The Kyriakos Virgin Bride (3 page)

“I see.” Instantly, she felt contrary, confused. She wanted to be alone with Zac. But she also wanted to meet his family, his best friends. She wanted to have a chance to talk with Angelo and Tariq and get to know them better. She wanted to ask Dimitri and Stacy what Zac had been like as a little boy. And she wanted to meet his sister.

She wanted them to approve of her.

Zac was quite right. She should meet them. Tomorrow. Nerves started to churn in her stomach. “What if they don't like me?”

One hand came forward and tipped her chin up. “How can they not? You're perfect.” His teeth glittered in the dim light, and she made out the glimmer of steel in his eyes. “Who would dare question my judgement?”

Her stomach churned some more. Jeez, she was far from perfect. Had Zac set her up on some sort of pedestal? She licked suddenly dry lips. What if his sister hated her? Zac would not tolerate anyone questioning his choice of bride.

Pandora bit her lip and told herself it would be okay. She was the chosen bride of Zac Kyriakos. His family would accept her or face the consequences. They would love her.

As Zac did.

They had to. She'd do her best to make it happen. And what she couldn't get right, Zac would sort out. She snuggled closer. Sometimes she forgot his power. Sometimes he was simply Zac, the man she adored.

“Stop worrying, everything will be okay.” His head dipped and his lips met hers. Pandora's breasts brushed his chest and all her concerns vanished. All she could think of was Zac…his hungry mouth, the strength in the hard arms around her, holding her close, making every atom in her body vibrate with longing.

He tore his mouth away and drew a gasping breath of air. “Now can we leave?”

“Yes.” She sighed.

Z
ac strode to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the sitting room that formed part of the master suite and poured himself two fingers of the single malt scotch whisky he preferred. A couple of long, raking strides took him to the window. He stared blindly out, not seeing the city lights in the distance. All he could think about was the disturbing silence in his bedroom. His wife was on the other side of the door behind him. He wondered if she was ready for him.

His gut tightened.

He'd been waiting for this moment for three months. He'd been patient. A damned saint.

Throughout their courtship he hadn't dared stay in close proximity with his bride-to-be. He'd allowed himself only two fleeting visits, each flight on the Kyriakos Gulfstream jet taking twenty-five hours and necessitating a halfway stop in Los Angeles to refuel. The almost fifty hours he'd spent in the air had taken more time than he'd spent with his fiancée, but it had been worth it. To see her. To touch her.

Briefly.

Circumspectly.

And then he'd jetted off before he'd lost it. Before he pulled her into his arms, onto the wide bed in one of the luxurious wooden cabins he'd occupied at High Ridge Station and ravished her to the full extent of his need. His passion would have stunned her. It had shocked him.

Zeus, but she was temptation itself with her silky pale hair and wide-set silver eyes and her slight body with narrow wrists and ankles that made her look so delicate.

But now they were man and wife. All that separated them was a door. He swivelled and stared at the solid wooden door and swallowed.

He had to take it slowly, had to control the vast sea of desire that seethed inside him. The last thing he wanted was to terrify the wits out of his bride on her wedding night. Because Pandora was an innocent.

A virgin.

His
virgin bride.

And now it was his wedding night.

Zac intended to savour every moment. Never in his thirty-one years had he made love to a virgin. His outdated sense of honour had always demanded that he choose women who knew the score as his lovers.

But his wife was a different matter.

He was horrified to discover he was nervous. His hands shook around the glass he held—and telling himself the nerves came from desire, not fear, didn't help. Zac stared into the amber liquid. He didn't drink as a rule. Had never been drunk in his life—nor even a little inebriated. He despised people who used their addictions as a crutch.

But tonight was different….

Tipping back his head, he downed the scotch and set the glass down. Plucking up his courage—Dutch courage, he thought mordantly—he made for the bedroom door.

 

Standing in the centre of Zac's rich burgundy-and-gold bedroom—her bedroom, too, now—and conscious of the immense bed behind her, Pandora watched as the heavy brass door handle twisted. Something squeezed tight deep inside her. The door opened and Zac stepped through.

He came to an abrupt standstill.

He'd showered, she saw at once, and changed his clothes. The close-fitting black pants and oversize white shirt were sexy as hell. She flushed as she realised he was watching her with as much interest as she assessed him. Instantly heat flickered in her belly and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

“You're still dressed.” He sounded disappointed. “I thought I'd give you the chance to shower, to—”

“I need you to undo the buttons down the back,” she rushed to speak. “I didn't think about arranging for anyone to be here to help me undo them.” And no one had offered. Obviously the dressmaker who'd helped her get ready this morning had thought her bridegroom would relish the task. Just the thought made her flush. Quickly she continued, “I washed my face, but I need to get this gown off.” She'd washed as well as she could, removed her makeup, brushed her teeth. Nothing more to do until the dress was gone.

“Of course! How stupid of me…I didn't think.” He came nearer.

Excitement clamoured inside her. She tried not to shiver. But when he stood in front of her, the little tremors of anticipation started to race across her skin.

“Turn around,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.

She needed no second bidding. The ancient silk rustled as she turned. She could hear Zac's steady breathing behind her, feel her heart start to pound as she waited….

A whisper of air caressed her ankles as he lifted the hem.

There was a small pull and she knew the lowest button was free. Little tug after little tug told her of Zac's successes as he worked his way up from the hem.

“
Zeus,
did the original seamstress have to use so many buttons? There must be at least two hundred—and they're tiny!”

“There are seventy-five buttons. The dressmaker doing the alterations counted them each time she took the dress off after a fitting. It takes forever to undo—even with a buttonhook.”

“I dearly hope not.” There was laughter in Zac's voice…and something else…something dark and sensual that caused her pulse to thrum through her head. “And I don't see a buttonhook.”

She struggled to regain her composure. “If this were a fairy tale, you'd have waited one hundred years for this moment.”

“I think I've been waiting my whole life,” he muttered. Then he said, “If this were a fairy tale I wouldn't need a buttonhook. I'd have my magical trusted sword and I'd be able to slit a line down here—” His voice broke off and he traced a line from the small of her back, down over the curve of her bottom, and Pandora shuddered.

“Then I'd slide that dress off….” His voice trailed away, and she could hear that his breathing had speeded up.

“But you haven't got a magical sword, so you're going to have to do it—”

“The old-fashioned way. Slowly, taking my time, enjoying the experience,” he murmured, and Pandora gasped as his hand slid up the inside of her calf, to her knee, where it stopped. “A couple more buttons and I'll be able to touch your thigh.”

His fingers gave her bare skin a last caress, then slid away. Pandora sighed with disappointment.

“Don't worry,
yineka mou,
there will be lots of touching and stroking. We have the whole night ahead of us…and I'm going to take it very slowly. I promise.”

“Then I think I might just die of pleasure tonight,” she whispered, breathless from arousal.

“Aah, wife of mine, do not say such things. I am trying very hard to keep my cool. Don't melt it or it will all be over before we begin.”

“I thought we'd already begun.”

Zac groaned. “Wife, be silent! I need to undo these buttons as quickly as I can and you are distracting me.” His breath caught and his hands stilled. “What the hell is this?”

“The garter. I wasn't sure if you followed the custom of throwing it…so I wore one anyway.” Still kneeling behind her, his fingers moved again, soft against her thigh, running under the garter belt. “It's blue…for the rhyme. You know,
Something borrowed, something blue.
I thought the dress could pass as something borrowed.” She was babbling now, but she didn't care. His touch was driving her crazy…and if she didn't babble, she might just grab that hand…bring it around to her pebble-hard nipples for him to douse the aching.

But his fingers were retreating, and she could feel the garter sliding down her leg. He lifted her foot, hooked the garter off, then he spun her around, and rose to his full height.

She stopped breathing.

His face was taut, his eyes blazing, and he held the garter aloft like a trophy.

“Mine,” he said hoarsely. “Every perfect bit of you is mine.”

She didn't even have time to gasp before his lips landed on hers, hard and ravenous.

Stretching onto tiptoe, Pandora wrapped her arms around his neck, the impact of his chest against her rousing a wildness she'd never known, and she kissed him back as though she were starved, all the while pressing herself closer.

“Slowly, wife of mine, slowly,” he panted, his big hands going to her hips, holding her off.

“I—” she punctuated it with a kiss “—can't—” another kiss “—wait.”

“Ah,
Christos.
”

His hands cupped her buttocks, lifting her, the priceless dress ruching up around the tops of her thighs, pulling her close until…until…she could feel his hardness through the fabric. With a rough mutter he hoisted her higher, and her feet dangled off the ground. Zac lurched forward.

“
Zac!
You'll drop me.” Hurriedly, she hooked her legs around his hips, her feet tangling with the soft silk folds of the dress as she clung on for dear life.

She landed on the bed with Zac sprawled on top of her. Breathlessly she stared up into hot green eyes.

“I can't wait—not another minute.” His body moved against hers, restless and insistent.

She could feel his heat, his hardness, could sense that he was hanging on to his control by a fine thread. “The dress—we'll ruin it.”

“Forget the dress!”

“I can't. The dressmaker kept eulogising about it being a piece of living history. I'd feel so guilty—”

“Shh. Roll over, then. Let me get the damned thing off,” he growled and shrugged off his shirt.

In a brief second Pandora took in his naked chest gleaming in the soft golden light of the bedside lamps, the curve of his chest muscles, the lean tapered strength of his hard stomach and groaned.

And promptly nearly died of embarrassment.

Balling her fists against her mouth so that no more humiliating sounds would escape, she rolled onto her stomach so that he wouldn't see her face, wouldn't see the desire, the wanting…and then cringed as the skirts of the irreplaceable dress caught around her legs. “Oh, no.”

“I'll set you loose.” There was laughter in his voice now.

“It's not about me—”

“It's about the damned dress, I know.” A hint of very real masculine frustration mingled with the humour.

How could she explain that she'd hate to be responsible for tearing or damaging a priceless heirloom?

Then she forgot all about the dress. Zac's hands had slipped through the slit he'd already unbuttoned, were on her skin. Smoothing, caressing.

“Nghh,” she moaned. “I thought you were supposed to be undoing the buttons.”

“This is much more fun,
agapi mou.
”

She leaped at the brush of his lips behind her knees. “Zac!”

He trailed a row of kisses along her tender, sensitised skin. Stopped. She waited, her heart pounding, tensing for what might happen next.

She heard a rustle of silk, felt the sleek, slick wetness of his tongue on the back of her smooth thigh. She gasped, then buried her mouth in the bed coverlet, willing herself to be silent, not to moan like a wanton.

He was pulling at the fabric caught under her. She lifted her hips. He tugged again and muttered something succinct in Greek.

“I am going to have to undo these buttons. Every damned one…without a buttonhook.” He muttered an expletive, then laughed. “This time I'll start at the top. It will be easier on my restraint.”

Thank God.

Pandora raised her face from the coverlet and rested her chin on folded arms. The breath whooshed out of her as his thighs straddled her and his weight settled astride her.

“Am I too heavy?”

“No.”

His fingers brushed her nape and she went rigid.

“First button.” There was resignation in his voice now. “Seventy-five, you said? And I doubt I've undone even half.
Ai mi!
How long is this going to take?”

“Perhaps we can make small talk?”

“Small talk?” He gave a snort of disgust.

Pandora bit back a smile. “Like, about the weather.”

“Yes, let's talk about the weather. It's so hot that I can barely breathe, and tonight I'm even hotter, despite the air conditioner in here. Shall I describe exactly how hot I am?” He didn't wait for an answer. “My skin is so hot that it's tight.”

At his harshly bitten out words Pandora had a searing visual of his chest just before she'd turned over and hidden her face. The sheen on the bronzed skin, the curve of his nude chest muscles. Jeez, she'd wanted to touch him. His skin would have been sleek and warm to her touch….

“What else?” she gasped.

“I am throbbing with something—a hunger—that I have never felt in my life before. I'm thirty-one years old and I feel like a damned boy. A boy who wants to grab…and squeeze…and possess. Hell, I'm not hot—I'm on goddamn fire.”