The Savakis Mistress
Annie West
From society ice-queen… Only hours ago she was a tempting stranger. Now Damon Savakis knows who she really is – Callie Manolis, society ice-queen and duplicitous niece of his arch enemy… …to his unwilling mistress!Yet when Callie’s avaricious uncle loses the Manolis money, she is at Damon’s mercy and is forced to become the Savakis mistress! But Damon is unprepared for her bravery, poise and purity in a world full of greed.She’s paid her dues as his mistress…he’ll take her as his willing wife for free!
A shock of sensation jolted her out of her fury. A shock of something almost like excitement.
She dropped the necklace to the table and discovered she was breathing hard, as if she’d run here instead of tottering on ridiculously high heels. She stepped out of the delicate slingback sandals and her feet sank into the luxurious pile of the carpet.
Still he said nothing, just watched her with eyes that glowed with an inner fire.
No time for second thoughts. She’d committed herself. Head up, back straight, she paced towards him. He didn’t move except to tilt his head, the better to watch her.
He enjoyed this power play. She sensed it even though his face remained granite-hard.
The realisation gave her the strength to sink onto her knees beside him on the sofa. She twisted a little, her leg aligning with his thigh, so solid and warm and unmoving. Without giving herself time to think she reached out and cupped his jaw in her hand. His skin was hot and smooth. So smooth she wondered if he’d just shaved. Had he been so sure she’d come to him?
Of course he had. He held all the cards.
Annie West spent her childhood with her nose between the covers of a book—a habit she retains. After years of preparing government reports and official correspondence she decided to write something she really enjoys. And there’s nothing she loves more than a great romance. Despite her office-bound past, she has managed a few interesting moments—including a marriage offer with the promise of a herd of camels to sweeten the contract. She is happily married to her ever-patient husband (who has never owned a dromedary). They live with their two children amongst the tall eucalypts at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. You can e-mail Annie at www.annie-west.com, or write to her at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
Recent titles by the same author:
BLACKMAILED BRIDE, INNOCENT WIFE
THE DESERT KING’S PREGNANT BRIDE
THE GREEK TYCOON’S UNEXPECTED WIFE
THE SAVAKIS
MISTRESS
BY
ANNIE WEST
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
THE SAVAKIS MISTRESS
To two lovely ladies:
Marilyn and Lee
Thank you for all your support!
CHAPTER ONE
CALLIE’S heart thundered in her ears, muting the sound of their hoarse breathing. Hers and his, mingled together.
Aftershocks shuddered through her. Light flickered behind her closed lids, remnants of the white-hot ecstasy that had exploded through her moments ago. An ecstasy she’d never before experienced.
Who could have known?
She dragged in a breath and inhaled his spicy scent. Clean masculine sweat, musky skin and something indefinable that made her want to burrow closer into his bare shoulder.
She nuzzled his damp skin and was rewarded with a rumble of approval deep in the wide chest that cushioned her. One large hand slid gently over her hip, long fingers caressing her bare flesh, pulling her closer to his hot, slick body so she lay half across him.
Callie’s breath puffed out in a sigh of astonished bliss. He was strong, tender and generous.
Everything she’d never had from a man.
Everything she’d learned not to expect.
He’d taken her to paradise. Teased and pleasured her until reality shattered in a conflagration of sheer bliss.
She’d never known such intense joy as when she’d soared to ecstasy in his arms. She’d always be grateful for the gift he’d given her today. The shared pleasure that connected her, however briefly, to him. That sense of linkage, even more than the physical delight, warmed her to the core.
She’d felt alone for so long.
From the moment she’d seen him row his dinghy from the gracious old yacht, his wide shoulders gleaming bare and golden in the sun, she’d sensed something different about him. Something special. He epitomised a masculinity so perfect it had sucked the breath from her chest.
She, Callie Manolis, who hadn’t looked at a man with desire in seven years! Who’d thought she never would again.
For days she’d tried to ignore the stranger who invaded the seclusion of this private beach. Invaded her refuge. Each morning as she lay under the pine trees, spent from swimming, she attempted to focus on her book. But inevitably her gaze strayed to where he pottered on deck, fished, or swam in the clear waters of the tiny bay.
Even with her eyes shut she’d been aware of him. As he’d been of her.
Had he really needed to ask the way to the track for the nearest village? The sizzling gleam in his eyes told her he hadn’t. But for once Callie had warmed to that wholly male glint of appreciation. It hadn’t repelled or annoyed her.
He looked the way she felt when she saw him.
Ensnared by his dark, dark eyes, Callie had been like a swimmer adrift on the Aegean, cut off from reality. From her future plans, the pain of the past, even her distrust of men. What did trust matter in the face of this potent attraction? It was extraordinary yet stunningly simple.
Her lips curved against his skin. She couldn’t resist the temptation to press a kiss there, tasting his salt tang. A sound between a growl and a purr vibrated from his throat, exactly matching her own sense of lazy triumph.
Perhaps sexual abstinence made this sudden passion so exhilarating. She was twenty-five and he was her second lover. Perhaps that was why…
Thought clogged as his hand moved splay-fingered down her leg. It circled, light as a wind-blown leaf, slipping between their bodies to caress her sensitive inner thigh.
Callie sucked in an astonished breath as the tingling started again deep inside. A jolt of desire pierced her, shocking her to full awareness in an instant.
Heat radiated from his touch as his hand strayed to the place where need had pulsed a short time ago. She gasped as he stroked her, tenderly yet deliberately. Stunned, she felt a shimmer of excitement ripple through her sated body like a rising tide.
‘You like that?’ There was lazy satisfaction in his deep voice. And a knowledge that told her he knew exactly how much she craved his touch.
He understood her reactions better than she. Callie was a novice at this but even a woman so inexperienced recognised a master of the sensual arts.
She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed herself up so she could look down into his face.
A smile lingered on his sensuous lips and his glittering eyes flashed an invitation. His unruly black hair flopped over his brow, in gorgeous disarray after she’d clutched it. Her gaze strayed past his solid jaw to the strong column of his throat. To the reddened patch on his neck.
Was that a love bite? She’d marked him with her teeth? Surely she hadn’t been so wild.
‘We can’t,’ she blurted out. ‘Not again.’
One sleek black brow rose and he bestowed a slow confident smile that sent a buzz of pleasure through her.
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that, little one.’
His questing fingers moved and her body trembled.
Automatically she clamped her fingers around his wrist, intending to drag his hand away. She needed to think. But she couldn’t shift him. His arm was all hard bone and muscled strength. His touch was bliss.
‘Yes,’ he whispered, his gaze fixed on her with searing intensity. ‘Hold me while I touch you.’
Callie’s eyes widened at his deliberate eroticism. Her heart leapt. The melting warmth between her legs belied her instinctive denial and she squirmed.
After their desperate lovemaking this should be impossible. Yet the feel of his sinewed hand moving beneath hers was… exciting. As was the burgeoning strength of his arousal against her thighs.
‘No.’ Her voice was breathless. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to claim control of her wayward body. ‘I have to go. I have to—’
‘Shh, glikia mou,’ he murmured in that seductive, black-velvet voice. He withdrew his hand to cup her face with callused fingers. He stroked the erogenous zone at the corner of her mouth she hadn’t known existed till today. ‘Relax and enjoy. There’s no rush. Nothing more important than this.’
His hand slid to the back of her head and he pulled her inexorably down to meet his mouth. The kiss was long, languorous and seductive. Callie’s resistance seeped away like sea water through sand. Her bones melted as her lips opened and he ravaged her mouth with sweet possessiveness.
How could anything so unprecedented feel so right?
‘You can leave later,’ he murmured against her lips, each word a caress. ‘Afterwards.’
Afterwards. The word circled in Callie’s hazy brain then disintegrated as she kissed him back. The remnants of self-control dissolved in the heat of rising passion.
It was oh-so-easy to give herself up to the luxury of his expert seduction. To throw away a lifetime’s caution and live for the moment. To forget the real world and the harsh lessons she’d learned there. Just for a little longer.
Madness.
That was what it had been, Callie decided as she stood before the mirror in her guest room. Nothing else could explain the way she’d allowed herself to be seduced.
No, not allowed. She’d encouraged him, eager for the feel of his tall, muscular body against hers. Impatient to pursue the sensual promise she’d read in his eyes. Eager for the sort of loving she’d never had, and now, to her stunned delight, had experienced for the first time.
With a stranger.
Her eyes rounded and a shudder rippled through her at the thought of what she’d done. She, the woman the tabloids had once dubbed the Snow Queen, had given herself to a complete stranger in passionate abandon! Not once. Nor twice. But three times, in heart-stopping succession.
Shock and shame flooded her as she remembered in exquisite detail.
Given herself! She grimaced at her reflection. She hadn’t even had the grace to be embarrassed that he carried condoms when he’d come ashore today. All she’d felt was relief.
He had a swimmer’s body, broad shoulders, slim hips, with long muscled limbs and the easy stride of a man at ease with his strength. The sort of body she’d seen on beaches at home in Australia a lifetime ago. Not what she’d expect on a tiny island off the tourist trail in northern Greece.
She knew gorgeous men. They left her unmoved. Their charm and good looks had never quickened her pulse.
The gossips had been disappointed as for six years she’d remained loyal to her much older husband.
Even the fact that her husband had desired her only as a possession to display and jealously guard hadn’t driven her to seek consolation elsewhere. Alkis had been impotent and Callie had buried her libido as well as her emotions during their sterile, unhappy marriage. More, his sick jealousy and frightening outbursts ensured she kept men at a distance. She’d learned to brush off the importunate ones with a cool grace that had become her hallmark.
Never had she felt this fiery yearning when she looked at a man. Until today, just hours ago in the deserted private cove of her uncle’s estate.
It had been a momentary insanity, brought on by worry for her aunt’s health and stress from this duty holiday under her uncle’s roof. By the release of unbearable tension after those dreadful last months with Alkis.
By a lifetime of being what her aunt would describe as a ‘good girl’, doing what was expected.
Callie’s lips quirked in a humourless smile as she met her gaze in the mirror. She didn’t look like a good girl now.
She’d done as her uncle insisted, donning a full-length gown, totally over-the-top for a family dinner. She’d piled her hair up and wore the flashy diamond pendant and bracelet set that was all she had left of Alkis’ gifts.
But the formal clothes didn’t conceal the change in her.
There was high colour in her cheeks, her eyes sparkled overbright, her lips were plump as if kissed long and hard by an expert. And that look of secret satisfaction surely must betray her.
She should be mortified by what she’d done.
Yet, staring at the stranger in the glass, she knew an overpowering urge to flee. To forget the stuffy dinner her uncle had organised and race barefoot to the beach and find her stranger.
Her lover.
The man whose name she didn’t even know.
But she could never do that. Callie had been trained too well. Ruthlessly she subdued the renegade impulse to ignore a lifetime’s lessons and run to the man with whom she’d shared her yearning and her inner self.
She’d had her single afternoon of madness. Now it was over and she had to forget him before he swept away all her desperately won defences.
‘I want you girls to make a special effort tonight.’ Uncle Aristides turned the statement into a threat. He waggled a warning finger at his daughter, standing beside Callie. ‘Especially you, Angela. Your mother’s unwell again, so you’ll stand in for her.’ He spoke disapprovingly, as though Aunt Desma had planned to be ill.
Seeing the scowl wedge between her uncle’s beetling brows and the miserable look on Angela’s face, Callie swallowed a pithy retort. It would be her docile cousin who’d pay if Callie made her uncle angry.
‘The evening will be perfect, Uncle. I’ve checked with the staff. The meal looks superb and the best vintage champagne is on ice. I’m sure your guest will be impressed.’
Her uncle was even more touchy than usual, lashing out furiously at any perceived problem. Poor Angela was already a bundle of nerves, anticipating an explosion.
‘I hope so,’ her uncle boomed. ‘We have an important visitor tonight.’ He emphasised the point with a wave of his hand. ‘A very important guest.’
Callie’s stomach sank with foreboding. What did he have planned? This was more than a family celebration for her twenty-fifth birthday. Diamonds and designer gowns weren’t usual attire, even in this house where oppressive formality was the norm. He was up to something.
His eyes strayed again to Angela and Callie’s curiosity twisted into a stab of anxiety. She knew exactly how ruthless her uncle could be, and how devious.
‘Don’t forget what I said, Angela,’ he barked.
Angela’s face paled. ‘Yes, father.’ At eighteen she had none of her father’s brash confidence. Callie knew she found it a chore mixing among her father’s associates.
Callie stepped forward. ‘Tonight will be a success, Uncle. Don’t worry, we’ll see to it.’
If she had to dredge up every last ounce of patience to smile and listen to one of his cronies bore on about the iniquities of the government or the flaws of the younger generation, she’d do it. Anything to prevent an angry outburst that would force Angela further into her shell.
Aristides Manolis looked Callie up and down as if seeking to find fault. But six years of marriage to a rich man, of mixing in glamorous society, had given her the gloss to shine in any surroundings. And the experience to handle any social situation.
Dinner for four, even with the most demanding, querulous guest, would be no problem at all.
‘You will be our hostess,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want Angela fading into the background as she usually does.’
Callie found herself nodding in unison with Angela. She’d only been in this house five days and already she felt the old yoke of submission settling on her shoulders.
Could it really be just hours ago she’d lain naked in the arms of a man? Brazen enough to have sex with him in a secluded grove of pines by the beach?
As soon as her uncle strode from the room, Callie reached for her cousin’s hand. It was cold.
‘It’ll be OK, Angela. I’m here with you.’
Trembling fingers squeezed hers and she felt her cousin’s desperation. Then Angela pulled away, head up, back straight, the picture of elegant composure, as expected of the Manolis girls.
It was something the women in her family learned early. To conceal emotion. To appear calm and agreeable, an ornament and an asset to the right man.
The right man. Callie repressed a shudder of horror. Thank heaven that was behind her now. She need never again be the biddable possession of any man, much less a cruel control freak. The knowledge of her new-found independence still took her breath away.
Yet a sixth sense kept Callie on edge. Something was wrong. This wasn’t pre-party jitters.
‘What is it, Angela? What’s the matter?’
Her cousin cast a furtive glance to the doorway. ‘This visitor.’ Her voice was a shaky whisper. ‘Papa is arranging for me to marry him.’
‘Arranging to marry?’
Callie’s lungs seized as horror gripped her. The world spun chaotically and she grabbed the back of a nearby chair.
The years slid away. Once again she was just eighteen, Angela’s age. She stood here, waiting alone for him to arrive. The man her uncle had informed her she had to marry.
Unless she wanted to destroy her family.
‘Callie?’
Angela’s voice pierced the fog of nightmare reminiscence. Callie blinked, clearing her blurry vision and strove for composure.
Another arranged marriage. Another disaster.
Callie groped for Angela’s hand, knowing how much her little cousin needed her now. Remembering…
The sound of the men approaching sliced through her garbled thoughts. Her uncle’s forthright tone echoed from the foyer but his guest’s voice, though pitched low, was more resonant. It pulsed through her, tightening her stomach muscles with an illusion of familiarity.
She thrust aside the absurd idea. Angela’s news had knocked her off balance. As had an unexpected afternoon of passion with the sexiest man on the planet.
How she wished she were with him now, rather than in this suffocatingly opulent room, facing another catastrophe of her uncle’s devising.
Callie breathed deep. Angela needed her support. She couldn’t give in to weakness no matter how shocked she was.
‘Let’s get through dinner then talk.’ She aimed a reassuring smile at her cousin. ‘He can’t force you into anything. Remember that.’
Angela looked doubtful but there was no time for further conversation. The men were approaching.
Again the timbre of their visitor’s voice caught at something inside Callie. Something that had awakened today beneath the sheltering pines and the sensuously heavy touch of a man. It made her pulse trip to a faster, rackety beat.
Ignoring the strange sensation, she stepped forward. She only managed a single pace before jolting to a stop.
Uncle Aristides wore a wide smile as he looked up at the man beside him, then turned to gesture expansively to the room at large.
‘Well, my dears, here is our guest. I’d like to introduce a valued business associate, Damon Savakis.’
Time shattered in splintering, razor-edged shards as Callie saw their visitor. A flutter of reaction started high in her throat and her breath faltered. Her heartbeat raced as she took him in. Surreptitiously she snagged a quick, desperate breath, then another.
She stood frozen, staring as shock slammed into her.
Elegant. That should have described him. He wore his dinner jacket as if born to it, with a debonair grace that proclaimed his utter confidence. But the tailored perfection couldn’t conceal the man beneath. A man who vibrated energy and authority. A man with the posture and physical perfection of a born athlete.
His face was breathtaking, a sculpted embodiment of male power and sensuality. Except for one thing: his nose sat slightly askew, as if it had been broken. That only emphasised his charisma and an undercurrent of raw masculinity. This was no charming lightweight, but a man to be reckoned with.
His eyes narrowed as he took her in, a glitter of appraisal barely veiled. That searing look did curious things to her insides.
Callie’s mouth dried. Dimly she was aware of her uncle drawing Angela forward for an introduction.
Finally, far too late, she stepped forward, her hand outstretched as she dredged up a polite greeting.
‘How do you do, Kyrie Savakis? It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
His warm hand engulfed hers. She repressed a shiver at the echo of memory that sped through her. Of a man touching her, far more intimately, only this afternoon.
She pulled back but his hold was firm and unbreakable, his look piercing.
Dampness hazed Callie’s brow as, for an instant, panic flared. Her stomach churned and she gulped down a hard knot in her throat. Then a lifetime’s training kicked in. She ignored the jumble of emotions whirling inside and pinned a meaningless smile to her lips.
Damon Savakis’ eyes were dark. Darker than brown. Dark as a moonless night. Dark enough to sweep a woman into a whirlpool of need and longing and hold her there till sanity fled.
Callie knew it because she’d seen them before. Had already experienced the heady invitation of that bold, sensuous gaze.
He spoke at last, his voice brushing across her skin in an intimate tone that made the hairs rise at her neck.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Callista.’ The words were trite, expected, polite. Nothing at all like the searing expression in his fathomless gaze.
Nothing at all like the lazy, sensual approval in his laughing eyes as he’d seduced her a few short hours ago.
CHAPTER TWO
CALLIE’S lungs emptied as his gaze pinioned her.
It was him!
There was a roaring sound in her ears, like a jet coming in to land. In the distance her uncle spoke. Yet here, close to him, there was nothing but the fire in his eyes. Its impact devastated her, obliterating all thought of what she should do or say. Leaving only a yearning so strong it consumed her.
He was to marry Angela?
Impossible. It was a mistake.
But her uncle didn’t make such mistakes.
Callie wanted to smooth her palm along the sharp angle of his jaw to make sure he was real. She wanted to inhale the heady male scent of his burnished skin. She wanted…
No!
Her stomach cramped at the idea of explaining to her uncle how well she already knew his special guest.
This afternoon should have been a moment out of time, a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy. A passing aberration.
Now she was face to face with the man who’d persuaded her to shed every defence she’d used to keep the world, and especially men, at a distance. To keep herself safe.
In a moment of terrifying discovery she realised he had power, real, tangible power over her. She’d let him in, casting aside caution, opening her private, vulnerable self to him. Too late now to slam that door shut again.
This afternoon she’d unwittingly opened a Pandora’s box of raw emotion and physical longing. Feelings she’d locked away seven years ago had sprung to life.
And now this hunger, this weakness couldn’t be denied.
Hunger for a man who was here to woo her cousin.
What had Callie been to him?
Her stomach somersaulted in distress.
Desperate to break the bond of knowledge and need that pulsed between them, Callie turned, gesturing abruptly to the sofas. Her hand looked steady. Only she knew of the fine tremors running through her body.
‘Won’t you take a seat?’ Her voice was cool, almost without inflection. She prayed that no one else noticed her brittle control over her vocal cords. Tension sank talons into the rigid muscles of her neck and shoulders.
‘After you.’ He inclined his head and raised his arm behind her back, as if to usher her towards one of the antique French lounges.
Centimetres separated his palm from the silk of her dress, yet she felt his heat, like a phantom caress in the small of her back. Instantly her spine stiffened.
‘No, please. Let me get you a drink. What would you like? A cocktail? Wine, sherry? Or something stronger? We have ouzo, brandy…’
He watched her silently, as if he knew nerves made her babble. Gone was the heat in his gaze. Instead his look was speculative.
‘Thank you. A whisky.’
Callie moved quickly towards the bar. ‘And you, Uncle?’
‘Brandy, of course.’ There was a snap in his voice, but Callie barely noticed. She was too busy trying to control the trembling in her legs that threatened to buckle her knees.
Disbelief and shock clogged her brain.
She knew the name Damon Savakis. Who didn’t? He ran a company that had interests across the globe, in everything from marinas to luxury-yacht production, from exclusive coastal resorts to shipping lines. His wealth matched his uncanny business acumen, his ability to strike at precisely the right moment, turning an ever greater profit. The pundits said he was sharp, ruthless and had the luck of the devil.
More, he was the Manolis company’s biggest rival. Surely her uncle had spoken of him as a threat, not a friend?
Why was he staying in their cove on a beautiful but old yacht?
Had he known who she was all this time? She’d been on the family’s private estate. But if so surely he’d have mentioned his connection to her uncle.
And his plans to wed Angela.
Unless he’d deliberately withheld the truth. Callie’s breath caught.
Had he got a kick out of seducing her, while arranging to marry Angela? Had he laughed at how easy, how gullible she’d been? Did he enjoy watching her flounder for composure?
Bile rose in her throat as bitter memories surged.
Callie had too much experience of powerful men and their diversions. The way they used women. How had she been so stupidly trusting as to forget? Her first real happiness in seven years had been a betrayal.
She fumbled as she reached for the glasses.
‘Here. Let me help you,’ he murmured from just behind her. A long arm reached out to snag the corkscrew from her hand. ‘You prefer wine?’
The words were innocuous, but his breath on her neck sent tingles feathering across her skin. His body behind hers evoked an intimacy that made every hair on her nape rise in anticipation.
Shame washed through her. She couldn’t control her reaction.
Curtly she nodded and stepped aside as he uncorked the wine. She was crowded into the corner as he blocked her view of the room, separating her from the others. His heat enveloped her. Callie’s nostrils flared as a familiar scent reached her: all male, all too evocative.
‘So we meet again, Callista.’ His whisper was pitched for her ears alone. Yet in that thread of sound she heard the echo of smug satisfaction.
She raised her eyes to meet his then wished she hadn’t. They blazed like a dark inferno, scorching her face, her throat, her breasts, in an encompassing survey that told her he remembered this afternoon in vivid detail.
‘You’re obviously a very versatile woman. What role are you playing tonight?’ Disapproval frosted his gaze and his words, making her shiver.
Callie faltered at the unexpected attack. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged but the intensity of his stare belied the casual gesture. He watched her like a hawk sighting a fieldmouse. ‘From wanton to well-bred society girl in an afternoon.’ His lips pulled back in what might be a grimace of distaste. ‘You look like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. But just a few hours ago you were seducing a total stranger. Are you always this adaptable?’
Callie’s vocal cords jammed at his calculated insult. It was true what he said, and yet…after what they’d shared, how could he be so disapproving? Why?
She hadn’t been the only one hot and eager down on that beach. How dared he judge her?
‘As adaptable as you, Kyrie Savakis.’ The words nearly choked her.
For an endless moment their eyes meshed. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she jerked her gaze away, only to find her attention snagging on his hand as he held the wine goblet out to her. He had a workman’s hands. Long-fingered but capable, powerful. His grip on the delicate glass should have seemed incongruous. Yet nothing could be further from the truth.
He slid his index finger up the fragile stem then down again. Her mouth dried as she remembered the way he’d touched her nipples with that same finger. The way darts of sensation had rayed out from his touch, making her squirm with delight. The way she’d moaned into his mouth as he’d caressed her and discovered her intimate secrets.
Watching the slow, deliberate movement, feeling the heat of his scrutiny on her flesh made her feel vulnerable. Naked.
Impossible that her body should betray her so. Disgust filled her.
Hurriedly she took the glass from his hand, careful not to brush his fingers. She pushed a tumbler of whisky along the bar towards him.
He was too quick, his hand closing around the glass and her fingers in a grip that made her still.
‘What are you doing over there?’ her uncle grumbled. ‘Callista, you mustn’t monopolise our guest.’
‘Coming, Uncle,’ she called, trying to slide her hand from Damon Savakis’ hold.
‘What’s the matter, Callista? Aren’t you glad to see me?’ His voice was as seductive as she remembered. As if she’d imagined his disapproval moments ago.
‘As a friend of my uncle’s you’re welcome here,’ she said through numb lips, desperately clamping down on the accusations and questions clamouring for release. What did this man want of her? It seemed impossible he was the same warm, exciting lover who’d given her the precious gift of intimacy and tenderness. A wholeness she’d never known.
Damon’s eyebrows tilted down in the hint of a frown. His lips thinned a fraction.
‘Not a very convincing welcome, glikia mou,’ he whispered. ‘I would have expected something a little warmer.’
A ribbon of searing heat curled through her at his endearment in that deep, rich voice. Her weakness horrified her. How could she respond so to a man who had no shame about seducing her while he was here to court Angela? Who chided her for her promiscuity yet played games of innuendo?
Today had stripped her emotionally bare. The experience had overwhelmed her. Physical pleasure had been a vehicle for much deeper feelings, even for a tentative, unexpected sense of healing.
Her stomach cramped so savagely she could barely stand. What had meant so much to her was a sick amusement to him.
At last she managed to slide her fingers from under his and reached for her uncle’s brandy. She looked pointedly over Damon’s shoulder, hanging on to control by a thread. She would not make a scene.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take this to my uncle. It’s time we joined the others.’
He didn’t move. His eyes and his body held her trapped. He blocked her exit. She looked away, at the precise bow-tie on his perfect white shirt.
‘Are you planning to visit me again tonight, Callista? To ensure I feel truly welcome?’ His voice dropped to a low note that resonated through her very bones. There was no mistaking his blatant sexual invitation. The innuendo and exultation.
Panic welled. And distaste. She felt raw and vulnerable.
He’d deliberately tricked her, luring her into betraying her innermost needs and desires. Desires she’d never known before. Now he wanted to gloat. To turn her one bright, glowing slice of heaven into something sordid.
‘Callista?’
She looked up into his shadow-dark eyes, catching the gleam of hunger there and a hint of amusement.
He thought this situation funny?
Instantly her spine straightened. Her chin tilted as indignation and hurt heated her blood. She’d had her fill of the malicious games men played. Of being a pawn, subject to a man’s whim.
‘You want the truth?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘You don’t belong here, Kyrie Savakis. The last thing I want is to be forced to share a meal with a man like you.’
She stepped forward, calling his bluff.
He had no option but to make way.
Yet the flash of surprised anger in his glittering eyes told her he didn’t like it.
Tough! He’d had his little game at her expense. No doubt he’d got a kick out of seducing the woman the gossip mags had dubbed ‘untouchable’.
Nausea churned in her stomach and an icy chill crawled through her. She’d believed today was precious. An oasis of warmth and comfort in a cold world.
Fool. Hadn’t she learned better than to trust a man?
‘That is the way you want to play, Callista?’
There was a warning edge to his tone. She ignored it.
‘I don’t play, Kyrie Savakis.’
She had a swift glimpse of narrowed, calculating eyes, of a chin jutting with masculine displeasure.
He was like the rest, expecting her to bow to his whims. But she was her own mistress now, free and independent.
Nevertheless her heart pounded as she walked past him. The sensation of his eyes on her bare back was like a lick of flame down her spine.
How was she going to survive a whole evening with him?
She had a sinking feeling that instead of her defiance dampening his conceit, he thought she’d thrown down the gauntlet.
He didn’t look the type to ignore a challenge.
‘No, thank you.’ Damon shook his head as the servant proffered wine to top up his glass.
‘Come, come, Damon.’ His host waved an arm impatiently across the table. ‘No need to be abstemious. It’s not as if you’re driving. Drink up, man.’ He nodded to the waiter and watched as his own glass was filled with premium vintage champagne. ‘You’ll only find the best quality in this house.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Damon responded. He looked from the uniformed servants clearing away plates to the ostentatious gold cutlery laid with such meticulous precision on the damask tablecloth. Not many people seeing the luxury in which Aristides Manolis lived would suspect how parlous was his financial state. How close he was to ruin.
Damon knew. Damon was the man whose money could save Manolis and his family company.
Or destroy it.
He’d worked his adult life for the day he’d have Manolis in his power. The need to acquire and then take apart his precious company piece by piece had driven Damon for years. Revenge for what this family had done to his would be sweet.
A flash of light caught his eye and he turned. Callista’s necklace caught the light. A fabulous piece, white gold and several carats of diamonds. Yet it was too obvious for his taste. Too showy. A blatant statement of wealth.
She reminded him of so many other rich, spoiled women he’d known. It was the cost of the gems that mattered to them, not the merit of the design.
Looking at her now, in her exquisite couture gown, her expression bland, he couldn’t believe her the same woman who’d seduced him so wantonly. That woman had revealed such vitality and innate sensuality. There’d been something honest about her abandon. Something warmly generous and, he’d almost believed, special about her.
He’d responded to her with a hunger that stunned him. He’d spent the hours since anticipating the next day. When, he’d vowed, he would learn more about the woman who intrigued him more than any lover he could recall.
How could he have been so gullible?
‘You’re admiring my niece’s jewellery?’ There was gloating satisfaction in his host’s voice. He enjoyed flaunting what he had, or pretended to have. Any man who required two staff members to serve a meal for four was trying too hard to impress. ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’
Callista looked up then, her face a polite, gorgeous mask. But when her gaze met Damon’s he felt again that visceral pull, the drag of spiralling anticipation.
It infuriated him. He should be able to master this raw craving now he knew who and what she was. A pampered member of the Manolis family who’d targeted what she thought was a bit of rough on the side.
Her sensual abandon, her responsiveness had enchanted him on the beach. But from the moment tonight she’d stared at him with blank eyes and chilly hauteur he’d realised today’s interlude had been just a jaded socialite’s cheap thrill.
If not something more contrived.
He shot an assessing look from his host to Callista.
‘The necklace is stunning,’ he murmured.
His gaze followed the fall of diamonds on her pendant, the way they dipped into the valley between her ripe breasts, visible in the low-cut gown.
She knew how to show off her assets. The thought annoyed him. Or perhaps it was the cool way she surveyed him with those amazing green eyes that infuriated him. He wasn’t used to women, particularly women he’d made love to so thoroughly, being indifferent to him. Or telling him he was unworthy to share their table.
One taste of her had left him craving more. He’d planned to look for his siren lover tomorrow. Now he discovered his fantasy woman was nothing but a spoiled rich girl who was ashamed of what they’d shared.
Ashamed of him.
That idea scored his pride, uncovering old wounds he thought he’d buried a lifetime ago. His slow-burning anger ignited at her dismissal, and at the fact he even cared.
Perversely her cool-as-a-cucumber air ignited his desire. He couldn’t resist a challenge. Not while she tried to put him in his place like a dirty secret. As if, despite his wealth and power, a blue-blooded Manolis wouldn’t sully her fair skin by letting a man with his working-class roots touch her again.
‘Alkis’ taste was always excellent, wasn’t it, my dear?’
‘He certainly knew what he wanted, Uncle.’ Her voice was crisp and uninflected, as if she discussed tonight’s meal rather than the thousands of euros of gems that dripped down to her breasts. She took her wealth and her life of pampered indolence for granted.
‘Alkis?’ Damon queried.
‘My husband.’ Her eyes dropped in an expression that might have been demure if not for the flamboyant glitter at her slender neck, ears and wrist.
Her husband. The syllables thrummed in his ears. Something hard and cold lodged in his belly. Fury sizzled along his veins.
He should have guessed. She was a bored society wife, looking for a little diversion. That was what today’s escapade had been.
She’d used him.
Unbidden, memories crowded thick, of the days before he’d made his money. When his only assets had been his determination and his flair for commerce. And his looks. Rich women had clustered round him then, eager for adventure, the thrill of walking on the wild side.
As if he’d swallow his pride to be any woman’s plaything.
‘Your husband isn’t here with you?’ Damon reined in brewing anger and self-disgust at having given his libido free rein without checking exactly who she was.
Wide eyes lifted to meet his across the table. They were the colour of the sea in the secluded cove where his yacht was moored. The sea whose lapping waves had muffled the sound of this woman’s cries of ecstasy as she found release in his arms.
For a moment he felt again that illusion of oneness they’d experienced as their bodies joined. He’d felt more pleasure with her than he could remember with any woman.
That alone stoked his distrust. And his disgust that he’d fallen for the fantasy she projected.
‘My husband died some months ago, Kyrie Savakis.’ A chill shuttered the momentary warmth in her eyes.
Too late, Callista! She might act the ice maiden now but he’d already discovered the sensuous fire that blazed inside.
Her passion today hadn’t been the by-product of grief for her husband. There’d been no shadowy spectre between them, no yearning for the past. Just untrammelled lust.
A merry widow indeed.
‘My condolences,’ he said and she inclined her head fractionally. She was so aloof. Not a trace of bereavement or even regret. Damon wondered what sort of female could lose a spouse and not feel anything. Instinct told him, whatever she concealed with that cool expression, it wasn’t a broken heart.
‘Alkis always chose the best,’ Manolis boomed. ‘Those diamonds are of the finest quality.’
‘Really?’ Damon leaned forward as if to get a better look. ‘They’re quite unusual.’ If it was unusual to expend a fortune on something so gaudy. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything to match them.’
‘They were made to order. Callista, give our guest a closer look. No need to stand on ceremony, girl.’
‘Uncle, I’m sure he doesn’t really want to see—’
‘On the contrary,’ Damon cut across her. ‘I’d very much like to see them up close.’ If the Manolis clan was vulgar enough to flaunt its apparent wealth, he was happy to take advantage of the fact.
He watched a swift unreadable glance pass between Callista and her silent cousin. Then she rose and walked round the table towards him.
Her exquisite body shimmered seductively and his groin tightened. Lamplight caught thousands of tiny silver beads on her dress. Each step accentuated her lithe lines and sultry curves in a shifting play of light. His muscles tensed with the effort of sitting still and not reaching out to touch. To claim her as, even now, he hungered to do.
When she stood before him he caught a waft of scent that he knew retailed for an exorbitant price. He’d bought some as a parting gift for his last mistress.
He got up, annoyance flaring as he realised he preferred the fresh, natural fragrance of her bare skin this afternoon. The artificial scent masked that.
Yet it served to remind him the woman he’d met earlier, the woman he’d been drawn to, was a fake.
Callista stood, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, making the stones flash and glitter. To his mind she’d look better without them. Just bare golden skin to match the dark-honey hair piled up in a chic style behind her head.
Damon reached for one drop earring. She trembled and the stones scintillated. The fine hairs on her arms stood up, signalling her awareness of him. It couldn’t be a chill on a night so warm. Damon’s body stirred, attuned to her tension.
He enjoyed the knowledge that she wasn’t as calm in his presence as she appeared.
‘Remarkable,’ he murmured, stepping in so his body almost touched hers, as if to view the heavy pendant. Instead his eyes traced her décolletage. His palms itched as he remembered the bounty of her breasts in his hands.
‘They are, aren’t they?’ Manolis’ voice had a self-congratulatory ring. ‘Alkis always got his money’s worth.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Damon stared into her sea-green gaze, close enough now for him to note again the gold flecks that had dazzled him earlier.
What had her price been?
He’d realised now, remembered the story. A pity he hadn’t made the connection earlier today. His enquiries about the Manolis family had revealed only a daughter, no scandalous niece.
This was the woman who at nineteen had been the talk of Athens when she married a rich Greek-American more than old enough to be her father. She’d cashed in her youth and good looks for his wealthy lifestyle and prestigious name, selling herself as a trophy wife.
Damon had been in the Pacific at the time, finalising work on a luxury marina complex. On his return everyone had talked of the match. Now he knew why. Callista was stunning, one of the loveliest women he’d met.
His lips twisted wryly. Like her name, Callista was most beautiful. But that gorgeous body hid a strong mercenary streak. A heartlessness that had enabled her to sell herself for a life of pampered luxury.
Deliberately he turned away, catching the startled gaze of the other woman present. ‘But sometimes it’s not fabulous jewels that are most alluring,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Sometimes a more natural style is the most attractive.’
He caught the sound of a hastily stifled gasp beside him. Callista would be used to holding centre stage at the expense of her quiet cousin. She must have read the insult in his words.
‘You’re right, Damon. Absolutely right.’ Manolis boomed in that over-hearty voice as Callista resumed her seat on the other side of the table, her face expressionless. ‘Sometimes true beauty is more subtle.’
Subtlety wasn’t a trait Damon’s host possessed. There was no mistaking his eagerness as he extolled his daughter’s virtues, as if she were a thoroughbred in an auction ring. Nor could Damon miss the younger girl’s embarrassment as her father’s bluff encomiums continued so long.
Damon’s eyes narrowed as he sized up the situation.
Did Aristides think he, Damon Savakis, who could take his pick of women, would be interested in a shy little mouse who couldn’t even look at him without blushing? Under her father’s watchful gaze she stumbled into halting conversation of the blandest sort. Then Manolis began blathering about the importance of family connections, of trust between those who had personal as well as commercial interests in common.
Damon’s lips firmed. So that was the way the wind blew. Manolis hoped Damon would fix his interest on his host’s daughter.
The man was mad.
Or, perhaps, more desperate than he’d realised. Did he know Damon intended to dismantle his company?
Damon’s gaze flicked to Callista. If their passion had meant anything she couldn’t be happy about her uncle’s matchmaking plans. Yet she looked regal and unruffled, if a trifle stiff. Her message was clear: she’d had her little adventure but now it was over.
Had she acted on her own behalf when she offered herself to him today? A rich woman looking for a tumble with what she thought was a working-class lover? His mouth tightened in distaste. He’d met the sort years ago.
Or had Aristides Manolis planned her convenient visits to the isolated cove?
The notion had been at the back of Damon’s mind from the moment he’d found her here, glittering from head to toe like some provocative Christmas gift. The suspicion had made him lash out at her when he arrived, even as he crowded close, unable to keep his distance.
Had Manolis discovered Damon’s early arrival to enjoy a low-key, incognito break while recuperating from flu? Had Manolis decided to soften him up before the negotiations began, using his niece as bait? It was the sort of underhand ploy he’d expect from a man like him.
If so, Manolis had miscalculated badly. While she didn’t mind slumming it with a stranger for hot sex, obviously her aristocratic pride revolted at having to socialise publicly with a man with working-class roots.
Anger seethed beneath Damon’s skin.
Had she bartered her favours to help her uncle, just as she’d bartered her body for a rich husband?
Disgust was a pungent bitterness on Damon’s tongue.
Manolis was desperate. Soon Damon would take over the Manolis family company, lock, stock and barrel. The notion warmed the part of his soul that, despite his enormous success, could never quite let go of the past.
There would be satisfaction in crushing Aristides’ pretensions and obliterating him commercially.
He was minded to leave and delegate the negotiations to his lawyers. Only curiosity had prompted him to come. He remembered the awe with which his parents had spoken of the Manolis family that employed his father and grandfather. The company that had finally destroyed them.
Times had changed and the mighty had fallen. Now Damon was the powerful one, the man whose word could make or break this family.
Nothing he’d seen tonight made him feel anything but contempt for his hosts.
And yet…he looked at Callista, felt the slide of her cool gaze glance off his face as she turned to her cousin. Her lips tilted in a half-smile that made his stomach tighten and his breath catch.
Whatever her motives, she’d used him, played him for a fool.
His male pride demanded satisfaction. Damon Savakis was used to calling the shots, not being manipulated.
Yet even now his body hungered for hers with a raw, aching need. This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over while he still felt this tide of desire.
He decided in that moment to accept Manolis’ offer of hospitality and stay on. Not because the commercial negotiations demanded his presence.
It was business of a much more personal nature he intended to pursue.
CHAPTER THREE
‘WHAT do you mean my trust fund is frozen? It can’t be.’ Only by a supreme effort did Callie keep her voice steady as she stared at her uncle across his over-sized desk. ‘I inherit the day I reach twenty-five. That’s today.’
He didn’t meet her eyes.
That was a bad sign. Usually Aristides Manolis bullied his way out of answering awkward questions. The fact that he didn’t attempt it this time set alarm bells ringing. Plus he’d gone to such lengths to avoid a private conversation all week. Finally he’d summoned her to his study after they’d farewelled Damon Savakis.
She shivered despite the sultry air wafting through the open windows. Damon Savakis was someone she didn’t want to think about.
Her nerves were raw from an evening of stilted conversation with the man who’d alternately treated her with polite condescension and devoured her with his gaze. The man she’d actually trusted for a few short hours.
‘On your birthday, that was the plan,’ her uncle said, shifting a silver letter opener. ‘But circumstances have changed.’
Callie waited, every instinct alert. But he refused to continue.
‘No, Uncle. Not a plan. It’s the law.’ She took a calming breath. ‘My parents set up the trust when I was a baby. Today I inherit the estate they left me.’
She had precious little left of her parents. Memories and a well-worn photo album. When she’d come to live with her Greek relatives, a grief-stricken fourteen-year-old from the other side of the world, her uncle had brusquely informed her that her parents’ home would be sold with its contents. It was an unnecessary luxury, he’d declared, storing furniture. Better to plough the proceeds into the fund she’d inherit.
Callie had arrived with only a suitcase and her new lime-green backpack. The one her mum had bought for the sailing holiday they’d planned.
A jagged shaft of pain shot through her, drawing her up straight. Even now memory of that loss had the power to hurt.
‘You’ll get your inheritance, Callista. It will just take time to organise. I had no idea you’d be in such a rush to access the funds.’ His voice had a belligerent, accusing ring. ‘What about the money Alkis left you?’
‘Alkis left his fortune to his children, as you well know. I’m sure that was covered in your negotiations over my marriage.’ A tinge of bitterness crept into her voice. She cleared her throat, determined not to get sidetracked. ‘What was left I spent paying his debts. Which is why I want to sort this out. I need the money.’
Callie had plans for her future but she needed her money to achieve them. She’d sell the last of her gaudy jewellery when she left here and put the cash to good use, starting a small retail business. She’d make her own decisions and run her life without interference.
She’d learned her lesson. The only way to be happy was to rely on no one but herself. She knew what she wanted and nothing was going to stop her achieving her goal.
For the first time in years she felt energised and excited, looking forward to the challenges, hard work and satisfaction of building something of her own.
‘Perhaps I should just call the family lawyers and—’
‘No!’ The word was a bellow that made her pulse jump. Her uncle wrenched his tie undone and slumped back in his chair. ‘You were always headstrong and difficult. Why can’t you wait instead of badgering me about this?’
Years of practice kept Callie’s face impassive though her blood boiled. Headstrong! Over the years she’d allowed the men in her life to lead her from one hell into another. If anything she’d been too submissive, too stoic. She’d had enough, starting now.
‘Clearly I’m distressing you, Uncle,’ she said in her coolest tone. ‘Don’t disturb yourself. I’ll go to Athens tomorrow and sort out the legalities myself.’
There was something akin to hatred in his glare. ‘It won’t do you any good. There’s nothing there.’
Callie felt the blood drain from her face. Her uncle never joked, especially about money.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he snarled. ‘You’ll get it. As soon as this deal with Damon Savakis is finalised.’
‘What’s he got to do with my inheritance?’ The freeze she’d felt earlier clamped tight round her chest.
‘The family company…hasn’t been doing well for some time. There have been difficulties, unexpected labour and resource costs, a market downturn.’
Strange the downturn affected only the Manolis company when rival ones, like Savakis Enterprises, were booming. Aristides Manolis wouldn’t expect his niece to know that. He thought the women in his family empty-headed and incapable of understanding even the rudiments of business.
‘And so?’ Callie sank into a chair, grateful for its support. Her knees felt like jelly.
‘So when the deal with Savakis goes through, this…temporary cash crisis will be rectified.’
‘No, Uncle. Even if the deal succeeds, that doesn’t explain my trust fund.’
Aristides’ fingers tightened on the paper knife with barely repressed violence. His gaze slid away. ‘Things were so difficult with the company; I had to find a way to keep it afloat. A temporary measure to tide us over.’
A burning knot of emotion lodged in Callie’s throat, choking her, making it difficult to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, hearing only her desperately thudding pulse.
How many times would this man betray her?
Why had she naïvely believed that finally, for the first time in her life, things would work out right?
Greed and betrayal. Those were the constant themes in her adult life. You’d think she’d have learned to expect them by now. Yet the shock and hurt, the disbelief, were as overwhelming now as they’d been each time she’d been victim of a man’s duplicity.
Wearily she opened her eyes and gazed at the mottled face of her dead father’s brother. The one man who, above all, she should have been able to trust.
‘You stole my inheritance,’ she whispered.
‘Callista Manolis! Recall your place! Now that your husband is dead I’m the head of your family.’
‘I know who you are.’ She thrust aside the panic, the distress, the sheer pain of this ultimate betrayal. ‘And what you are.’ His eyes bulged but he said nothing. ‘I thought you’d have more pride than to steal from your own family.’
His fist smashed down on the desk but Callie didn’t even blink. ‘It wasn’t stealing. It was a temporary redistribution of funds. You wouldn’t understand—’
‘I understand you’re a thief,’ she said, holding his gaze till he looked away. ‘As my trustee you were supposed to behave legally and ethically.’
Callie battled rising fury. She was tempted to report him to the authorities, now, tonight. To see just one of the men who’d used her for their own purposes brought to book.
But the thought of her cousin and her dear aunt stopped her. Justice would hurt them and it wouldn’t get her inheritance back.
‘The money will be available soon.’ His voice was as close to pleading as she’d ever heard it. ‘With interest. When this deal goes through.’
‘You’re expecting Damon Savakis to bail you out of strife?’ Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘His reputation is formidable— as a winner, not for compassion to rivals. He has no interest in helping you.’
‘But we won’t be rivals.’ Aristides leaned forward, his plump hands splayed on the polished wood. ‘If my plans go as I expect, Damon Savakis will be more than a business associate. He’ll be a member of the family.’
* * *
The sound of voices at the poolside stopped Callie in her tracks. Her cousin Angela and Damon Savakis. No other man could unsettle Callie with the low rumble of his laughter. His deep tones made something shiver into life in the pit of her stomach.
Only yesterday, with her face pressed to his broad chest, she’d felt his lazy amusement bubble up and emerge as a deep chocolate caress of sound. Through a haze of sensual satiation it had made her feel vibrantly alive.
Her fingers clenched as desire pulsed again.
She was a fool. He’d used her for cheap amusement in the most calculating way. She’d taken him at face value, believing he, like she, had been blown away by an attraction too strong to be denied.
She suspected with Damon Savakis nothing would ever be simple.
His behaviour last night punctured that foolish daydream. He’d found her amusing. Her confusion and distress had added spice to the evening. How piquant, having his lover and soon-to-be-fiancée together.
She knew his reputation for meticulous attention to detail. Impossible that he hadn’t known who she was on the beach. Members of the Manolis family would have been basic research.
But he’d kept his identity a secret, enjoying the joke on her. Seducing the woman dubbed the Snow Queen must have been diverting to an appetite jaded by over-eager women. Watching her squirm last night had been a bonus to a man who revelled in power.
The sort of man she detested.
She straightened her shoulders.
‘Good morning, Angela. Kyrie Savakis.’ She bestowed a brief smile as she approached the table where she and Angela often shared a meal. No chance now of a private chat. They’d missed their opportunity last night when Uncle Aristides called her to him. Afterwards Callie hadn’t found Angela. She hated to think of her alone and distressed.
‘Sorry I’m late. I didn’t realise we had a guest.’
‘Kyrios Savakis is staying with us for a few days,’ Angela said quietly, sending a shiver of apprehension down Callie’s spine.
A few days! This got worse and worse.
‘He arrived for breakfast.’ Angela sounded calm and relaxed, a perfect hostess. Only someone who knew her well would realise her discomfort, her fingers busy pleating the linen tablecloth, her body a fraction too poised.
Callie’s heart stalled as guilt smote her. She hadn’t thought of her poor, shy cousin acting as hostess alone. She’d slept late after a night grappling with what her uncle had conceded about their bleak financial situation. Reliving the horror of discovering Damon’s identity and true character.
‘Your uncle kindly invited me to sample more of your hospitality,’ a deep voice murmured from across the table.
Did she imagine a wry emphasis on the last two words? As if he referred to a service she might personally provide?
He couldn’t be so crass. Could he?
Slowly Callie turned to face him, ignoring the escalating thud of her pulse.
He looked disgustingly self-satisfied. Like a man whose appetites had been sated. Callie was horrified at the drift of her thoughts. She forced a smile to her lips, hiding her shudder of reaction as she drank in the sight of him.
Despite her anger, he looked good enough to eat.
If you had a taste for danger.
He wore a white shirt open at the throat, designer jeans and an expression that proclaimed him utterly at home as he leaned back in his seat.
‘I was about to show Kyrie Savakis the guest bungalow,’ Angela explained.
The guest bungalow? Thank heaven. At least they wouldn’t share a house.
‘Please, call me Damon. Kyrie Savakis makes me feel like I belong to your father’s generation. There’s no need for formality.’
But there is, Callie thought, sliding a glance at Angela.
Even after a night coming to grips with her uncle’s outrageous plot, Callie couldn’t suppress horror at how history repeated itself so appallingly. Her skin crawled. It was a nightmare that he’d use such a scheme a second time.
‘Thank you, Damon. Please call me Angela.’
‘Angela.’ He bestowed a brief smile then turned to spear Callie with his dark, questioning gaze.
‘Technically speaking, you do belong to another generation.’ Callie said before he could speak to her. ‘You’re in your late thirties, aren’t you? Angela is just eighteen.’
Dark brows inched together, then his lips quirked in what looked suspiciously like humour rather than annoyance. ‘I’m thirty-four, since you’re wondering,’ he murmured.
‘Really? So—er—young?’ Callie arched her brows as if in surprise. She knew when he was born. She’d looked him up on the net last night. He was too old for Angela. As well as the years between them, there was a gulf of experience and expectation that would never be breached. Callie knew it from bitter personal experience.
‘Old enough to know my mind, Callie.’ The sound of her name on his lips sent a shock wave trembling through her, like the silent aftermath of a sensory explosion. ‘May I call you Callie? Or would you prefer Callista?’
She’d prefer neither. Both were far too intimate, especially when he used that smoke and velvet tone guaranteed to seduce a woman out of her senses in thirty seconds flat.
Yesterday just the sound of his voice and the slumberous promise in his eyes had her eager for his touch.
‘I…’ It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to use her full name, when she caught Angela’s anxious gaze. ‘Of course, call me Callie.’
She was only Callista to her uncle, who managed to invest the syllables with disappointment and disapproval.
‘Thank you, Callie.’ His ebony eyes gleamed with a light she couldn’t interpret. His expression sent awareness tingling through her blood. It took a moment for her to realise Angela had turned to talk to one of the staff.
‘Would you excuse me?’ She rose from her seat. ‘There’s a phone call I need to take.’
Callie saw the blush on Angela’s cheeks and knew Niko must have rung. The son of a local doctor, he’d loved Angela for years. He was building his tourism business, hoping to win Uncle Aristides’ approval for their marriage.
Callie knew better than anyone Aristides would never countenance his daughter marrying a local boy, no matter how decent or how much in love they were. Money and status were what mattered to her uncle.
Her gaze shifted to Damon Savakis, lolling in his seat sipping coffee. She felt anxiety shimmy down her spine, knowing what Aristides planned for his daughter.
With those dark good looks and air of leashed power, Damon could model for a pasha of old, accustomed to sumptuous luxury, sensuous pleasures and unquestioning obedience. He’d devour poor Angela in one snap of his strong white teeth then seek amusement elsewhere. As he’d found it yesterday, seducing Callie then playing games of innuendo through the long evening while she squirmed and suffered.
One sacrificial lamb in the family was enough! Callie had performed that function for the Manolis clan years ago. They couldn’t demand another.
She refused to watch her uncle ruin his daughter’s life with an arranged marriage as he’d ruined hers. Especially when Angela had a chance for happiness with an honest, caring man. That sort of man was as rare, in her experience, as a snowstorm on Santorini.
‘Don’t hurry, Angela. I’ll look after our guest.’
‘That sounds promising.’
‘Pardon?’ Callie turned to find Damon surveying her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
‘I like the idea of you,’ he drawled, ‘looking after me. What did you have in mind?’
Heat danced in that calculating expression. His gaze trawled down to her jade top gathered in a knot below the bust, and lower to her bare midriff. Fire blazed over her skin as if he stroked his callused palm over her flesh.
Only yesterday…
Callie shoved back her chair, ignoring the juice she’d poured. ‘Showing you the guest bungalow,’ she said in a voice that was almost steady.
When he looked at her that way she couldn’t prevent the surge of reaction as her body came alive.
She wished she’d worn something other than lightweight trousers and a skimpy top. If she’d known he was here she’d have opted for a full-length tunic dress. But the gleam in his eyes told her it would have done no good. He remembered what she looked like naked.
Just as she remembered him.
He stood, his long, athletic frame unfolding from the chair. She had instant, dazzling recall of how he’d looked yesterday, all burnished skin and honed, hard-packed muscle.
She drew a shuddering breath and looked away, trying to control the riot of hormones clamouring for gratification.
‘Ah, Callie, is that all?’ One long finger traced the side of her neck and she jumped, jerking out of reach. ‘I’d hoped for something a little more…intimate.’
‘You—’ she sucked in a ragged gasp ‘—are pushing your luck!’
She lifted her chin, summoning the veneer of composure she’d perfected over the last few years. Ruthlessly she ignored the effervescent sensation of burgeoning desire and strolled to the edge of the terrace, back straight and face composed. It horrified her to discover how difficult it was to don her defensive armour. Only when she had her voice under control did she pause.
‘The guest quarters are this way.’
Damon watched her precede him down the lawn. Her hips swayed seductively and his hungry gaze focused on the delicious curve of her derriere, shown off perfectly by tight white trousers. Had she worn them to tease? Even in the bright sunlight he saw no panty line to mar the snug fit of cotton against flesh. Did she wear a thong or was she naked beneath the trousers?
Heat roared through him in an infuriating surge. Wasn’t it enough she’d kept him awake all night? He’d been angry at how she’d used then rejected him, yet needy for another touch, another taste of her gorgeous body. Even the fact that she’d snubbed him hadn’t doused his libido.
‘Are you coming?’ She stopped and half turned, showing her patrician profile. Even with her hair in a high pony-tail she looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine, the sort his mother enjoyed. Beautiful, privileged people leading beautiful, privileged lives.
Privileged himself now, with more money and power than a man could ever need, still Damon felt the gulf between himself and such people. It was a gulf he’d consciously created, resisting the artificial lure of ‘society’.
He enjoyed his wealth, made the most of what it bought him and those he cared for, but he’d vowed never to succumb to the shallow posturing and brittle selfishness of that world. He’d seen enough as a kid when his mother cleaned villas owned by some of the country’s wealthiest families. When as a teenager he’d worked there and learned first-hand about the morals of the upper classes.
Damon was proud of his roots, unashamed that he’d succeeded by hard work and perseverance, not inherited wealth. He’d long ago learned the high-class world of the ‘best’people hid an underbelly of greed, selfishness and vice. The last thing on his agenda was attraction to a woman who epitomised that money-hungry shallowness. A woman who’d inherited the Manolis family values.
The fact that he still wanted her annoyed the hell out of him.
‘I’m right behind you, Callie.’
He strode to where she waited, mirroring her body with his. He was close enough to feel warmth radiate from her. He leaned forward, head inclined to inhale her scent.
If he’d hoped to discomfit her he was disappointed. With a swish of her pony-tail she led the way in a long-legged stride, riveting his gaze. It took a moment to realise that instead of the rich perfume she’d worn last night, the scent filling his nostrils was the intoxicating fragrance she’d worn yesterday: sunshine and musky, mysterious female.
Lust jagged through him, a blast of white-hot energy.
It confirmed the decision he’d come to last night—there was unfinished business between them. She couldn’t brush him aside like some nonentity when she’d had her fill.
‘Your colouring is unusual.’ He followed her, eyes on the swing of dark-honey hair as it caught the light. He’d picked her for a foreign tourist when he’d first seen her.
She shrugged. ‘Maybe I dye my hair.’
‘Ah, but Callie, we both know you don’t.’ The golden-brown triangle of hair he’d uncovered when he stripped away her bikini bottom yesterday had been the genuine thing. ‘I’ve seen the proof, remember? Up close and personal.’
He let satisfaction colour his voice and wasn’t surprised when she slammed to a stop ahead of him.
For a moment she stood still, her shoulders curiously hunched. Then she swung round and met his gaze. Not by the slightest sign did she reveal embarrassment. Her eyes were the colour of cool mountain water, her expression bland. No doubt she was free and easy enough not to feel discomfort discussing personal details with her latest paramour.
What a merry dance she must have led her husband. Had he died trying to satisfy her? Or had he been forced to watch her with younger men who gave her what he couldn’t?
‘Just as I know your colouring is black as sin,’ she murmured. ‘So what?’ Her brows rose as if she was bored.
‘It’s uncommon for Greek women to be so fair.’ He stepped close enough to see the smatter of gold shards in her irises, like spangles of sunlight amongst the green.
‘Half Greek. My mother was Australian.’ Her words were clipped, as if he’d delved into something private. He waited for her to continue. ‘Besides, some people here in the north have fairer colouring. All the Manolis family are the same.’ Her gaze settled on his dark locks as if disapproving.
‘Your cousin’s hair is brown. There’s no comparison.’
He watched her open her mouth as if to shoot off a riposte, then stop herself. She shrugged and turned away. ‘Now, if I’ve satisfied your curiosity—’
‘Not yet. Tell me,’ he drawled, ‘why keep me at arm’s length? Surely after yesterday I’m entitled to a little more warmth. Are you one of those women who need the thrill of a secret assignation to fire her blood? Are you turned on by the possibility of being found in flagrante delicto?’
Callie stared at the sprawling bungalow a hundred metres down the path and knew it would be a miracle if she made it there with her temper and her composure in place.
Fire her blood, indeed!
Yet she shrank from the suspicion that maybe he was right. Maybe the thrill of desire that had swept her doubts and defences away yesterday was a result of their anonymity and the unspoken daring of their actions.
She shut her eyes, remembering the delicious excitement as he’d walked towards her through the dappled shade, his eyes never leaving hers so she felt the tug of his powerful personality like a living force. Without pause or hesitation he’d pulled her into his arms as if she belonged there. She’d welcomed each caress with a fervour that frightened her now.
Nothing had ever seemed so right, so perfect.
Callie snapped open her eyes. She’d given him too much already. She wouldn’t let him toy with her while he played games of one-upmanship with her uncle. While he decided whether to take her cousin in a cold-blooded business deal.
She was done with being a pawn in any man’s machinations.
‘You’re not entitled to anything from me.’
She fixed him with the cool look she’d perfected long ago to hide desperately churning emotions. Alkis had had no patience with emotion in his wife. Retreat behind her façade of indifference had been a hard-won but necessary survival skill.
‘I disagree. After yesterday your attitude is downright unfriendly.’
Damon paced closer. She had to lift her head to hold his gaze. His heat curled round her like an invitation. The scent of soap, sea and healthy male enticed her till it was an effort not to reach out needy fingers for one last caress.
Callie slid her hands into her trouser pockets lest she be tempted to do something insane like touch him.
‘Yesterday is over.’
‘But what we had needn’t be.’ His low, seductive voice pierced her brittle façade. He made her yearn again for the delicious torment of his touch.
That terrified her.
‘It’s over,’ she repeated, wishing she believed it.
‘And if I’m not ready to end it?’ His look was arrogant.
‘There was nothing to end.’ The words tumbled out. She had to concentrate on slowing down, maintaining her calm. ‘We had sex. That’s all.’
‘Just sex.’ His brows winged up and she thought she saw fury blaze in his eyes. Then the moment was gone and his face was unreadable. ‘Is that what you specialise in, Callie? Hot sex with strangers you forget the next day?’
Her skin crawled with embarrassment and rage. Yet she knew better than to show it. She let her gaze drop to his shoulders, his wide chest, the powerful length of his arms and legs, then slowly up as if she were used to inspecting the finer points of a sexy male body.
‘I could say the same for you,’ she said, silently cursing the dry mouth that made the words come out too husky. ‘You got what you wanted yesterday. End of story.’
‘You’re wrong, my fine lady. It’s not the end at all.’
A tremor ran through her body, drawing each muscle tight with…anticipation? Excitement?
No! She refused to play his games of seduction and temptation. Yesterday had been a terrible error of judgement. She’d broken every precept, her own moral code, for a few hours’ passion. It had been momentary insanity.
She should have guessed nothing was as pure and simple as it had seemed at the time.
‘Believe me, Kyrie Savakis, it’s over. Why not move on?’ Callie had no doubt by nightfall he’d find another woman eager to become a notch on his bedpost. As she had been yesterday. Her chest constricted painfully.
‘Because I’m a man who gets what he wants, glikia mou. You’ve whetted my appetite and I want more.’
His lips curved in a hungry smile that sent fear trickling down her spine.
‘I want you, Callie. And I intend to have you.’
CHAPTER FOUR
WHAT the hell had got into him? Even as the words emerged from his mouth, Damon questioned his sanity.
She wasn’t the sort of woman he wanted in his life.
Nothing he’d learned about her was positive.
Except for the ecstatic, uninhibited way she responded to sex. In that department she packed enough punch to flatten even his formidable self-control.
The unvarnished truth was once with Callie Manolis wasn’t enough. Despite his scruples and his anger he wanted her. Still. More. Again.
He cursed his weakness but couldn’t pull back. His need was primal, stronger than reason.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth sagged and he fantasised about plundering it with an urgent kiss that would lead to other, more satisfying activities.
‘Your threats don’t frighten me.’ Yet her voice was husky. She was frightened.
Or turned on. Damon’s body tensed on the thought.
‘No threat. A promise.’
‘You have no hold over me.’ She lifted her head and bestowed a blazing look, like an Amazon queen, defiant and proud. ‘I run my own life. No man tells me what to do.’
She gestured to the bungalow at the end of the path. ‘I’m sure you can find your own way, Kyrie Savakis.’ Then she turned and left him. She strolled easily as if she’d done no more than dismiss a servant.
No one dismissed Damon Savakis.
Yet he silently applauded her nerve. Not many people stood up to Damon.
She fascinated him. He wanted to smash past her poise and warm her body with his till the heat consumed them both.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans rather than haul her into his arms and force her submission with a direct, passionate assault.
That would be too easy, too crude. He wanted the satisfaction of her coming to him, begging for his attention.
In twenty-four hours Callista had become more than a challenge. She was fast becoming an obsession. Despite her disdain. Despite who she was. Or perhaps because of it.
Old anger stirred. His grandfather and his father had slaved for the Manolis family, wrecking their health for little pay. His grandfather had worked himself into an early grave. When Damon’s father died in an industrial accident in the Manolis shipyards his mother had received condolences, a company representative at the funeral and none of the compensation she was entitled to. Lawyers had exploited a loophole to absolve the company of responsibility. As if it wasn’t a matter of conscience and honour. As if his father’s death had been another entry in a ledger.
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