drank in the sight of him, from his bare feet up to a pair of black boxers—probably silk—the only thing he wore. Oh, my . His trim waist bloomed into broad shoulders and splendid arms. All of it, the entire package, rippled with faultless muscles. Waves of jet-black curls tumbled down nearly to his shoulders, the perfect touch to a striking display.
Her head swooned and her stomach swirled. Oh, lord . She cradled her face in her hand. What had she gotten herself into? A sweet aftertaste lingered on her taste buds. Peach Schnapps? The tang churned her fragile stomach. She remembered something about a bartender enticing her with upside-down shots. That probably had something to do with how she ended up here.
Veronica peeked at the stranger through louvered fingers. He was still gazing out the window. She cleared her throat.
He looked over his shoulder; his eyes traveled from her face to her breasts and his lips curled into a mischievous grin.
Under his blazing glare, her bareness became painfully obvious. Panic flushed hot against her cheeks. She grabbed the silken sheet and tugged at it, covering herself.
“It’s a little late for shyness, don’t you think?” An accent—Greek, maybe—accompanied his smooth appealing voice. He moved toward her with such purpose and confidence that it made her nervous. Not the kind of nervous that scared her, but the kind that steamrolled a girl when she was being seduced by a man she was powerless to stop.
Her companion claimed a place on the king-size bed and left a gap between them. The empty space didn’t go unnoticed. It felt huge and small all at the same time. A lump, a big fat lump of exaggerated panic crowded her chest. She sucked in a gulp of optimism and pushed the dread down into the depths of her gut.
Curiosity nagged at her until she gave in and settled her sights back on the masterpiece. A Greek masterpiece . Yep, he must be Greek.
Cobalt eyes, as blue as deep sapphires, assaulted her. Giddiness rained over her like a cool, summer shower and settled low in her belly with a tug of lust. She wanted to laugh, but her nerves caught it and shoved the urge back down her throat.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Niko. My name is Niko.” He inched closer and reached for her hand, the one holding the sheet over her breasts, and drew it to his lips.
She scrambled to grab the sheet with her free hand to cover herself. Soft, sensual lips grazed the top of her hand. The thrill of his touch swelled through her like a pebble rippling a pond. It was distracting. She hated that, but she liked the sensations tingling through her.
Her breathing quickened. It’s a shame she couldn’t remember the particulars from last night. Not that she objected to sexing it up with him again. She was sure she had last night, even though the details were hazy. That truly was a shame, but she needed to stay focused. Getting wrapped up in an extended sexual diversion, as tempting as that may be, wasn’t conducive to her goal—staying one step ahead of the press.
Retrieving her hand, she let concern furrow her brow, hoping it would do its job and overshadow the yearning building inside her. “Where are we?”
Niko pushed off the bed. “We’re at the Messardiere.” Towering over her, a frown suggested his waning patience. “Do you recall nothing about last night?”
Last night ? She muddled through the flashes of sexual overtures commanding her thoughts. Her brain seemed amazingly empty and void of anything—except those particulars detailing her shame and embarrassment back in the States. “No.” She lowered her head and crooked her eyes up at him. “I was, ah...washing away my sorrows yesterday.”
That was one way to put it. The divorce, the final decree barely two months old, still hurt. Actually no, it was the events leading up to the divorce that chipped at her ego, and the fact that the whole of America and half the world knew about her humiliation.
Ray Hudson, her
Her head swooned and her stomach swirled. Oh, lord . She cradled her face in her hand. What had she gotten herself into? A sweet aftertaste lingered on her taste buds. Peach Schnapps? The tang churned her fragile stomach. She remembered something about a bartender enticing her with upside-down shots. That probably had something to do with how she ended up here.
Veronica peeked at the stranger through louvered fingers. He was still gazing out the window. She cleared her throat.
He looked over his shoulder; his eyes traveled from her face to her breasts and his lips curled into a mischievous grin.
Under his blazing glare, her bareness became painfully obvious. Panic flushed hot against her cheeks. She grabbed the silken sheet and tugged at it, covering herself.
“It’s a little late for shyness, don’t you think?” An accent—Greek, maybe—accompanied his smooth appealing voice. He moved toward her with such purpose and confidence that it made her nervous. Not the kind of nervous that scared her, but the kind that steamrolled a girl when she was being seduced by a man she was powerless to stop.
Her companion claimed a place on the king-size bed and left a gap between them. The empty space didn’t go unnoticed. It felt huge and small all at the same time. A lump, a big fat lump of exaggerated panic crowded her chest. She sucked in a gulp of optimism and pushed the dread down into the depths of her gut.
Curiosity nagged at her until she gave in and settled her sights back on the masterpiece. A Greek masterpiece . Yep, he must be Greek.
Cobalt eyes, as blue as deep sapphires, assaulted her. Giddiness rained over her like a cool, summer shower and settled low in her belly with a tug of lust. She wanted to laugh, but her nerves caught it and shoved the urge back down her throat.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Niko. My name is Niko.” He inched closer and reached for her hand, the one holding the sheet over her breasts, and drew it to his lips.
She scrambled to grab the sheet with her free hand to cover herself. Soft, sensual lips grazed the top of her hand. The thrill of his touch swelled through her like a pebble rippling a pond. It was distracting. She hated that, but she liked the sensations tingling through her.
Her breathing quickened. It’s a shame she couldn’t remember the particulars from last night. Not that she objected to sexing it up with him again. She was sure she had last night, even though the details were hazy. That truly was a shame, but she needed to stay focused. Getting wrapped up in an extended sexual diversion, as tempting as that may be, wasn’t conducive to her goal—staying one step ahead of the press.
Retrieving her hand, she let concern furrow her brow, hoping it would do its job and overshadow the yearning building inside her. “Where are we?”
Niko pushed off the bed. “We’re at the Messardiere.” Towering over her, a frown suggested his waning patience. “Do you recall nothing about last night?”
Last night ? She muddled through the flashes of sexual overtures commanding her thoughts. Her brain seemed amazingly empty and void of anything—except those particulars detailing her shame and embarrassment back in the States. “No.” She lowered her head and crooked her eyes up at him. “I was, ah...washing away my sorrows yesterday.”
That was one way to put it. The divorce, the final decree barely two months old, still hurt. Actually no, it was the events leading up to the divorce that chipped at her ego, and the fact that the whole of America and half the world knew about her humiliation.
Ray Hudson, her
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