Chapter Three
Rafael
Olympia’s amber eyes widen as I give her the truth I hadn’t meant to say tonight.
No, tonight was supposed to be about connection, that’s all.
I intended to make the introductions and ease her into conversation, whet her appetite for me and make her hungry for more.
I was not supposed to tell her I want her within the first hour of meeting her.
But she’s nothing like I expected and everything I didn’t know I wanted.
She’s perched on the bar stool, her red lips wrapped around the straw in her glass, and she has no idea how impossibly sexy she is right now. She has no idea that what I’m thinking about is her mouth wrapped around my cock, leaving that pretty red lipstick on my skin.
I’m a rough man. Unsophisticated and unrefined, and this woman sitting on the stool is the very opposite. She’s delicately beautiful, intensely feminine, and yet the glitter in her amber eyes hints at a passion locked away. A passion that would burn me alive if I wanted it to. And I want it to.
Except my revenge plan is a series of measured meetings, of her slowly but surely falling for me, not a headlong tumble into lust. And even if it were, the person who should be falling is her, not me.
Still, that lust can certainly be used to cement an obsession, so why not use it?
I have no time for second thoughts, not when the opportunity is sitting right in front of me, so unguarded and open, with a hint of innocent wickedness that I find unbelievably tempting.
The women I’m used to know the score with me and there’s never conversation.
Never flirtation. Only sex, hard and rough the way I like it.
None of them ever treat me the way Olympia’s treating me now, as if we’re old friends, taking my hand and teasing me, smiling at me so brightly it’s almost impossible to look at her.
As we drove over the bridge in my car, I could barely keep my eyes on the road, distracted by the expression of absolute wonder on her face.
I’d only bought the McLaren the day before—my love of super cars is a vice I indulge in from time to time—and I’d found myself ridiculously pleased to take her for a drive in it.
I touched her when we arrived at the hotel, unable to help myself, because I could see the glances cast by various men as we got out of the car.
They were all looking at her, drawn to her as I’d been drawn to her, so I put a possessive hand at the small of her back to show them she was mine.
She didn’t pull away, her skin so warm beneath my palm.
Somehow I managed to take my hand away in the bar, though it was far more difficult than it should have been, and now all I can think about is how long it’s been since I was with anyone who looked at the world the way she does.
With awe and wonder. As if there are nothing but good things waiting out there and not monsters ready to tear you into pieces.
She’s looking at me now as if I’m one of those good things, and the whispers of my long-dead conscience are telling me that using her to take my revenge is wrong.
But they’re only whispers and so I ignore them.
She is a hibiscus in full bloom, all brilliant colour and unknowing passion, while I am the cold hand that will crush her, and I am okay with that.
She’s blushing and yet she doesn’t look away. ‘You say it like that’s a bad thing.’
‘It is a bad thing.’ A good man would have told her everything about his plans for revenge, and how he was going to use her. But I am not a good man. ‘It’s not what Georgios would want, I’m sure.’
She tilts her head, a hint of a smile curving her mouth. ‘Fuck Georgios though, right?’
Her conscious imitation of me earlier and that smile are inviting me to smile back, but I don’t. ‘It’s not what your brother would want, either.’
‘I don’t care about him.’ She is looking at me steadily. ‘What about if…if I wanted you too?’
The honesty of the question and that slight hesitation send a shock of heat through me, my muscles tensing, my cock hardening.
It would be so easy to take her upstairs, to the suite I’m staying in, and lay her out across the big four-poster bed.
Unwrap her like the gift she is. Take my time enjoying her body, see what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her scream my name.
I have scarves with me, soft ones that I could tie around her wrists to hold her gently while I set her passion burning, then make it explode as I—
No. I can’t let myself get distracted by the sex when the sex is not the goal. Teaching her brother a fucking lesson is the goal. Taking everything away from him the way he took everything away from me is the goal.
I don’t answer her. Instead I say, as a test, ‘I should give you back to Georgios when you’ve finished your drink.’
Unexpectedly, small golden sparks light her eyes. ‘No one “gives” me back to anyone,’ she says, a hint of steel in her tone. ‘I’m not an object.’
This small glimpse of anger is just as intoxicating as her wonder.
Good. She’s a woman of spirit, and I love a woman who can stand up for herself, who gives as good as she gets.
My brain won’t stop thinking about what that would look like in bed, no matter how much I tell myself that sex is not the goal.
‘Of course you’re not,’ I say. ‘But I’m sure you don’t actually want me to take you up to my suite and fuck your brains out.
’ I’m blunt and crude on purpose, and maybe subconsciously I’m hoping she’ll recoil and run away.
I don’t know if I can be polite any more.
My meagre store of civil conversation was all used up at the gala and now this relentless attraction has eroded the rest of it, along with my patience, too.
There is nothing left of me but crudity and rough stone in the vague shape of a man.
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t recoil or run, which is unfortunate. Instead, something glows in the depths of her eyes. ‘You’re trying to frighten me away, aren’t you?’
‘Perhaps.’ I’ve got nothing but honesty now. ‘And perhaps you should be frightened, dragonfly.’
But she only shakes her head and before I can stop her, she reaches out and grabs my hand once more. Her slender fingers weave through mine, the heat of her skin a drug I can’t get enough of. Once again, she’s caught me, holding me still as surely as iron shackles would.
‘I’m a virgin,’ she says very clearly and without hesitation.
‘I have never even kissed a man. For the past fifteen years of my life, I’ve been coddled and cosseted and protected like a child.
But I’m not a child, Rafael.’ My name on her lips…
Dio. ‘I came to Singapore to get away from Greece, to get away from my brother, to experience life without being slowly suffocated by all the cotton wool surrounding me.’ Her hand in mine tightens, the expression in her amber eyes flaring.
‘I’ve had my drink at Raffles Hotel and now I want more.
I want you. I want to go up to your suite and I want you to show me what “fucking my brains out” means. ’
That’s the opposite of what you should be doing. Especially with a virgin like her.
But I ignore the thought. All I can see is the glow in her eyes and the burgeoning heat and, in this moment, even my fury at her brother is forgotten.
My hand tightens around hers and slowly, wordlessly, I pull her from the bar stool. She comes without hesitation and we leave the bar, me leading her up the wide stairs and corridors to one of the two Presidential Suites.
Inside, the room is dim and discreetly lit, and I’m so hungry and hard I want to take her immediately. But she is nervous, I can see it in the slight shake of her fingers as I let her go, so I restrain myself. ‘Would you like something to drink?’ I offer, trying to be gallant.
She glances around the opulence of the suite, to the luxurious couches gathered around a marble coffee table, and the long wall of high windows, the curtains now drawn, the chandeliers that hang from the ceiling. ‘I’m not sure,’ she says and then looks at me. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a little…nervous.’
Now. Send her away now.
I should, but there will be no more second-guessing. My decision is made. So, I move over to her and look down into her lovely eyes. She gazes back at me, her expression open, hiding nothing. ‘I think you should kiss me,’ she says. ‘That might help.’
Again, her painful honesty catches me hard, and I lift my hands, cupping her face between them. Her skin is warm against my palms and I leash the hungry beast in me, though it’s far too late to cage it. She coaxed it out, fed it crumbs, and now it wants a whole meal.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ I murmur, letting her see the truth as I hold her gaze. ‘But I can’t promise to be gentle either.’ I want to tell her it’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman, but it’s not. Yet at the same time it feels as if it’s been centuries.
She doesn’t flinch or recoil. ‘I don’t need gentleness,’ she says, her voice husky. ‘I’m nervous, but I’m not made of china.’
No, she is not. She is warm and she smells like roses after rain, and her eyes are so brilliant I want to fall into them.
So I bend my head and my mouth brushes hers, gentle at first, to get her used to the sensation and to me.
Her lips are petal soft and I hear her breath catch, and I wait a moment, trying to hold back the urge to gorge and to feast, letting her adjust. Then I kiss her again, light and easy, and this time I touch her lips with my tongue, coaxing her to open to me, and she does.
Her mouth is warm too and she tastes of the sweetness of her cocktail, and I can’t help but explore her more fully, more deeply.
A moan escapes her, her hands abruptly gripping my jacket, her body pressing itself delicately against mine, and then she is kissing me back, hesitant at first and shy, but growing bolder, her tongue exploring me in return.
My hold on my better self is failing, slipping out of my grip as she kisses me, the heat between us building. I slide a hand behind her, finding the zip of her scarlet silk dress and tugging it down. I want her naked and now, and I won’t take no for an answer.
But she doesn’t protest. She gives an impatient wriggle as the silk slides away from her, then she steps out of it still holding onto me, still trying to kiss me.
She’s wrestling with the buttons of my shirt, but I bat her hands away and tug at the thin silk of her scarlet bra until the straps break and I get rid of it.
I’m hungry now, starving in a way I’ve never been before. She’s so fucking beautiful, I can’t stand it, and I can’t wait either.
I pull her down onto the carpet, naked but for a scrap of red silk hiding her sex and her high-heeled red sandals.
I place a hand beside her head and lean over her, looking down into her golden eyes.
They’re blazing, her mouth full and red, and I can’t tear my gaze away as I run a hand down her silky warm body, cupping one full breast and pinching her nipple, before going further, down between her pretty thighs, beneath the red silk, finding soft, wet folds and her hard little clit.
Her eyes widen as I touch her and she gasps as I stroke her.
She’s so wet and it’s all for me, because of me.
Her hips lift as I slide a finger inside her and she moans, her face flushed, white teeth sinking into her full bottom lip.
I’m the first man to make her feel this way and the thought makes me savage.
I never thought I was particularly possessive but now I’ve had my hands on her, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her.
I slide my fingers in and out of her, watching her writhe beneath me. She’s close to a climax, I can tell, but not like this. I want to taste her. I want to eat her alive.
I remove my hand.
‘No,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t stop.’
‘I’m not,’ I tell her, then I tear her knickers off and spread her legs wide.