Arion reached into his desk and slid across a small black triangular piece of gleaming plastic.

There were no markings on it. It might have been one of those if-you-had-to-apply-for-it-you-couldn’t-afford-it credit cards reserved for multibillionaires. She’d read about them in a magazine once. Or it might have been a loyalty card for die-hard coffee addicts. Perla had no way of telling.

She looked from the card to Arion’s face. ‘What’s that for?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘That card lets you into that lift. The lift will take you straight to my penthouse. You’ll wait for me there—’

‘No.’ Perla stopped what was coming before he could finish.

His nostrils flared. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I won’t do … whatever it is you have in mind. I know what you think of me, but you’re wrong. What happened between us that night wasn’t cheap and it wasn’t tawdry. Not for me at least. And I despise you for thinking I’d stoop that low to get you to help me—’

‘Be quiet for one second and listen.’

The rough command in his voice dried her words.

‘You have nowhere to stay. I have a meeting in … exactly eight minutes—which will last for five hours. Minimum. Unless you intend to wander the streets in the rain until I’m finished, my offer is the best you’re going to get.’

Surprise stamped through her. ‘Oh, you mean you want me to go up and just … wait for you?’ she asked.

‘Why, Mrs Lowell, you sound disappointed …’

THE UNTAMEABLE GREEKS

Rich, powerful and impossible to resist

Sakis, Arion and Theo Pantelides—three formidable brothers who have risen up from the darkness of their pasts to conquer the world. Powerful, gorgeous and fabulously wealthy, these deliciously arrogant Greeks can have any woman they want—but none will ever tame them.

Until now?

WHAT THE GREEK’S MONEY CAN’T BUY April 2014

Sakis is hungry to give in to the forbidden temptation of his buttoned-up PA—but will the cynical Greek pay the price for breaking his golden rule?

WHAT THE GREEK CAN’T RESIST June 2014

Perla Lowell is the last woman Arion should want yet he can’t deny himself one night with this irresistible temptress—but what will happen when the dark-hearted Greek discovers the consequences of succumbing to his desire?

Don’t miss Theo’s story, coming soon!

What the Greek

Can’t Resist

Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-472-04260-6

WHAT THE GREEK CAN’T RESIST

© 2014 Maya Blake

Published in Great Britain 2014

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2019-01-24

MAYA BLAKE fell in love with the world of the alpha male and the strong, aspirational heroine when she borrowed her sister’s Mills & Boon® at age thirteen. Shortly thereafter the dream to plot a happy ending for her own characters was born. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon® is a dream come true. Maya lives in South East England with her husband and two kids. Reading is an absolute passion, but when she isn’t lost in a book she likes to swim, cycle, travel and Tweet!

You can get in touch with her

via e-mail at mayablake@ymail.com, or on Twitter: www.twitter.com/mayablake

Recent titles by the same author:

WHAT THE GREEK’S MONEY CAN’T BUY

(The Untamable Greeks) HIS ULTIMATE PRIZE MARRIAGE MADE OF SECRETS THE SINFUL ART OF REVENGE

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

THE CAR PARK was as quiet as she’d hoped it would be. Inside her trusted Mini’s soothing cocoon, Perla Lowell bit the tip of her pen and searched fruitlessly for the right words.

Four lines. Four paltry lines in two hours were all she’d managed to come up with. She swallowed her despair. Three short days from now she’d have to stand up in front of friends and family and make a speech...

And she had no words.

No, scratch that. She had words. But none rang true. Because the truth... No, she couldn’t...wouldn’t subject anyone to the truth. Her whole life for the past three years had been a colossal lie. Was it any wonder her hands shook every time she tried to write? That her heart pounded with self-loathing for the lies she had to perpetuate for the sake of appearances?

But how could she do anything else? How could she repay kindness with humiliation? Because doing or saying anything else other than what was expected would bring devastation that she couldn’t live with.

Anger mingled with despair. With a vicious twist she ripped the paper in two. The cathartic sound echoed through the car and spilled out into the night air. As if loosening the stranglehold she’d exercised on her emotions for longer than she cared to remember, the tears she’d been unable to shed so far now pierced through her tightened chest into her throat.

Her fingers gained a life of their own. Two halves of paper became four, then eight. She ripped again and again, until the sheet spilled through her hands in little wisps of illegible confetti. She upended her hands and watched the mess strewn all over the passenger seat. With a jagged groan, she buried her face in her hands, expecting finally, finally, to shed a tear.

The tears never came. They remained locked inside, as they had been for the last two weeks, taunting her, punishing her for daring to wish for them when deep down she knew to cry would be shamefully, deeply disingenuous.

Because, deep inside, she felt...relieved. At a time when she should’ve been devastated, she felt a shameful lightening of being!

Slowly, she dropped her hands and stared through the windscreen. Her vision cleared and she focused on the palatial Georgian structure in front of her.

Despite its recent multi-million-pound revamp, Macdonald Hall had retained its quintessential old English charm, along with its exclusive membership-by-invitation-only Macdonald Club, and the extensive gold standard golf course that lay beyond the imposing façade.

The centuries-old establishment’s only nod to the common man was the cocktail bar, which was open to the public from seven until midnight.

Perla sucked in a deep breath and glanced down at the ripped paper. Guilt bit deep as she acknowledged how good it’d felt to let go. Just this once, to not hold herself back, to not watch her every word or smile when she felt like cursing her fate. To be normal...

The feeling wouldn’t last, of course. There was still tomorrow to get through and the next day, and the next.

Dark anguish had her reaching for her bag.

She was far enough away from home not to be recognised here. It was, after all, why she’d driven for over an hour to find a quiet spot to compose the hard-to-find words.

Granted, her journey had been futile so far. But she wasn’t ready to return home yet; wasn’t ready to face the cloying compassionate gestures and well-meaning, concerned but probing looks.

Her gaze refocused on Macdonald Hall.

One drink. Then she’d drive back home and start again tomorrow.

Opening her bag, she searched for the small brush to run it through her hair in an attempt to tame the unruly curls. When her fingers touched the tube of lipstick, she nearly dismissed it.

Scarlet wasn’t really her colour, and normally she wouldn’t even glance at one that described itself as Do Me Red; she only had the sample lipstick because it’d come free with a book purchase. She would never dare to wear anything so bold. So daring. Even on other women, she found the colour too sensual, too look-at-my-mouth.

Fingers trembling, she uncapped the tube, angled the rear-view mirror and carefully applied the lipstick. The unexpected result—the wanton, blatantly sultry image that stared back at her—had her rummaging through her bag for a tissue to reverse the damage. When she came up empty, she paused. Her gaze slowly slid back to the mirror.

Her heart hammered.

Was it so bad? Just for tonight, would it be so bad to look, to feel like someone else other than Perla Lowell, complete fraud? To forget the pain and unrelenting humiliation she’d suffered for the last three years, if only for a few minutes?

Before she could change her mind, she fumbled for the door handle and stepped out of her car into the cool night air. Her party days might be long behind her but even she knew her simple black sleeveless dress and low black pumps were appropriate for a cocktail bar on a quiet Tuesday night.

And if it wasn’t, the worst that could happen was she would be asked to leave. And right now, being thrown out of an exclusive cocktail bar where no one knew who she was would be a walk in the park compared to the monumental farce she had to go through.

A smartly dressed concierge greeted her and directed her through a parquet-floored, oak-panelled hallway to a set of old-fashioned double doors with the words Bar fashioned in burnished gold plate above them.

Another similarly dressed man opened the door and tipped his cap to her.

Feeling seriously out of her depth, Perla took fleeting note of the discreetly expensive wood and brocade décor before her eyes zeroed in on the long, low-slung bar. Seriously intimidating rows of drinks were displayed on a revolving carousel and, behind the bar, a bartender twirled a sterling silver set of cocktail shakers while chatting to a young couple.

For a split second, Perla considered turning on her heel and marching straight back out. She forced herself to take a step and another until she reached the unoccupied end of the bar. She’d come this far... Sucking in another sustaining breath, she slid onto the stool and placed her handbag on the counter.

Now what?

‘What’s a fine girl like you doing in a place like this?’

The cheese-tastic line startled a strained laugh out of her as she turned towards the voice.

‘That’s better. For a second there, I thought someone had died in here and I hadn’t been told,’ the bartender’s white smile, no doubt tailor-made to drive hormonal girls wild, widened as his gaze traced her face in blatant appraisal. ‘You’re the second person to walk in here tonight looking like you’re a fully paid-up member of the doom-and-gloom brigade.’

In another lifetime, Perla would’ve found his boyish, perfectly groomed looks charming. Unfortunately, she existed in this lifetime, and she’d learnt to her cost that the outside rarely matched the inside.

She willed her smile in place and folded her hands on top of her purse. ‘I...I’d like a drink, please.’

‘Sure thing.’ He leaned in closer and his eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘What’s your poison?’

Her gaze darted to the cocktails on display. She had no clue what any of them were. The last time she’d been in a bar like this, the drink in fashion had been Amaretto Sour. She wanted to ask for a Cosmopolitan but wasn’t even sure if that was still in vogue these days.

She gritted her teeth again and contemplated walking out. Sheer stubbornness made her stay on the stool. She’d been pushed around enough; endured enough. For far too long she’d allowed someone else to call the shots, to dictate the way she lived her life.

No more. Granted, the scarlet lipstick had been a bad idea—it was clear it drew far too much unwanted attention to her mouth—but Perla refused to let that stand in the way of this one small bolstering move.

Squaring her shoulders, she indicated a dark red drink with lots of sunny umbrellas sticking out of it. ‘I’ll have that one.’

He followed her gaze and frowned. ‘The Pomegranate Martini?’

‘Yes. What’s wrong with it?’ she asked when he continued to frown.

‘It’s a bit...well, lame.’

Her lips firmed. ‘I’ll take it anyway.’

‘Come on, let me—’

‘Give the lady what she wants,’ a low, dark drawl sounded behind her right shoulder. The smooth but unmistakable cadence in the masculine voice spelled a foreign accent, possibly Mediterranean, that caused a shiver to dance down Perla’s spine.

She froze in her seat, her back stiffening as sensation skittered over her skin.

The bartender visibly paled before nodding quickly and sidling off to prepare her cocktail.

Perla felt his silent presence behind her, a palpable force field that bore down and surrounded her with unmistakable power. Her mind shrieked with danger, but for the life of her she couldn’t move. Her hand tightened over the strap of her handbag, her fingers plucking frantically at the beads that decorated the dark satin exterior.

‘Turn around,’ came the low command.

Her back stiffened some more. Another man who wanted to push her buttons. ‘Look, I just want to be left alone—’

‘Turn around, if you please,’ he instructed again in that low, growly voice.

Not please but if you please. The slightly old-fashioned turn of phrase piqued her curiosity. Coupled with the dark rumble of his voice, Perla was seriously tempted to do as he asked.

But not enough to give in. She remained facing forward.

‘I just saved you from becoming the potential target of a chancer with delusions of swagger. The least you can do is turn around and talk to me.’

Despite her stomach flipping again at the impact of his voice, Perla’s lips tightened. ‘I didn’t want nor need your help...and I don’t really want to talk to anyone so...’

She glanced towards the bartender with the intention of cancelling her order. The long drive here...the inspired words she’d hoped to write...the idea of a quick drink...the courage-lending scarlet lipstick—probably that most of all—had all been an unmitigated disaster. Again she felt pain tighten her chest and fought to keep her emotions under strict control.

Behind her, the man who thought he was her saviour stood in imposing, stifling silence. She knew he was there because his scent lingered in her nostrils—intriguingly spicy, masculine and raw—and she could hear his firm, steady breathing. Again an alien sensation skittered over her skin. The urge to look over her shoulder scythed through her but she refused the urge. She’d failed herself in so many things. Perla refused to fail at this one thing.

Lifting her hand, she tried to catch the bartender’s attention but his gaze was focused behind her...on the man whose presence, even without her knowing who he was or her having seen him, spelled power with a capital P.

She watched in stunned silence as the bartender nodded in answer to a silent command, rounded the counter with her drink and headed towards a dark corner of the bar.

Outraged, Perla finally turned to find the man—tall, dark-haired and incredibly broad-shouldered—retreating to the table where her drink had been placed along with another, presumably his.

Pure anger spiked through her. Her heels landed on the polished wood floor and she was marching over to him before she fully registered her intention. ‘What the hell do you think you’re—?’

He turned to face her and the words dried in Perla’s throat.

Gorgeous. Astoundingly. Gorgeous. The description lit up like a neon sign in her head—bright, bold, insistent. And so unbelievably real, Perla could only stare in astonishment. Even as she took in the sheer vitality of his olive skin, the lethal bone structure that made up his striking features and the tinge of grey in his hair and designer stubble—her personal, stupidly debilitating weakness—she knew she should never have turned around; never have followed him.

She should’ve heeded her instinct and walked straight out.

Dear Lord, hadn’t she learned from her mistake? She gave a slight shake of her head and tried to step back. She had no business being here; no business staring at a man the way she was staring at this stranger. If anyone found out...

Move!

Her feet wouldn’t comply.

Deep hazel eyes bored into hers, then slowly traced her body from head to toe and back again. Perla found herself holding her breath, her fingers once again working frantically over the beads on her handbag.

The breathtaking stranger’s gaze paused at her hair. ‘Is that colour real?’ he rasped in that knee-weakening, pulse-stroking voice.

‘Excuse me?’

‘That shade of red. Is it real?’ he demanded.

A little bit of her entrancement receded. ‘Of course it’s real. Why would I dye—?’ She stopped as it occurred to her then that he didn’t know her and therefore wouldn’t know that the last thing she concerned herself with was vanity in the form of artificial hair colour. There was no one to please or pander to and she was too busy surviving to think about frivolous things such as what colour to dye her hair. ‘It’s real, okay? Now will you explain what you’re playing at? That’s my drink you’ve just commandeered.’

‘Your manners seemed to have deserted you. I’m merely redressing the situation.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘Please sit down.’

Lifting an eyebrow, she remained standing.

With a shrug, he remained standing too.

She blew out an irritated breath. ‘My manners haven’t deserted me. You stepped in and took over a situation I had under control. What did you think, that the bartender would’ve vaulted over the counter and assaulted me in plain sight of the other customers?’ she snapped.

He broke his fascination with her hair and dropped his gaze to capture hers. ‘What other customers?’ he asked.

‘The couple over there—’ She broke off as she looked around. The young couple were gone. Aside from a waiter who was clearing a few other tables, only the tall stranger and bartender remained in the bar. As she watched, the waiter walked through a set of swinging doors and disappeared.

She swallowed. ‘This is a reputable place. Things like that don’t happen here.’

‘And what exactly do you base that statistic on? Are you a frequent visitor?’

She flushed. ‘No, of course not. And I’m not naïve. I just...I just think—’

‘That predators in Savile Row suits are less vicious than those in hoodies?’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I came here for a quiet drink.’ Her gaze dropped to the bold and garish-looking cocktail standing next to his dark-coloured spirit.

This was fast getting out of hand, and she needed to think about getting back. Or she would have more explaining to do.

He indicated the chair one more time. ‘You can still have it. And you needn’t worry about making conversation. We can sit here and not...talk.’

His words piqued her curiosity. Or maybe she just wanted a distraction from the pain and chaos that awaited her the moment she left this place.

She forced herself to look at him—really look past the surface hurt-your-eyes gorgeousness of the man—past the powerful shoulders underneath the impeccable suit and loosened silk tie. His hair was slightly ruffled, as if he’d shoved a hand through it once or twice.

The brackets around his mouth were deeply grooved and when she chanced another look into his eyes, what Perla glimpsed made her heart hammer.

In that instant she knew he wasn’t here to prey on unsuspecting or vulnerable women. That wasn’t to say women would be safe from the sensual aura and sheer charisma that oozed from him. Far from it.

But for tonight, in this very moment, whoever this man was, the emotions lurking in his eyes weren’t of a predatory nature. The pain she saw resonated with her on so deep a level, she found it hard to breathe through it.

His eyes narrowed, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. He stiffened and his mouth firmed. For a moment she thought he was going to change his mind about his earlier invitation.

Abruptly he moved a step forward, touched the back of the chair. ‘Sit down. Please,’ he repeated.

Perla sat. In silence, he pushed her drink towards her.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

He inclined his head and raised his glass towards her. ‘To not talking.’

She touched her glass to his; a surreal feeling overtook her as she stared at him over the rim of her glass and took a sip of her cocktail. The potent alcohol hit the back of her throat, warming and cooling at the same time. The tartness of the pomegranate burst on her tongue, making her close her eyes in a single moment of pleasure before the strength of his scrutiny propelled her eyelids back open.

Once again, he seemed fascinated with her hair. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to fiddle with it. She sucked harder on her straw, partly to finish the drink quicker so she could leave and partly because it gave her something to do other than stare at this hauntingly beautiful man.

They sipped their drinks in silence.

With a very unsettling amount of regret, Perla set her empty glass down.

The stranger followed suit. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For controlling the urge to indulge in idle chit-chat.’

‘I told you, that’s not what I came here for. If it was, I’d have brought a friend. Or come earlier when I knew there would be more people here. I presume you chose this time for the same reason.’

A shaft of pain flitted over his features but was gone in the next instant. ‘You presume correct.’

She shrugged. ‘Then there’s no need to thank me.’

He stilled, the only movement his gaze as it flew once again to her hair. When it traced down to her mouth, Perla became very much aware of the scarlet lipstick. Before she could stop herself, she licked her tingling lower lip.

His low hiss was an alien sound that sent a fresh wave of goose bumps over her skin. She’d never elicited such a reaction in a man before. Perla wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or terrified.

‘Are you staying here, at Macdonald Hall?’ she asked, in the hope of deflecting the unsettling feeling his hiss had elicited.

The stranger’s hand tightened slowly into a fist on the table. ‘For tonight and the next few nights, yes.’

She looked from his hand to his face. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be here?’ she asked.

‘Because we don’t always get to decide our own fate. But I’m obliged to be here for the next few days. It doesn’t mean I’m pleased about it.’

She glanced at his empty glass. ‘Then I suppose you’ll be upgrading to a bottle instead of a glass shortly?’

He shrugged. ‘Drinking is one way of making the time pass faster, I suppose.’

Danger crawled across her skin, sparking a flame in her belly, but Perla couldn’t move. ‘When you’re alone in a bar at almost midnight, I don’t really see much else to entertain you.’ Her voice emerged huskier than she’d ever heard it.

He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘But I’m not alone. Not any more. I’ve saved you, a damsel in distress, and my reward is your company for now.’

‘I’m not a damsel in distress. Besides, you don’t know me from a blade of grass. I could be one of those predators you described, for all you know, Mr...?’

Her blatant demand for his name went unanswered as he nodded to the bartender and indicated their empty glasses.

‘I don’t think I should have another drink—’

Hooded hazel eyes trapped hers. ‘But we’re just getting to know one another. You were telling me about being a ruthless predator.’

‘And you wanted to be alone less than ten minutes ago, remember? Besides, what makes you think I want to get to know you?’

His small smile was both self-assured and self-pitying, a curious, intriguing combination. ‘I don’t. Forgive me for the assumption. If you wish you leave, you may do so.’

Again the courteous words laced with arrogance set her teeth on edge. But Perla found she couldn’t look away from the fascinating man, whose extremely powerful aura held a wealth of pain and sadness that drew her...made her hesitate.

She licked her lips and immediately regretted it when his gaze latched onto the movement. ‘I don’t need your permission but I...I’ll stay for another drink.’

He nodded solemnly. ‘Efharisto.’ The way his voice and sensual lips formed the word made her stomach perform an annoying little flip.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Greek, for thank you.’

‘Oh, you’re Greek? I love Greece. I visited Santorini a long time ago for the wedding of a client. I remember thinking at the time it’s where I’d like to get married one day. That has got to rank up there as one of the most beautiful places on earth—’ Perla drew to a sharp halt as his face tightened suddenly. ‘I’m sorry. Mindless chit-chat?’

One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘It’s not as mindless as I thought it would be. So you love Greece. What else do you love?’

Her gaze dropped to the table, then immediately rose to meet his, almost against her will. ‘Is this the part where I say long walks in the rain with that special someone?’

‘Only if it’s true. Personally, I detest the rain. I prefer wall-to-wall sunshine. And the sea.’

‘And the special someone is optional?’

That look she’d caught on his face earlier returned—the cross between ragged pain and guilt—and this time it stayed for several moments before he shrugged.

‘If you’re lucky enough to have the choice, and to hang onto your good fortune.’

She bit her lip but was stopped from answering as the bartender delivered their order. Again silence ensued as they sipped their drinks. Only this time, when his gaze travelled over her, she boldly watched him back.

The silvery strands that blended into his temples coupled with the designer stubble gave him a seriously gorgeous but distinctly imposing look that sent her heart thudding faster. He looked vaguely familiar. Mentally shrugging, Perla concluded she must have seen him in the newspaper or on TV. His air of importance and easy way he commanded power lent itself to that theory. And, of course, he was here, at Macdonald Hall, one of the most exclusive private sport clubs in the country.

His fingers curled around his glass and she watched him lift his drink to his lips, his gaze staying on hers. Heat rushed through her, filling her up in places she’d begun to think were frozen forever. Perla tried to tell herself it was the alcohol but in an angry rush of rejection she forced herself to face the truth. She was done lying to herself, to glossing over the bare truth in order to lessen her pain.

No more!

She was attracted to this man. To his gorgeous, pain-etched face, the haunted hazel eyes, the strong stubbled jaw she wanted to run her fingers over just to see if it felt as rough as his manly, callused fingers. The mental pictures reeling through her head should’ve shocked and shamed her. But, for tonight, Perla was determined to suspend shame. And really, when had looking been a crime? And he was as exquisite a specimen as any.

‘Be careful, little one. This big, bad wolf has vicious, merciless teeth.’

The softly voiced caution ripped her from her thoughts.

What was she doing?

In a rush, she put down her barely touched drink, stood up and snatched her handbag. ‘I...you’re right. Caution is usually my middle name so, um...thanks for the drink.’ Her tongue felt thick with the lack of knowledge of the proper etiquette. ‘And for the company.’

Her breath caught when he stood to tower over her. ‘Did you drive here?’ he demanded.

‘Yes, but I barely touched my second drink and—’

‘My driver will deliver you home.’

A mixture of fear and anxiety roiled through her. Imagine the gossip if she returned home in a strange man’s car! Granted it was almost midnight but it would only take one sighting for the rumour mill to spin into overdrive. She had enough on her plate to deal with as it was.

‘No. That’s very kind of you but it’s not necessary.’

His striking, very hypnotic eyes narrowed. In that moment, all Perla noticed were his insanely thick eyelashes and the way his mouth turned down when he was displeased. The urge to take that look from his face shocked her into stepping back. When she took another step back, he followed.

‘Let me at least walk you to your car.’

‘I’m perfectly capable—’

‘That wasn’t a suggestion.’

‘Didn’t you warn me about Savile-Row-dressed predators a short while ago?’

That sad, almost haunted smile made another appearance. Those endlessly fascinating fingers delved into his bespoke jacket and emerged with his smartphone. He tapped the three-digit emergency number into it and extended it to her, pointing to the dial button. ‘Hit that button if I so much as exhale the wrong way between here and your car. But make no mistake, I’m walking you out of here and seeing you into your car.’

With a shaky hand, she took his phone. His fingers brushed then stilled against hers. Warmth infused her. Without thinking, she rubbed her fingers against his and heard his sharp intake of breath as he fell into step beside her.

The walk to her car took minutes but it felt like the longest walk of her life. Beside her, the tall, dark and dangerous stranger lessened his significantly long stride to match hers. Over and over again, Perla felt the heat of his gaze travel over her. She forced herself not to glance at him. To do so would’ve wavered her intent, made her give in to the intensely mortifying need that had taken root inside her.

But, with each dreaded step to her car, Perla felt as if she was fighting a losing battle. What had she achieved by coming here? So far, a big fat nothing. She hadn’t even broached the task she would give everything not to have to deal with. A task she would’ve given everything not to return to.

Surely it wasn’t wrong to make this moment with this perfect stranger last a little longer? She gave an inward sigh.

Who was she kidding? Fate had stuck two fingers up to her over and over. Why should tonight be any different?

She stopped beside her car and turned towards him. With a deep breath, she held out his phone. ‘I told you this wasn’t necessary. But again, thanks.’

He barely glanced at the gadget. ‘You’re not out of danger yet.’

She looked up into his face. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice a touch too breathless.

He stepped closer, his body heat slamming into her, making her head spin. ‘Hang onto it for a little while longer. I don’t want to end our conversation, not just yet.’

Perla’s pulse rate shot up even higher. ‘Why?’

‘Because...’ He seemed to catch himself just then. A frown creased his brow and he shook his head.

When he stepped back, a spasm of fear that she was losing him made her lean towards him. ‘Because...?’

He focused on her. Hazel eyes pinned her to the spot, then rushed to her hair, over her face, her neck, down to her toes before coming back to her face. He muttered something under his breath, something in his native tongue that held no meaning for her.

‘Tell me your name.’

Her mouth dried. ‘It’s...Pearl.’ She cringed inwardly at the small fib but, growing up, her unusual name had often been mistaken for the more common Pearl. Besides, the anonymity made her feel less exposed.

His hooded gaze dropped to her lips, its message so blatantly sexual, her breath stalled in her chest. ‘I have an irresistible urge to kiss you, Pearl. Does that make you want to run?’

The rawness behind the words rocked her to her soul, resonated beside her own turmoil. She watched his eyes slowly grow darker, more tormented. Before she could consciously stop herself, she reached up and cupped his taut cheek.

‘No. But it makes me want to know what’s wrong,’ she said softly.

He made a rough sound under his breath, like a proud but wounded animal. ‘Nothing I wish to bore you with tonight.’

‘What makes you think I’ll be bored? Perhaps I need the distraction as much as you do,’ she said in a rush of confession. She swayed closer and stopped herself a mere whisper from him. ‘Perhaps I want to give you what you want because it’s what I want too?’ It felt a little absurd, having this conversation with him. But it also felt...oddly right.

‘Be very careful what you wish for, little one,’ he breathed.

‘Oh, but I have been. Very careful. Too careful at times. I’m tired of being careful.’

His hand reached up to cover hers, pressed her hand harder into his jaw. Underneath her fingers, his stubble bristled against her palm, sparking an electric current that transmitted up her arm and suffused her whole body.

‘Don’t offer temptation you won’t be able to deliver on,’ he warned.

‘Are you challenging me?’

‘I’m offering a word of caution. I don’t wish to frighten you so perhaps you should leave now,’ he grated out. ‘Or stay, if you’re brave enough. I accept that the choice is yours. But decide quickly.’

Contrary to his words, his fingers caught and imprisoned a thick strand of her hair, his movement almost reflexive as he passed the tresses through his fingers repeatedly.

Caught in a sensation so alien and yet so right, Perla closed that last tiny gap between them. Strong hands immediately caught her to him. She collided with over six feet of lean muscle that knocked the air out of her lungs.

Before she could draw breath, his lips settled over hers. Every thought flew out of her head as she became lost in pure, electric sensation. He kissed her as if she was life-giving oxygen, as if he needed her to survive. That knowledge more than anything caught a fragile spot inside her; shook it free and allowed her to enjoy this, to become a part of this small healing process that they both needed.

With a groan, she pressed herself closer until she could feel his heartbeat against her breasts, the ridged chest muscles crushing her softer ones. Both his hands encompassed her waist and lifted her up onto the bonnet of her car. Then he plunged both fingers into her hair, angled her face up to his and proceeded to dive deeper into their kiss.

Only the need for air finally separated them.

Perla’s breaths puffed out into the cool night and threatened to cease altogether when she saw the smear of scarlet on his lips.

Reaching up, she touched his mouth. He made a sound of mingled pain and pleasure and she almost lost her mind.

‘I...I...’ She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to say. Only that she needed to make sense of what was happening to her. ‘Is that enough?’ From the depths of her soul came a yearning for him to say no.

When he shook his head, her heart soared.

‘No, it’s not. The taste of you is intoxicating. I want to drown in you.’ He captured her face in his hands and kissed her some more, murmuring phrases in Greek she had no hope of understanding. When he released her, he was breathing hard. Pulling her close, he rested his forehead against hers. ‘Theos...this is madness, but I can’t let you go. Not yet.’ He pulled back and tilted her face to his, his hazel eyes swirling with the same potent need that twisted inside her. ‘Stay with me tonight, Pearl.’

Her decision was instant; so frighteningly committed that she forced herself to remain silent when she wanted to blurt it out. Her fingers moved again over his soft, sensual lips. He captured them and kissed her knuckle. It occurred to her that she held his phone in her other hand. One small movement of her thumb and this would be over—decision made.

Or she could give the answer she wanted, no, needed to give. Take back a small piece of herself before she had to face the world again.

‘I don’t even know your name,’ she ventured.

‘My name is Arion. If it pleases you, you can call me Ari.’

She shook her head. ‘It pleases me to call you Arion.’

She loved the way her lips curled around his name. So much so, she said it again. ‘Arion...’

His eyes darkened. ‘You like my name?’ he rasped.

‘I love your name. I’ve never heard it before... Arion.’ She couldn’t resist the temptation to try it out one more time.

He caught her up to him and banded one arm around her waist. His laser-like gaze scoured her face as if he was trying to read her innermost thoughts. ‘The way you say my name... You are dangerous, Pearl mou.’

Laughter, long suppressed under the pain of just existing, scratched from her throat. ‘Wow...I’m dangerous? That’s a first.’

‘What have other men called you?’

The question sobered her up. Familiar humiliation threatened to crawl over her but she determinedly pushed it away. Tonight was her night, her choice. She refused to let thoughts of past failures intrude.

‘What do you think they’ve called me?’

‘Breathtaking. Stunning. A beauty Aphrodite herself would be jealous of,’ he breathed against her neck as his lips caressed her skin. ‘Your hair is incredible, the colour of a Greek sunset.’

Perla’s breath hitched in her lungs. Unbidden, tears sprang into her eyes. Blinking wildly before he spotted them, she forced herself not to be drawn in by the seductive words.

‘Am I close?’ He lifted his head and rubbed his stubble—as rough as she’d imagined it would be—against her cheek.

Liquid heat melted her insides.

‘Not even a little. But don’t let that stop you.’

‘Beautiful Pearl, I want to see your hair spread over my pillow. I want to bury myself in it, strangle myself with it.’ The hoarse litany made her draw back and stare at him. Once again, his face was stamped in pain. But, alongside it, desire, strong and unmistakable, burned right into her soul. ‘Does that frighten you?’

‘I want to say no, but I am a little frightened, yes. I’ve never done this before but I want to. Very much.’ So badly she couldn’t think straight. The need to forget, just for a short while, what faced her in the next few days, was so strong she couldn’t breathe for the need of it. ‘Right now, I’m so desperate for you I don’t know how long I can stand it.’

‘Then stay. I will give you everything you desire.’ About to kiss her again, he suddenly froze. ‘Unless you’re not free to be with me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Is there a lover or a husband?’ came the tight, throaty demand.

The arrow of guilt that lanced through her made her freeze too.

This is your night. Yours! Tomorrow will come soon enough.

‘I’m free to be with you, Arion. I’ll stay with you tonight if you want me to.’

His suite was probably the last word in luxury; the fixtures and fittings ones she’d probably have ogled if she’d had a chance to take even a single note.

But with Arion’s mouth on hers, his fingers in her hair and his body pressed close and hot against hers, Perla didn’t notice one single thing about the third-floor suite, except that the RS button he’d pressed in the lift stood for Royal Suite.

She did notice the large red velvet sofa he laid her down on the minute they entered his suite’s pitch-sized living room. Although the memory of it disappeared once he’d shrugged off his jacket and tie and freed his shirt from his trousers.

His chest once he unbuttoned his shirt instantly made her mouth dry, then flood with longing as she stared at hard contours and smooth bronzed muscles. Hairless and divine, his stunning beauty made need she’d never known pulse through her.

But that was a fraction of what she felt when he dropped his trousers and stepped out of his cotton boxers. His erection stood strong and proud...and big.

Just then, the enormity of what she was doing hit her between the eyes.

She was about to lose her virginity to a complete stranger.

CHAPTER TWO

A DEEP SHUDDER ripped through Perla and she barely stopped her teeth from chattering like a wooden marionette in a child’s hand.

The sound she made as Arion, the man she had no knowledge of a mere hour ago, came towards her made him pause and frown.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

She was anything but. She shook her head, forcing a laugh. ‘No. I’m a little nervous. I haven’t—’ She stopped. What was the use of telling him of her inexperience? Whether she pleased or disappointed him, she’d never set eyes on this gorgeous man again. They were using each other to forget their pain, to hold the darkness at bay. This wasn’t the time to spill innermost secrets. It was the time to forget they existed. ‘It’s nothing.’

He nodded as if he understood. Then he took a single step forward, and angled himself over her. ‘I’ll make it good. I promise,’ he vowed, and she forgot everything else.

The kiss was hotter, deeper than the one he’d delivered at the car. This time his tongue probed her mouth with a sensual force that spoke of his need. Fists clamped in her hair, he went even deeper, his groan of satisfaction echoing her own as her fingers sought and found firm, heated, naked shoulders.

His skin felt like pure heaven. Velvety smooth and oh so gloriously luxuriant, she explored him from shoulder to back, then lower. When she moulded her hands over his bare bottom, then dug her nails into his taut flesh, he wrenched his lips from hers with a tortured groan. His breath came out in pants as he stared down at her, eyes dark with lust.

‘Promise me you’ll do that when I’m deep inside you.’

Heat drenched her from head to toe. From somewhere she summoned the strength to speak. ‘I promise.’

He licked the corner of her mouth in a move so simple and yet so powerfully erotic, she felt as if her insides would combust. She gave a heartfelt groan when he pushed himself off her. ‘For that to happen, glikia mou, you need to be as naked as I am.’

Perla stared down at herself, stunned that the power of his lust hadn’t melted the clothes off her. When he grabbed her arms and pulled her up, she went willingly. The slide of her zip was loud and intrusive in the silent room. Unwanted thoughts once again threatened to ruin the moment. What the hell are you doing? Leave. Leave now!

As if he could tell, he quickened his movements. Within seconds, he was bending over her once more, his mouth trailing down her neck, washing away her doubt, re-igniting the flames that had merely been banked.

‘Tell me how you like it, Pearl mou,’ he rasped against the valley between her breasts. ‘Tell me your favourite position and I’ll do it to you.’

Panic momentarily seized her. She searched her mind for terms she’d heard of. ‘Doggie style,’ she blurted, then cringed as her face flamed.

Thank God he didn’t notice. For some strange reason, he seemed as fascinated with her breasts as he’d been with her hair. Moulding them in his hands, he licked first one hardened nipple, then the other, then pulled them simultaneously into his mouth. At her deep groan, he smiled.

‘That is one of my favourite positions too,’ he said. His teeth grazed over her nipples, then he trailed kisses lower...lower, until she realised his destination.

He ignored the staying hand she put on his shoulder.

‘No...’

‘Yes!’ With a hot look from darkened eyes, he parted her thighs.

She held her breath but, at the first sweep of his tongue, she exhaled as pleasure she’d never known rushed over her. Before she could react to that first wave, he began a series of flicks that made stars dance before her eyes. Expertly, he pleasured her, relentless in his need to make her lose control. Buffeted by sensations she’d never experienced, Perla fought both the urge to withdraw from that wicked tongue and press her hips closer. Her head thrashed on the cushion as an unfamiliar sensation pushed her towards a blissful peak.

‘Arion! Oh, God... Oh!’ She let out a scream as her climax broke over her. Jerking uncontrollably, she sobbed as pleasure washed over her and sucked her under. When he gathered her in his arms and pulled her into his body, Perla sobbed harder.

Through it all he murmured soft words of praise and comfort, a balm her soul desperately needed. An eternity later, he started to pull away. Her protesting mutter was met with another kiss.

‘Patience, pethi mou, now the real fun begins,’ he said with dark promise.

Slowly, Perla rubbed the tears from her eyes.

Opening her eyes, she found him kneeling on the sofa, sliding on a condom. The sight of him, large and powerful and ready, sent another pulse of lust through her.

When he probed her entrance, Perla felt a moment’s twinge, a shaky feeling of disconnect. It faded away the moment he pressed himself deeper. At her body’s further resistance, he paused with a groan.

‘You’re not ready. I’m sorry, I was a little impatient.’

She slid her hands through his hair and barely resisted raising her head to kiss him. ‘I want you.’

He gave another groan and kissed her. ‘You’re not ready and I don’t want to hurt you.’

Mistaking his meaning, Perla spread her thighs wider and ventured her hips closer. ‘I’m ready now.’

Arion raised his head, a slightly puzzled look crossing his face. ‘Pearl—’

‘Please, don’t keep us waiting.’ Emboldened by his groan, she pressed even closer. He slid in another delicious inch.

The discomfort grew as he pushed in but the rush, the pleasure that followed behind it was so much worth the momentary pain. Perla’s breath fractured as she sighed in bliss. Arion’s grip tightened in her hair with the full surge of his body.

‘Theos! You’re so tight. So gorgeous.’ The warmth of his breath washed over her neck a second before his lips found and captured hers. His tongue slid into her mouth, its movement as bold and as raw as his full, relentless thrusts.

Bliss washed over her so completely, Perla had no idea where sensation started and ended. Clamping her legs around his waist, she took him fully into her body. Pleasure crested in giant waves over her. But, just as she prepared to give herself over to it, he pulled out of her. Rising to his feet, he tugged her off the sofa and onto the floor.

‘On your knees,’ he commanded. ‘It’s time to give you what you want.’

Her heart hammering with excitement, Perla complied. He came up behind her, bent her over the seat and entered her from behind.

‘Oh, my God!’ The cry was ripped from her soul, pleasure so profound radiating from inside her she thought she’d pass out.

Arion’s fingers slid through her hair over and over as he thrust inside her. Perla had never thought of her hair as an erogenous area. In fact, up till that moment, she’d never thought pleasure like this was possible.

Dear heaven, how wrong she’d been. She screamed as he pounded into her, his hoarse voice reciting her name over and over. Once again the precipice approached, the stars beckoning with a radiance she knew would touch her for ever. Behind her, Arion slid back and rested on his knees. Firm hands urged her back, all the while continuing the relentless pace that stalled her breath.

‘Ride me,’ he encouraged, his deep voice raw and urgent.

Spreading her legs wider, Perla eased herself back, the change in pace escalating her pleasure even higher. Hands gripping the sofa to steady herself, she rode herself to ecstasy. Her breath choked on a scream as her orgasm hit her. One hand clamped around her middle, Arion eased another hand over her belly to tease her clitoris, prolonging her climax. The wave seemed endless; he continued to thrust inside her despite her pleas for mercy. Just when she thought she’d expire from pleasure, she heard his deep groan. He buried his face in her hair, his thrusts growing uneven as pleasure spasms gripped him.

Several minutes later, he planted kisses on her neck and shoulder, one hand still gripped on her waist. ‘I can’t decide whether you’re an angel or a witch, sent to torment me or bring me heaven.’

Her breath caught on a soft blissful sigh. ‘Can I be both?’

‘With hair like that, you can be anything you want.’

She managed to lift her head to glance over her shoulder at him. ‘You have a freaky fascination with my hair.’

‘A fascination which includes seeing it spread over my pillow.’ He pulled out of her with a dark groan, scooped her into his arms and headed down a short hallway.

Once again she barely registered her surroundings. But, even while he secured another condom, Arion’s gaze held her captive, the look he sent her exciting her in ways she’d never have dreamt was possible. When he took command of her body once more, Perla gave herself over into his arms, a willing slave for the pleasures in store...

* * *

She woke with a start, then fought to regulate her breathing so as not to wake the sleeping man beside her.

A sneak peek at the bedside clock showed it was half past two in the morning.

Perla glanced at Arion—goodness, she didn’t even know his surname. Well, he didn’t know her real name, which was a blessing in disguise, she supposed. Not that their paths would cross again in a million years.

Her gaze devoured his sleeping form. God, he was truly spectacular, and the pleasures he’d shown her would remain unforgettable. Watching the steady rise and fall of his massive chest, she felt her nipples peak again as excitement crawled over her.

She bit her lip and forced herself to get up. She dressed in silence, holding her breath every time he moved. The small part of her that hoped he would wake and stop her leaving was ruthlessly squashed.

They could never be more than ships passing in the night. She carried too much baggage and, from what she’d glimpsed in his eyes, he carried a shipload of his own baggage. All the same, her fingers slowed on her zip. Maybe it didn’t have to be this way, maybe she could...

Stay? Dear Lord, what was she thinking?

Doing anything of that sort was totally out of the question. She had no choice but to leave.

If for no other reason than the fact that between now and Friday morning when she had to stand before a congregation and speak, she had her dead husband’s eulogy to write.

CHAPTER THREE

THE SMALL CHAPEL was packed to the rafters. Outside, a clutch of news vans and reporters were stationed, poised and ready for the opportunity to snap any picture that would feed the media frenzy of the notoriety behind this funeral.

So far, Perla hadn’t found the courage to turn around to see just how many people had wedged themselves into the tiny chapel. The one glance as people had filed in had been enough to terrify her. But she hadn’t missed the trio of limousines that had crawled past and parked ominously on the chapel lawn.

Morgan’s bosses. Probably Sakis Pantelides and various executives from Pantelides Shipping Inc. The letter announcing their attendance had arrived yesterday.

She supposed she should be thankful they were bothering to attend, considering the nefarious circumstances leading to Morgan’s death. A small, bitter part of her wished they hadn’t bothered. Their presence here would, no doubt, keep up the media frenzy, and she also couldn’t dismiss the fact that she’d had to keep demanding information from Pantelides Inc. before she’d been given very brief details of what had happened to her husband.

Granted, Sakis Pantelides had been gentle and infinitely considerate when he’d broken the horrific news to her but the fact remained that Morgan Lowell, the man she’d married, and whose secret she’d kept—still kept—had died under suspicious circumstances in a foreign country after trying to get away with defrauding his employer. Pantelides Inc. had kept a lid on the fact to protect itself from adverse publicity.

What no one realised was that this was yet another morsel of unwanted truth she had to keep to herself; another detail she couldn’t share with Morgan’s parents, who had idolised their son and remained devastated by his death. She’d been forced to gloss over the truth for their sake. Again...

She clenched her hands and forced herself to focus. She had more important things to think about now, like how she could stand up and speak of her husband when another man’s face, the fevered recollection of another man’s hands and the thrust of his hard body repeatedly flashed through her brain.

Dear God, what had she done? What had she been thinking?

Although guilt clawed through her belly, the shame she expected to feel remained way below an acceptable level. In fact she barely felt anything except the forceful presence of her one-night lover, deep inside her, surrounding her, pulsing around her like a live electric current with every breath she took.

She’d taken three showers this morning, all in the vain hope of washing herself free of his scent. But it was as if he’d invaded her thoughts as well as her pores. Behind her, whispered voices surged higher and she heard shuffling as the congregation made way for new arrivals.

Perla’s breath stalled as she caught the familiar scent again. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. God, please give me strength because I’m seriously losing it here.

When her elderly neighbour and only friend Mrs Clinton’s hand covered hers, she gratefully clutched it. The discerning woman had wisely put herself between Perla and Morgan’s parents but she felt their heartbreak with every fibre of her being.

For their sake, for the kindness and open warmth they’d shown her, she had to keep it together. They were the reason she’d borne this humiliation for so long. Morgan had known that. Had banked on it, in fact, and used it as the perfect blackmail tool when she’d threatened to leave him—

‘Not long before it starts. Don’t worry, dear; in less than an hour, it’ll be over. I went through the same thing with my Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone means well, but they don’t know the best they can do in times like these is to leave you alone, do they?’

Perla attempted a response and only managed a garbled croak. Mrs Clinton patted her hand again reassuringly. With relief, she heard the organ starting up. As she stood, Perla caught the scent again, and quickly locked her knees as she swayed.

She glanced to the side and saw a tall, imposing man with a thin scar above his right eye standing next to a striking blonde.

Sakis Pantelides, the man who’d phoned two weeks ago with news of her husband’s death. His condolences had been genuine enough but after her discovery of just what Morgan had done to his company, Perla wasn’t so sure his attendance here was an offer of support.

Her gaze shifted to the proprietorial arm he kept around the woman, his fiancée, Brianna Moneypenny, and she felt a twinge of shame-laced jealousy.

He caught her gaze and he gave a short nod in greeting before returning his attention to the front.

She faced forward again, but the unsettling feeling that had gripped her nape escalated. The feeling grew as the ceremony progressed. By the time the priest announced the eulogy reading, Perla’s stomach churned with sick nerves. She pushed it away. Whatever emotional turmoil she was experiencing had nothing to do with the Pantelides family and everything to do with what she’d done on Tuesday night. And those memories had no place here in this chapel, today.

No matter what Morgan had put her through, she had to do this without breaking down. She had to endure this for his parents’ sake.

They’d offered her the only home she’d ever known, and the warmth she’d only ever dreamed about as a child.

Another pat from Mrs Clinton gave her the strength to keep upright. She thought she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her but Perla didn’t turn around. She needed every ounce of focus to stride past the coffin holding her dead husband...the husband who, while he’d been alive, had taken great pleasure in humiliating her; the husband who even in death...seemed to be mocking her.

She got to the lectern and unfolded the piece of paper. Nerves gripped her and, although she knew it was rude, she couldn’t look up from the sheet. She had a feeling she would lose her nerve if her gaze strayed from the paper in her hand.

Clearing her throat, she moved closer to the microphone.

‘I met Morgan at the uni bar on my first day on campus. I was the wide-eyed, clueless outsider who had no clue what went into a half-fat, double-shot pumpkin spice latte—except maybe the pumpkin—and he was the second-year city dude every girl wanted to date. Even though he didn’t ask me out until I was in my last year, I think I fell in love with him at first sight...’

Perla carried on reading, refusing to dwell on how overwhelmingly wrong she’d been about the man she’d married; how utterly gullible she must have been to have had the wool pulled over her eyes so effectively until it was too late.

But now was not the time to think of past mistakes. She read on, saying the right thing, honouring the man who right from the very beginning of their marriage had had no intention of honouring her.

‘...I’ll always remember Morgan with a pint in his hand and a twinkle in his eye, telling rude jokes in the uni bar. That was the man I fell in love with and he’ll always remain in my heart.’

Unshed tears clogged her throat again. Swallowing, she folded the sheet and finally gathered the courage to look up.

‘Thank you all for coming—’

She choked to a halt as her gaze clashed with a pair of sinful, painfully familiar hazel eyes.

No.

Oh, God, no...

Her knees gave way. Frantically, she clutched at the lectern. She felt her hand begin to slip. Someone shouted and moved towards her. Unable to breathe or halt her crumpling legs, she cried out. Several people rushed towards her. Hands grabbed her before she fell, righted her, helped her down from the dais.

And, through it all, Arion Pantelides stared at her from where he stood next to the man she’d guessed was Sakis Pantelides, icy condemnation blazing from his eyes and washing over her until her whole body went numb.

* * *

Ari tried to breathe past the vice squeezing his chest, past the thick anger and acrid bitterness lashing his insides. The pain that rose alongside it, he refused to acknowledge.

Why would he feel pain? He had no one to blame but himself. After all life had thrown at him, he’d dared to believe he could reach out and seek goodness when there was none to be had. Only disappointment. Only heartache. Only disgust.

But still the anger came, thick and fast and strong, as he stared at Pearl...no, Perla Lowell, the woman who’d lied about her name and slithered into his bed while her husband’s body was barely cold.

Disgust roiled through him. Even now, the memory of what they’d done to each other made fiery desire pool in his groin. Gritting his teeth, he forced his fists to unclench as he stamped down on the emotion.

He’d let himself down, spectacularly and utterly. On the most sacred of days, when he should’ve been honouring his past, he’d allowed himself to succumb to temptation.

Temptation with absolutely the wrong woman.

One who’d turned out to be as duplicitous and as sullied as the husband she was burying.

‘Do you know what’s going on with her?’ His younger brother, Sakis, slid a glance at him.

Ari kept his gaze fixed ahead, jaw clenched tight. ‘It’s her husband’s funeral. I’d have thought it was obvious she’s drowning in grief.’ How bitter those words tasted in his mouth. Because he knew they were the last emotion Perla Lowell was feeling. A woman who could do what she’d done with him forty-eight hours before putting her dead husband in the ground?

No, grief didn’t even get a look-in.

Whereas he... Theos.

His gut clenched hard at the merciless lash of memories. He’d gorged himself on her, greedy in his need to forget, to blank the pain that had eviscerated him with each heartbeat.

Turning away from the spectacle playing out on the altar, he followed the trickle of guests who’d started to leave the chapel.

‘Are you sure that’s all?’ Sakis demanded. ‘I could’ve sworn she totally freaked out only when she saw you.’

Ari rounded on him as they exited into dappled sunshine. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I don’t know, brother, but she seemed to be fixated on you. I thought maybe you knew her.’

‘I’ve never been to this backwater until today, and I only came because you insisted you couldn’t make it. What are you doing here, anyway?’

‘It was my fault. I insisted.’ Brianna, his beautiful soon-to-be sister-in-law spoke up. ‘I thought, as Lowell’s former employer, Sakis should be here. We tried to call you to let you know but your phone was off and the staff at Macdonald Hall said you’d checked out yesterday.’

His jaw clenched harder at the reminder.

He’d been running a fool’s errand, desperately trying to track down the woman who’d run out on him in the middle of the night. A day and a half, he’d driven up and down the damned countryside, searching for the Mini whose red paint was a poor match for the vibrant hair colour of the woman who’d made him lose his mind and forget his pain for a few blissful hours.

Theos! How could he not have seen that it was all an illusion? They said sex made fools of men. They’d said nothing about the deadly blade of memory and the consequences of a desperate search for oblivion.

Bringing his mind into focus, he lowered his gaze away from his brother’s blatant curiosity.

‘We’ve paid our respects, now can we get the hell out of here?’ he rasped.

Sakis nodded at a few guests before he answered him. ‘Why, what’s the hurry?’

‘I have a seven o’clock meeting first thing in the morning, then I fly out to Miami.’

Sakis frowned. ‘It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon, Ari.’

His body didn’t know that because he’d been up all day and all night, searching...chasing a dream that didn’t exist.

He was losing it. He needed to get out of there before he marched back into that tiny chapel and roared his fury at that red-headed witch inside.

‘I know what time it is. If you want to stay, feel free. I’ll send the chopper back to Macdonald Hall for you two.’ He couldn’t get out of here fast enough, although every single bone in his body wanted to confront the duplicitous widow and give her a hefty piece of his mind.

With a nod at his brother and Brianna, he cut his way through the gawping crowd, uncaring that his face was set in a formidable scowl.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red hair heading his way. Although anger rose up within him, it took a monumental effort not to turn his head and see if it was Perla.

Clenching his fist, he stalked faster towards his limo, the need to be gone a fierce, urgent demand.

‘Arion, wait!’ Her husky voice was almost lost in the cacophony of the funeral spectacle. And it was a spectacle. Morgan Lowell’s starring role in his own death via a drug overdose had ensured the media would make a meal of his funeral, even with the scant facts they knew.

Ari froze with one hand on the car door. Slowly, he sucked in a deep breath and turned to face her.

The widow in black. How very apt.

The widow whose bright, fiery red hair shone in the daylight with an unholy, tempting light, the same way it had gleamed temptingly across his pillow three nights ago.

Against his will, his body stirred. Blood pounded through his veins, momentarily deafening him with the roar of arousal. Before he could stop himself, his gaze raked over her.

Although her dress was funeral black, demure, almost plain to the point of drab, he wasn’t fooled. He knew what lay beneath, the hot curves and the treacherous thighs, the delight he would uncover should he...

No. Never in a thousand years would he bring himself to touch her. They’d come together in a moment he’d thought was sacred, monumentally divine. Instead, it’d turned out to be a tawdry roll in the hay for her.

‘Hello...Arion. I’m guessing your surname is Pantelides.’ Green eyes searched his with wariness.

‘And I now know your full name is Perla Lowell. So tell me, what role are you playing here now? Because we both know the grieving widow routine is just a front, don’t we? Perhaps you’re silently amused because you have saucy underwear underneath that staid black?’

She gasped, an expression that looked shockingly like deep hurt flashing across her face.

Theos, how utterly convincing she was. But not convincing enough to make him forget he’d nearly lost his mind hanging on for dear life as she rode him with merciless enthusiasm a little over forty-eight hours ago.

‘How dare you?’ She finally found her voice, even though it shook with her words.

‘Very easily. I was the guy you were screwing when you should’ve been home mourning your husband. Now what the hell do you want?’

Her complexion had paled but then her skin was translucent thanks to her colouring. And yes, his words had been cruel, deliberately so. But she’d sullied his own memory of what the date had meant to him for ever.

And that he found hard to forgive.

‘I was going to apologise for the...um...small deception. And to thank you for your discretion. But I see I needn’t have bothered. You’re nothing but a vile, bitter man, one who sees nothing wrong in bringing further pain and anguish on an already difficult day. So if you were truly on your way out of here, I guess the only thing I have to say is good riddance.’

Ari hardened his heart against the words. She was in the wrong here, not him. She was clearly deluded if she thought he had something to be ashamed of. Turning, he yanked the back door open.

Before he slid in, he glanced at her one last time. ‘Have fun revelling in your role of grieving widow. But when the crowd is gone and you think of reprising your other role, be sure to stay away from Macdonald Hall. Before the hour’s out, I intend to supply the management with your name and ensure you’re never allowed to set foot in there again.’

* * *

Fugue state.

Perla was sure that perfectly described her condition as she drifted through the wake, shaking hands, accepting condolences and agreeing that yes, Morgan had been a lovely man and a generous husband. On occasion, she even smiled at a distant uncle or great-aunt’s fond anecdote.

The part of her that had reeled at Ari Pantelides’s scathing condemnation an hour ago had long been suppressed under a blanket of fierce denial with Do Not Disturb signs hammered all over it.

At the time, she’d barely been able to contain the belief that he thought her some kind of scarlet woman or a trollop who frequented bars in the hope of landing a hot body for the night.

She audibly choked at the thought.

Mrs Clinton, who’d faithfully stuck by her side once they’d returned to the house she’d shared with Morgan and now shared with his parents, gave her a firm rub on the back. ‘You’re almost there, dear girl. Give it another half hour and I’ll start dropping heavy hints that you should be left alone. Enough is enough.’

She glanced at the old dear’s face. Perla had never confided the true state of her marriage with Mrs Clinton, or anyone for that matter. The very thought of it made humiliation rise like a tide inside her.

But she’d long suspected that the older woman somehow knew. Seeing the sympathy in her old rheumy eyes, Perla felt tears well up in hers.

Suddenly, as if the bough had broken, she couldn’t stop the tide of hot, gulping tears that rose from deep inside.

‘Oh, my dear.’ Warm arms hugged her, providing the solace she’d been so cruelly denied throughout her marriage. The solace she’d imagined she’d found in a luxury penthouse suite three days ago, but had turned out to be another cruel illusion.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...I didn’t mean to...’

‘Nonsense! You have every right to do whatever you want on a day like this. Propriety be damned.’

Hysterical laughter bubbled up from her throat but she quickly smothered it. When a glass containing a caramel-coloured liquid that smelled suspiciously like brandy appeared in front of her, she glanced up.

The exquisitely beautiful woman who’d introduced herself as Brianna Moneypenny, soon-to-be Brianna Pantelides, held out the drink, sympathy shining from her expertly made-up eyes.

Perla wiped her own eyes, acutely conscious that she was messing up the make-up she’d carefully applied to hide the shadows under her eyes.

‘Thank you.’

‘No need to thank me. I’ve helped myself to a shot too. This is the third funeral Sakis and I have attended in the last month. My emotions are beyond shredded.’ She sat down next to Perla, gracefully crossed her legs and offered a kind smile. ‘It’s nothing compared to what you must be feeling, of course, and if there’s anything we can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

‘I...thank you. And please extend my thanks to your fiancé and...and the other Mr Pantelides for taking the time to come...’ Perla’s voice drifted off, simply because she couldn’t think straight when her mind churned with thoughts of Arion Pantelides and the accusations he’d thrown at her. And even though she’d seen him get into his car, she couldn’t stop her gaze from scouring the room, almost afraid to find out if he’d returned to tear a few more strips off her.

‘Arion has left but I’ll let him know,’ Brianna said. A quick glance at her showed a sharp intellect that made Perla hope against hope that the other woman wasn’t putting two with two and coming up with the perfect answer.

As it was, Perla felt as if she had the dreaded letter A branded on her forehead.

‘Of course. I appreciate that he must be busy.’ She didn’t add that, in the light of what Morgan had done, they were the last people she’d expected to attend his funeral. Instead, she took a hasty sip of the brandy for much needed fortitude, and nearly choked when liquid fire burned down her throat.

‘Well, he is. But he volunteered to come down here when he thought Sakis couldn’t make it. And yet he seemed to have a bee in his bonnet about something. To be honest, it’s the first time I’ve seen him that ruffled.’ The speculation in her voice made Perla wish she’d worn her hair down to hide the colour rising in her face. ‘It was quite a sight to behold.’

‘Um, well...whatever it is, I hope he resolves it soon.’

‘Hmm, so do I—’

‘Brianna.’ Sakis Pantelides chose that moment to approach them and offer his own condolences. Perla fought to find the appropriate response despite the nerves tearing through her stomach.

Then she watched as he turned to his fiancée, his face transforming with a very visible devotion that made Perla’s heart lurch with jealousy and pain.

She’d long ago harboured hopes that someone would look at her like that. She’d foolishly believed that someone would be Morgan. Instead, he’d married her and blackmailed her into deceit and humiliation.

As an orphan, tossed from foster home to foster home all her childhood, she’d learned to mask the raw pain and despair of being the odd child that nobody wanted. But the hollow feeling in her belly had never gone away.

Meeting Morgan and suddenly finding herself the sole focus of his charm and wit had tricked her naïve self into believing she’d finally found someone who loved and cared for her, not out of duty, or because the state was paying them to do so, but because she was worth loving.

He’d roughly pulled the wool from her eyes within days of their wedding. But, even then, she’d foolishly believed she could salvage something from the only steady relationship she’d ever known. But weeks had dragged into months and months into years and by the time she’d accepted that she’d once again been cast aside, like a broken toy no one wanted to play with, it’d been too late to leave.

Her shaky breath drew glances from Sakis and Brianna but she couldn’t look them in the face. She’d revealed so much already. She feared opening her mouth would be catastrophic, especially as she could feel Sakis Pantelides’s keen gaze boring into her.

God, please don’t let him guess what I did with his brother.

‘I think it’s time we left Mrs Lowell in peace, Sakis,’ Brianna murmured.

Sakis nodded. ‘My lawyers will be in touch with the paperwork regarding your husband’s employment entitlements. But if you need anything in the meantime, please do not hesitate to get in touch.’

She glanced at him and immediately glanced away when his gaze narrowed.

He can’t know!

Panic clawed at her. Surely Arion hadn’t told him?

From the corner of her eye she saw Morgan’s parents heading towards them. Clearing her throat, she fought the panic and pasted a suitable smile on her face.

No matter what had gone on between Morgan and her, Terry and Sarah Lowell had welcomed her into their hearts. She couldn’t repay them with betrayal.

‘I appreciate it, Mr Pantelides. Have a safe journey back to London.’

She turned away, grateful for the distraction that Morgan’s wheelchair-bound mother brought to stop her wondering just what Sakis Pantelides knew about her carnal activities with his brother.

And she certainly couldn’t think about Arion Pantelides and the heat that rushed under her skin every time she relived what had happened in his hotel room three days ago.

What had happened between them was now firmly in the past. Never to be repeated. What she needed to concentrate on now was picking up the shattered pieces and commencing the uphill battle that was the rest of her life.

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