‘Akomi. Not yet.’ He didn’t move but she knew as surely as if he had that she wouldn’t be leaving until he was finished with her. ‘Tell me,’ he continued mildly. ‘When are you planning to return to England?’
Jane wrapped her arms about her midriff. ‘Are you wanting rid of me?’
Demetri’s lips thinned. ‘I simply want to know what you’ve told my father.’
‘And not just about when I’m leaving, I’ll bet,’ she said provocatively. ‘Don’t worry, Demetri. I haven’t told anyone what happened at my apartment.’
Demetri’s nostrils flared. ‘You say that as if it was a threat.’
‘No.’ Jane backed off from a full confrontation. ‘I’m just reassuring you that you have nothing to fear from me.’
‘To fear?’ He seemed determined to have an argument. ‘Why should I fear you, Jane? I’m sure Ariadne wouldn’t be interested in anything you had to say.’
‘You mean, she wouldn’t believe me? More fool her.’
Demetri’s face darkened. ‘Are you saying you regret what happened?’
Jane’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you joking? Of course I regret it.’
‘Why?’ There was an edge of scorn to his tone now. ‘It’s not as if it was anything new for you. According to that witch you call an employer, you and your boyfriend spend a lot of time at your apartment.’
‘That’s not true!’ Jane couldn’t let him get away with that and she wished, not for the first time, that Olga would keep her nose out of her affairs.
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because Alex hasn’t even been in my apartment. Don’t judge everybody by your own standards, Demetri. Whatever you may think, I don’t sleep around.’
Demetri’s eyes narrowed. ‘So what do you do together?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Humour me.’
‘No.’ Jane had had enough of this. ‘I don’t ask what you and Ariadne do together. I don’t care so long as it doesn’t concern me. I don’t believe I even asked what you and Ianthe did together.’ Her lips curled. ‘I didn’t have to. I knew.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘YOU knew nothing!’
Demetri came up off the desk in one swift, menacing lunge and Jane felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle alarmingly. He was so big, so dark, so powerful. So angry! She couldn’t help herself. She automatically backed away from him.
And found her way blocked by the leather armchair in the window embrasure behind her. It smacked into her calves and, with a little gasp of surprise, she subsided onto the seat. Demetri loomed over her and for a moment she thought he was going to strike her. But he didn’t. What he did was bend towards her, gripping the arms of the chair, effectively imprisoning her in place.
‘OK,’ he said harshly, his breath hot against skin that was still slightly tender from the sun. She was wearing a cropped tank-top and a cream denim skirt and her sudden descent had driven the skirt halfway up her thighs. ‘Here it is for the last time, aghapi. I have slept with Ariadne, I don’t deny it. I have never slept with Ianthe.’
Jane couldn’t deny the twist of pain she felt at hearing him admit that he and Ariadne were lovers, but she managed to say bitterly, ‘Someone did.’
‘But not me.’
‘Then why did she say it was?’ Jane demanded raggedly.
‘Same answer as before: you’d have to ask her,’ replied Demetri tersely. ‘Maybe this time she’ll tell you the truth.’
Jane swallowed, permitting herself a look up into his dark face. ‘What I find hard to understand is how you can even associate with her if she was lying.’
‘To begin with, I couldn’t. But my mother—’
‘Oh, right.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I might have known your mother would have some part in this.’
‘She is fond of Ianthe,’ said Demetri through his teeth. ‘She regards her as family.’
‘The way she never regarded me.’
Demetri sighed. ‘OK. I know it was hard for you. But it would have got easier.’
‘Before or after you’d slept with Ianthe?’
‘I’ve told you—’
‘All right, all right.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I still don’t understand why it should matter to you what I think now.’
Demetri’s breath sharpened. ‘Because it does.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do you think?’
Jane’s lips twisted. ‘Because no one is allowed to contradict the great Demetri Souvakis?’ she suggested scornfully. ‘Or do you just like tormenting me?’
‘Do I do that?’
His voice had thickened and this time, when Jane chanced a glance through her lashes, she surprised an odd humility in his expression.
She shivered. ‘You know you do.’
‘How?’
She spread her hands, indicating his arms and her confinement. ‘Need I say more?’
Demetri’s eyes darkened, but he had to acknowledge that she was right. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Point taken.’ But he didn’t move. ‘Perhaps you ought to ask yourself why.’
‘Why you like tormenting me?’
‘I didn’t say I liked it,’ he corrected her, and now his voice was harsh with emotion. He lifted a hand, which he noticed wasn’t quite steady, and took hold of her chin, turning her face up to his. ‘You still drive me crazy and you know it.’
Jane trembled. He could feel it. Goosepimples appeared on her shoulders, ran down her arms to the hands that were clenched in her lap. A wave of colour swept up from her throat and into her face, warming the flesh beneath his fingers. And Demetri—God help him, he thought grimly—couldn’t stop himself from dropping down onto his haunches in front of her and covering her mouth with his.
A soft moan escaped her lips, her breath filling his lungs with the taste and the smell of her. Demetri came down on one knee then and, cupping her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss until her lips parted on a gasp and he was able to plunge his tongue into her open mouth.
The sensation was exquisite: taut muscle against soft wet flesh, and it was all too easy to remember how hot and tight she’d been when he’d pushed his sex inside her. His senses swam at the memory. A mindless kind of self-destruction was driving him on. And the throbbing pulse of his erection was like a drum beating in his head.
‘Demetri,’ she protested, but it was barely audible. Did she really expect him to stop? When he released her mouth to seek the scented hollow of her throat her breathing quickened. And she didn’t try to pull away.
His mouth and teeth were seducing her, she realised, drawing her inexorably into the web she’d known before. Murmuring to her in his own language, he caressed her arms and the delicate curve of her shoulders, slipping down to probe beneath the hem of her tank-top.
His fingers lingered in the sensitive hollow of her spine, causing another shiver of awareness. Her flesh was filmed with dampness, her scent rising to his nostrils when he bent his head and licked her skin. But the waistband of her skirt was a barrier, and his hands slid along her thighs instead to where her legs were bared and accessible.
‘Aghapita,’