He needed to dismiss the flood of emotion that threatened to drown him when he held her close and inhaled the sweet scent of her. To cut away the illusion that this was something different, special. That Tessa Marlowe was somehow unique.
Yet, despite his bluntness, his deliberate callousness, it wasn’t working. Still he was in her thrall, bound by the memory of her ripe sweetness and her clumsy eagerness.
No! It was a ploy. Her stock-in-trade. A trick to dupe him.
And yet his thoughts centred inevitably on the memory of that lush, seductive mouth opening for him, inviting him inside. Of the heady lust that had blasted through him from the moment he’d hauled her close and discovered just how delicious it was to hold her in his arms and hear her soft mews of pleasure. As he plundered her mouth in precisely the way he wanted to take her body. As he felt her undeniable response.
The primitive surge of ownership he’d experienced as he spanned her tiny waist with his hands had rocked him to the core. The soft, decadent caress of her waist-length hair had almost unmanned him.
He needed her so badly it was a physical ache. Even now. Even knowing what she was.
‘Don’t.’ The single word seemed torn from her, as if she was in pain. She closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to face him.
And he was the biggest fool of all for believing that, even for an instant. Hadn’t he learnt anything from his father’s mistakes? No way was he going to repeat them.
If only he had some defence against the feelings this woman aroused in him. If only he could relegate her to a simple legal and financial problem, instead of a living, breathing woman who insinuated herself into his brain, into his very bloodstream so that he could never be free of her.
Sto Diavolo! She even kept him awake at night with the hottest erotic dreams he could remember.
His voice was harsh with self-loathing as he continued. ‘But perhaps we should negotiate your terms first. That way there will be no misunderstanding when it comes time to settle your account.’
Her eyes snapped open, drowning emerald-green, to stare up at him with such a welter of emotion that it stopped him in his tracks.
He read anguish there. Pure, unadulterated pain so raw and real that something deep in his chest clamped tight in response, constricting his lungs till he could barely breathe.
Her skin paled and her mouth stretched into a taut line of suffering.
‘Tessa…’ The hoarse whisper was his, dragged from him as her pain reached out and lanced his body.
How could that be?
Could he really be falling for her act of innocence?
He shook his head, not believing the strength of the sudden doubt that assailed him.
Still her gaze held his, making him feel like a lout who’d taken out his wrath on an innocent child or some defenceless animal. As if he was the one at fault here. Not the conniving, deceitful, sexy woman before him.
The woman who was like no female he’d ever held in his arms. The woman who carved right through his logic and his ego, who threatened his ordered world in a way he’d never imagined possible.
‘I want you to leave now.’ Her voice was light and toneless, so insubstantial that he almost didn’t catch her words over the relentless drumming of blood in his ears.
She blinked away a glaze of tears, yet her eyes were still overbright as she stared up at him.
He didn’t budge. But after a moment he felt unaccustomed heat crawl up his throat.
With her angled chin, her drawn face and her steady look she radiated determination, elegance. Class.
To his astonishment uncertainty gripped him. Was it possible he’d got it wrong? That her motives weren’t mercenary after all and she’d been telling the truth? For a moment Stavros felt his conviction crack, a lifetime’s lessons totter and sway.
Then sense reasserted itself. He had to hand it to her, she was the best he’d come across, in a lifetime littered with women on the lookout for an easy life.
‘And why should I leave? I am your husband. Which means I have certain rights.’
The convulsive movement of her throat drew his gaze. That was when he saw the frantic beat of her pulse at the base of her neck. Instantly guilt speared him, as if he really had hurt her.
‘Because I want you to.’ She hesitated. ‘Please.’ For a moment longer she held his gaze then she swung away towards the window, her movements jerky. She kept her back to him but he saw the way her shoulders hunched high as she hugged her arms round her torso. ‘I can’t—’
‘Enough!’ He cut across her. Already she’d managed to make him feel like a predator, a villain attacking some wounded innocent. He didn’t need to hear any more. He didn’t want to hear any more.