The Giannakis Bride by Catherine Spencer

wildfire. With an inarticulate whisper, she sank against him, pressing her breasts to the solid plane of his chest and tilting her hips so that her body nested against his where he was most susceptible.
    He almost weakened. His hand slid down her spine to cup her bottom and hold her hard and fast. His fingers plucked at her skirt, inching it high enough to give him access to the smooth bare skin of her thigh.
    She felt a shock of damp warmth at her core. A trembling weakness in her limbs. An aching in her breasts. A bone-deep hunger that had waited years too long for satisfaction.
    And then it was over. Cool night air replaced the heat of his mouth, his hands. “I’m trying my utmost to do the decent thing and abide by your rules,” he ground out savagely, “but if you persist with this, I’m going to take you right here on the floor, and if you wake up tomorrow full of regret, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”
    “I thought you wanted me,” she quavered.
    “I’ve always wanted you, Brianna, and not just because I desire you sexually. I want you in my life and in my daughter’s. I want you to wear my ring and bear my children. In other words, khriso mou , I’m in this for the long haul. When you can tell me you feel the same way, we’ll make love, but not before.”
    She bit her lip, humiliated. “I don’t make a habit of throwing myself at men.”
    “That’s good to know, because I’d break the neck of any man I saw as competition, and I don’t relish the idea of spending the rest of my life behind bars. Greek prisons aren’t known for their creature comforts.” He turned her around and gave her a smart swat on the behind. “I’ll see you at breakfast. Now get to bed before my baser instincts get the better of me.”
    In the week following, they established a routine that allowed them to take care of business, maintain an uninterrupted schedule of visits with Poppy and still leave enough time for their unhurried rediscovery of each other.
    Each day, he drove them both into the city and dropped Brianna off at the clinic where she spent sweet, tranquil hours with her niece. Sometimes she read to her, or sang, or wound up the music box, or set the mobile in motion. Other times she’d carry her to the window and they’d wave to people in the gardens below and wait for Dimitrios’s car to turn into the forecourt. And sometimes, she’d simply sit and watch her as she slept, and pray that she’d be able to save this precious child’s life.
    Whenever they could steal time for themselves, Dimitrios showed her Athens. Not just the popular sights, but places the tourists seldom discovered. Tiny tavernas tucked away behind bougainvillea-draped walls, that served wonderful intimate dinners by candlelight. Narrow streets lined with ateliers full of exquisite paintings and sculptures by little-known artists who loved what they created more than they cared about fame and fortune. Out-of-the-way little churches in dusty squares, where old women knelt on their bony knees and prayed for their dead husbands and new-born great-grandchildren.
    To preserve the privacy she and Dimitrios treasured, Brianna hid behind large concealing sunglasses. With her hair tied back, and her casual skirts and tops and flat-heeled sandals, she blended in with the crowd, another unremarkable woman wandering the city with her man. Only once did a photographer recognize her, and Dimitrios made short work of him.
    One morning, he took her to his corporate headquarters, just off Syntagma Square, and introduced her to his colleagues. Not surprisingly, that day she caused a stir.
    “Did you see their faces?” she exclaimed, afterward.
    “They’d better get used to it, is all I can say, because if I have my way, they’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”
    They were alone in the elevator at the time, and he seized the opportunity to back her up against the padded leather wall and kiss her so thoroughly that she turned liquid with