It's All Greek to Me by Katie MacAlister
Dmitri snorted. “Did you just call him Yack—”
“You say it and you’re fired,” Iakovos said out of the side of his mouth.
“You just gave me a raise!”
“You’ll be fine, Eglantine,” Iakovos told her. “Stop worrying.” His gaze still crawled over her body, leaving her feeling as if her skin were suddenly two sizes too small.
“Fine way to treat your own cousin, and after all I did today for you,” Dmitri said with another grin, but he, too, added, “I’m sure it’ll be great, Harry.”
“Ignore him. He’s from the bad side of the family,” Iakovos said, and made shooing gestures at Dmitri.
“Good luck, Harry. I’m leaving, I’m leaving, Jake. You can stop looking like you want to drown me.”
Iakovos sighed as Dmitri hurried off to talk to one of the rented roadies.
“Why Jake?” Harry asked, in an attempt to keep from flinging herself on him.
“They called me Jacob in England. Theo picked it up and it spread to Dmitri. They do it just to irritate me.”
“Oh.” She had a hard time keeping her lips straight.
His gaze instantly shot to her mouth, the intensity visible on his face causing sweat to prickle on her palms. “Did you learn the music you needed to learn?”
“I think so. I’m just taking the big finale, and doing two ballads to give Amy a little breather.”
“Ah. Good.”
They stared at each other.
“I suppose I should go.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I want to kiss you.”
“I want to strip you naked and bury myself in you,” he told her, and she believed him.
They stared at each other again, then, in unspoken agreement, they turned and walked away in opposite directions.
It took an almost superhuman effort, but Iakovos managed to leave the woman whose very presence lightened his heart and made him feel like whistling. Not that he wanted to whistle at that moment; he was hot and hard and wanted nothing more than to do exactly what he’d said—bury himself in her heat. But as he rounded the front of the stage and stood well off to the side, watching Elena laugh and chat happily with her friends gathered to watch the concert, he knew in his heart that his self-sacrifice would be well rewarded. Tonight he would raise a storm and glory in every delectable inch of her. Just the thought of her in that scandalously sexy belly dancer’s outfit sent his blood pressure up several points. The way it caressed the heavy curve of her breasts, her bare midriff, the belt emphasizing the flare of her hips, those delicious hips that swayed in a deliberate attempt to entice him—and never failed to do so—those long, long legs that even now he could feel wrapped around him as he plunged himself into her again and again . . .
“You need either a cold shower or a woman,” Theo murmured as he passed by, a dainty little blonde perched on one arm, while the other held a tall champagne flute.
“I have a woman,” he answered, shifting to the side to stand behind a chair, wincing as his erection rubbed painfully against his now too tight trousers. He nodded toward the glass. “How many of those have you had?”
Theo smiled, allowing the blonde to pull him into the crowd. “Not nearly as many as I’d like. And you can stop looking at me like I’m something you stepped in. I said I’d apologize to Harry, and I will.”
“Tomorrow. She’ll be busy tonight.”
“I have no doubt she will.”
Iakovos frowned as the crowd burst into applause when the band took the stage. He tried very hard not to look at Harry as she took her place, but it was a lost cause and he knew it. He stared at her as she sang a ballad, later watching her graceful arms when she stood behind the keyboard, her body swaying in time with the music. The other girl was singing now, but he had eyes only for Harry. He wondered if she would wear that outfit for him in his bedroom, and decided that if she did, he’d probably rip it off her within seconds.
The way it exposed all those delicious curves, emphasizing her breasts and hips, the way her belly undulated in time with the music . . . exposed. Her curves were exposed. He looked around, suddenly aware of what she had meant when she asked if he was angry.
By Christ, she was practically naked up there on the stage where every man with a pair of eyes in his head could ogle her. His storm!
He swore to himself, trying to assess whether the band could continue to play if he ran onto the stage, wrapped her in the thickest quilt he could find, and carried her off to his bedroom so he could lecture her within an inch of her life.
“Not bad, are they?” Dmitri asked him just as he had decided to do that very thing.
“They’re tolerable.” His teeth ground together while he alternated between watching Harry and glaring at every male he could.
“Ah, looks like Harry’s going to sing again.” Dmitri slid him a laughing glance. “It’s killing you, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” His hands were fists when Harry took center stage, looking suddenly vulnerable as she stood alone with Derek, who held a violin.
“I wondered if it was going to occur to you. If it makes you feel any better, I tried to get something that wouldn’t give you an aneurysm. This was as decent as I could find.”
“I’ll kill you later, after I kill her,” he growled.
Dmitri laughed. “Look at it this way: the concert is a huge success, and just look at Elena. She’s practically beaming with happiness.”
Iakovos cast a glance toward his sister. Her face was shining as she danced with her friends. He knew he should keep an eye out for men who might get too pushy with her, but his gaze was drawn to the stage. He trusted his sister. He didn’t trust any of the men within eyeshot of Harry.
“Harry’s pretty awesome, too.” Dmitri said casually.
“She has a lovely voice, yes.”
“That’s not really what I meant, but that slow song she sang was great. She has a lot of talent.”
Iakovos’ fingers spasmed. “Your death is going to be slow and painful.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Dmitri said, laughing again. “You’re a lucky bastard, you know that? You got the looks, the business savvy, and a woman you don’t deserve. You going to keep her?”
“Assuming I survive the evening, yes.”
“Good. I like what she’s done for you.”
He frowned. “In what way?”
“Made you happy. You look like you could burst into song at any moment. It’s a nice change from the man who moved through life without letting anything touch him.”
Iakovos was about to answer Dmitri, but at that moment the sweet notes of a violin cut through the night, followed by a high, clear voice that seemed to soar upward, to the moon that glowed overhead. Harry’s head was turned slightly to the side, her gaze locked on his as she sang, the pure, lilting notes resonating deep within him. She sang of the sea, of the lovers who were separated, of the storm that brought them together again. She sang for him alone, and he would be grateful until he drew his last breath that she had chosen his life to touch.
Iakovos had never been much of a man for romance. He made token romantic gestures to lovers, since it was expected and as a rule he liked to keep his women happy. But the gestures he had considered romantic—candlelit dinners, gifts of jewelry, afternoons spent in bed—paled by comparison to the exquisite moment when he knew that Harry was singing just for him. She gave the gift of herself, and once again he felt completely out of his depth with her.
Elena caught his eye as the song ended and the crowd applauded the performance. She grinned at him, blowing him a kiss, and he knew that she would take to Harry as everyone else had. Not that he’d been worried about that, he told himself as he moved around behind the throng of people dancing to a bouncy song. Even if Elena had a violent dislike of Harry, that wasn’t going to change the fact that she belonged to him. He didn’t bother analyzing the whys or hows—that never seemed to matter much. What did matter was surviving the rest of this i
He knew the final song was nigh when Terry, with a grim twist to his lips, jumped off the stage with a bodhran in his hands. Harry shot the young man a worried look as two remaining musicians started playing. Her voice was restrained, pleasant, but he knew she was nervous. He continued strolling around the edge of the crowd as they danced along with the music, hands clapping in time to it. Harry had a tambourine in her hand as she sang, but he could see the tension in every line of her body.
Silly woman. Did she really think he’d let anything happen to her? As one of the refrains ended, Harry tossed the tambourine in the air as she did an improvised dance. Iakovos thanked god he’d had the foresight to have the event filmed, and decided right then and there that no one but he would have access to the video. The way she moved in that damned costume should be illegal.
She threw the tambourine onto the floor of the stage and gathered herself for the leap off the steps.
He moved forward. Terry shot him a grateful look, stepping back as Iakovos braced himself. The music swelled, and Harry leaped. He caught her by her bare waist, holding her high overhead, spinning her around, his heart singing as she laughed down at him, surprise turning to delight in her eyes.
She slid in an erotic spiral down his body until her feet touched the ground. His hands were still on her hips as she bent back, balancing herself on her hands before flipping backward onto her feet.
“Nice catch,” she told him over the cheering of the crowd before running back to the stage and singing with much more animation until the song ended.
He was in love with her. Wholly, completely, inexorably in love with her. How could he not be? She was everything a woman should be—warm, smart, unflappable, and very, very flexible. He had plans to put that flexibility to good use, but first he had to get through the rest of the festivities.
Once they were over, though . . . then she would be his.
CHAPTER 10
The noise woke Harry up the following morning. It infiltrated a pleasant dream in which Iakovos, wearing nothing but a smile, taught her how to play poker. She had just lost a big stack of chips to him, and was about to pay the forfeit of kissing him senseless when the horrible noise of some poor animal in pain interrupted her.
She woke up to realize the noise was Iakovos singing in the shower. She sat up, arms around her knees as she listened to him, smiling as she recognized the tune as being one that Amy had sung last night. It had Middle Eastern overtones, and a beat that was impossible to hear without wanting to dance, but that wasn’t what had her leaping to her feet, wincing as he hit a high note that never, in her estimation, should have been heard by mortal man. The fact that he was singing the entire song off-key warmed her heart, however.
“I just wonder if the people who put together that bachelor list knew about your singing,” she said softly, then unable to restrain herself, pulled on the belly dancer’s outfit and ran to the bathroom.
She took up a pose outside of the huge black marble shower, and let her feet go wild as Iakovos happily sang away. She didn’t remember much from the few dancing lessons she’d taken all those years ago, but she didn’t think Iakovos would be too harsh a judge.
The shower door opened as she was indulging in a spin, her arms in the air, hips dancing to the beat she heard in her head. He stood frozen in the door, a towel clasped in one hand halfway to his face, water streaming down his magnificent body, his eyes huge.
“Done with the shower?” she asked with a couple of hip shakes.
He stared at her hips.
“That’s a shame, because after last night, I smell like you, and I thought maybe we could get cleaned up together.” She thought for a moment, then tried a belly roll. His gaze shot to her belly. “Not that you smell bad or anything. I like the way you smell. I like it a lot. I especially like that you don’t go in for much cologne.”
She spun around again, sweeping her hands up from her waist to her breasts. His fingers tightened on the towel as he focused on her breasts.
“So when I said that I smell like you, I simply meant that I smell like I’ve spent the night in bed with an extremely virile man who damn near steamed the sheets, he was so hot.”
“Eglantine,” he managed to say at last, his voice hoarse.
“Yes, my adorable wet Yacky?”
“Take off that outfit.”
“You don’t like it?” She stopped dancing and looked down at herself. “You liked it last night.”
“Take it off,” he repeated.
She did so, glancing at his face, which was hard and frozen as he stepped out of the shower. Had she insulted him by saying she smelled like him? She did, though. She smelled like a woman who had been pleasured to the tips of her toes and back again. Surely he understood that? Maybe he thought she was mocking him by dancing while he was singing in the shower. Perhaps he was embarrassed by the fact that he had absolutely no singing ability.
She’d just have to reassure him that she found his singing charming, which she did.
“I’m sorry if I disturbed your bathroom time,” she said, peeling off the bra before unhooking the belt and letting the skirt drop. “I certainly didn’t mean to rush you out of the show—Iakovos!”
He flung aside the towel and fell to his knees at her feet, wrapping his hands around her upper thighs and burying his face in her stomach. “You do smell like me,” he murmured, urging her legs open. “I like that.”
She stared down at his head, his hair slicked back, water from it running down his back as he spread her knees, his mouth hot on her.
“You’re not going to—you don’t think you’re—Iakovos! I haven’t taken a shower yet! I’m all . . .”
“Hot?” he asked, sliding a finger into her.
Her knees buckled. He lowered her onto the floor, his mouth kissing a steamy path across her stomach before he headed south again.
“Not springtime fresh,” she said, trying desperately to think of a polite euphemism and failing, mostly because her mind just stopped working at the touch of his mouth.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to be a whole hell of a lot less fresh by the time I get done with you.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think men liked to do things like that afterward. And since just a few hours ago . . .”
His tongue did a little swirl against her that had her grabbing the throw rug underneath her. “You taste of passion, of a wild storm that is made up of you and me together. It inflames me, and makes me want to take you all over again.”
“Oh, yes, please,” she cooed, her body writhing against his as he moved up her, the wetness of his chest making little squishy noises on her stomach as he kissed her breasts, laving them with burning swipes of his tongue.
“But if you are really bothered by your lack of springtime, then I must do what I can to make you happy.”
He must have shaved in the shower, she thought as he rubbed his cheek on the underside of her breast, his fingers still working their magic in her depths. Although she had a few little whisker marks from the previous night, he seemed to be stubble-free now.
“You always make me happy,” she said, trying to pull him up so she could kiss him, and stroke him, and feel the wonderful muscles of his back work as he pounded into her.
He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a seductive glint that made her melt into a puddle. “Let’s see if I can’t push the stakes a little, hmm?”
“Push them how? Iakovos? Where are you going?”
He moved off her, getting to his feet, dangling one of his big hands in front of her. “You made it clear that you don’t wish to make love until you’ve had a shower.”
“No, you misunderstood,” she said, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. “I didn’t mean—” She stopped speaking at the look of his wicked smile, one that made her feel hot all over. She glanced down at his penis, which was full of enthusiasm, then over to the shower, giving it a specul
“We’ll see, shall we?” He led her into the shower. It was one of those models that had several jets that came at you from all angles, and before too long, he had her wet and soaped up, giggling as he teased her with little soapy touches that did more to fire her passion than anything else.
“I’m too big,” she moaned against his neck as his fingers slipped down around her butt, pulling her tight against him. He was soapy now, as well, and his penis slid against her pubic bone, making her wild with need. “You can’t hold me up that long.”
“I could, but if it worries you, we’ll do it the easy way,” he murmured, his fingers sliding down into her intimate parts, making her see stars again. “Wrap your leg around my thigh.”
She slid her leg up his in one long, sensual stroke, curling it around his thigh. He urged her hips forward, saying as his hands caressed her slick breasts, “You must guide me, my wild water spirit.”
He was hot and so hard, she wondered if he hurt. She knew she did, her inner muscles quivering in desperate anticipation of the feel of him. She moved her hand on him, drawing a groan of sheer pleasure from him before she tilted her hips a little more and angled him to where she knew he would find a welcome.
The soapy water ensured that he slid in despite the unusual position, the look in his eyes burning her as he sucked on her lower lip, saying, “Fast and hard?”
“Is there anything else?” she answered, sweeping her hands up his arms, down his shoulders to his back, where she dug her fingers into the thick muscles of his butt, urging him on.
“There is, but it’s not nearly so much fun,” he agreed, and set to work on making her mindless with pleasure.
He had to carry her out of the shower because she didn’t have a single bone left in her body by the time he was done.
“Elena would like to meet you.” Iakovos appeared in the doorway from the dressing room, buckling a narrow black belt.