Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
At the end of the driveway was his actual home. It was all old brick and beautiful French windows, with climbing plants trailing up the facade and a fountain running somewhere just out of sight. She was so busy admiring the view that she didn't notice how the car had already cruised to a stop. It was only when Orion was suddenly blocking her view, and he was already opening the door, did she realize what was happening.
Aaah!
Mykos was amused at how his wife scrambled off his lap like she didn't want to be caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She then stumbled out of the backseat like a fiery-cheeked drunk, nearly tripping over her own heels on the gravel, and by the time he stepped out of the car and took her hand in his—
He could see it in the way every member of his staff was smiling at her like they didn't notice her messy hair, rumpled wedding dress, and kiss-swollen lips.
His wife had completely won them over without even trying.
Maika felt as if she had woken up and found herself living a fairytale. His home was beautiful, yes, but it was how his staff looked and smiled at her that had Maika's throat tight with unshed tears. A housekeeper who introduced herself as Portia pressed both of Maika's hands between her own and welcomed her in Greek. Two men from the security team stood at respectful attention, and when one of them said, "Kalós oríses, kyría"—welcome, mistress—Maika had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from falling apart. She tried to smile, but her chin was wobbling, and it was useless to pretend otherwise.
For almost her entire life, she had been alone. But now...was she being silly and ridiculous to suddenly feel like she had a family to call her own?
THE SUN HAD STARTED to set by the time Maika was all alone in the master bedroom.
It was enormous. The bed could have fit four of her. The ceiling was higher than her entire old apartment, and the window looked out onto the garden, where the last of the evening light was turning everything gold.
He had promised that all of her belongings in her dorm room would be here, and they were—her books stacked neatly on the desk, her well-worn copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream placed on the nightstand like someone had known it mattered to her. But not just that. He had also prepared an entirely new wardrobe for her, and that included a selection of frilly, silky, and lacy things.
Gulp.
Maika was still in the shower when she heard the door to the en-suite open.
But she refused to turn around.
She simply stayed there under the shower, the water cascading down her body, her heart hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it over the sound of the water. She could feel him behind her before he even touched her. The air itself seemed to change, growing heavier, warmer, charged with something that had nothing to do with the steam.
A moment later, her husband joined her, and...oh.
His hands were on her waist first. Just resting there, his thumbs tracing slow circles against her skin, like he was giving her time to breathe. But she couldn't breathe. Not with his chest pressed against her back, not with the water running between them, not with his mouth finding the curve of her shoulder and pressing a kiss there that was so gentle it made her knees buckle.
He turned her around in a blink, and then he was kissing her again and again and again. Her back against the cool tile, his hands cradling her face, and the contrast of the cold behind her and the heat of him in front of her was making her dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the steam.
She kissed him back, her fingers threading through his wet hair, and when she felt him shudder at her touch—
Oh. She could make him shudder. She, Maika Nolan who could barely walk in a straight line, could make this man tremble.
That knowledge was more intoxicating than anything she had ever felt.
And somehow, she had ended up in his arms, his hands lifting her effortlessly, and then they were in his bed, and the cool sheets against her skin were a shock after the warmth of the shower, but that shock lasted only a moment because he was already there, already over her, already everywhere.
Oh.
His hands. They were everywhere—her face, her hair, the curve of her waist—but somehow tender. Unhurried. Like he had all night, and he intended to use every minute of it learning her. His mouth followed where his hands had been, tracing a path down her collarbone, and every inch of skin he touched seemed to come alive in a way she hadn't known was possible.