Something that he was determined to hold on to.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TWO DAYS LATER, the most beautiful day dawned, as if the elements had decided to behave in the face of such true, abiding love as Jasmine saw in Leah and Stavros’s eyes.
A lone tear slid down her cheek as they posed for a picture under the arch of lilies. With her eyes twinkling and her mouth painted a luscious red, Leah was a perfect contrast to Stavros’s severely stunning looks.
She was so glad to have witnessed the wedding, the best part in her mind when Dmitri, looking so breathtakingly gorgeous in a black tuxedo, had walked Leah to Stavros and handed her over.
Something had passed between the two men, a sliver of tension that paused the whole tableau, but then Dmitri had kissed Leah’s cheek and gone to stand by Stavros.
If she had thought her life strange before, it was nothing compared to the roller coaster of the past two days.
It had been close to dawn when, after hours of tossing and turning, she had fallen into a fitful sleep that night after he had walked out with such anger. While she had refused to cry or pity herself, she had relentlessly wondered where Dmitri had gone. Wondered if he would disappear again.
And then suddenly, he had been there in her bed just as the sun touched everything in the room with a pink glow.
Naked and gloriously, arrogantly masculine, he had been a cocoon of warmth and hardness behind her.
Had she resisted him? Had she even put up a token fight when he had come back to her bed as if he belonged there?
No, all she had felt had been unprecedented joy that he had come back to her, utter relief that he didn’t loathe her for what she had told him. She had been weak, yes, but Jasmine didn’t know how to be anything else when it came to Dmitri, didn’t know how to arrest her heart from jumping into her throat when he looked at her, or how to stop her skin from tingling with one casual touch of his.
At least, the past was all done between them; at least, he still wanted her, she had thought pathetically. When he had given her a breath to think, that was.
Pulling her toward him, he had thrown a muscular, naked leg over her own, his arm a steel band around her waist, his erection already hard and big, nestling against her bottom like it belonged there.
She had moaned and pushed back into him, even as her mind had said she should be doing the opposite. Whispering the wickedest things into her skin, he had sneaked his large hands under her shirt, his shirt that she had stolen from his wardrobe at the hotel in London, and found her breasts. Told her he had never been so thoroughly stripped of all good sense, that he had never felt such urgent, devouring need ever before.
There had been such a possessive heat to his words that even now, standing amidst a hundred guests, Jasmine felt the silky slide of those words, as addictive as his knowing touch.
He had stroked her to such a fever pitch that she had forgotten all about how sore she had felt earlier. “Please, Dmitri,” she had whispered, apparently the only thing she was capable of saying to him.
Slowly, lazily, he had pushed into her from behind, his teeth digging into her shoulder, his fingers flicking at her sex with that same lazy rhythm. Rocked them both into such a slow climax that had nevertheless left her boneless.
As if all his fury had been pushed out of him, as if he had all the time in the world to enjoy the fire between them. As if he never wanted to leave her side ever again.
Tears had filled her eyes and she had tried to hide them. But he had only turned her to him. “No more tears, glykia mou, and no more shame. Whatever you had to do, it’s all over, Jas.” He had kissed her temple, then her fluttering eyelids, her cheeks, and then had held her with such a tight grip. “Don’t judge yourself, don’t ever blame yourself for surviving.” He had said it so tenderly that she had buried her face in his chest and sobbed, years of grief and loneliness pushing out of her in waves.
And he had soothed her, and hugged her, and fallen asleep next to her.
When she had woken up again, it had been past noon. A single, long-stemmed red rose had been by the pillow along with a note and a velvet case.
Her heart had slammed against her rib cage when she had run a reverent finger against the soft velvet. Sitting up, she had reached for the note first.
“Will be back the afternoon of the wedding day. Have to get something ready. Wear this for me.”
Her breath had stuttered out of her at the sight of the delicately wired diamond necklace, along with matching earrings and bracelet. It had looked utterly expensive and somehow he had arranged for it to be delivered in a matter of hours. She had seen a necklace like that once in London at Tiffany & Co. and had blanched from even asking the price.