A long time later, she gave a breathy gasp and shifted, so that she knelt across his lap, her body tight and expectant.

His hands came up to her shoulders, dislodged the thin shoestring straps and eased the top of the dress down. She wore no bra. One glance revealed that her breasts were high and firm, the nipples dark and his heart began to pound.

He pulled her up…towards him…took the waiting nipple and surrounding flesh into his mouth. The nipple peaked under the stroke of his tongue.

Angelo pursed his lips, sucked, felt her body jerk and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

Her still-clothed belly moved in slow, insistent motions against him. In one swift movement he peeled the Lycra dress off and revelled in the sensation of her naked skin beneath his hands. He stroked her back, the sleek, rounded globes of her tight buttocks; the piece of stretchy lace that qualified for underwear was no barrier to his touch. His fingers slid beneath the thong.

She was warm and wet and his fingers moved effortlessly in the sleek furrow. He could tell by her ragged breathing that she was hot, that she wanted this as much as he did.

As his fingers moved back and forth, his mouth echoed the rhythm against her breast, until she gasped out loud and he felt the suppressed shudder that shook her.

Then she pushed away.

“I can’t take more.”

Before he could object, she’d slid off his lap, knelt between his thighs. He felt her fingers at the zipper of his trousers. A rush of want surged through him. He grabbed her head between his hands.

“No.”

She tipped her head up, her eyes glazed with emotion.

“Yes.”

“No.” His control was slipping. He had a turbulent sense that if he let this happen his world would never be the same. That he was poised at a doorway to an undiscovered universe.

He heard the zipper give. Her hands brought him out, hard and potent.

“Gemma.”

She ignored his desperate croak, her fingertips soft against his sensitive skin.

Giving in, he flung his head back against the sofa and groaned as she stroked him.

When the warmth of her mouth closed over him, he squeezed his eyes shut at the unbearably sweet heat. “Gemma!”

The slow sucking started, driving him to the edge of a dark, unfamiliar abyss where he could hold on no more. Shadows started to dance against his eyelids. His thighs began to tremble and then he was convulsing again and again, trapped in pleasure beyond what he’d ever experienced.

Eight

He carried Gemma through to the bedroom, laid her down on his bed. “My turn,” he growled.

He stripped the thong off and started to stroke her with fingers that possessed a magic touch. A fine tension tightened in Gemma’s belly. She shifted, the raw silk of the bedcover creating a delicious friction against her back, her thighs.

He touched the little button, her knees came off the cover. She moaned. He moved his fingers and her breath left her. Closing her eyes, she shut out everything. Nothing existed, except this room, this man…and his touch.

And then the heat of his mouth was against her. Slick. Teasing. His tongue probed. She gasped. He licked again. Gemma locked her fingers in his golden hair and pulled him away.

“I can’t…”

He lifted his head. His eyes gleamed. “You can.”

“I want…more.”

He must’ve understood her incoherent mumbles. There was the sound of foil tearing and a moment later he’d crawled over her, his chest hard and sleek against her taut, aching breasts. Then his mouth was over hers, his tongue hungry and plundering as he took her mouth in a kiss so hot, so wild, that her hips bucked under him. Impatient. Desperate.

His hand closed on her breast. Heat seared through her, stabbing between her legs. She bent her knees up, tilted her hips, hinting, clamouring for more.

Angelo moved against her. She could feel his erection, the blunt tip sliding against her. She was ready for him.

He pushed forward and slid all the way in. Gemma moaned, a hoarse primal sound, as pleasure shafted her. Her arms went round his neck, tightening. And her legs wrapped round him, locking him to her.

There was a moment when he lay utterly still, filling her, and then he pulled back a little, and sank forward again. The friction was intense. The pace ratcheted up.

Gemma’s breathing quickened, shallow gasps that sounded overloud in the quiet room.

She squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut, focusing on the friction, the sensation that arced through her, from between her legs, through her belly, to her nipples, to her tongue that slid wildly against his.

There was an instant of darkness, the world went black and then she was shivering into a void of light.

Angelo groaned, and she felt him pulsing deep inside her. “Hell, it’s never been like that,” he muttered hoarsely. “Never.”

As his words registered, the brightness faded, and a shiver of apprehension shook her.

Her final show had arrived. Tonight Gemma wore a black dress with spaghetti straps that made her dark red hair appear redder than ever. The low scooped back revealed her carefully cultivated tan and Gemma took her time applying makeup to emphasize her eyes and lips. By the time she was finished, she knew she looked good.

Her time on stage passed in a blur. She squinted past the lights but couldn’t locate Angelo at any of the tables. At last she gave up and tried to concentrate on the words she was singing, on communicating the meaning of the song to the audience, but some of the lustre had gone.

She left the stage with a sinking heart. Her time on Strathmos was over.

On the way to her dressing room, Denny waved and Gemma gave him a half-hearted smile.

Pushing the door open, her eyes widened at the unexpected sight of Angelo reclining in her dressing room. Gemma hesitated on the threshold.

He should’ve looked out of place surrounded by the heap of glittery clothes that Lucie had abandoned on the floor. But he didn’t. Instead he looked unfairly at ease as he dwarfed the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

She averted her eyes from his gold hair and bright, piercing eyes and the taut body encased in the beautifully fitting dark suit. Warily, she entered the dressing room and closed the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. Since this morning, you’ve been impossible to find. I don’t intend to let you run out on me tonight.”

Last night had been so special…earth shattering…she hadn’t been able to face him this morning. She’d needed time alone to come to terms with it.

“I wouldn’t have run out on you.” They needed to talk. He was going to be furious with her. Her heart clenched at the thought of the coming confrontation.

“Join me for dinner?”

Dark and deep, that voice did stuff to her that should be declared illegal. “Anywhere except your penthouse.” She didn’t want to make love, it would distract her from what she had to say.

The smile he gave her was irresistible. “Endaxi. Okay.”

He took her to the Golden Fleece. The decor was rich and warm with exquisitely painted murals on the walls of Jason and the Argonauts performing daring deeds. The high-backed chairs, white table linen and dim lighting, together with the hushed service gave it an outrageously exclusive ambience. As the meal progressed, and the conversation topics remained general, the tension that grasped Gemma started to unwind.

Gemma declined desert in favour of coffee and while they were waiting for it to arrive, she examined a mural depicting Jason with a woman who must be Medea. Angelo followed her gaze. “She was hard work, a sorceress and a witch.”

“Yes, but he didn’t do right by her. She helped him gain the fleece, he took her back to Corinth and married her. But then decided it was too tough to be married to a woman who was a witch-and a foreigner to boot. So he planned to dump her and marry another woman.”

“Except Medea spiked that plan rather dramatically.” Angelo’s lips curved in a wry smile.

“Poor Glauce,” Gemma agreed. “She certainly didn’t deserve what she got. Medea’s sending a robe steeped in poison as a wedding gift was downright evil.”

“You know your Greek mythology pretty well.”

“I should do. My father lectured classics. I grew up on the ancient myths. Greek and Roman.”

Angelo shot her a surprised stare. “You never told me that.”

Uh-oh. Gemma wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Mandy had never been much of a reader, she’d hated what she called “Dad’s boring tales.”

“So how did you end up a singer?”

“My mother could play the piano reasonably well, so I learned to play, too. I loved to sing, so it wasn’t long before I started going for specialist lessons.”

“And dancing…what did your mother say about your dance career?”

She drew a deep breath. Should she tell him now? He was smiling at her, his eyes warm. No. In a little while. She wanted just a little longer. “Actually Mum was responsible for that. She was a professional ballet dancer. After w-I…” she broke off at the near give away “…I was born, she opened a dance school and taught lots of little girls instead of performing live-she wanted to spend time with-” us “-me. What about you?” She shifted the focus of the conversation to him. “When did you know what you were going to do?”

“On my thirteenth birthday my grandfather took me out for lunch and told me that one day I would inherit the chain of hotels he owned, and to prepare myself to look after them. My cousin Zac bore the family name, so he would inherit the Kyriakos Shipping Corporation. Tariq was to inherit the oil refineries.

“My grandfather also promised me I’d inherit the three islands he owned-Strathmos, Kalos and Delinos. I’d spent the first years of my life on Strathmos, so I knew it well. After that day I absorbed everything I could about the hospitality industry, about business, that I could lay my hands on.”