Mediterranean Tycoons: Reckless & Ruthless

‘What’s it to be, Eloise?’

‘First I want to see the so-called proof,’ she demanded quietly and shivered at the cold implacability in his saturnine features.

‘The evidence is at my apartment, ten minutes’ drive away.’ His arm closed firmly around her shoulders. ‘We can continue this conversation better there, I’m sure you will agree.’

He had an apartment in Paris? Why not? A hysterical laugh fluttered in her throat. The man had everything. Marcus was a powerful, ruthless operator, a legend in the financial markets. Where lesser men made the occasional loss, what he had he kept, be it money, women or property. His nature was obviously possessive; he was a taker, not a giver.

But, held close to him, she could smell the faint musky masculine scent of him, and her traitorous skin heated where he touched. Dear heaven, if he did but know it, he could have had her and everything she was and owned for the asking three months ago—but not any more, she thought with the glimmer of an ironic smile as she agreed. She, more than most, did not appreciate being manipulated by a man—any man…

The apartment was small, more a pied-à-terre, tucked away at the top of one of the classic Napoleon-styled buildings overlooking the Seine. It was clearly designed with a bachelor in mind. A living room that was elegantly furnished and with what looked like a selection of original cartoons displayed on one wall, probably worth more than the apartment. A tiny kitchen area, obviously not meant to be used for anything other than making coffee or heating up a croissant for breakfast. A closed door led to what Marcus indicated was the bedroom, with an en-suite shower and toilet.

Eloise walked over to the ornate dormer window, and looked at the glittering lights reflected with the moonlight on the dark waters of the Seine, and wondered by what trick of fate she had ended up in this mess.

‘Would you like a drink?’ Marcus asked, standing much too close.

Eloise spun around. ‘No. I want your so-called proof and an explanation fast,’ she flashed back, disturbed by the intimacy of the place. ‘It’s not every day one is accused of being a thief.’

‘So be it.’ She watched as Marcus crossed to a desk in one corner. He opened a drawer, took out a folder, and placed it on the desk, and then laid a document on top. Switching on a desk lamp, he straightened up. ‘Feel free to peruse them at your leisure,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I need a drink.’

Eloise marched across to the desk, and picked up the document and read the first line. She raked a shaking hand through her hair forgetting her elaborate coronet of curls, in the process. It appeared to be a contract between Chloe Baker, her late mother, and Theo Toumbis, selling Theo a half share in Chloe’s latest business venture in designer jewellery for five hundred thousand pounds—“Eloise By Design,” to be situated in London.

Slowly, with mounting horror, she read on and there at the foot of the page were the three signatures to the contract: Chloe Baker, Theo Toumbis, and last Eloise Baker.

Eloise stared, transfixed. It was an excellent copy of her handwriting, but in fact it wasn’t even her real surname.

‘I never signed this.’ She cast a wild look over her shoulder at Marcus. ‘You must believe me, I have never seen it before. My name is Smith,’ she cried.

‘So, five years ago you were not masquerading as Chloe’s sister, you were not on Rykos, and you know nothing about the contract?’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Please spare me the lies. I was there, remember?’

‘No, yes—no.’ Eloise glanced back down at the paper in her hand. ‘Chloe must have forged my signature,’ she murmured in stricken disbelief at her mother’s deceit, and her heart sank as she realised the futility of trying to explain.

Marcus was right; she had been acting as Chloe’s sister on the island. A good lawyer would make mincemeat of her claim to be innocent of any knowledge of the affair. She let the document flutter from her hand to the desk and in the process saw the blue folder.

‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed, wide eyed with horror she stared at the folder. She knew exactly what it contained before she even opened it. But she made herself open it. She had to have her worst fear confirmed.

‘Oh, yes, Eloise.’ Marcus appeared at her side, and handed her a crystal glass. ‘I think you might need this now,’ he said with a grim smile.

She took the glass and took a hasty swallow. Brandy or whisky, she wasn’t sure—but, coughing violently, she brushed past Marcus and slid down onto the sofa in a movement singularly lacking in grace. The glass clasped in her hand, every vestige of colour drained from her face, and not even the alcohol could replace it. How could her own mother have done that to her?

Not only had Chloe forged her signature on the contract, the folder contained a copy of the project Eloise had completed for college. The only difference was Chloe had named herself as architect of the plan instead of Eloise. It was a complex business plan including the costings and all the design work, publicity etc, in setting up Eloise By Design, aimed at the top end of the market. It had been Eloise’s ambition and dream career. She had received top marks for the assignment.

Later, when Chloe had appeared and Eloise had rather shyly shown her prize-winning project to her mother, she’d been thrilled when for the first time in her life Chloe had taken an interest in what she was studying. Chloe had told her she was very talented, very clever, and she was very proud of her. Naturally, when her mother asked if she could keep it as a memento, Eloise had said yes.

She took another mouthful of the fiery spirit; she needed it. Never in a million years would it have crossed Eloise’s mind that her mother would use her assignment as a means to get money out of a man. But, from the little she had seen, that appeared to be exactly what her mother had done. Reeling with shock and the cringing sense of shame and humiliation she felt at her mother’s actions, she drained the glass in her hand.

The alcohol kicking in, Eloise leant back against the high-backed sofa, and closed her eyes for a second, the enormity of her mother’s deception almost impossible to bear. Slowly she opened her eyes, and cast a covert look at Marcus beneath the shadow of her long lashes. He had shed his jacket and tie, and his shirt lay open at his tanned throat. He was leaning negligently against the fireplace, twirling a glass of whisky in one hand, as though he had not a care in the world.

Well, bully for him, she thought bitterly, aggression taking over from humiliation. Marcus was not getting away with blaming her. ‘So my mother apparently conned your uncle into investing in a mythical company. Big deal! That was his mistake.’ And she offered a grudging explanation, though she did not think the arrogant jerk deserved it. ‘As for the business plan she used, yes, it was mine. My end of year’s assignment at art college, nothing more. My mother kept it as a memento. But KHE is not the same company, and your uncle’s problem has nothing to do with me,’ Eloise declared defiantly and, picking up her purse, she stood up. ‘And given they are both dead I very much doubt the dead can sue anyone,’ she ended caustically.

He must take her for a prize fool. It hurt her deeply that her mother had used her idea, but that did not make Eloise responsible, and she’d never seen any of the money. Marcus had no case. She was calling his bluff…

‘You should stick to designing, Eloise; your grasp of law is negligible. I am the executor of Theo’s estate and as such can sue on behalf of his family,’ Marcus informed her curtly, a dark gleam simmering like the threat of a lightning storm in the back of his fierce gaze. ‘The name you were using at the time is on the contract. Eloise By Design or KHE, the intention and setting up of the company was the same. I also happen to know Theo’s money ended up in a joint bank account between you and your mother. I also know you emptied the account to buy the London property you use for business.’

Eloise froze, her hand tightening in a death grip on her purse, her knuckles gleaming white with the strain. ‘Oh, my God!’ she gasped. She had forgotten all about the joint account. The account her mother had insisted on setting up supposedly to keep the money from the sale of the family home between them. The money Eloise had wanted to give her outright. The account Eloise had never touched until after her mother’s death. She had been amazed at the amount of money her mother had left her. But, as her mother’s lawyer had pointed out at the time, Chloe had been a very successful business woman.

But what kind of business—thieving? She had even stolen from her own daughter! There could be no doubt about it, Chloe had actually used Eloise’s college project to con Theo Toumbis into thinking he was investing in a new company, and forged Eloise’s signature…

Sadly Eloise realised she had never really known her mother at all. She had carried an idealised version of a brilliantly successful, elegant woman in her heart and mind for so long, the realisation it was all a myth was a brutal blow and her disillusionment was total.

‘Waiting for divine intervention is not going to help you.’ Marcus’s mocking voice split the lengthening silence. ‘You have two choices, my deal or the courts. So what is it to be?’

Little did he know Eloise thought bitterly, that there was no choice at all! She could not go to court…not after what had happened. She risked a glance at his rock-hard profile, the innate ruthlessness in every chiselled line, and any thought of pleading with him died a death. Not that she would have done that anyway, she immediately corrected. She had fought too long and hard for her pride and self-esteem to throw it away on a pig like Marcus.

Drawing on all her considerable will power, she slowly sat back down on the sofa. ‘Why are you doing this?’ She lifted glacial green eyes to his face. ‘Why invest in a company you want to ruin?’

‘Admittedly, that wasn’t my first plan. Theo was a fool; he gave money to your mother at a time when he was expanding his holiday development on Rykos. It was money he could not afford, and for the next four years he struggled with a cash flow problem, but was too proud to ask for my help. He only mentioned the matter to me a week before he died when his company was going bankrupt.’

‘Bankrupt.’ Eloise almost groaned out loud; it was getting worse by the second.

‘Obviously, as executor of his estate, it is my responsibility to make sure his wife and daughter do not suffer from his stupidity. Revenge is a totally human emotion, and, I admit, I went seeking it from your mother. It took some time for the detective agency I hired to track her down, only to discover she was dead, and there was no sister, only a daughter—it took a while longer to track you down,’ Marcus declared harshly.

‘But in memory of the innocent girl I once knew, I intended to give you the benefit of the doubt. I told myself you were young and probably influenced by your crooked mother. I checked you and KHE out and saw it was a quite profitable company with potential, and I was prepared to simply ask for Theo’s investment back over time.’

He had remembered her, and he had been prepared to believe her. That went a long way to improving Eloise’s view of him. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she agreed, a glimmer of hope lighting her eyes for a moment. ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement…’

‘Oh, no, Eloise, that option has gone.’ In two lithe strides he was standing over her. ‘I was prepared to compromise my own convictions because I wanted you in my bed, to finish what we started five years ago. But not any more,’ Marcus responded with silken softness. ‘Not when I discovered after sharing my bed you quite happily admitted to having shared Ted Charlton’s not twenty-four hours earlier, simply to get his money for your business,’ he reminded her, his black eyes raking over her in utter contempt. ‘You were obviously up to your old tricks again.’

‘That’s a lie,’ Eloise gasped, so horrified by his unjust and ridiculous accusation she could only stare up at him.

‘And I am supposed to believe you?’ One dark brow arched sardonically. He watched every last scrap of colour slide from her cheeks. God, but she was good, he thought cynically, before adding, ‘No way.’

Eloise leapt to her feet. ‘You’re wrong—I never slept with Ted! And you have a damn cheek insinuating I did,’ she flung back at him, her temper simmering.

‘Ted told me otherwise. He called me in New York and offered me his share in KHE. Apparently his ex-wife’s lawyers had taken him to the cleaners, and he needed the money. It was an intriguing prospect and I helped Ted out of his problem, and acquired part of what should have been my uncle’s anyway.’

‘You did it to help Ted; how altruistic of you,’ Eloise sneered, squashing the wayward thought that perhaps he had done it to help Ted out of a jam. Telling herself Marcus was rich enough to buy a hundred companies without batting an eye.

‘I thought so at the time, until we had a night out to celebrate clinching the deal, and Ted got quite drunk. Ted quite openly admitted to sleeping with you.’

‘No, Ted wouldn’t do that,’ she cried.

‘Yes, he did, and I was using sleep as an euphemism.’ Marcus drawled sardonically ‘We both know what you do in bed.’

Eloise reddened furiously. She had defended her honour once in front of a judge, and the experience had almost destroyed her. Never again.

‘You bastard.’ Her hand flung wildly and cracked against his olive skinned cheek. ‘I have had enough of you,’ she screamed, totally losing it. He had dragged up old memories—as if it wasn’t enough to know her mother had betrayed her, but so had Ted and Marcus. She was distraught, fed-up and furious. Catching her wildly swinging hand, Marcus yanked her into his arms. She struggled desperately against his hard body. ‘Let go of me,’ she seethed.

‘No.’ Marcus lifted her off her feet with frightening ease and, landing on the sofa, he pinned her back against the cushioned arm. ‘I am not letting you go,’ and his mouth crashed down on hers.

He kissed her with a raw passion; a sexuality that was as savage as it was exciting. Eloise felt his hungry need through every cell in her body, and for a timeless moment she responded with a hot mindless urgency, until he lifted his head and reality kicked in.

Stretched out beside her, Marcus stared down at her, noting the flush of passion on her expressive face, his lustrous dark eyes gleaming with pure male satisfaction. ‘The chemistry hasn’t changed—you want me,’ he challenged in a deep dark voice. ‘And, even knowing what kind of woman you are, I still want you,’ he admitted with a chilling smile slanting his sensuous lips. ‘I bought out Ted because I don’t want him around you. I don’t want any man near you except me.’

‘But why?’ she cried. He didn’t love her—it was just sex—and she tried to struggle, kicking out at him, but only succeeded in entwining her leg around one of his.

‘I thought I made myself abundantly clear, but if you insist.’ His upper torso loomed half over her, an imprisoning hand tightened around her waist, lifting, reinforcing the physical contact she was trying to avoid, while his other hand tangled in her hair, tipping her head up to his.

‘I know you, sweetheart,’ Marcus drawled sardonically. ‘Let you out of my sight and you will sweet-talk some wealthy old man into giving you the money you need to pay off your debt. Ted’s offer was opportune. I own a large chunk of your company and I can prevent that happening.’ Her heart was pounding, her eyes wide open and trained on his darkly handsome face which was taut with anger and something else she could not fail to recognise. ‘And no woman makes a fool of me twice,’ he concluded curtly.

Winded by the ruthless speed with which he had subdued her, breathless and forced into an intimate awareness of his hard muscled body, all the fight went out of her. But she did try to deny his last assumption. ‘No. I didn’t…’ But he didn’t give her the chance.

‘No more lies,’ Marcus rasped, and he kissed her again.

He wasn’t going to listen to her and, even if he did, he would never believe her, not with the proof overwhelmingly against her. His tongue hungrily probed the moist intimacy of her mouth. She wanted to resist, she really did… But a hoarse moan of capitulation was forced from her throat, and her taut body melted against him. She reached for his shoulders and kissed him back with helpless abandon.

The why and wherefore no longer mattered. Time had no meaning; all that existed was the miraculous world of delicious sensations, which only Marcus could provide. His hand at her back urged her up and the strapless bodice of her dress was somehow pushed down. His dark head lowered, burying his head in the soft swell of her breasts until his mouth found a taut nipple to suckle with fierce pleasure.

Three long months, and suddenly physical feelings that she had tried so desperately to suppress exploded in a feverish response. The blood flowed thick and hot through her veins. Her fingers spread up and out to bury in the silken depths of his black hair and hold him to her, never wanting the excitement to end.

Marcus lifted his head and looked down at her pale skin hectically flushed with the heat of arousal. ‘You’re mine,’ Marcus grated roughly. ‘For as long as I want you.’ His glittering dark eyes clashed with her dazed green, and he smiled a predatory twist of his sensuous lips and, rearing back, shrugged off his shirt his hands going to the waistband of his trousers.

Cool air washed over her aching breasts and a tiny voice of sanity echoed in her head. Her mouth ran suddenly dry, and she tensed in rejection at what she was inviting.

‘No,’ Eloise groaned. Whether she was decrying his abandonment of their lovemaking or denying him, she didn’t actually know herself.

Marcus swore viciously under his breath. His dark eyes, leaping with anger, flashed to hers. ‘No. You say no?’ His hands stilled at his waist.

‘Yes.’ Suddenly she was afraid of the half-naked man looming over her.

He almost threw her away from him, her head bouncing on the arm of the sofa as he stood up, and stared down at her with icy eyes.

‘You’re a very sensual woman. Your whole body trembles when I touch you, your eyes flash emerald sparks, you want me—but obviously your stock in trade is to tease. Well, forget it with me… I’ve never forced a woman in my life, and I’m not about to start with you. I can’t abide a tease.’

CHAPTER SIX

MARCUS could not have hurt her more if he had tried for a lifetime!

A flashback of another time—another man, equally as hard—calling her the same, and the eyes of every one in the courtroom fixed on her. She blinked rapidly and snapped out of her sensual daze. Sick with horror, Eloise stared at Marcus. He thought she was a tease, along with a thief and a whore, so why did her traitorous body react so excitedly with this one man, when he obviously despised her?

Suddenly she was plunged into complete turmoil between her thoughts and emotions. She was deeply ashamed of the fact that she could not withstand Marcus’s particular brand of blatant sexuality, even though she knew he had no respect, no love for her at all.

Ashen-faced, she struggled into a sitting position, and pulled her dress up over her tight, aching breasts. Head bent, her hair cascaded either side of her face, hopefully masking the humiliation and desperation she felt from his too astute eyes. She clasped her hands in her lap, her fingers entwining nervously. Her heart raced and she fought for breath—panic or passion, she didn’t know.

Marcus saw the pallor of her face before she hid it from him. He noted the defeated droop of her shoulders covered by the mass of her glorious red hair. She looked like some fragile, broken tiger lily sitting there.

Where the hell had that maudlin thought come from? He frowned and shoved his hands into the pocket of his trousers, willing his aroused flesh to subside. She was a man-eating tiger all right. The fragile flower act was a ploy to catch her prey, and he would do well to remember that. His frown deepened. ‘What’s it to be, Eloise?’ A private arrangement or the courts?’

He might as well have said a private affair, because that was what he was demanding from her. She lifted her head. He was standing a foot away, his black hair ruffled where she had run her fingers through it, naked from the waist up. His bronzed torso glistened in the dim light, the muscles clearly defined. She thought of how he had kissed, of how it had felt to have his mouth at her breast, and wished he would put his shirt back on.

‘Not the court,’ she said a little unsteadily, lowering her eyes. Marcus couldn’t possibly know and she couldn’t tell him, but it had coloured her life for years.

It had been a sunny June evening, and a game of tennis on the public courts in the park with a student friend. Eloise at twenty had thought nothing of walking back across the park to the flat she shared with Katy. Until she was grabbed from behind, a horrible dirty hand squeezing her breast, and she was dragged into some bushes. Her attacker had had a knife, but she had screamed anyway and struggled like mad, lashing out with her tennis racket. Her top was ripped from her body, and the short tennis skirt was no barrier to the man’s marauding hand. The knife was at her throat and she was giving up hope of escape when a dog pounced on her attacker. He lashed out with the knife and slashed her leg before running off. The man was caught, but as horrific as the attack had been the court case that followed was worse.

Eloise would never forget facing her attacker in court, nor could she forget the defence lawyer. He raped her with words. Her perfectly conventional tennis outfit became clothing designed to tease, a deliberate provocation. It was her fault she had long legs, long hair; she shared a flat with a man, the fact it was Katy’s boyfriend ignored. The lawyer made her feel dirty and ashamed. The case took two days, and by the end of it when a guilty verdict was returned Eloise was too emotionally shattered to care. And she vowed she would never set foot in a court again.

Lifting her head, she stared at Marcus with cold green eyes. ‘Definitely not the court.’

A cynical smile twisted Marcus’s hard mouth. ‘No court.’ Why did that not surprise him? It simply confirmed she was guilty and she knew it. Still, what did he care for her morals or lack of them? He wanted her sinfully sexy body in his bed, until he sated himself, and she obviously knew the score, so there would be no messy break-up when he tired of her. His conscience clear, reaching out, he grasped her upper arms and hauled her to her feet.

‘Instead, you agree to be my mistress for one year, exclusively mine,’ he emphasised, his dark deep-set eyes burning into Eloise’s. ‘I don’t share, understand?’

She understood, all right. One year in his bed: it was blackmail, pure and simple. Well, maybe not so pure…

‘At the end of that time I will give you the evidence of the fraud and cancel your debt.’

‘I would prefer to pay back the money my mother stole.’ Eloise accented the word. ‘Not me,’ she added forcibly; she was not admitting a guilt she did not feel.

‘That isn’t an option.’ But Marcus had to give her points for trying; she looked so defiant, her green eyes blazing, and infinitely desirable. He wondered if he should have said two, or maybe three years.

Realistically, she knew if she lived as poor as a church mouse it would take her years to pay back the money, unless she sold the house, and that would ruin her relationship with her friends, never mind what it would do to the business. It was a catch twenty-two situation. She looked into his hard dark eyes, and she knew he would carry out his threat of court action.

A tiny shiver slivered down her spine, and suddenly she was fiercely aware of his long fingers on the flesh of her upper arms, the sensual heat emanating from his hard body. She thought of his lovemaking; the experience had been an earth-shattering, life-changing experience for her. But how did she know what it had been for him? Not love, that was for sure, but good enough sex as he wanted more, she realised grimly. As for what she wanted, her body had already answered for her, her nipples tight against the bodice of her dress.