The World's Most Notorious Greek (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 4

  Money would be the lever he’d pull in order to get her to do what he wanted, since money he had in abundance. Sex too was a lever, as he knew after that encounter down by the lake that she wanted him. Not that it would be any hardship; there was nothing he liked more than making a woman burn for him.

  No, he’d always come second to the dead brother he’d never met, but he wouldn’t any longer. Ulysses was dead, but Achilles wasn’t, and he would have what was rightfully his.

  Willow had gone very still, like a deer catching a predator’s scent.

  He’d thought she’d have researched him before she’d arrived the way he had with her, and would already know that he was the man she’d met by the lake. But it was clear from her stiff posture and sudden tension that she hadn’t known. Not until he’d spoken.

  He stared at her elegant back, conscious of desire stirring to life almost instantly inside him.

  Ah yes, he remembered that feeling, not to mention his own uneasiness with the ferocity of it. But he could manage that. It was only physical desire, and he knew, if anyone did, that desire only meant what you wanted it to mean. Which to him was only pleasure, nothing more. There was nothing emotional about it. Emotions he avoided like the plague.

  So he let himself look at her, let the desire rise inside him, because she was tall and sleek, and her figure was accentuated by the plain jeans and white shirt she wore. And her blonde hair was falling down her back in a simple ponytail caught at the nape of her neck, and she was still every bit the wild goddess she’d been in the woods that day.

  She would be a perfect wife for him, at least for a time. And the perfect mother for their child. It was as if she’d been intended for him all along, and their intense chemistry only proved it.

  ‘Except your name isn’t Diana, is it?’ he murmured into the silence. ‘It’s Willow. Willow Hall.’

  She turned around abruptly, her gaze the same brilliant golden brown as he remembered, and just as full of shock.

  Then the sexual tension hit, a sharp jolt of electricity that had him catching his breath.

  Colour rose into her cheeks, making it clear that she felt it too, though he knew that already. He’d tasted her desire for him along with the tart hint of blackberry.

  ‘You,’ she breathed.

  Achilles inclined his head. ‘Yes. It is indeed. The naked man you kissed beside the lake last week.’

  ‘You’re...you’re the Duke?’

  ‘Achilles Templeton, Seventh Duke of Audley. My friends call me Temple.’ He gazed at her vivid, passionate face. ‘But I suppose you’re probably wanting to call me “that bastard.”’

  ‘That’s why you were swimming,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘You weren’t trespassing.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I was out for a run and decided to cool off in the lake. My lake.’

  She kept on staring, her eyes wide. Then the shock drained away and a thousand angry golden sparks glittered suddenly in her gaze. She strode forward, closing the space between them without hesitation until she stood only inches away.

  The expression on her face now blazed with outrage and anger. A goddess who’d been wronged and who was now looking to punish some poor worshipper for their transgression.

  Theos, but she was magnificent. So tall he barely had to tilt his head to meet her gaze, and her anger had brought the most beautiful flush to her golden skin.

  There were very few people who confronted him in this way these days. He covered his single-mindedness and the icy streak of ruthlessness that ran through him with a veneer of dry amusement to put people at ease, which was useful when it came to both business and pleasure. But that veneer was thin. And when people sensed it, they were intimidated.

  But she was not intimidated. She was not afraid. She looked at him as if she wanted to strike him for his temerity and he found that he almost wanted her to try. He would enjoy a fight with this woman. Anger was a potent fuel when it came to generating pleasure.

  ‘How dare you?’ She sounded shaken and furious, her eyes gone a smoky, molten gold. ‘How dare you not even say one single word to me? You should have told me who you were, not let me assume. And how dare you let me come here not knowing—’

  ‘I didn’t let you do anything,’ he interrupted coolly, though cool was the last thing he felt. ‘I assumed that you would have done the most basic internet search. Research, Diana. Isn’t that what intelligent people do?’

  He knew saying that would be like throwing a lighted match into a pool of spilled petrol, but he wanted to see her blaze. And she did. She went up like a torch.

  He saw the moment her temper snapped, the moment her hand lifted, and so he was ready, grabbing her wrist calmly before her palm could connect with his cheek, the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his head.

  You fool. What do you think you’re doing, provoking her like this?

  Maybe he was a fool. But now her skin was warm against his fingertips and her furious golden gaze was on his, staring right at him. And he realised he’d never felt more alive than he did in this moment. In this old house he hated, that somehow still managed to make him feel like a ghost in the walls, even all these years later.

  A taut, crackling second passed.

  Her skin was warm and silky, and he could feel the tension in her arm. Outrage and fury poured off her. She was like the sun during a solar flare, flames leaping in her eyes, a fire burning under her skin.

  It made him want to take that fire in his hands and coax it higher, make it burn brighter. Turn it into a bonfire. And only when it was blazing as high as it would go would he step into the flames and have them consume them both.

  Careful. She could have you on your knees.

  No, she wouldn’t. He’d never let anyone have power enough to put him on his knees and he certainly wasn’t going to start with this woman, no matter how lovely she was.

  In fact, maybe he should prove it. Both to himself and her.

  Achilles firmed his grip on her wrist, then slid his other hand around the back of her neck, cupping her nape. Then he pulled her in and took her mouth.

  She didn’t pull away, didn’t protest. A low moan escaped her instead that sounded a lot like relief, as a shudder coursed the length of her body. Her lips parted beneath his. She tasted of melted honey and wild heat, and before he knew what he was doing he’d deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth, his hand on the back of her neck holding her still.

  Dimly, a part of him was appalled, because this wasn’t how he’d intended this meeting to go. He was supposed to present her with his proposal, lay out his terms. Give her the details of her financial recompense, offer her some refreshments and then possibly, depending, offer her some sexual inducements as well. Not a full seduction, not yet, but certainly a reminder of their chemistry. Just enough to pique her hunger.

  He was not supposed to kiss her again within seconds of being in her presence.

  So much for her not having any power over you. You’re about to take her right here and now.

  The thought registered, a bright shock in his head. No, that was ridiculous. He was the one in control here.

  Forcing away his desire, Achilles lifted his head. But he kept his grip on her wrist and his hand on the back of her neck, holding her where he wanted her. Testing his control still further, because obviously he needed the reminder.

  Her eyes were molten honey, her mouth full and red. The pulse at the base of her throat raced and the pretty flush that stained her cheeks now extended down her neck and beneath her shirt.

  She looked as dazed and as hungry as he felt.

  ‘I would not advise getting close to me again.’ He tried to make the warning sound casual and offhand, but his voice was rougher than he wanted it to be. ‘Not if you don’t want to end this with you on the floor and me inside you.’

  She bli
nked, as if coming back to herself. Then just like that the hunger in her eyes vanished, the golden flames of her fury flooding back.

  This time though she’d learned her lesson, because she jerked herself out of his grip and strode back to the fireplace then stopped, keeping her back to him.

  The silence seethed and crackled, the tension drawn so tight it was almost a living presence.

  But he had himself well in hand now and he didn’t move.

  ‘I apologise,’ she said at last, her voice slightly shaky-sounding, her whole figure stiff with tension. ‘I shouldn’t...have done that.’

  An apology? He wasn’t expecting that. How...interesting.

  Achilles put his hands in his pockets and studied her obdurate back. ‘Shouldn’t it be me apologising? I’m the one who kissed you. Which I’m not sorry for, by the way.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the k-kiss. I was...going to hit you.’

  Ah.

  ‘Yes. I know you were.’

  She turned around sharply, and for a second he saw real distress glittering in her eyes. ‘I lost my temper and I shouldn’t have.’

  A slight discomfort twisted in his chest. He didn’t like distressing a woman, especially a woman he was attracted to, and, though he didn’t concern himself overmuch with other people’s feelings, he wasn’t a man who got pleasure out of pain.

  ‘It wasn’t entirely without provocation,’ he allowed.

  ‘But you’re right.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I should have done my research. I should have at least prepared myself by looking up your name and I didn’t.’

  This was not going the way he had thought it would. He should have been pleased with her apology and then her admission, yet he felt vaguely...dissatisfied in some way. Almost as if he’d wanted her to fight more.

  Not a good idea considering what just nearly happened.

  No. Perhaps not.

  ‘So why didn’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I...didn’t want to.’ The distress had disappeared, along with her anger, a certain cool dignity gathering about her. ‘I’m only here because of that letter you wrote to my father and he thought I should hear you out.’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘Though I think you should know that I have no intention of marrying you.’

  Achilles smiled. Because there were many things she didn’t know about him, the most important being that he always got his way.

  ‘Well,’ he said mildly. ‘Let’s see if I can change your mind.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  HE WAS NOT going to change her mind, Willow had already decided that. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say.

  Not after she’d lost her temper and nearly slapped him.

  Not after he’d answered that with a kiss that had made her forget everything, even her own name. A kiss she’d let him take, because she hadn’t been able to help herself.

  She was a fool. The minute she’d heard him speak, she should have walked out of the room. But she hadn’t.

  Instead, she’d heard his voice and turned around and seen him, the beautiful man from the lake. And, just like that moment a week earlier, she hadn’t been able to move.

  He’d been dressed this time, but that in no way had lessened his sheer physical impact. He wore a dark blue business shirt open at the neck that deepened the colour of his eyes and enhanced the breadth of his shoulders, as well as black suit trousers that emphasised his lean waist and powerful thighs.

  And the very second he’d locked his intense blue gaze on her an electric pulse of desire had gone through her, shaking her down to her soul. Making her realise that her week of telling herself she’d forgotten all about him was a lie. That the memory of the kiss he’d stolen from her was seared into her brain. And worse: she wanted more.

  And just as she was processing all of that, she’d become aware that he’d called her Diana before she’d turned around. Which meant he’d known who she was before she’d arrived.

  Willow had thought she had her temper well under control these days. She hadn’t lost it in years. But right then her grip on it had faltered and a wave of righteous fury had filled her, partly fuelled by shock at his presence and the fact that he’d known who she was, and partly by the shame of her own physical response.

  So she’d stormed up to him, ready to give him a piece of her mind, and then he’d said that thing about intelligent people doing research, sounding so much like her father at his most dismissive that what little grip she had left on her temper failed completely.

  Thoughtlessly she’d raised her hand, ready to slap his arrogant, handsome face, to do harm to another person. Then he’d grabbed her wrist and stopped her, kissing her, and all her anger had abruptly found a new path: desire.

  She’d let herself get lost in that kiss, let it carry her away. Because for some inexplicable reason the way he held her, contained her, made her feel safe. As if she could rage inside the circle of his arms, push against him, fight him, and he would remain immovable.

  She had no idea why she’d felt that way. She only knew that when he’d pulled away, all her anger had come rushing back and she’d had to jerk herself out of his arms and put as much distance between them as she could. Because he was right: getting close to him was dangerous.

  You cannot marry him.

  No, there was no way. Not when his very presence threatened her hard-won control over herself and her emotions. She couldn’t allow herself to go back to the girl she’d been before her father’s stroke, angry and stubborn and rebellious. Who made life difficult for everyone around her. Who hurt those she loved.

  She trembled as the splinter of an old guilt tugged at her heart, but she forced it away. Forced all those terrible, awful emotions away.

  She couldn’t lose her temper again. She wouldn’t.

  The Duke was standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted to one side. It was a relaxed, casual pose, and yet the way he looked at her was anything but casual. The deep midnight of his eyes burned and he radiated a subtle, sensual energy that made the air around him crackle.

  He looked like a man who’d never heard the word ‘no’ in all his life.

  Unluckily for him, ‘no’ was the only word she had.

  ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’ She clasped her shaking hands together in an effort to still them. ‘I’m not marrying you.’

  His gaze flickered, his mouth curving slightly, and she had the disturbing thought that far from putting him off, her insistence was only inciting him further.

  ‘But you haven’t heard my proposal yet,’ he said mildly. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here?’

  ‘I don’t need to hear it. I already know that my answer will be no.’

  ‘Of course. But you can hardly tell your father that you heard me out when you haven’t, in fact, heard me out.’

  Oh, that was right, her father. The money. Treatments...

  Willow swallowed, fighting a sudden wave of stupid panic. This was madness. Logic was the answer to this mess, not the wild swing of her emotions. She had to get herself under control and stop listening to her gut.

  ‘Fair enough.’ She tried to sound as level as possible. ‘Let’s hear your proposal, then.’

  He didn’t say anything though, his gaze holding hers, and she could feel the air between them thicken again, a charge building like static.

  Why was it that every time she looked at him, all she could think about was how he tasted? How hot his mouth had been on hers? How wild and hungry for him she was...?

  He smiled lazily, as if he could read her every thought. ‘Some refreshments first, I think.’

  Willow opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t want any refreshments, but he’d already turned to the door, moving over to it with that easy, athletic grace that she found hard not to notice. Pulling it open, he stepped outsi
de for a couple of moments, and she heard him murmur something to someone outside.

  Then he returned, shutting the door behind him.

  ‘I was just going to say that I don’t want anything,’ she said.

  ‘You’re assuming the refreshments are for you.’ He strolled closer, loose and easy as a panther on the prowl. ‘Perhaps they’re for me. Perhaps I need some liquid courage in order to ask you to be my wife.’

  A man less in need of liquid courage she couldn’t imagine.

  Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as he came even closer, stalking her, and her heartbeat was rocketing around in her chest like a bird desperate to find its way out of its cage. She was afraid. Of him and what he could unleash in her. What he’d already unleashed in her. If he got any closer...

  Stop. You’re letting your emotions do your thinking for you. Again.

  Willow gritted her teeth and ignored her frantic heartbeat, shoved away her fear. She was cool, collected and in control. She was not the girl who’d hurt her father. She was the woman who would fix him.

  ‘Your Grace...’ she began, pleased with how uninflected her voice was.

  ‘Oh, no, not “Your Grace.”’ Mercifully he stopped a couple of paces away from her. ‘My father liked an honorific, but I’m not one for formality.’ His smile reminded her of a very wicked, very hungry wolf. ‘As you’ve probably noticed by now.’

  His shirt was open at the neck, exposing the strong, tanned column of his throat, and found herself wondering what his skin would taste like if she kissed him there. And what he would do if she did...

  ‘I don’t care what you’d prefer to be called,’ she said. ‘I’d prefer not to call you anything at all. Just say what you have to say and then I can go home.’

  He stared at her a moment longer, like a predator deciding whether or not to pounce, and her pulse started to climb, excitement and a strange, fearful anticipation winding tightly around her.

  But just then a knock came on the door, mercifully catching the Duke’s attention, and as he turned and moved to open it Willow felt as if she’d earned a reprieve of some kind.