And right now, sitting on Andreas’ lap, was no ordinary turbulence. Flames under her skin licked and curled in all the places their bodies met—where his hands touched her and where her legs lay across his before they spilled over the arm rest, where her breast rested heavy and full against his chest and, most of all, where her bottom pressed tight into his lap. Where something growing and rock-hard pressed back.
She squirmed, embarrassed at the intimacy of the contact. He felt huge, so much bigger than he had looked this morning before his shower, so much bigger than Kurt, and she didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know. ‘Andreas,’ she pleaded, not even sure what she was pleading for as she squirmed some more, the urge to escape such intimate contact warring with an inexplicable need to get even closer.
But his eyes were closed, a frown pinching the skin between his brows, the skin drawn tight across his cheekbones. ‘You really should stop wriggling…’ he said cryptically, and then he opened his eyes and she read desire in their swirling depths and it only served to confuse her more. ‘Unless you’re planning on rescinding that no sex condition.’
She launched herself from his lap, scrabbling to get herself upright and away from him. ‘Don’t flatter yourself! It was you who yanked me into your lap, remember?’
He smiled as she headed, chin up, for the bathroom. ‘How could I forget? But it wasn’t me who was wriggling.’
Clusters of lights clung to the hilltops off to one side, but it was the air Cleo noticed first as they stepped from the plane, so clear and fresh after London’s heavy atmosphere, it seemed to have been washed with the very ocean itself. She inhaled deeply and tried to relax. It wasn’t working. The plane might have landed but the flock of butterflies in her stomach hadn’t come down with it.
‘Welcome to Santorini,’ Andreas said, drawing her into the circle of his arm and pressing his lips to her hair as they headed towards a waiting car, its headlights lighting their path. She shivered, as much from the cool night air as from his sudden and unexpected touch, and he squeezed her closer so she had to tuck her arm around him. Clearly the pretence had already begun.
It was no hardship to hold him, there was a firmness about his body that made him a pleasure to touch, and the closer she was to him, the more of his delicious masculine scent she could consume, but it was impossible to relax. Her legs felt stiff, her steps forced, her features tense. It was all for show, all to give the appearance they were lovers. And all of it was fake.
‘Smile!’ he ordered. ‘Anyone would think you were about to meet a firing squad.’
Maybe not, but Andreas was paying her a million dollars to pretend to be his mistress and it was a role she had no concept of. A million-dollar mistress who couldn’t sell what she knew about being someone’s mistress for one dollar.
She should have told him, should have confessed that her experience with the opposite sex was limited to one lousy time instead of claiming to have had sex ‘loads of times’. He’d expect her to know what was expected of her and how to act and he’d have every right to be furious when she didn’t. She glanced up at him but his profile was set hard, his jaw line rigid as he scowled at the waiting car, and she thought better of it. Whatever he seemed so upset about, now was hardly the time to confess her inexperience.
Whatever was bothering him didn’t stop him hauling her closer to him so that they were joined from shoulder to hip, their legs brushing every time they took a step, limb against limb, flesh against fabric until his heat radiated through her. She looked down at her feet and took a deep gulp of the clear night air. Did he feel it too, this delicious friction? Or was he so used to the feel of women that he didn’t even notice? She was sure there was no way she would ever get used to the touch of him.
‘Cleo?’
She turned her head up towards his. ‘Yes?’
And suddenly he was kissing her. No tender kiss, this one; instead his mouth plundered hers with both savagery and skill that left her once-stiff knees jellied and her senses reeling.
She found her fingers in his thick hair, his breath in hers, and all she knew was that she wanted more. How could he do this to her with just one kiss? She could have been back on the plane, feeling the press of his erection hard against her thigh, the same desperate need building inside like a furnace suddenly given oxygen until she was thinking insane, irrational thoughts. Such as she needed to be closer. Horizontal. Naked.
He let her go just as abruptly and it was all she could do to stand. ‘Wha…? What are you doing?’ She clung to him, breathless, her lips swollen and aching as he scowled again even as he smoothed her hair where his fingers had tangled in it.
‘Come on,’ he said impatiently. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’
It was a contest which one was the most sleek. The Alpha Romeo had smooth fast lines and sexy red duco. The blonde leaning against the door with the amused look on her face was even sleeker. Skinny blue jeans, a white top and a gold belt all atop a pair of killer sandals had never looked less casual. Despite the new clothes, Cleo immediately felt lumpy and inferior and completely ill at ease.
‘Cleo,’ Andreas said, ‘I’d like you to meet Petra Demitriou, my right-hand man, or, as it turns out, my right-hand woman.’
Petra laughed and shook her golden head, showing off her effortlessly sophisticated up-do and, courtesy of the same movement, the long smooth sweep of her neck. ‘Oh, Andreas, and I thought you’d never noticed.’ She elegantly unwrapped her long arms from over her ample chest and extended a hand to the visitor, while her razor-sharp eyes gave her the once-over. Cleo got the feeling she missed nothing. The way Petra blinked as her smile widened told Cleo she’d been found wanting.
It was hardly her fault. She was still battling to regain her land legs after that kiss. It hadn’t been an air pocket she’d hit this time, it had been an Andreas pocket that had sucked the oxygen from the air and knocked her off her feet.
‘Hello, Cleo, it’s always nice to welcome another of Andreas’ guests.’
The woman had an accent that sounded as smooth as honey and yet came with a chilli bite. So Petra wasn’t impressed with Andreas’ passing parade of women? But then, who could blame her? No doubt she’d be equally unimpressed if their roles were reversed. So instead of reading anything into the critical once-over and the clearly unwelcoming welcome, she thanked her and took the woman’s hand.
Petra’s fingers were long and slender and cool to touch and clearly weren’t aiming to linger. In the next movement they’d been withdrawn and the other hand was holding out a car key to Andreas. ‘I thought you might like to drive the new Alfa Romeo. It just came in today. Cleo and I can sit in the back.’ Cleo caught something distinctly unfriendly in her expression the moment before her mouth turned into a smile. ‘We could get to know one another while Andreas test-drives his new toy.’
Cleo did a rapid reassessment. Maybe she’d only imagined that sneer? She shrugged, confused by it all, confused by what was expected of her and not wanting to offend anyone. ‘Lovely. Thanks.’ Anything right now to escape the confusion the man alongside her could wreak with a single kiss.
‘I wondered why you decided to meet us, rather than send Nick.’ Andreas sounded annoyed, his words clipped.
Petra laughed his comment off as she offered the keys up at eye level like a temptation, her lips pouting seductively behind them. He remembered the pose. It was the same one she’d given when they’d been at that restaurant in Oia and she’d said she’d had too much to drink and asked if he could drive them both home, her hand on his thigh the entire way…
‘I know how much you were looking forward to a ride. I thought you might appreciate the key.’
Breath hissed through his teeth. He hadn’t had too much to drink tonight and the only ride Andreas was looking