, Perla set her empty glass down.
The stranger followed suit. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘For controlling the urge to indulge in idle chit-chat.’
‘I told you, that’s not what I came here for. If it was, I’d have brought a friend. Or come earlier when I knew there would be more people here. I presume you chose this time for the same reason.’
A shaft of pain flitted over his features but was gone in the next instant. ‘You presume correct.’
She shrugged. ‘Then there’s no need to thank me.’
He stilled, the only movement his gaze as it flew once again to her hair. When it traced down to her mouth, Perla became very much aware of the scarlet lipstick. Before she could stop herself, she licked her tingling lower lip.
His low hiss was an alien sound that sent a fresh wave of goose bumps over her skin. She’d never elicited such a reaction in a man before. Perla wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or terrified.
‘Are you staying here, at Macdonald Hall?’ she asked, in the hope of deflecting the unsettling feeling his hiss had elicited.
The stranger’s hand tightened slowly into a fist on the table. ‘For tonight and the next few nights, yes.’
She looked from his hand to his face. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be here?’ she asked.
‘Because we don’t always get to decide our own fate. But I’m obliged to be here for the next few days. It doesn’t mean I’m pleased about it.’
She glanced at his empty glass. ‘Then I suppose you’ll be upgrading to a bottle instead of a glass shortly?’
He shrugged. ‘Drinking is one way of making the time pass faster, I suppose.’
Danger crawled across her skin, sparking a flame in her belly, but Perla couldn’t move. ‘When you’re alone in a bar at almost midnight, I don’t really see much else to entertain you.’ Her voice emerged huskier than she’d ever heard it.
He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘But I’m not alone. Not any more. I’ve saved you, a damsel in distress, and my reward is your company for now.’
‘I’m not a damsel in distress. Besides, you don’t know me from a blade of grass. I could be one of those predators you described, for all you know, Mr...?’
Her blatant demand for his name went unanswered as he nodded to the bartender and indicated their empty glasses.
‘I don’t think I should have another drink—’
Hooded hazel eyes trapped hers. ‘But we’re just getting to know one another. You were telling me about being a ruthless predator.’
‘And you wanted to be alone less than ten minutes ago, remember? Besides, what makes you think I want to get to know you?’
His small smile was both self-assured and self-pitying, a curious, intriguing combination. ‘I don’t. Forgive me for the assumption. If you wish you leave, you may do so.’
Again the courteous words laced with arrogance set her teeth on edge. But Perla found she couldn’t look away from the fascinating man, whose extremely powerful aura held a wealth of pain and sadness that drew her...made her hesitate.
She licked her lips and immediately regretted it when his gaze latched onto the movement. ‘I don’t need your permission but I...I’ll stay for another drink.’
He nodded solemnly. ‘Efharisto.’ The way his voice and sensual lips formed the word made her stomach perform an annoying little flip.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Greek, for thank you.’
‘Oh, you’re Greek? I love Greece. I visited Santorini a long time ago for the wedding of a client. I remember thinking at the time it’s where I’d like to get married one day. That has got to rank up there as one of the most beautiful places on earth—’ Perla drew to a sharp halt as his face tightened suddenly. ‘I’m sorry. Mindless chit-chat?’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘It’s not as mindless as I thought it would be. So you love Greece. What else do you love?’
Her gaze dropped to the table, then immediately rose to meet his, almost against her will. ‘Is this the part where I say long walks in the rain with that special someone?’
‘Only if it’s true. Personally, I detest the rain. I prefer wall-to-wall sunshine. And the sea.’
‘And the special someone is optional?’
That look she’d caught on his face earlier returned—the cross between ragged pain and guilt—and this time it stayed for several moments before he shrugged.
‘If you’re lucky enough to have the choice, and to hang onto your good fortune.’
She bit her lip but was stopped from answering as the bartender delivered their order. Again silence ensued as they sipped their drinks. Only this time, when his gaze travelled over her, she boldly watched him back.
The silvery strands that blended into his temples coupled with the designer stubble gave him a seriously gorgeous but distinctly imposing look that sent her heart thudding faster. He looked vaguely familiar. Mentally shrugging, Perla concluded she must have seen him in the newspaper or on TV. His air of importance and easy way he commanded power lent itself to that theory. And, of course, he was here, at Macdonald Hall, one of the most exclusive private sport clubs in the country.
His fingers curled around his glass and she watched him lift his drink to his lips, his gaze staying on hers. Heat rushed through her, filling her up in places she’d begun to think were frozen forever. Perla tried to tell herself it was the alcohol but in an angry rush of rejection she forced herself to face the truth. She was done lying to herself, to glossing over the bare truth in order to lessen her pain.
No more!
She was attracted to this man. To his gorgeous, pain-etched face, the haunted hazel eyes, the strong stubbled jaw she wanted to run her fingers over just to see if it felt as rough as his manly, callused fingers. The mental pictures reeling through her head should’ve shocked and shamed her. But, for tonight, Perla was determined to suspend shame. And really, when had looking been a crime? And he was as exquisite a specimen as any.
‘Be careful, little one. This big, bad wolf has vicious, merciless teeth.’
The softly voiced caution ripped her from her thoughts.
What was she doing?
In a rush, she put down her barely touched drink, stood up and snatched her handbag. ‘I...you’re right. Caution is usually my middle name so, um...thanks for the drink.’ Her tongue felt thick with the lack of knowledge of the proper etiquette. ‘And for the company.’
Her breath caught when he stood to tower over her. ‘Did you drive here?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, but I barely touched my second drink and—’
‘My driver will deliver you home.’
A mixture of fear and anxiety roiled through her. Imagine the gossip if she returned home in a strange man’s car! Granted it was almost midnight but it would only take one sighting for the rumour mill to spin into overdrive. She had enough on her plate to deal with as it was.
‘No. That’s very kind of you but it’s not necessary.’
His striking, very hypnotic eyes narrowed. In that moment, all Perla noticed were his insanely thick eyelashes and the way his mouth turned down when he was displeased. The urge to take that look from his face shocked her into stepping back. When she took another step back, he followed.
‘Let me at least walk you to your car.’
‘I’m perfectly capable—’
‘That wasn’t a suggestion.’
‘Didn’t you warn me about Savile-Row-dressed predators a short while ago?’
That sad, almost haunted smile made another appearance. Those endlessly fascinating fingers delved into his bespoke jacket and emerged with his smartphone. He tapped the three-digit emergency number into it and extended it to her, pointing to the dial button. ‘Hit that button if I so much as exhale the wrong way between here and your car. But make no mistake, I’m walking you out of here and seeing you into your car.’
With a shaky hand, she took his phone. His fingers brushed then stilled against hers. Warmth infused her. Without thinking, she rubbed her fingers against his and heard his sharp intake of breath as he fell into step beside her.
The walk to her car took minutes but it felt like the longest walk of her life. Beside her, the tall, dark and dangerous stranger lessened his significantly long stride to match hers. Over and over again, Perla felt the heat of his gaze travel over her. She forced herself not to glance at him. To do so would’ve wavered her intent, made her give in to the intensely mortifying need that had taken root inside her.
But, with each dreaded step to her car, Perla felt as if she was fighting a losing battle. What had she achieved by coming here? So far, a big fat nothing. She hadn’t even broached the task she would give everything not to have to deal with. A task she would’ve given everything not to return to.
Surely it wasn’t wrong to make this moment with this perfect stranger last a little longer? She gave an inward sigh.
Who was she kidding? Fate had stuck two fingers up to her over and over. Why should tonight be any different?
She stopped beside her car and turned towards him. With a deep breath, she held out his phone. ‘I told you this wasn’t necessary. But again, thanks.’
He barely glanced at the gadget. ‘You’re not out of danger yet.’
She looked up into his face. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice a touch too breathless.
He stepped closer, his body heat slamming into her, making her head spin. ‘Hang onto it for a little while longer. I don’t want to end our conversation, not just yet.’
Perla’s pulse rate shot up even higher. ‘Why?’
‘Because...’ He seemed to catch himself just then. A frown creased his brow and he shook his head.
When he stepped back, a spasm of fear that she was losing him made her lean towards him. ‘Because...?’
He focused on her. Hazel eyes pinned her to the spot, then rushed to her hair, over her face, her neck, down to her toes before coming back to her face. He muttered something under his breath, something in his native tongue that held no meaning for her.
‘Tell me your name.’
Her mouth dried. ‘It’s...Pearl.’ She cringed inwardly at the small fib but, growing up, her unusual name had often been mistaken for the more common Pearl. Besides, the anonymity made her feel less exposed.
His hooded gaze dropped to her lips, its message so blatantly sexual, her breath stalled in her chest. ‘I have an irresistible urge to kiss you, Pearl. Does that make you want to run?’
The rawness behind the words rocked her to her soul, resonated beside her own turmoil. She watched his eyes slowly grow darker, more tormented. Before she could consciously stop herself, she reached up and cupped his taut cheek.
‘No. But it makes me want to know what’s wrong,’ she said softly.
He made a rough sound under his breath, like a proud but wounded animal. ‘Nothing I wish to bore you with tonight.’
‘What makes you think I’ll be bored? Perhaps I need the distraction as much as you do,’ she said in a rush of confession. She swayed closer and stopped herself a mere whisper from him. ‘Perhaps I want to give you what you want because it’s what I want too?’ It felt a little absurd, having this conversation with him. But it also felt...oddly right.
‘Be very careful what you wish for, little one,’ he breathed.
‘Oh, but I have been. Very careful. Too careful at times. I’m tired of being careful.’
His hand reached up to cover hers, pressed her hand harder into his jaw. Underneath her fingers, his stubble bristled against her palm, sparking an electric current that transmitted up her arm and suffused her whole body.
‘Don’t offer temptation you won’t be able to deliver on,’ he warned.
‘Are you challenging me?’
‘I’m offering a word of caution. I don’t wish to frighten you so perhaps you should leave now,’ he grated out. ‘Or stay, if you’re brave enough. I accept that the choice is yours. But decide quickly.’
Contrary to his words, his fingers caught and imprisoned a thick strand of her hair, his movement almost reflexive as he passed the tresses through his fingers repeatedly.
Caught in a sensation so alien and yet so right, Perla closed that last tiny gap between them. Strong hands immediately caught her to him. She collided with over six feet of lean muscle that knocked the air out of her lungs.
Before she could draw breath, his lips settled over hers. Every thought flew out of her head as she became lost in pure, electric sensation. He kissed her as if she was life-giving oxygen, as if he needed her to survive. That knowledge more than anything caught a fragile spot inside her; shook it free and allowed her to enjoy this, to become a part of this small healing process that they both needed.
With a groan, she pressed herself closer until she could feel his heartbeat against her breasts, the ridged chest muscles crushing her softer ones. Both his hands encompassed her waist and lifted her up onto the bonnet of her car. Then he plunged both fingers into her hair, angled her face up to his and proceeded to dive deeper into their kiss.
Only the need for air finally separated them.
Perla’s breaths puffed out into the cool night and threatened to cease altogether when she saw the smear of scarlet on his lips.
Reaching up, she touched his mouth. He made a sound of mingled pain and pleasure and she almost lost her mind.
‘I...I...’ She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to say. Only that she needed to make sense of what was happening to her. ‘Is that enough?’ From the depths of her soul came a yearning for him to say no.
When he shook his head, her heart soared.
‘No, it’s not. The taste of you is intoxicating. I want to drown in you.’ He captured her face in his hands and kissed her some more, murmuring phrases in Greek she had no hope of understanding. When he released her, he was breathing hard. Pulling her close, he rested his forehead against hers. ‘Theos...this is madness, but I can’t let you go. Not yet.’ He pulled back and tilted her face to his, his hazel eyes swirling with the same potent need that twisted inside her. ‘Stay with me tonight, Pearl.’
Her decision was instant; so frighteningly committed that she forced herself to remain silent when she wanted to blurt it out. Her fingers moved again over his soft, sensual lips. He captured them and kissed her knuckle. It occurred to her that she held his phone in her other hand. One small movement of her thumb and this would be over—decision made.
Or she could give the answer she wanted, no, needed to give. Take back a small piece of herself before she had to face the world again.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ she ventured.
‘My name is Arion. If it pleases you, you can call me Ari.’
She shook her head. ‘It pleases me to call you Arion.’
She loved the way her lips curled around his name. So much so, she said it again. ‘Arion...’
His eyes darkened. ‘You like my name?’ he rasped.
‘I love your name. I’ve never heard it before... Arion.’ She couldn’t resist the temptation to try it out one more time.
He caught her up to him and banded one arm around her waist. His laser-like gaze scoured her face as if he was trying to read her innermost thoughts. ‘The way you say my name... You are dangerous, Pearl mou.’
Laughter, long suppressed under the pain of just existing, scratched from her throat. ‘Wow...I’m dangerous? That’s a first.’
‘What have other men called you?’
The question sobered her up. Familiar humiliation threatened to crawl over her but she determinedly pushed it away. Tonight was her night, her choice. She refused to let thoughts of past failures intrude.
‘What do you think they’ve called me?’
‘Breathtaking. Stunning. A beauty Aphrodite herself would be jealous of,’ he breathed against her neck as his lips caressed her skin. ‘Your hair is incredible, the colour of a Greek sunset.’
Perla’s breath hitched in her lungs. Unbidden, tears sprang into her eyes. Blinking wildly before he spotted them, she forced herself not to be drawn in by the seductive words.
‘Am I close?’ He lifted his head and rubbed his stubble—as rough as she’d imagined it would be—against her cheek.
Liquid heat melted her insides.
‘Not even a little. But don’t let that stop you.’
‘Beautiful Pearl, I want to see your hair spread over my pillow. I want to bury myself in it, strangle myself with it.’ The hoarse litany made her draw back and stare at him. Once again, his face was stamped in pain. But, alongside it, desire, strong and unmistakable, burned right into her soul. ‘Does that frighten you?’
‘I want to say no, but I am a little frightened, yes. I’ve never done this before but I want to. Very much.’ So badly she couldn’t think straight. The need to forget, just for a short while, what faced her in the next few days, was so strong she couldn’t breathe for the need of it. ‘Right now, I’m so desperate for you I don’t know how long I can stand it.’
‘Then stay. I will give you everything you desire.’ About to kiss her again, he suddenly froze. ‘Unless you’re not free to be with me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Is there a lover or a husband?’ came the tight, throaty demand.
The arrow of guilt that lanced through her made her freeze too.
This is your night. Yours! Tomorrow will come soon enough.
‘I’m free to be with you, Arion. I’ll stay with you tonight if you want me to.’
His suite was probably the last word in luxury; the fixtures and fittings ones she’d probably have ogled if she’d had a chance to take even a single note.
But with Arion’s mouth on hers, his fingers in her hair and his body pressed close and hot against hers, Perla didn’t notice one single thing about the third-floor suite, except that the RS button he’d pressed in the lift stood for Royal Suite.
She did notice the large red velvet sofa he laid her down on the minute they entered his suite’s pitch-sized living room. Although the memory of it disappeared once he’d shrugged off his jacket and tie and freed his shirt from his trousers.
His chest once he unbuttoned his shirt instantly made her mouth dry, then flood with longing as she stared at hard contours and smooth bronzed muscles. Hairless and divine, his stunning beauty made need she’d never known pulse through her.
But that was a fraction of what she felt when he dropped his trousers and stepped out of his cotton boxers. His erection stood strong and proud...and big.
Just then, the enormity of what she was doing hit her between the eyes.
She was about to lose her virginity to a complete stranger.