JACQUELINE BAIRD was born and brought up in Northumbria. She met her husband when she was eighteen. Eight years later, after many adventures around the world, she came home and married him. They still live in Northumbria and now have two grown sons.

Jacqueline’s number one passion is writing. She has always been an avid reader and she had her first success as a writer at the age of eleven, when she won first prize in the Nature Diary of the Year competition at school. But she felt a little guilty because her diary was more fiction than fact.

She always loved romance novels and, when her sons went to school all day, she thought she would try writing one. She’s been writing for Mills & Boon ever since and she still gets a thrill every time a new book is published.

When Jacqueline is not busy writing, she likes to spend her time travelling, reading and playing cards. She was a keen sailor until a knee injury ended her sailing days, but she still enjoys swimming in the sea when the weather allows.

With a more sedentary lifestyle, she does visit a gym three times a week and has made the surprising discovery that she gets some good ideas while doing the mind-numbingly boring exercises on the cycling and weight machines.

Mediterranean Tycoons
Mediterranean Tycoons Reckless & Ruthless
Mediterranean Tycoons Untamed & Unleashed
Mediterranean Tycoons Wealthy & Wicked
Mediterranean Tycoons Tempting & Taken
Mediterranean Tycoons Masterful & Married
Mediterranean Tycoons Dark & Demanding
Jacqueline Baird

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Mediterranean Tycoons: Reckless & Ruthless

Husband on Trust

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

The Greek Tycoon’s Revenge

Prologue

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Return of the Moralis Wife

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Mediterranean Tycoons: Untamed & Unleashed

Picture of Innocence

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Italian’s Blackmailed Mistress

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mediterranean Tycoons: Wealthy & Wicked

The Sabbides Secret Baby

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

The Greek Tycoon’s Love-Child

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bought by the Greek Tycoon

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Mediterranean Tycoons: Tempting & Taken

The Italian’s Runaway Bride

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

His Inherited Bride

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Pregnancy of Revenge

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

Mediterranean Tycoons: Masterful & Married

Marriage at His Convenience

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Aristides’ Convenient Wife

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Billionaire’s Blackmailed Bride

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mediterranean Tycoons: Dark & Demanding

At the Spaniard’s Pleasure

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A Most Passionate Revenge

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Italian Billionaire’s Ruthless Revenge

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

Copyright

Mediterranean Tycoons Reckless & Ruthless

Husband on Trust

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’M NOT even going to get to first base, am I, honey?’

Eloise’s luscious lips parted over even white teeth in a stunning smile, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘No, Ted. You’re not.’ She shook her head, her red-gold hair swaying gently around her slender shoulders, and not being able to stop herself, she laughed out loud at the exaggerated woebegone expression on her companion’s face.

‘I knew it. When your luck is out, it’s out,’ Ted Charlton stated in his deep American drawl. ‘But what the hell? Eloise you’re a great companion, and we can still talk—more than I could ever do with my ex-wife, that’s for sure.’

Ted had told her over the meal that he was in the process of getting divorced for the third time as his wife had run off with a younger man, and Eloise felt sorry for him. Probably about fifty, he was no Adonis, but his personality and wit more than made up for his homely appearance.

‘You certainly can,’ Eloise teased him. ‘I think I know your life story from high school.’

‘Heaven forbid—I am boring you.’

Bravely she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. ‘No truly, you’ve led such a fascinating life. I hope I have even half as much fun.’

‘A beautiful talented girl like you, the world is your oyster. It gives the old ego a boost simply to be seen out with you, and if I can help you in any way I can, I will.’

It wasn’t a cast-iron contract to invest in KHE, the jewellery design company she shared with her two friends, Katy and her husband Harry, but it was almost as good as, Eloise thought happily.

‘That’s very kind of you.’ She beamed at her companion. She had never dined with a prospective investor in her life, and she would not have been doing it now, except Katy—who was seven and a half months pregnant—had not been feeling well. Harry, who looked after the business side of things, wanted to stay at home with his wife, but had arranged a dinner with Ted Charlton, and so Eloise had been railroaded into taking his place.

‘Not kind; it’s just common sense. You and your friends really have something; in a few years I can see KHE jewellery boutiques in every capital in the world.’

Eloise laughed out loud. ‘Now you’re exaggerating.’ She was glad she had taken Harry’s place; the evening was a success and the relief was enormous, both business-wise and personally…

She hadn’t wanted to come. Dinner dates and dancing were not her scene. The flimsy top she was wearing was not hers, but Katy’s. Eloise’s preference was for casual trousers and baggy shirts, but surprisingly Ted Charlton had somehow put her at her ease, and she was amazed to realise she was actually enjoying herself.

‘Maybe,’ Ted said, rising to his feet. ‘But how about you to take a chance on my old bones and dance with me? We can leave the business details until tomorrow, with your astute Harry around to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.’

For a split second she hesitated; then, rising to her feet, Eloise took his outstretched hand. ‘Sure thing, Ted,’ she said in an appalling attempt at an American accent and they were both laughing as they moved around the small dance floor in each other’s arms.

Marcus Kouvaris leant back against the bar, a glass of whisky in his hand, and slid his other hand into the pocket of his trousers. The stunningly attractive blonde at his side immediately slipped her arm through his, allowing her small breasts to press against him. He flicked her a knowing, sensuous smile. They both knew where the evening would end—in bed… Nadine was a top model and a more experienced sexual athlete he had yet to meet: and he needed the relief. Marcus took a sip of his whisky and frowned.

He’d spent a great deal of the past twelve months at his villa on the Greek island of Rykos, keeping a protective eye on his Aunt Christine, his late mother’s sister, and her daughter Stella, who had their permanent home there. He’d been trying to give them the comfort and support they needed after the tragic death of their husband and father, Theo Toumbis, in a car crash. Unfortunately it had seriously curtailed his sex life, and celibacy was not his style.

He was in London for a few days on private business. But he intended to bed the very willing Nadine every night, though he was far too wary a male to let her know that. Marcus took another swallow of the amber nectar, glanced idly around the room, and stilled.

It could have been a couple of frozen peas rubbing against his arm for all the effect Nadine’s breasts had on him. His teeth clenched and his dark eyes narrowed in angry recognition on the couple seated at the table on the other side of the dance floor. The man he dismissed with a fleeting glance. But the female…the female was Eloise…innocent, virginal Eloise, who blushed when a man so much as looked at her!

As Marcus watched, he saw the girl lean forward and place a hand on the much older man’s arm, and smile up at her companion.

Marcus’s firm lips curved in a hard cynical smile; it confirmed what his informant had told him. Eloise was certainly her mother’s daughter…the mother who had conned his Uncle Theo out of a great deal of money with Eloise’s assistance. The reason Marcus was in London was to gain recompense for his aunt and cousin.

The money was not important to him with his wealth; supporting his aunt and cousin didn’t even dent his finances. But it was a matter of principle. Nobody stole from him or his family and walked away free.

On a more personal level he harboured a nagging doubt that Eloise had played him for a sucker with her professed virginity. He’d respected her innocence and restrained himself to some light kisses the last time they met, only to have her disappear without a word. Nobody made a fool of Marcus Kouvaris and got away with it…

His dark eyes narrowed on the object of his thoughts. Eloise, if anything, was even more beautiful than she had been at nineteen, and when she rose to her feet his dark eyes trailed over her in a blatant male appreciation. Her upper body was clad in a gold camisole that revealed the creamy mounds of her breasts, before slipping into the waistband of a long black crepe skirt, demure in its slightly flared style until she moved. Then an enticing length of leg was exposed by the subtle slit in one side. A gold belt heightened the whole elegant effect, emphasising her tiny waist, and three-inch gold sandals completed the picture.

He felt an instant stirring in his groin and it had nothing to do with the woman he was with. His dark eyes narrowed angrily. Dammit! But Eloise was some woman. The epitome of femininity, she moved with an instinctive grace, and when she smiled her incredible green eyes glowed, and further highlighted the pale, almost translucent skin that contrasted so stunningly with the fiery red hair.

Five years! Instinctively the hand in his pocket curved into a fist, his fingers tingling. He could remember as if it were yesterday the silken softness of her skin, the feel of her in his arms, and his body hardened further. He tore his gaze away from Eloise and looked at her companion. He recognised the man from the financial papers. Ted Charlton, a wealthy American entrepreneur who had recently parted from his wife.

A thunderous frown creased his smooth brow. Marcus had intended giving Eloise the benefit of the doubt; she had been very young and probably under her mother’s influence. The report lying on the desk in his penthouse suite stated that KHE was a small but successful jewellery design company with a lot of potential. Reading it, Marcus had no doubt KHE was the same company his Uncle Theo had thought he was investing in, Eloise by Design. It was the same business plan and one of the same partners that had signed the contract with Theo five years ago. Eloise Baker! Even so, Marcus had been prepared to negotiate the repayment of Theo’s investment from profits in a businesslike manner. But seeing Eloise dancing and laughing with the older man filled him with such fury, he changed his mind.

Marcus Kouvaris had never suffered from jealousy in his life and consequently did not recognise the emotion. But suddenly he was wishing he hadn’t dismissed the investigator he had hired to find Eloise quite so finally over the telephone. The man had called him in Greece a couple of weeks ago, and said he had found Eloise, who turned out not to be Chloe’s sister, but her daughter. He’d given Eloise’s address in London and the name of her company. Marcus had asked if Eloise was guilty of any other frauds, and the detective had drawled she was as pure as the driven snow, with a rather nasty laugh at the end of it.

When the detective had asked if he should forward the personal file he had on Eloise, Marcus had told him to bin it. He only needed Eloise’s address. He couldn’t admit even to himself, he didn’t like the idea of reading a list of her lovers.

Now he decided it was time to do some investigation of his own into the elegant Eloise, and he smiled with malice as he watched the pair.

Held comfortably in the arms of her companion, Eloise glanced around. The supper club, in the heart of London’s Mayfair, was the latest in place to dine. The food and service were superb, the lighting discreet, the women beautiful, and the men wealthy. She gave a contented sigh as Ted led her expertly around the small dance floor. She had conquered a personal fear, and unless she was very much mistaken Ted Charlton was going to invest in their company.

‘Don’t look now,’ Ted said softly, close to her ear. ‘But there’s a man standing by the bar who’s been watching you like a hawk for the past few minutes, and is now looking daggers at me.’

Of course Eloise did look. Immediately her green eyes clashed across the crowded room with narrowed black. For a long moment she was incapable of looking away. Her heart made a crazy leap in her chest. ‘Oh,’ she gasped, and stumbled.

Marcus tilted his arrogant head back, and arched one perfectly formed brow apparently in query, then slowly allowed his gaze to roam over her slender body with studied masculine appraisal, before returning to her face, his eyes widening in supposedly surprised recognition. His expressive features relaxed; a slow sensual smile parted his firm lips as he lifted his glass towards Eloise in acknowledgement of her presence.

Ted’s arm tightened protectively around her waist, just as the music stopped. ‘You know him?’ he asked as he turned her away from the stranger and led her back to the table.

‘You could say that.’ Eloise picked up her champagne glass, with a hand that shook, and drained it before replacing it on the table. She tried to smile but her composure had taken a heck of a jolt. ‘I met him in Greece on holiday years ago, but I haven’t seen him since.’

‘A holiday romance?’ Ted prompted.

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose it was.’ She hadn’t thought so at the time. She’d thought he was the love of her life. He was the first man Eloise had ever had a crush on—the only man, she silently admitted. They had met thrice, and then he had to leave suddenly to visit his ailing father, and she’d returned to England, and had never heard from him again. Perhaps it was just as well, as when her mother had explained Marcus Kouvaris was a financial wizard who had made a fortune from the technology boom and, unlike some, had hung on to it, and made more, Eloise knew he was well out of her reach.

‘Eloise. It is Eloise Baker?’ The deep, slightly accented voice was instantly recognisable, and slowly she lifted her head.

Eloise could feel the colour rise in her cheeks as involuntarily her green eyes flickered over his tall, broad-shouldered frame. Older, but he was still as incredibly attractive as ever. Thick black hair, olive-toned skin, with perfectly symmetrical features, a firm jaw and a smile guaranteed to make any woman melt…

‘Eloise, yes,’ she confirmed with a tentative smile. ‘But Smith, not Baker,’ she corrected him without thinking. At least he had remembered her first name, if not her second; that was some consolation given he was notorious for the number of women he dated.

‘Smith, of course, but it has been a long time,’ Marcus said smoothly. Without realising it Eloise had admitted she’d lied. His gaze swept over her, her eyes were the green of the finest emeralds. Her cheeks were streaked with a becoming shade of pink, innocence personified.

Marcus’s belly knotted. He couldn’t recall ever being this angry with anyone in his life, and it took all his formidable willpower to stop himself dragging her by the glorious red hair from her seat and throttling her with it. But instead, using all his considerable charm, he added, ‘Though you don’t look a day older, and if it is possible even more beautiful than you were at nineteen.’

Eloise could feel her face burning even brighter at his open flattery. ‘Thank-you,’ she mumbled and, tearing her gaze away from his dark compelling eyes, she finally noticed the blonde hanging on his arm.

‘Allow me to introduce my friend,’ Marcus said coolly, catching the direction of her gaze. ‘Nadine, this is Eloise, an old friend of mine, and her companion…’ Marcus turned his attention to the older man watching the exchange with astute blue eyes. ‘Ted Charlton, I believe. We haven’t been introduced but—’ and he mentioned some financial article, and the two men shook hands.

Eloise took the slender limp hand Nadine offered her, and wasn’t surprised at the other woman’s cold smile. If Eloise had been on a date with Marcus, she would not have wanted company either. She could still remember how he had affected her five years ago and how heart-broken she had been when her mother insisted they had to leave the villa on Rykos before Marcus had returned to the island.

Eloise had left a note with her address in England for Marcus with the maid. She had lived in hope for over a year that he would contact her again, but then circumstances changed her attitude and she stopped wondering and waiting for him; she had bigger things to worry about.

‘Join us for a drink.’ Ted made the conventional offer.

‘Some other time, perhaps,’ Nadine cut in before Marcus could speak and, linking her arm firmly through the tall Greek’s, she smiled. ‘Your friends have already eaten, Marcus, and I am starving. You did promise me dinner.’ She pouted, her long red fingernails stroking down the sleeve of his jacket. ‘For starters,’ she purred.

Eloise suppressed a grimace of distaste at Nadine’s obvious seduction technique.

‘Nadine, darling, I’m sure you can wait a while.’ He smiled at his girlfriend, but the tone of his voice warned her not to argue.

Seats were pulled out and another bottle of champagne ordered.

‘To old friends.’ Marcus raised his glass and looked directly at Eloise. Her eyes met and fused with his and for a moment she was transported back in time to a Greek island, and her heart raced again as it had then, the first time they’d met.

‘And hopefully new ones,’ Marcus continued, addressing Ted.

They all touched glasses, and Eloise took a hasty swallow of the sparkling liquid. She was shocked at the rush of awareness simply being in Marcus’s company had aroused in her. She had thought herself over him long ago, and she was grateful for Nadine’s timely contribution to the sudden silence.

‘Marcus and I have known each other for almost two years and he has never mentioned you. So when did you meet him?’ Nadine demanded, her gimlet eyes fixed on Eloise.

‘I was on holiday with my m…sister, Chloe,’ she stammered, feeling the colour rise in her face. ‘We had rented a villa on the island of Rykos in Greece. Chloe was a friend of Marcus’s Uncle Theo, who was the developer and had built the villa along with five others. When we held a pool party Theo brought Marcus along to the party and we…’

Marcus almost snorted in disgust. ‘How is your sister?’ he cut in abruptly. The detective he had hired had taken almost a year to unravel Chloe Baker’s various names, before discovering the woman had never had a sister but a daughter with the name of Smith. Probably the most common surname in the English language…

Eloise glanced across the table at Marcus. Hooded dark eyes hard as steel stared back at her. Did he know she’d lied all those years ago? But her mother had insisted she called her Chloe, and pretend to be sisters. At thirty-six, Chloe was not going to admit to having a grown-up daughter, and Eloise had agreed. Or was he frightened she would tell his girlfriend all the details of their brief romance? He must really care for Nadine.

‘My sister died over three years ago,’ Eloise mumbled. She hated lying, and suddenly realised there was no need to any more—her mother was dead. But now was not the time or the place.

‘I am sorry.’ Marcus mouthed the polite response but there was a singularly lack of sympathy in his expression. ‘Chloe was a quite remarkable woman.’

She was, Eloise thought sadly, and if it had not been for her mother, she would never have been able to set up in business herself, but she had never really got to know her mother well. Pregnant at seventeen by a sailor, Tom Smith, Chloe had married him, and divorced him three months after Eloise was born. Then she had left Eloise with her grandparents to be brought up in the small Northumberland coastal town of Alnmouth and disappeared. Four years later she returned with a different name after another failed marriage, loaded down with presents for her little girl, and apparently had become a very successful businesswoman. From then on she popped in every year or so…

For Eloise her mother had been a fairytale figure, beautiful and elegant in designer clothes, bringing gifts. It was only after the death of her grandparents, when she had completed her first year in art college, that her mother had actually spent some time with her. Chloe had taken a real interest in what Eloise was doing and declared herself fascinated by her daughter’s skilful designs, and even suggested they go on holiday to Greece and so they had taken their first and last holiday together on Rykos.

‘Sorry, I have brought back sad memories.’ Marcus rose from the table and held out his hand to Eloise. ‘Come dance with me and blow away the cobwebs of the past.’

‘But—’ Nadine said sharply.

‘Then, Nadine, we will eat, I promise.’ He shot his girlfriend a brilliant smile, and a brief glance at Ted. ‘With your permission, of course, old man?’ he asked while clasping Eloise’s hand and urging her to her feet, not waiting for an answer.

‘Nadine is going to die of hunger if you don’t feed her soon,’ Eloise tried to joke, as Marcus slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against the long powerful length of his body.

He was taller than she remembered; she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, but that was a mistake. The years had been kind to him, and close up he was even more staggeringly handsome than she remembered. An aggressively virile, sophisticated male, he exuded an aura of raw sexuality that the formal tailored dinner suit and white silk shirt did nothing to hide, and it terrified her.

‘Nadine’s hunger is never for food,’ he returned, a mockingly sensual smile curving his wide mouth. ‘She is a model; she doesn’t eat enough to feed a bird. You, on the other hand, are every man’s fantasy of the female form.’ His hand at her back slowly stroked up her spine and just as slowly down to settle rather low on her bottom, while his other hand clasped hers and held it firmly against his broad chest.

‘Are you implying I’m fat?’ she said with mock horror, fighting to appear the sophisticated woman when inside she was quaking.

Marcus let his gaze drop to the firm thrust of her obviously braless breasts against the gold fabric, and then back to her face. ‘God forbid! You have the perfect figure. Full and fat are not the same thing.’ And the hand he had held firm against his chest somehow contrived to be held against hers, his knuckles brushing against the soft upper swell of her breast.

She should have been horrified. She had never been this close to a man in four years, never wanted to be. But now, to her utter amazement, she felt her nipples harden against the fine silk of her top, and she had to drop her eyes to his chest to mask the sudden flare of desire that heated her face. A tiny pulse at the base of her throat was racing, and she was appalled yet secretly thrilled by her helpless response to his innately sensual masculinity.

‘I do believe you are blushing, Eloise,’ Marcus teased as he moved her expertly around the floor to the sexy soft tones of a well-known Barry White recording.

‘It’s hot in here.’ She made herself look up at him.

Marcus’s perceptive black eyes ran over her now scarlet face, and deliberately he tightened his arm around her, bringing her into impossibly close contact with his long, lean length. He felt the tremor in her body, and he fought to mask the cynical smile of masculine satisfaction that threatened his oh, so caring features, even as he fought to mask his own body’s instant arousal. He dipped his head and whispered softly in her ear, ‘And getting hotter by the minute.’

He was flirting with her, Eloise knew, and she should have been angry, but the reverse was true. The slender fingers of her hand flexed, curved into his broad shoulder, and clung. His warm breath, his hard body, the softly murmured words all conspired to turn Eloise’s bones to mush; her legs felt wobbly, and her heart felt as if it would burst. It was as if the trauma of the past had been swept away and once again she was the adolescent teenager, totally besotted by the sophisticated overpowering charm of Marcus Kouvaris.

‘Your girlfriend,’ Eloise got out. What was Marcus trying to do to her? And in the middle of the dance floor with Nadine watching. ‘Nadine,’ she choked.

‘Forget Nadine. I did, the moment I saw you again,’ Marcus declared throatily, and observed the deepening colour in her cheeks with a cynical cool. God! The woman could blush on demand, but nothing of his thoughts showed on his chiselled features as his gaze roamed over the perfect oval of her face. ‘Why did you leave me without a word, Eloise?’ he asked softly, his dark eyes looking soulfully down into hers.

‘But I thought you left me.’ In shock at her own reactions, she answered honestly. ‘I waited ten days for you to contact me. Then we had to leave.’ She hadn’t wanted to, but her mother had insisted. ‘But I left you a note with my address and telephone number with the maid.’

‘My father died from the heart attack, and by the time the funeral was over it was two weeks before I could return to the villa. It was empty, no sign of a maid or a letter.’

‘I’m sorry about your father.’ Eloise’s green eyes shaded with compassion.

‘Yes, well, it was a few years ago now.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘But I definitely never received a note from you, Eloise, believe me.’

With his hand stroking her back, and his expression sincere, she believed him. ‘I do. These things happen,’ she mumbled.

‘I guess the time wasn’t right for us then.’ He squeezed her gently and her pulse rate went into overdrive. ‘But the past is past and I am delighted to have met you again. I often wondered what happened to you,’ he said smoothly.

Wondered? Some understatement; a bitter smile tightened Marcus’s mouth. When he’d returned to the island and found her gone, he’d ruefully conceded she was the one that got away and tried to dismiss her from his mind. He didn’t chase after women, they chased after him, but she had haunted his dreams for years. It was only after Theo’s death and he was left with settling the man’s affairs that he had hired someone to find her sister Chloe, and only recently he had discovered Eloise Smith was the daughter, not the sister, of the devious late Chloe Baker. Seeing her with Ted had finally cured him of the romantic picture he’d carried in his head of an innocent young girl forced by her wicked mother into fraud! The gods must be laughing, he thought irreverently. But he allowed none of his thoughts to show. He eased her slightly away from him.

‘I would love to see you again and catch up with what you are doing.’ He gazed down into her beautiful face. ‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night?’ He held her closer, one long leg easing between hers, as he moved her skilfully in a turn. ‘Please.’ He watched the green eyes widen with a mixture of fear and excitement, and almost laughed out loud. She had good reason to fear him, the devious little witch—but her sort could never resist a challenge, he knew; he’d met enough in his time.

‘Will your girlfriend mind?’ The friction of his hard thigh against hers, even through the thickness of their clothes, was enough to send every nerve in her body hay-wire and Eloise said the first thing that entered her bemused brain.

‘Not at all. Nadine and I understand each other; we are casual friends, nothing more.’ And, easing her slightly away from him, he added, ‘But I’m forgetting your boyfriend, Ted.’ This time, Marcus could not keep the hard edge of cynicism out of his tone. ‘Will he object to you dating another man?’

Eased from the close contact with his lithe body, Eloise did not know whether to be relieved or aggrieved. He aroused a host of sensations she had never thought she would experience again and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Relief won.

‘You’re kidding.’ She chuckled. ‘Ted is a charming man but he isn’t my boyfriend. Tonight is a business dinner, nothing more.’ That Marcus could imagine even for a moment that she would go out with a man old enough to be her father was ludicrous, and consequently she told him the truth.

‘In that case, give me your telephone number.’ His eyes narrowed on her laughing face and his large body tensed as he let her go. Was she up to her late mother’s tricks, and so sure of success that she had readily admitted her involvement with Ted Charlton was simply business? Marcus needed to know more, but this wasn’t the right time to question her, with Nadine waiting at the table for him and Ted watching Eloise like a drooling fool.

Eloise felt the sudden tension in his body, just before his arm fell from her waist; her puzzled gaze shot to his but his expression was bland. Then she realised it was because the music had stopped.

‘Your number, Eloise?’ Marcus murmured as, with one hand lightly in the centre of her back, he urged her towards the table.

Still in a state of shock at the unexpected meeting and her own response to Marcus, Eloise reeled off her number. ‘You will never remember it,’ and added, ‘but our company, KHE, designer jewellery, is in the directory.’

She did not see his strong handsome face harden into disgust at the mention of designer jewellery, or the flare of white-hot fury in his dark eyes, as he stood behind her and pulled out her chair. By the time she was seated and she had recovered some slight control over her racing pulse and scattered nerves enough to join in the general conversation, and finally look at Marcus, he was all urbane charm and about to leave with Nadine.

‘A very impressive man,’ Ted said as Eloise watched Marcus and Nadine stroll off to where their table awaited them. The maître d’ stood hovering around the pair like a mother hen. But then, a man of Marcus Kouvaris’s power and wealth commanded that kind of attention wherever he went, Eloise thought wryly.

‘Yes, Ted.’ She sighed and turned her attention back to Ted. ‘Nadine is a lucky woman.’

‘No, you’re wrong there, Eloise. She hasn’t a hope in hell of catching Kouvaris. But you—you watch out. Take it from a man who knows his own sex. I saw the way Kouvaris looked, and danced with you. But I have heard rumours about his womanising, and you are far too nice a lady for a man of his reputation.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Eloise said softly. ‘But I don’t think you need worry.’ And, with a swift glance at the other couple, the black head touching the blonde, she grinned ruefully back at Ted. ‘You’re right, he’s way out of my league.’

They finished off their dinner with coffee, and Ted persuaded Eloise to make a night of it, so they stayed to watch the late-night cabaret, and dance. It was a fun evening, and Eloise was yawning widely by the time Ted took her home in a taxi.

At the door of the town house where Eloise lived and worked, Ted smiled teasingly down at her. ‘I won’t come in, before you ask, but thank you for a lovely evening, Eloise, and you can tell your partners they have nothing to worry about. I will invest. I’ll be in touch with Harry in the morning to do the deal. Okay?’ Planting a brief kiss on her cheek, he said, ‘Good night.’

Letting herself into the elegant entrance hall, Eloise ran lightly up the staircase, and stopped at the first floor. She glanced at her wristwatch, and grimaced. Three a.m. It was far too late to call on Katy and Harry now and tell them the good news and she turned to mount the next flight of stairs.

Strictly speaking, the house was Eloise’s, but it was also the biggest asset of the company. The basement was the work room, the ground floor the showroom and offices, the first floor was Katy and Harry’s apartment, the second floor Eloise’s, and the attic apartment was rented by a gay couple.

Julian and Jeff were two beautiful young men. Julian earned his living as a freelance photographer and had made up a fantastic catalogue for KHE jewellery, and also talked quite a few models into wearing it, and that had been instrumental in getting the firm noticed and into several of the glossy magazines. Jeff worked in the showroom of KHE and was great at selling. The female customers adored him, and the male customers, while taking his advice, were not threatened by his beauty. For Eloise it was the ideal set-up; she loved the house and felt perfectly safe.

‘Is that you, Eloise?’ A stage whisper broke into Eloise’s thoughts and, swinging around, she ran lightly back down the stairs and straight into the arms of Harry.

‘Break out the champagne, folks. Ted is going to come in with us,’ she said as Harry swung her around and into the open door of their apartment where Katy was waiting looking, thankfully, very well, if rather round.

‘You’re sure?’ Katy grasped her arm and pulled her into the sitting room. ‘Tell all.’

Half an hour later her two friends had the whole story.

‘So…’ Katy looked mischievous but beautiful with her black curly hair and big brown eyes; she fixed Eloise with a speculative glance. ‘We can take it the business will expand, much like my waistline. But what about this Mr Kouvaris? Wasn’t that the name of the chap you met, and then left you on that holiday with your mother?’

Immediately on the defensive, Eloise said, ‘Marcus didn’t leave me—he was called away because his father was ill, and apparently the old man died.’ It was strange to be saying his name out loud after five years of trying to forget it, and stupidly she could feel herself blushing. ‘It was no big deal and look, it’s four o’clock in the morning. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

She was still trying to convince herself of the fact ages later lying in her queen-sized bed, unable to sleep. She did not want to take a sleeping tablet the doctor had prescribed. She hadn’t used them in years, and simply seeing Marcus Kouvaris again was not going to drive her into taking one.

CHAPTER TWO

INSTEAD she practised her relaxation exercises, turned on her back, and let her mind roam freely back to her holiday in Greece.

Eloise had been carrying a tray of drinks out on to the terrace when she had first seen Marcus. He was standing next to her mother and Theo Toumbis by the edge of the swimming pool, laughing at something her mother had said. Eloise had nearly dropped the tray, such was the instant effect of his sheer male beauty on her teenage heart. Dressed casually in white shorts, and a shirt open down the front revealing his muscular chest with a sprinkling of black body hair, and long legs glazed in gold by the afternoon sun, the man looked like the reincarnation of a Greek god to Eloise’s naïve eyes and she had stood transfixed simply staring at him.

‘Stop loitering, sis, we are dying of thirst here.’ Her mother’s command had the ten or so people around the pool turning to look at her, including Marcus.

Eloise blushed scarlet, and for a second Marcus’s eyes met hers, before she dropped her head and stepped forward.

Miraculously he appeared at her side. ‘Here, let me take that. A beautiful young girl like you should be waited on, not the other way around.’ And that was how it had started…

He’d introduced himself as Theo’s nephew and had encouraged her to strip off the long cotton shift that concealed her white skinned, bikini-clad body, and join him in the pool. Marcus in his swimming trunks was enough to make any woman weak at the knees, and Eloise had been no exception. He had talked and teased and flirted with her and by the end of the evening he knew she was an unattached nineteen-year-old student on holiday abroad for the first time in her life with her sister Chloe who had rented the villa.

Eloise had hated lying to him, but her mother had insisted no one should know they were mother and daughter, and it had seemed a small price to pay to spend time with her mother. Eloise knew her mother loved her in her own way; she had proved it when after the funeral of her parents Chloe had not even minded that they had left all they owned to Eloise, including the house. Eloise had felt terrible, and it had taken all her powers of persuasion to get her mum to at least take the money from the sale of the house. Even so her mum suggested she set up a joint account and they could share the proceeds. Eloise happily agreed, but never touched the account until after her mother’s death.

Stirring restlessly on the bed, Eloise ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips; it seemed like only yesterday she had felt the touch of Marcus’s lips on hers for the first time. Sighing, she rolled over on her stomach and buried her head in the pillow, the memories coming thick and fast.

Before Marcus had finally left, well after midnight, he’d gathered Eloise gently into his arms and kissed her, and from that moment she knew she was in love.

At ten the next morning Marcus had turned up in an open-topped sports car, and whisked her away to the other side of the island.

‘Come on, sweetheart.’ Marcus stopped the car only a few feet away from the edge of a cliff, stepped out and was holding open the passenger door with one hand and a picnic basket in the other with a blanket over his arm. ‘We’re going to have a picnic.’

‘Here?’ Eloise glanced around the rocky outcrop not more that a yard square.

‘Trust me.’ Marcus grinned, and she did.

The steps were cut deep into an almost vertical cliff, with an old rope strung along the cliff face as a handrail. It was the scariest walk Eloise had ever experienced in her young life, and when she finally stepped onto the smooth sand at the base of the cliff her legs were trembling. Marcus dropped the hamper and the blanket on the white sand and gathered her into his arms.

‘All right?’

Fighting to steady her erratic breathing, whether it was from the descent or the sensation of being enfolded against his hard, lean, scantily-clad body, she did not know, Eloise looked around and then up into his grinning face. ‘It’s perfect.’ It was a totally secluded horseshoe shape of sand that led down to sparkling blue sea.

After a swim, they shared a meal of cold meat, chicken, salad, and fresh crusty bread, washed down with champagne.

‘You’re spoiling me.’ Eloise sighed, lying back on the blanket, replete and perfectly happy.

Propped up on one elbow, Marcus’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement and something more as they met hers. Suddenly the clear summer air shimmered with tension. ‘This is nothing to what I would like to do for you,’ he murmured huskily, the index finger of one hand gently outlining her lips. ‘For your mouth,’ he husked; the finger trailed down her throat, and lingered for a moment on the pulse beating madly there. ‘For your elegant neck,’ and then lower to the valley between her breasts. ‘For your luscious breasts.’ His voice thickened.

Eloise felt as though she was touched by fire, every nerve-end in her body tingling with vibrant life. She linked her hands around his neck, her fingers tangling in the silky black hair of his head. Marcus raised his head and moved so he was straddling her trembling body, and then gently brought his mouth down on hers, the tip of his tongue outlining her lips and, as her mouth opened, plunging deep into the moist sweet depths. Electric excitement thrilled through her, the rub of his thighs against the outside of her hips incredibly erotic, and as his mouth followed the path his finger had so recently taken, her excitement built higher and higher.

He buried his head in the valley between her breasts, and somehow her bikini top was no more. She trembled violently as he murmured something huskily in Greek, before his tongue licked across the crown of her breast, and very gently suckled the rosy tip in his mouth.

A lightning flare of response struck her without warning, and her body arched up against his hard, lean frame, brushing his groin in helpless response.

Marcus lifted his head, and gazed down into her dazed green eyes. ‘You like that,’ he husked. With one hand he stroked down from her breast to the tiny waist to lay flat on her belly. ‘Tell me what more you like, my Eloise?’ he demanded throatily, while his mouth found her other breast and repeated the sensual assault.

Eloise had never experienced anything like it before, yet somehow it all seemed natural—Marcus, the kiss, his touch. Tremor after tremor coursed through her veins as his other hand swept down the length of her body, from hips to thigh to calf and back up. His touch scorched her sensitive skin like a brand, and her breasts ached with a pleasure that she did not know existed, creating a need for more and more of the miraculous sensations.

His long fingers effortlessly slipped under the last scrap of material covering her nakedness, and suddenly Eloise tensed in innocent fear of where her wild emotions were leading. Her hands fell to push against his chest. ‘No, no.’ He was going too far, too fast…

Marcus jerked his head back, and her hands dropped to her sides. ‘No. You say “No,” but you want me.’ His keen gaze raked the full length of her near-naked body, the pointed tips of her breasts, and then back to her eyes.

She stared up at him, her lips parted to speak. She did want him, but… Her green eyes huge, she glanced past him to the sea.

‘You’re not a tease, I hope?’ his deep voice demanded hardily and she glanced back at him. ‘I abhor women who lead a man on, lie with their body.’

‘No. No.’ Eloise could not bear him to look at her so cynically. ‘It’s just, I… Well, I haven’t.’ She could feel her skin getting even hotter but it was not with excitement, it was with embarrassment. He was a twenty-nine-year-old sophisticated man of the world; how could she tell him…? ‘I’ve never, I haven’t—’ She lowered her lashes over her too revealing eyes, and swallowed hard. ‘I’m a virgin.’

‘A virgin?’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re not protected.’ His black eyes widened in stunned amazement, and then narrowed at her guileless face, the blush that suffused her skin, and a slow smile parted his sensual mouth. ‘Ah,’ he murmured and from that moment on his whole attitude changed.

Marcus was transformed from a sophisticated sensual male on the make, into a tender, caring companion. The rest of the day he treated her like some rare species of the female sex, though he could not stop touching her. But his touch was light on her silken skin, the few kisses they shared undemanding. When they parted later that night with a promise to meet again the next day, the kiss he pressed on her soft lips started as a gentle good night and quickly developed into a passionate embrace. But with iron self-control he ended it with a curse in Greek and a softly mouthed promise. ‘I am going to make everything perfect for you, Eloise.’

Eloise went to bed that night with a head full of dreams of love and marriage, and the next morning Marcus arrived and told her his father was ill, he had to leave, she had been sad, but not unduly worried, as he’d promised to return.

Yawning wildly, Eloise rolled over onto her side and burrowing deeper under the duvet. March in England was cold. Not like Greece, she thought wryly. But then her Greek dream had ended long ago and she would do better to forget the memories, and get on with her life today. She would go out to dinner with Marcus for old times’ sake, but that was all it would be, all it could be, now…

‘We’ve done it, girls.’ Harry came dashing into the basement workroom, with Jeff hot on his heels, waving a bottle of champagne, and a grinning Ted Charlton bringing up the rear.

Eloise looked up from her drawing board and Katy put the soldering tool down carefully on the workbench and slowly stood up, her eyes flicking from Harry to the older man.

‘You’re sure, Mr Charlton? Aren’t you supposed to be looking after the showroom, Jeff?’ she said sternly, but her brown eyes were alight with excitement.

‘I’m sure, lady.’ Ted chuckled. ‘So sure I have persuaded your husband and Jeff here to close the showroom and let me take everyone out to lunch to celebrate.’

Eloise said nothing but the grin on her face said it all.

Five minutes later, the bottle of champagne was opened and the five all raised their glasses. ‘To KHE, Paris. Thanks to you, Ted.’ Harry made the toast.

Over lunch the deal was discussed. The money Ted was investing would be used for the creation of a KHE boutique in Paris. Better still, Ted actually knew of a property for lease on the Rue St Honoré, one of the most fashionable streets in Paris, and he reckoned if Harry got in quick it could be theirs. Harry had already made the booking for his flight to France the next day and a meeting with the owners, and he had the cheque for the first instalment of Ted’s financing in his pocket.

The entry phone rang, and Eloise cast a last hasty look at her reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. She grimaced slightly. She had tried for the sophisticated look, and had swept up her hair in a French pleat, and apart from the black skirt she had worn last night, she was wearing the only thing she possessed that was not casual: the suit she had bought for Katy’s wedding. A fine wool jade green suit in a classic style, the jacket short and with a matching camisole underneath, the straight skirt ending an inch above her knees, and kitten-heeled black pumps on her feet. Conservative, she told herself, except for the intricately set silver and amber pendant around her neck and the matching amber earrings, both her own designs.

Katy had been right last night when she’d made Eloise borrow the gold camisole. It was way past time Eloise updated her wardrobe. But, working behind the scenes in the jewellery business designing and manufacturing, her wardrobe consisted of jeans and sweaters, and a few voluminous Indian cotton caftans, for when the weather was hot. But it was too late to worry about the state of her wardrobe now and, snatching up her purse, she dashed from the bedroom through to the sitting room to the door of her apartment, just as someone knocked on the door.

Surprised for a second, she hesitated and the knock sounded again, and she opened the door.

Marcus was leaning negligently against the doorframe, wearing a superbly elegant dark blue suit, and looking every inch the incredibly attractive, sophisticated male of her dreams.

Heat prickled her skin. ‘How did you get in?’ she demanded. It was not the opening she had planned, it sounded rather aggressive even to her own ears.

‘Hello to you, too.’ A sardonic brow arched. ‘Shall I go out and start again.’

‘N-no, of course not.’ Eloise stammered, badly shaken by her instant response to his powerful presence.

‘Relax, Eloise, your friend Harry downstairs opened the front door.’ He smiled.

His smile dazzled her and, with his hand at her elbow supporting her, Eloise felt vaguely protected and actually did manage to relax slightly. ‘Harry and Katy are my business partners,’ she offered.

‘He sounded more like your guardian.’ Marcus remarked with a wry twist of his lips. ‘He managed, in the space of less than a minute, to ask me who I was, where I was taking you, and what time I intended bringing you back.’

‘That sounds like Harry,’ Eloise confirmed with a chuckle, as they exited the outer door to the street. ‘Katy and I met him when we were at art college and looking for somewhere to live. He managed the estate agents, and he took one look at Katy and fell in love. He found us an apartment, and was never away from the door until Katy agreed to go out with him, and now they are married.’

‘A determined man; I like that,’ Marcus offered, as he opened the passenger door of a sleek black car and ushered Eloise inside.

Starting the engine and driving off, Marcus shot her a brief sidelong glance and said, ‘I intended taking you to a rather nice French restaurant, but I’m expecting a call from the west coast of America some time this evening so I’ve arranged for us to dine at my hotel. I hope you don’t mind.’

Stilling a panicked shiver, Eloise cast a glance at his perfectly chiselled profile, Marcus wasn’t a stranger and it wasn’t their first date, so why was she hesitating?

‘Eloise.’ He flicked her a quizzical smile. ‘It was either the hotel, or cancelling our dinner date.’ It wasn’t a lie—he was expecting a call—but also he wanted her on her own when he challenged her to explain her part in the scam her mother had pulled on his uncle.

‘Yes, yes. That’s perfectly all right.’ She burst into speech. She was being stupid; she was twenty-four, not fourteen, and with a man who was no stranger to her, for heaven’s sake, she told herself firmly.

The hotel was one of the best in London, and walking across the vast foyer with Marcus at her side, his hand gently at her elbow guiding her, she was glad she had taken time with her appearance. She was congratulating herself on her ability to mingle with the best, when Marcus stopped in front of a bank of elevators.

‘Are we eating in the rooftop restaurant?’ she asked, excitement bubbling in her veins. Walking into the elevator, she turned her sparkling green gaze up to his face adding, ‘I’ve heard of it; the view is supposed to be marvellous.’

Intent dark eyes watched her apparently simple delight. ‘Not exactly; we are dining in the penthouse suite,’ Marcus drawled. ‘But the view is equally as good. I know because I own the hotel.’

Involuntarily her jaw dropped. ‘You own…your suite,’ she stammered. The hotel dining room was one thing, but to be alone with Marcus in his suite was inviting intimacy… Eloise blushed scarlet at where her thoughts were leading, and her slim hands closed nervously together. But she could hardly object now, without looking like a fool.

Black-lashed ebony eyes skimmed over her tense figure, and finally settled on her burning cheeks. ‘The call I am expecting is confidential,’ Marcus murmured dryly. ‘And your body language is very expressive,’ he opined. ‘I invited you to dinner, and you look like you expect to be the main course,’ he chuckled.

Somehow his laughter eased her tension, and she walked into the elegant room, feeling much more confident. It was a vast room with a dining area. A table was already set with the finest linen and silverware. A few steps led down to the seating area where two large sofas flanked a low occasional table, and a massive glass wall looked out over the city.

‘The bathroom is through there if you need it.’ Marcus indicated with a wave of his hand to a large double door set in the rear wall. ‘Have a seat while I order.’

She looked at the low sofas but opted to sit at the dining table.

In a matter of minutes Marcus had ordered the meal and a bottle of the best champagne and, after the wine waiter had filled their glasses and left, Marcus lifted his glass to Eloise. ‘To the renewal of our friendship, and may I add you look enchanting.’

‘Thank you.’ Eloise blushed, her eyes meeting his across the small table. His incredible eyes darkened for a second, and surprisingly she shivered.

‘Cold?’ Marcus asked.

‘No, someone walked over my grave. I’m fine, really; it is the first day of spring.’

‘Some spring in England!’ Marcus teased. ‘You must come to Greece for Easter. Now that is spring.’ And he went into a description of the wild flowers on Rykos.

Over a meal of asparagus soup, followed by sea bass cooked in herbs and spices, the conversation flowed easily. Marcus was a witty and educated man, and Eloise gradually felt all her inhibitions disappear as she relaxed and fell deeper under his spell.

She refused a dessert but quite happily accepted yet another refill of champagne. When the dessert Marcus had ordered arrived, an incredible concoction of various ice creams, chocolate, nuts, and fruit, Eloise laughed out loud.

‘You are never going to eat all that,’ she prompted, grinning at the sheepish expression on his handsome face. ‘It looks like a psychedelic leaning tower of Pisa.’

‘Now you know my secret vice.’ Marcus dipped the spoon into the glass, and lifted it out loaded with ice cream. ‘I have a weakness for sweet things.’ His dark eyes captured her amused green and, lifting the spoon to his mouth, he swallowed, then licked his lips with his tongue.

Suddenly the humour was gone, and heat curled in the pit of Eloise’s stomach as she saw the muscle in the strong column of his throat move as he ate. There was something so very sensual about watching his obvious enjoyment, the tip of his tongue licking his firm lips.

‘Want some?’ Her green eyes widened and she saw the spoon he held out to her mouth. ‘Go on, you will love it,’ Marcus encouraged softly. ‘It’s good.’

There was nothing good about the gleam in the eyes that held hers, but an explicit sexual promise. Involuntarily she moved slightly forward like a puppet on a string, and parted her lips. The ice cream tasted cool on her tongue, but her body heat shot up another notch.

Swallowing she jerked back and suddenly the air was filled with an electric tension. ‘Very nice,’ she mumbled.

‘I told you so. Now have some more champagne.’ He filled her glass yet again.

Eloise took another sip of the wine. Was she the only one who felt the simmering tension in the air? she wondered. And, desperate to get the conversation away from anything sexual, she asked. ‘By the way, how is your Uncle Theo?’

Marcus stiffened. ‘He died over twelve months ago in a car accident, leaving a wife and child.’ He placed his glass back on the table.

Well, she had certainly succeeded in breaking the tension, Eloise thought ruefully, Marcus’s face was like stone. ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she mouthed her condolences.

‘Why should you be? He was nothing to you; it was your sister, Chloe, who was his friend,’ he said bluntly.

Scarlet colour burnt her cheeks, and whether it was the wine or nerves that made her do it she did not know. ‘About Chloe…she wasn’t my sister, she was my mother,’ Eloise admitted, equally as blunt.

‘Your mother? You do surprise me. Chloe didn’t look old enough,’ Marcus conceded, shooting her a veiled glance. It was a parody of innocence, he knew that. He had caught her by surprise last night and she had admitted her surname was different from her sister’s. Obviously, rerunning yesterday’s conversation in her mind, she had realised she had made a mistake, and her blushing revelation was damage limitation on her part. But, watching her, he wasn’t so sure; her embarrassment looked genuine.

Relieved he had apparently taken her confession so well, a reflective smile curved Eloise’s full lips. ‘You’re right. Chloe was only seventeen when she gave birth to me. That’s why, when we hired the villa for a month, she insisted I pretend to be her sister.’

‘But wasn’t that hard for you? You were very young to have to lie all the time.’ Marcus sympathised with an edge of irony in his tone and, reaching across the table, he took her hand in his in a comforting gesture.

‘No, not really,’ Eloise found herself admitting. ‘I didn’t know my mother very well. She divorced my father three months after marrying him, he disappeared and she married again quite quickly. My grandparents brought me up, while Chloe pursued a very successful career around the globe.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘So it was from your mother you got the desire to do well in business.’

‘Yes, I suppose you could say that.’ She hadn’t thought of it that way, but he might be right. ‘In fact, Chloe was very proud of my going to college, and if it hadn’t been for her, Katy, Harry and I could never have made such a good start as we did.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Well, with the money Chloe left me, we were able to set up business.’

So that was her story! Very plausible. Chloe’s death lent weight to her words. God, but she was good, Marcus thought cynically. If he had not seen her name on the contract, he would have believed her himself.

‘That must have helped to ease the pain of your mother’s passing,’ he said in a voice tinged with sarcasm.

‘Yes and no.’ She smiled a little sadly, and continued. ‘But Harry said it was important, if you want to appeal to the top end of the market, to be in the right place, and he found the property in Mayfair and I made the downpayment on the Georgian house where we live and work.’ She never realised what she was revealing as Marcus encouraged her to talk. She told him their dream of expanding the business throughout Europe, possibly the world.

‘With your enthusiasm, I’m sure you will be very successful.’ Marcus let go of her hand and, picking up the champagne bottle, refilled their glasses. Black lashes dropping down over his brilliant eyes, he added, ‘A toast to your success and may you get everything you deserve.’

Eloise picked her glass up, and watched his strong brown fingers curl around the stem of his glass. He had wonderful hands, large but lean and powerful, and for a moment she had a vivid mental image of lying on a beach, and those same fingers tracing over her naked breasts. Her face suffused with heat as Marcus’s voice broke into her erotic thoughts.

‘And to a friendship rekindled.’ Marcus touched his glass to hers, his gaze unwaveringly direct on her scarlet face.

‘To success and friendship.’ She smiled tentatively up at him, her green eyes wide and guileless. But it was a toast and a threat if she had but known it.

Marcus raised his glass and drained it. He could almost be fooled by her naïve innocence, her pleasure in the meal and the champagne. Damn it! She confused him like no other female. Once he made a decision he usually stuck by it, and yet he had changed his mind last night about Eloise and he was in danger of doing it again. Either the woman deserved an Oscar for her acting, or she really was unaware of her mother’s trade. But then he recalled the elegant house she owned and, watching her sitting opposite him, she appeared to be modesty personified in a tailored suit that covered her and yet skilfully revealed between the edges of the jacket a glimpse of satin and an amber jewel lying enticingly in the shadow of a cleavage. She blushed like a teenager, while happily discussing expanding her business worldwide, and all these paradoxes made him want to shake her and demand that the real Eloise stand up.

A smile of wry self-mockery curved his firm mouth. Who was he kidding? First he would strip her naked and bury himself in her luscious body over and over again. The memory of her in his arms, the lush promise of her body that he had denied himself, had been a thorn in his side for far too long, and abruptly shoving back his chair he stood up.

Last night he had left a very angry, frustrated Nadine at her door, the picture of Eloise filling his mind. He had a damn good idea he was in for another night of frustration if he called Eloise a crook to her face, and the thought did not appeal.

CHAPTER THREE

ELOISE glanced up in surprise. What had she said wrong? He was towering over her, dark and vaguely dangerous, and she gave an inward sigh of relief when she saw a slow smile quirk the corners of his beautiful mouth. The evening had been magical so far and she wanted nothing to spoil it.

‘There is only so long a man of my size can sit on a tiny gilt chair,’ Marcus said ruefully, and casually he removed his jacket and loosened his shirt and tie, before adding, ‘I need to stretch my legs and relax.’

Eloise swallowed hard. The white silk shirt fitted taut across his broad shoulders; the slightest tracing of dark body hair was visible beneath the fine fabric. His pants fitted snug on his hips and involuntarily her gaze strayed to his long legs. She could feel her temperature rising and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the room.

Luckily a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the waiter with the coffee and it gave Eloise a chance to get her breathing back to normal.

Marcus walked the few steps down to the lounging area, and indicated the low table to the waiter. ‘Here, please, and you can take the rest away; we are finished.

‘Come and join me, Eloise,’ Marcus commanded softly.

Her hesitation was barely perceptible and, telling herself not to be so silly, she rose to her feet and walked down the few steps to join him.

‘Let me take your jacket and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be mum—is that not an English saying?’ he asked, one dark brow arching in enquiry.

She glanced up at him. ‘Yes,’ and she tried for a smile. She felt his hands curve around the front of her jacket and she gave a tiny compulsive shudder, suddenly intensely aware of the intimacy of their surroundings, the rising tension in the air around them.

‘Allow me.’ And slowly he parted the jacket across her body, the back of his hand brushing accidentally across her breasts.

Her reaction was instant, her breasts swelling beneath the fine fabric, and she gasped, shocked by her own response.

The jacket fell to the floor. Marcus felt her tremble and he saw the shadowing of arousal in her wide green eyes, and he did what he’d wanted to do from the moment he had seen her again.

He curved an arm around her tiny waist, his dark head dipped and he captured her mouth with his in a kiss of hungry possession. He felt her sudden tension, felt her lips clamp together in instinctive rejection, and deliberately he made his mouth gentle against hers. Using all his considerable sexual expertise, he slipped his other hand around the back of her head and, deftly unpinning her hair, he tangled it in the silken mass, keeping her head firm while his mouth brushed gently against hers, kissing and licking in a tantalising seduction.

Pressed into the hard heat of his body Eloise was vitally aware of every last lean muscular inch of him, and quivers of sexual tension shot through her body. She felt an insidious weakness stealing through her limbs. She should stop this, a tiny little voice in her head cried. But the fierce pounding of her heart and the sweet touch of his mouth on hers drowned the cry out.

Marcus sensed the instant she relaxed in his arms; she made a whimper of sound and he seized the moment to slip his tongue between her lips. She rose towards him, her arms closed around his neck, and slowly, almost tentatively, she returned his kiss.

The silken softness of her, the scent of her—something light and heady—rose to his nostrils and his body hardened. Reluctantly Marcus finally lifted his head, his breathing erratic, but the smile that curved his sensual mouth as his night-black eyes captured hers held an edge of triumph. He had discovered what he needed to know. Eloise still wanted him. She was his for the taking.

Eloise gazed helplessly up into his darkly attractive face, not knowing what had hit her. She ran the tip of her tongue over her swollen lips and swallowed convulsively. Marcus had kissed her, and she had responded—it was unbelievable, amazing!

‘Do you want coffee or…?’ he breathed against her cheek.

The invitation in the dark eyes that sought hers was explicit. Eloise blinked, her heart thundering in her chest. Dear heaven, she was tempted, very tempted, but something held her back. ‘N-no, yes, n-no,’ she stammered, and nervously jerked back from his restraining arm. The feelings, the reawakening of sexual urges long suppressed, were all too new and she needed time.

With a husky chuckle, Marcus pulled her back into his arms. ‘If you can’t decide, then let me help you.’ He looked into her eyes. She wanted him, and he wanted her, wanted her with an ache, a hunger that blotted every sensible thought from his brain. So what if she was a liar and a cheat? At that moment he did not give a damn, and he brought his lips to hers again.

Slowly, warmth coursed through her veins again, until her whole body was on fire for him. Somewhere in the darkest reaches of her brain she remembered she should be wary, but instead she marvelled at her own response as his mouth moved gently against hers in several nibbling little kisses that threatened to draw the breath from her body.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured, burying his face in her hair. ‘You’re the most perfect woman I have ever seen.’

‘No,’ Eloise murmured but her voice was shaky, and when Marcus brushed the hair away from her neck, and began kissing his way down her neck, lingering on the pulse that beat madly beneath her pale skin, she moaned.

‘Yes,’ Marcus whispered, and kissed her again.

Involuntarily her lips parted to accept the persuasive invasion of his tongue. She trembled, both hands clutching desperately at his broad shoulders, her feminine form reaching out, reacting to the lure of his potent sensuality.

Her breasts were swollen, her nipples tight aching buds, and she writhed against the hard male body, painfully aware of the restriction of the two fine layers of fabric preventing the flesh-on-flesh contact she craved.

His tongue delved deeper in her mouth, and he kissed with a fierce sexual passion that made every cell in her body pulsate in one tumultuous flood of feeling. If he had not been holding her, she would have collapsed.

A sharp whimper of need escaped her as he lifted his dark head; his eyes, black as jet, stared down into hers, and then he deliberately moved against her, letting her feel the hard evidence of his arousal. ‘The bedroom, Eloise.’ One hand slipped round to cup her breast. ‘Say yes,’ he husked, as his thumb stoked the rigid tip through the soft silk covering.

She heard the words and she knew what he was asking; and in a flash of blinding clarity she knew this was her one chance for love. Her one chance to know a man—and not just any man, but Marcus. The only man she had ever loved.

She leant into the hard heat of him, and twined her arms around his neck. ‘Yes,’ she breathed unsteadily, as he swept her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom.

The room was in semi-darkness; only a bedside lamp shed a small pool of light over a large king-sized bed. The bed penetrated her haze of passion and fear flickered in her eyes but, before she could mouth the words of protest that trembled on her tongue, Marcus laid her down on the bed, stripping her skirt and top from her heated body in between kisses with a deftness that left her breathless.

She started to get up and stopped as, with stunning speed, Marcus shed his clothes. Half fascinated, half fearful, she could not tear her gaze away from his naked form. Shaking, she rested on her elbows. He was so perfect, so magnificently male, a tanned, hard, muscular chest with a light dusting of black hair that tapered down over a flat stomach, and lower… She gulped and swallowed hard, her green eyes flying back to his face as he joined her on the bed.

He loomed over her, his handsome face above hers taut, his dark eyes black and gleaming with a passion, a fire that reminded her of the past.

She was nineteen again and reached up for him, and then his mouth was hot, demanding everything with such hungry intensity she knew she should be frightened. But she did not have time to be afraid as caressing fingers curved around her breasts, and then hot hard kisses trailed down her throat, and a hungry male mouth fastened over the peak of one perfectly formed breast. Her back arched and she groaned out loud as he rendered the same treatment to her other breast.

‘You like that,’ Marcus rasped.

Eloise whispered his name as she wound her arms tightly around his neck. Her hands stroked his silken hair, and down over his powerful shoulders. Then he captured her mouth again in a long drugging kiss. When he broke the kiss and reared back, her slender arms fell from his shoulders and she felt bereft. Instinctively, she reached out to rest her hands on his chest. Her need to touch him was uncontrollable.

Breathing heavily, Marcus quickly removed the last barrier of delicate lacy briefs and stared down at her. She was so exquisite, so beautiful, her high round breasts with perfect deep rose peaks that begged for a man’s mouth, the smooth curve of her waist, the feminine flare of her hips, and the red curling crest that he had ached for so long to discover. He wanted her, he wanted to touch, to taste every inch of her, to bury himself deep in the hot moist centre of her, until she cried out his name in ecstasy and she was truly his.

He closed his hands over hers and lifted them above her head, as he slowly lowered his head and kissed her mouth until it opened to his. He rubbed his chest against her breasts, glorying in the friction, and triumphant at her shuddering response. He cupped her breasts in his hands and rolled each taut nipple between his fingers. His black eyes sought hers, and he murmured, ‘Perfect.’

Eloise had never imagined such pleasure existed, and she moved blindly against him. His hand slipped down to her belly and lower to her thighs, and she tensed.

Marcus sensed some resistance beneath Eloise’s headlong response, and he vowed he would wait even if it killed him. He had once promised her it would be perfect and he intended to fulfil the promise. He bent his head towards her and tongued each rigid-tipped breast, and then drew her flesh in his mouth.

Eloise gasped his name, ‘Marcus,’ as his fingers gently stroked between her thighs, slowly, lightly. She felt electric shock-waves of sensation jolting through her body; she wanted him, and she wanted to cry out, but instead she pressed her mouth to his throat and bit down in a fever of frustration.

Marcus stifled a groan and the swift kiss he pressed on her love-swollen lips turned into a savage duelling of tongues, as his long fingers parted the petals of her womanhood and found the hot, damp, velvet flesh throbbing, waiting for him…

He touched her gently, softly, fast then slow, until her hips arched towards him, and her hands dug into his shoulders and she was calling out his name.

Eloise shook violently, a fierce tension she had never experienced before jerking her every nerve and muscle tight, driving every single thought from her head, and leaving only a fiery need that was almost pain. ‘Please,’ she moaned, her head thrashing from side to side. His hands slipped under her hips and lifted her clear of the bed. She felt the velvet tip of his hard male flesh stroke and then with one thrust he was there, where she wanted him to be.

Eloise felt the briefest of pains, and then it happened. Marcus’s great body stilled for a second in disbelief.

She moaned his name and he moved deep and hard, filling her, stretching her, and taking her on a wild journey of almost mystical proportion. She felt the mighty strength of him thrusting, driving her on, until she cried out as her slender body convulsed in a paroxysm of sensation, and he joined with her until she had lost all sense of self, and the two of them became one perfect whole.

Afterwards she lay in his arms and felt the light caress of his fingertips against her sweat-damped flesh, soothing and caressing; he was murmuring husky words in Greek she did not understand. She sighed her delight, then tensed as his fingers found the ridge of flesh forming a scar on her inner thigh.

‘What is this?’ Marcus asked lazily, leaning over her and, by the dim light, let his slumberous eyes sweep over her beautiful naked body to where his fingers had found a small ridge of flesh. One long shapely leg had a scar about four inches long almost at the top.

‘Nothing.’ Eloise tried to cross her legs suddenly embarrassed. ‘Just a scar. I’m sorry if it upsets you.’

‘Oh, no, sweetheart,’ Marcus exclaimed and smiled down at her. ‘It does not upset me; in fact it is rather endearing. A tiny blemish in such perfection makes you seem more human,’ he opined, and brushed her lips with his. ‘But how did it happen? You did not have it when you were nineteen.’

‘No…well…’ She hesitated, and swallowed hard. ‘I was locked out of my apartment and I broke a window to get in, and cut my leg—nothing serious.’

‘Nothing serious,’ he murmured, moving down her naked body; he let his fingers trace the scar, feeling anger for her accident, and fiercely protective. As his woman there would be no more accidents, he vowed, and his lips followed the path of his fingers. This time the loving was slow and tender, but the end was the same, one perfect unity.

Eloise curled up close and wrapped her arms around his neck. She did not want to think about the past. She did not want to think about anything except how much she loved this man. Tonight had been a revelation and, for the first time in her life, she knew what it was to be a woman, and it was all because of Marcus. She hugged him, finally admitting to herself she had never got over him. She had loved him as a teenager, and she loved him now and probably always would, and a contented sigh escaped her.

‘Sighing. I didn’t think I was that bad,’ Marcus prompted and tilted her chin with a finger, his dark eyes gleaming down into hers.

‘That was a happy sigh,’ she speedily corrected him and, lifting a finger, she placed it over his lips. ‘And you know it, Buster. I can see smug male triumph in your eyes,’ she teased back.

‘Cheeky.’ He grinned broadly. ‘But I…’ Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the loud ringing of the telephone.

Hauling himself off the bed, Marcus picked up the phone from the bedside table, and as Eloise watched the laughing teasing lover vanished and the hard-headed businessman took his place. He was talking in Greek, and when he finally put the phone down he turned to Eloise. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘You really were expecting a call.’ She had had her doubts, and it was nice to know he had not tricked her into his suite, and bed.

‘O, ye of little faith,’ he mocked with a grin. ‘Actually, I have to make another one and, much as I would love to spend the night with you, I’d better get you back before your friends wonder what has happened to you.’

She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘I am a grown woman.’

He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose, ‘And if I stay here much longer I will be a grown man,’ he drawled sexily. Eloise blushed at his innuendo, and Marcus laughed out loud. ‘For a sophisticated lady, you blush delightfully.’

‘It’s the bane of my life,’ she admitted with a grin. ‘The penalty for being a redhead, I suppose.’

Marcus sent her a flashing smile of pure male satisfaction. ‘A natural one, as I now know, but if I don’t make this call my penalty is going to be the loss of a rather large deal.’

‘Heaven forbid, business first.’

He gave her a playful shove. ‘And you can have the bathroom first, and if you’re lucky I might join you.’

Eloise shot him a startled glance and, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grasped the sheet and pulled it around her. She caught Marcus’s husky chuckle, but she wasn’t brave enough to parade in front of him naked—yet. She walked across to the bathroom door and turned. Her green eyes sparkling, she drawled, ‘Promises, promises,’ with a shake of her beautiful head. She could joke because she felt so great. He hadn’t said he loved her, but she was sure he did, and they had all the time in the world to get to know each other.

But in that she was wrong.

Five minutes later she walked back into the bedroom, and there was no sign of Marcus. Quickly she slipped back into her rather crumpled clothes, and wandered through into the sitting room.

Almost dressed, he was shrugging his broad shoulders into the jacket of his suit. He looked heartbreakingly handsome, and Eloise wanted to fling herself into his arms. Instead she picked up her own jacket and slipped it on, suddenly shy.

‘Sorry, Eloise.’ He strode towards her. ‘But the call was a bit more complicated than I had envisaged.’ He slid a comforting arm around her shoulder. ‘I’d better get you home.’ His dark eyes rueful, he looked down at her. ‘I need to get on to the computer.’

‘Oh.’

Marcus noted the crestfallen expression on her lovely face. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise.’ And as he said it he knew it was true. He wanted this woman far more than any other woman he had ever met, and he did not want the relationship compromised by what to him was a paltry sum of money.

He was Greek, and honour and pride meant a lot. He had been very close to his Uncle Theo, who had been taken for a fool by Chloe Baker, and, sure Eloise had benefited from her mother’s scam—in fact all the evidence suggested she was in on the scam with Chloe. But it did not follow that she would do the same on her own. He had made some calls today and, as far as he could ascertain, Eloise worked hard at a successful business and, unlike her mother, she was not known for granting sexual favours to men, while conning them out of money.

Why spoil what promised to be a great affair by seeking monetary revenge? Everyone was entitled to one mistake in life, and she had been very young. His mind made up, he gathered Eloise into his arms, and kissed her. ‘Forgive me,’ he murmured against her cheek.

Staring up at him, Eloise was astonished to see a flicker of vulnerability in his lustrous black eyes, and her heart swelled with love. He was actually worried about leaving her, proof that he really cared. ‘Of course, Marcus, always.’ She lifted a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t worry. You forget I have a business to run myself—I understand.’

If only he could… ‘Yes, I know,’ Marcus said shortly, his arm dropping from her shoulder to curve round her elbow and lead her to the door.

Sensing the tension in his huge frame, she tried hard to reassure him as they went down in the elevator. ‘Actually, I am going to be very busy myself. We are expanding and opening a branch in Paris.’

‘Isn’t that rather sudden?’ Marcus queried, urging her out of the elevator and into the hotel foyer.

Eloise’s glance flew up to meet dark enigmatic eyes. ‘Not really. After dinner last night, Ted and I stayed on to watch the show, and had a real fun evening. We danced and joked and Ted agreed to invest the money to expand KHE in principle.’ She grinned up at Marcus. ‘It was great, but it was three before I got home, and then we talked over the possibilities of opening in Paris. Ted actually knows of some great premises that are available.’

By we Eloise meant Katy and Harry, but Marcus drew a totally different conclusion. His dark eyes blazed with savage violence that Eloise was totally unaware of; she had no idea of the effect her rambling explanation was having on the man at her side.

‘It was so exciting, it was after five before I finally got to sleep, then this morning we signed the deal, and went out for lunch to celebrate.’ The enthusiasm in her tone was unmistakable. This had been one of the best days of her life—success in business, and in love.

A muscle knotted in Marcus’s jaw. Home at three and finally asleep at five! It did not take Einstein to work out what she had been doing, and yet he could have sworn he was her first lover, more fool him… He’d been wrong about Eloise—and he’d been taken in by her beguiling act. Just like Ted had.

‘You’ve planned everything out pretty carefully, I see. Good for you,’ he grated, lashing himself into a fury at her deceit, made all the more powerful by the fact that an hour ago he’d been willing to forgive the damn woman anything.

Yet by her own admission she’d spent the night with Ted Charlton, persuaded him into parting with the money she wanted and rounded the date off with lunch. Eloise was exactly like her mother. Her sexy body had addled his brain, but no more… This time she was going to pay…

‘Get in the car,’ he said between gritted, even white teeth.

Eloise never noticed the icy anger in his eyes as he leant over her and fastened her seat belt. She simply wallowed in the heavenly scent of his magnificent male body, and finally realised what animal magnetism was really all about.

The car stopped before the entrance of her home, and she turned to Marcus but he was already out and walking around the front of the car. He opened the passenger door and held out his hand. Trustingly Eloise curled her fingers around the firm warmth of his palm, as she straightened and they walked to the door.

‘You have your key?’

‘Yes.’ Reluctantly, she let go of his hand while she extracted the key from her purse and inserted it in the lock. She glanced up at him uncertainly. ‘Do you want to come in?’

‘No, I have to dash.’

He was a tall, broad silhouette outlined by the streetlight, his features in shadow, and for a moment she wondered what lay behind the dark mask of his face. And what was the protocol when you had slept with a man? Suddenly she was nervous for no reason. ‘Well, thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said softly, and stupidly offered her hand.

‘I think we are past the handshaking stage, Eloise, way past,’ Marcus drawled mockingly, making no attempt to take her hand. ‘I’ll be in touch. But I think I might have to go to America for a while.’

Her heart sank. She might not see him again for weeks. ‘Promise,’ she demanded urgently; there was something about the cool remote look in his eyes that worried her.

One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Oh, I promise, Eloise.’ With a speed that left her breathless, he hauled her into his arms, and kissed her with a savagery that left her reeling. He spun on his heel and was opening the car door before she could say good night.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘SO WHAT do you think?’ Eloise did a pirouette, showing off the black strapless cocktail dress with a skirt that ended a good three inches above her knees, clinging to every curve of her body in between. ‘The new me.’ Her green eyes laughing, she sought the opinion of Katy, who was sitting on Eloise’s sofa a bit like a beached whale, her eyes wide as saucers.

It was Saturday evening and Eloise had spent the whole day shopping for a complete new wardrobe, and for the past hour she had modelled them all for Katy.

‘I’m stunned. They are all gorgeous—quite a metamorphosis from the perennial student to an elegant woman, and not before time.’

‘I know.’ Eloise sat down beside Katy on the sofa. ‘I never really felt the need, what with working and living here, plus I don’t feel so guilty spending money on myself, now I know Ted Charlton is backing us thanks to you and Harry.’

‘Don’t thank us,’ Katy said, staggering to her feet. ‘In my opinion, your new dress sense has little to do with the business expanding, and more to do with a dark-eyed Greek, and I’m glad for you. But be careful.’

Eloise felt the colour rise in her cheeks. Katy was right, but since her dinner date with Marcus her whole attitude had changed. It was four days since she had dined with him, made love with him, and she was missing him quite dreadfully. She only had to think of the kisses they’d shared to be able to taste him on her lips, and when she thought of the rest, her body burned. She could hardly believe the transformation from celibate female to the hungry, needy woman she had become, but she liked it. She felt like a teenager again, and jumped every time the telephone rang.

‘Did you hear what I said?’ Katy chuckled at the dreamy expression on her partner’s face. ‘Be careful.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about; I only had dinner once with the man.’ She had not told Katy everything! ‘As for being careful—’ Eloise got to her feet ‘—aren’t I always?’ she murmured dryly. ‘Come on, I’ll help you back down stairs. Harry should be back soon.’

The door slamming and a voice yelling ‘Katy’ made the two women smile.

‘Speak of the devil.’ Eloise laughed as she helped Katy down to her apartment.

Half an hour later, Eloise walked back up to her own place. Harry had returned from Paris, having completed the deal on the property to expand the business. Everything was going great, and all it needed to make Eloise’s life perfect was for Marcus to return.

Relaxing by the telephone on Sunday evening, if one could call it relaxing, as she lived in hope Marcus would call, Eloise idly leafed through the morning paper. Her hand stilled, and her happy state of anticipation, took a nosedive. Her stomach turned in a nauseous roll, her eyes fixed on the glossy photograph in the celebrity section. Marcus Kouvaris with his beautiful companion Nadine snapped at a charity ball in London on Thursday evening. The night after he had taken Eloise out…

Eloise stared at the image of a devastatingly attractive Marcus in a black dinner suit, smiling at the tall blonde hanging on to his arm, and wanted to weep. What a fool she was. Floating on cloud nine, imagining a relationship with Marcus Kouvaris, dreaming impossible dreams of love, and even marriage, rushing out and buying a whole new wardrobe on the strength of ‘I’ll call you’… She ground her teeth together in angry frustration at her own lunatic behaviour.

Slowly, like an old woman, she got to her feet, the paper dropping unnoticed to the floor, and made her way to the bedroom. Her eyes filled with moisture. She flopped down on the bed and let the tears fall. She had vowed at nineteen never to cry over another man again. Strictly speaking, she had not broken her vow, she thought between sobs as she was crying over the same man. But didn’t that make her an even bigger idiot?

She rolled over onto her stomach, buried her face in the pillow and sobbed her heart out. Her slender body shook with the force of her grief.

Finally, all cried out, she turned over onto her back, and with sightless eyes gazed at the ceiling. She could remember every touch, every kiss, the awe, the wonder she’d felt when he’d finally possessed her. But what for her had been a miracle, for Marcus had obviously been simply another roll in the hay. When she finally slept a tall dark man haunted her dreams, and she cried out in her sleep.

Work was Eloise’s salvation, but even that did not occupy her every waking hour, and she found herself making excuses for the man. Perhaps his date with Nadine was innocent, perhaps he would still ring her—and she despised herself for her weakness.

But as March gave way to April, and then May, and Marcus never contacted her again, finally Eloise accepted it was history repeating itself. Marcus had forgotten all about her. She and Katy worked flat out to build up a whole new range for the Paris branch and work stopped her brooding over Marcus.

Katy gave birth to a fine baby boy, Benjamin, and Eloise found herself more involved in the business side than ever. But designing was her strong point so they decided to employ two more staff—a young man, Peter, fresh out of college, to help with the actual making of the pieces, and then there was Floe Brown, a woman in her fifties who wanted to get back into work after being out of the job market for years, who was an absolute gem. When not helping Harry in the office she quite happily looked after the baby and let Katy work; it was a brilliant arrangement.

Eloise had reason to be grateful for her new clothes, even if she had bought them with one particular man in mind. Surprisingly she discovered they gave her a growing confidence in herself. Because of Katy’s involvement with her new baby, Eloise, who had left the publicity aspect of the business to Katy and Harry, now found she was more involved with the setting up of the Paris boutique, doing interviews, and socialising with the ultra-chic French. A welcome spin-off was she actually developed a veneer of sophistication that effectively masked her naturally very private nature.

It was a warm June afternoon, and just two hours to the grand opening of KHE of Paris. Eloise glanced around the elegant shop with a professional eye. The jewellery on display was some of their best work and, fingers crossed, she prayed the new outlet would be a success. They had spent an awful lot of money and taken on quite a debt, but according to Harry it was manageable. It had better be, she thought dryly, or they might all end up out on the street, instead of in the plush hotel where they had spent the last two days getting everything ready.

‘Right, Jeff. I’m leaving you in charge; don’t touch anything, and don’t start on the champagne. Katy, Harry and I will be back by five-thirty, ready to open the doors for the preview at six. Okay?’

‘Stop fussing; go and make yourself beautiful. Julian is determined to get some really stunning photographs tonight for the glossy mags. If even half the people invited turn up it will be a great success, so stop worrying.’

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror in her hotel an hour later, Eloise could not help worrying. Outlining her full lips with one last coat of lip-gloss, she patted them with a tissue, and stepped back. Her red hair was piled high on the top of her head in a coronet of curls. Her makeup was subtle, a touch of eye-shadow and eyeliner accentuated her wide green eyes, her thick lashes held the lightest trace of mascara, and a light moisturiser was all she needed. Around her throat she wore a glittering jade and jet choker that draped down her breastbone in a waterfall of intricately cut beads, one of her own designs, and displayed perfectly against her pale skin. Matching earrings and a wide bracelet around her slender wrist completed the set.

Eloise ran her hands down her hips, smoothing the fabric of the simple black strapless sheath dress she was wearing over her thighs, to where it ended some way above her knees.

Yes, Katy had been right, it was the perfect foil for the jewellery, Eloise thought musingly and, leaving the bathroom, she picked up her purse and headed for Katy’s hotel room.

‘At last,’ Harry blurted as he opened the door at Eloise’s knock. ‘We’re going to be late for our own opening.’

‘Don’t panic.’ Eloise looked at his frazzled expression, and wanted to laugh. ‘I’m sure everything will be fine.’

And it was, Eloise thought some three hours later looking around the crowded room. The two French staff they had employed were being kept busy. Julian was happily taking shots of at least four supermodels, and a handful of the top French designers were present, plus a lot of their very wealthy clients.

The jewellery had been admired and sold, plus they had taken a highly satisfactory number of orders and one elderly lady had even tried to buy the set Eloise was wearing. The champagne and canapés seemed to be holding out, and she allowed herself a small sigh of pleasure as she took a sip of champagne. The first drink she’d had, as she’d wanted to keep a clear head.

‘I told you, Eloise—’ Ted Charlton appeared at her side ‘—you have a winner, no doubt about it.’

‘I hope so, for your sake as well as ours.’ She smiled at the burly American.

‘Oh, I’m not bothered,’ Ted said, and in abrupt change of subject added, ‘how well do you know Marcus Kouvaris?’

She stiffened. ‘I had dinner with him a while ago. I suppose you could say we are friends.’ The fact she had hoped they could be a lot more still had the power to hurt her, and with a dismissive shrug of her slender shoulders she made herself add lightly. ‘Or perhaps acquaintances would be a better word.’

‘Good, good, that’s what I thought.’ The obvious relief in his tone was plain.

‘Why do you ask?’ she demanded.

Ted took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and gulped it down, before turning his attention back to Eloise. ‘I’m taking you out to dinner later. We’ll talk then, okay?’

She liked the older man and she didn’t want to make an issue out of a casual question, especially not about Marcus. ‘Okay, Ted.’ She grinned.

‘Great,’ and, patting her shoulder, he moved off into the crowd.

Eloise shook her head, Ted was half drunk already and, draining her own glass, she turned and placed it on the table behind her.

‘Hello, Ted, great to see you again.’

Eloise recognised the deep, slightly accented voice above the hum of the crowd, and shock froze her to the spot. It was Marcus Kouvaris. What was he doing here? She certainly hadn’t invited him. Though she might have done if he’d ever bothered to keep in touch, her own innate honesty forced her to admit, as she fought to control her pounding heart.

How long she stood with her back to the crowd, she had no idea, but finally schooling her features into a polite social mask she turned around, head high, and let her glance roam apparently idly over the room. Then she saw him. His dark head was bent towards one of the models, apparently listening to what the woman was saying.

He was easily the tallest man present and, with his dark good looks, and wearing an immaculately tailored lightweight beige suit, he stood out from the crowd. Eloise could not take her eyes off him; animal magnetism didn’t cover it, she thought helplessly. Whatever it was, Marcus had it in spades.

Suddenly he lifted his head and night-black eyes clashed with hers and just as suddenly Eloise had the totally unladylike desire to yell at him? ‘Where the hell have you been for the past three months?’ Of course she didn’t, but instead she managed a stiff smile, before tearing her gaze from his.

She feigned interest in the elderly lady who was once again admiring her necklace, but without hearing a word the poor dear was saying.

A large hand lightly brushed her forearm, to attract her attention; her head jerked up. It was Marcus at her side. Keep it cool, you’re a sophisticated businesswoman, she told herself firmly. So what if she had a one-night stand with the man? She wasn’t the first and she certainly would not be the last where a sexual predator like Marcus Kouvaris was concerned. She had no illusions on that score, and though he didn’t know it he’d done her a favour…

‘Marcus, what a surprise. I thought you would be far too busy to attend this sort of thing,’ she opined lightly.

‘Ah, Eloise, would I miss your opening?’ he prompted his dark eyes holding a glint of wicked humour. ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t get in touch sooner.’ His smile was disarming. ‘But pressure of work.’ He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘That’s how it goes sometimes.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Eloise couldn’t say anything else under the circumstances. She had no claim on the man. So he had taken her to bed and taken her virginity? What did that matter to a devil like Marcus?

‘I knew you would understand.’ His eyes captured hers, faintly mocking beneath hooded lids, and the breath caught in her throat.

‘Yes, well, I’m an understanding kind of girl,’ she managed in a weak attempt at humour.

‘You are also a very beautiful one.’ Marcus moved slightly, the sleeve of his jacket brushing her arm. ‘You look fantastic.’ With casual ease, he reached out and lifted the waterfall of beads at her throat, and let them trail through his long fingers. ‘Your design?’

He was much too close. The heady masculine scent of him, the touch of his fingers on her flesh, sent heat flooding through every vein in her body. She swallowed hard, and stepped back. ‘Yes.’

‘Exquisite.’ His hand fell from her throat. ‘Congratulations, Eloise. It looks like your latest venture will be a great success.’

With a bit of space between them, Eloise felt slightly more in control. ‘Thank you. We hope so,’ she responded with a baring of her teeth that she hoped would pass for a smile, and glimpsed a flash of mockery in the dark eyes that held her own.

‘Can there be a doubt? After all, Eloise, your mother was highly successful, and you obviously have her talent.’ A talent for squeezing money out of men, Marcus thought grimly. But she had other talents, he recognised, as he looked down at her. She was one gorgeous, sexy lady, as he knew only too well, but she was also a liar and a devious little thief. Yet even now if he saw just one genuine smile from her luscious lips, he would probably forgive her everything, and he despised himself for it.

‘You think so?’

‘Oh, I know so,’ he said with the arch of one perfect ebony brow. ‘But let’s cut out the niceties and get down to what really interests me.’ The gleam in his eyes, as he surveyed her slender figure from the top of her head to her toes, left her in no doubt as to what he meant.

Eloise fought down the blush that threatened and said, ‘Actually, I’m surprised to see you here. I don’t remember inviting you.’

‘You didn’t. Ted Charlton did.’

Eloise stared up at him, her green eyes puzzled. ‘I didn’t realise you knew him that well.’

A smile touched his hard mouth. ‘You’d be surprised. But let’s not talk about Ted; let’s talk about you. I suppose it’s too much to hope you are still unattached. There must be lots of men in Paris all vying for your attention.’

‘I don’t think that’s any business of yours.’ She hid a wry smile, thinking of the twenty-hour days she had worked to get the Paris shop started.

‘I thought we were friends.’ His gaze was unwaveringly direct ‘More than friends.’ His deep voice dropped seductively. ‘After this is over, let me take you out to dinner and show you.’

For sheer arrogant conceit, he took the biscuit, Eloise thought furiously. He had slept with her, dropped her like a hot potato, and casually walked back into her life, uninvited, months later, and thought he could seduce her all over again. What kind of fool did he take he for? He might be incredibly handsome, and incredibly rich, but he was also a womanising bastard, as she knew to her cost.

‘Thank you for the invite, but no, thanks. I already have a dinner date.’

One black brow lifted sardonically. ‘Shame. Perhaps some other time, as I remember the last time we dined together you seemed to enjoy my company, and I know I enjoyed you.’

Hot colour stained her cheeks. How dared he remind her of that? She wanted to knock the cynical smile off his rotten face. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, and she was rigid with anger… But, remembering where she was, with the greatest difficulty she controlled herself.

‘Eloise, isn’t it marvellous?’ Katy was Eloise’s salvation.

Turning her back on Marcus, her gaze flew to her friend’s face. Katy looked amused and excited, whereas she felt embarrassed. ‘Yes, great.’

‘For heaven’s sake, lighten up, Eloise. We’re a success. Enjoy it, and introduce me to this marvellous man.’

Eloise almost groaned out loud. Marcus had positioned himself at her side, and was standing there, oozing charm… The snake! But she had no choice but to make the introductions. She watched cynically as Marcus, with a few well-chosen words that flattered Katy’s beauty and business sense, charmed her friend completely.

‘You’ve met Harry, I believe,’ Eloise said as Harry joined the group.

‘Yes, the first time guarding the door in London, and I can’t say I blame you, Harry, with two such stunningly attractive woman to look after.’

‘Your chauvinism is showing,’ Katy quipped, and they all laughed.

‘Then let me apologise by taking you all to dinner.’

‘No, no.’ Ted appeared. ‘Tonight is my treat. Eloise has already agreed but, hey, why don’t you all come—and you too, Marcus? It will save time.’

‘Eloise?’ Katy deferred, and the decision was hers.

Save time for what? Eloise briefly wondered but, pinning a smile on her face, she said, ‘Yes, the more, the merrier.’ But inside she was fuming. And what did Marcus mean by ‘the first time he had met Harry’? To her knowledge he had only met Harry once. Was Marcus having a sly dig at her? Her paranoia was showing. Marcus Kouvaris was not worth thinking about.

‘Come on, then,’ Harry cried. ‘Let’s thank and say goodbye to our guests. Jeff and Julian can close up. We have already overrun half an hour, and I am not used to eating late; my stomach feels as if my throat is cut.’

General laughter followed, and an hour later saw the five of them seated at a table next to the small dance floor in a nightclub in the Latin Quarter, enjoying a jovial meal.

‘I’m stuffed,’ Katy groaned, eyeing the last remnants of a huge cream concoction. ‘And if I don’t get back to the hotel soon, our son will be screaming for his feed, and Floe will be pulling her hair out.’

‘Before you decide to leave,’ Ted cut in, ‘I have something to tell you.’

The meal had been torture for Eloise, who’d been trying to behave cool and unconcerned by Marcus’s presence. Forced to watch him win over Katy with his wit and easy charm, when she wanted to yell he was a rat… She gave an inward sigh of relief when Katy proposed leaving—her ordeal was almost over. But she was wrong. It was just beginning…

‘Katy, Eloise, I have an announcement to make,’ Ted declared.

Glancing at Ted, Eloise, saw the almost conspiratorial look he exchanged with Harry and Marcus, and Marcus’s head dipped slightly in a nod of assent. She looked from one to the other, an uneasy suspicion she was not going to like Ted’s revelation making her stiffen in her seat.

‘I have sold my share in KHE to Marcus here.’ Ted gestured expansively with the wave of his brandy glass. ‘He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and, before you girls start worrying, let me assure you Marcus is committed to investing double the amount I gave you. Expansion into New York, if you like.’ He beamed around the table. ‘A great deal all round, isn’t it, Harry?’

The announcement hit Eloise like a punch in the stomach. It turned her to stone. She could feel the blood slowly draining from her face, and the panicked increase in her heartbeat. Marcus as a partner—not the kind she had once dreamed, a marriage partner, but a business partner. She glanced at him, and he returned her look without a flicker of emotion showing on his hard features. She searched his hooded dark eyes, but found nothing other than an arched eyebrow at her scrutiny. Why? Why on earth would Marcus buy into their business?

‘You knew about this?’ Eloise heard Katy demand of Harry, and glanced across the table at her two friends.

‘Yes, but I didn’t want to worry you with business when you had our baby to look after and all the extra work Eloise had to do. Plus the deal was only finalised three days ago, and we wanted no hint of changing partners so near to the Paris opening. You know what the press are like—the least hint of instability and the rumours would fly.’

Marcus took charge in his indomitable manner. ‘Your husband is right, Katy. I have no intention of interfering in any way with your work. You and Eloise will have complete artistic freedom.’ Turning his attention from Katy to Eloise, his black lashed glittering eyes trailed over her tense figure, lingering on the curve of her breasts and finally slowly back up to her pale face to trap her angry green eyes. ‘I promise,’ he vowed softly, ‘I will simply be a sleeping partner, a sleeping partner who provides the money, when and where it is needed.’ He smiled, a brief curl of his lips.

Eloise’s slender hands closed convulsively together on her lap. He sat there, cool, calm, and immensely self-assured, and only she could see the smile never reached his eyes, but contempt and a glint of sexual menace glimmered in the black depths.

‘It will be fine, Eloise,’ Harry piped up.

‘You should have discussed it. I mean, Ted is, was…’ Eloise floundered wildly for a moment with a glance at the now thoroughly drunk Ted. He was no help, she realised with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. One look at Katy talking animatedly on the side to Marcus, and she knew Katy had already accepted the deal. Her friend would never go against her husband in any case.

‘Are you all right with this new arrangement, Eloise?’ Katy finally asked, her brown eyes sparkling. ‘Personally, I think it’s an incredible opportunity.’

An opportunity for whom? Eloise wondered. And did they have a choice?

‘Yes. You’re probably right,’ she conceded. A steel band of tension was now throbbing across her head, and she took very little part in the ensuing conversation, her thoughts and emotions in chaos.

It didn’t make sense. If Marcus had cared for her, she could perhaps understand him investing in KHE. But he hadn’t contacted her in over three months. So why? The question went around and around in her brain.

Another bottle of champagne and another round of toasts were drunk to the new partnership, and everyone congratulated everyone else. While Eloise had to battle to keep a smile on her face, her lips were numb with the effort.

‘I know I said I would not interfere in the running of the business.’ Marcus’s comment made Eloise sit up and take notice.

‘But KHE is a bit of an obscure title for designer jewellery. No disrespect to you, Katy and Harry, but did you never consider something like, “Eloise by Design”? It has a much more sophisticated ring to it.’ Marcus dropped the original name invented by Chloe and Eloise into the conversation, and watched with narrowed eyes as all the colour faded from Eloise’s face. She looked as guilty as sin, exactly as he’d expected. Though he hadn’t expected the overlong tense pause, and he turned his attention to Katy. She was staring at Eloise with a mixture of horror and sympathy! There was something between them Marcus did not understand…

‘We did consider it,’ Katy answered. ‘But decided we preferred the more enigmatic KHE. We thought it sounds like “key,” and the key to a well-dressed woman is the jewellery she wears.’

Eloise gave an inward sigh of relief when Marcus appeared to accept the explanation and asked Katy to dance. At least it would get him away from the table, and give her a chance to try and get her thoughts into some kind of order and make sense of the evening’s proceedings.

‘No, sorry, Marcus. Harry and I are responsible parents now. It’s time we called a taxi and got back to our son. And, by the look of Ted, we’d better take him with us. He doesn’t look capable of making his own way back to the hotel.’

‘What about you, Eloise?’ Marcus queried, turning his head to glance down at her by his side. ‘The night is still young. Shall we dance?’ His dark eyes lit with amusement and something else she did not want to acknowledge dared her to agree. ‘Or are you going to desert me as well?’

Eloise felt the colour surge in her cheeks, and prayed no one noticed. She had been supremely conscious of Marcus all through the meal. The occasional brush of his thigh against hers beneath the table, the apparently friendly gesture when he placed his hand on her arm when making a point, the rub of his shoulder against her when he leant forward to fill Katy’s wine glass. He hadn’t singled her out particularly, but he’d managed to arouse her to a state of tension without even trying. It was only the presence of her friends that had allowed her to retain a modicum of self-control. Until Ted had dropped his bombshell—and she was still trying to get her head around the fact that Marcus had bought into the company. Dancing with the man was the last thing she wanted. ‘No…’ She began to make her excuse.

‘Of course she will,’ Katy cut in, rising to her feet along with Harry and Ted. ‘Eloise has been working like a slave for months; she deserves some fun.’ Katy answered before Eloise could mouth her refusal. ‘She is staying here for a couple of days to sort out any teething troubles, so a late night won’t kill her.’

‘Do you mind?’ Eloise finally found her voice. ‘I can speak for myself,’ she shot back.

‘I know, Eloise,’ Katy responded, suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry.’

Marcus glanced back from one woman to the other and for the second time that evening thought there was something going on between them, but dismissed the notion when Eloise spoke.

‘Don’t apologise.’ Lifting defiant green eyes to Marcus, she added, ‘Yes, I’d like to dance.’ She had vowed never to be afraid of any man again, and she was damned if she would allow Marcus to intimidate her.

The others left, and Eloise found herself held in Marcus’s arms, moving around the dance floor to blues music in a state of nervous tension.

Marcus glanced down at her stiffly held head. The thick red coronet of curls had sprouted a few tendrils around her face. He could feel the tension in her and he deliberately tightened his hold, moving more heavily against her.

She shivered in response, but fought the emotion and won, by dint of squaring her shoulders and tilting back her head to stare up into his face. ‘Are you going to tell me why, after three months of ignoring me, you’ve suddenly bought into our company?’

A satiric smile curved his expressive mouth. ‘Perhaps I saw a good deal, and took it,’ he said smoothly. ‘But you and I both know the real reason.’

‘I have no idea,’ she muttered, her eyes wide and puzzled, searched his hard features. Perhaps he wanted to make up to her for ignoring her past three months. The amazing thought popped into her head. It was an extravagant gesture, but maybe—just maybe—it was true, and for a while she allowed herself the luxury of believing it.

‘No doubt you will enlighten me when you want to,’ she said with the first genuine smile she had given him all evening. She was too confused and too tired to argue and, some of the tension easing out of her, she relaxed in his arms.

She knew damn well what he meant. Why else would she relax in his arms and smile? A ploy as old as Eve, but it was too little too late as far as Marcus was concerned. He knew it was a mockery of innocent surrender, but knowing that didn’t lessen the impact of her sexy body against his. Marcus almost groaned out loud. Her softness seemed to accommodate the hard planes and angles of him as if made to measure. She was so beautiful, so sweet and receptive. Christos! Where had that come from? She was about as sweet as a wasp!

Reining in his raging libido, Marcus stopped and pushed her lightly away from him. He saw the surprise in her eyes, but ignored it. ‘I think you and I need to talk, but not here, somewhere private.’ Dropping a hand to her waist, he surveyed her beneath heavily hooded lids. ‘My apartment or your hotel—take your pick.’

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE had been in danger in falling for his formidable charms all over again, Eloise thought with dismay. He only had to take her in his arms and every sensible thought flew her brain. ‘Your place or mine.’ If he thought she was falling for that corny line, he was mistaken.

‘Really, Marcus, surely you can come up with something better than that?’ She gave a light laugh, casting him a glance from beneath the thick fringe of her lashes. ‘I’ve heard better chat-up lines from a teenager.’

‘I’m sure you have, and acted on them,’ Marcus said, with dark emphasis. ‘But, unlike Ted Charlton, I want a lot more from you than a one-night stand.’

‘You think… Ted and me…?’ Her sophistication slipped, and shock had her spluttering incoherently. ‘Why, you…you…’

Grasping her by the elbow, he led her towards the table, his long fingers biting into the flesh of her arm as his dark head bent intimately towards her, giving the impression to anyone watching they were a close and loving couple, while mouthing harshly, ‘You stole from my family.’

She was badly shaken by his assumption she had slept with Ted, and the instant racing of her pulse as his warm breath caressed her ear didn’t help. She could barely take in what he was saying, until he concluded with sibilant softness, ‘And I want you back in my bed until I consider the debt is paid.’

Involuntarily her jaw dropped. At the same time his hand fell from her arm and Eloise tilted her head to stare at him like a stranded trout, her mouth working and no sound coming out. Feeling the edge of a chair at the back of her knees, she collapsed down on the seat, and cast a panicked glance around the room. She was still in the nightclub, but she felt like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole.

Come to think of it, the whole evening had been a bit like the Mad Hatter’s tea party. And Marcus could certainly double as the Knave of Hearts, accusing her of sleeping with Ted Charlton, while he cut a swathe through women, she thought bitterly. She regarded him with wide angry eyes. And stole from him? As far she knew, he’d only been in business with them one day. Was he mad, or what?

‘You’re crazy,’ she declared, finally finding her voice. ‘You’ve completely lost your marbles.’

‘No.’ Marcus looked at her with cold contempt that made her skin crawl. ‘I have the proof, Eloise. This time, you’re not escaping the consequences of your actions. I’m going to make sure you don’t.’

He was towering over like some great avenging angel—or devil was more apt, she corrected in her head. ‘I have never stolen anything in my life. I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said, conviction in every syllable. ‘I really don’t.’

‘Liar.’ Marcus’s cold eyes raked her with derision. ‘You fell into my bed the last time we met, all wild and willing, simply to soften me up—and I nearly fell for it.’

She flinched as though she’d been struck. If only he knew the courage, the great leap of faith in his integrity it had taken for her to make love with him. If he’d continued their relationship, she might have confided in him by now, but she wasn’t about to reveal her innermost fears to a man who had used her as a one-night stand.

And yet she could not explain to herself why it should hurt so much when Marcus looked at her with derision. She owed the man nothing.

Eloise opened her mouth, about to tell him so, but fear closed her throat as she recalled his other threat to have her back in his bed. Disgusted with herself, not Marcus, because for one heart-stopping moment she was tempted.

She had to get out of here! Picking up her purse, she tried to stand, but his hand on her shoulder forced her back down.

‘Sit,’ he ordered.

Eloise couldn’t think straight, paralysed by shock as he pulled up a chair and sat beside her at the table, angling his seat so he could watch her every move. She felt sick inside, as with dawning horror she realised he actually believed what he was saying.

‘You do well to remain silent.’ Contemptuous amusement glittered in his dark eyes as he noted her bewilderment, the scarlet colour in her cheeks. ‘Under that aura of innocence you wear so well beats the heart of a con-artist. A very talented, beautiful woman, but a thief nevertheless. I know what you are…’ His glittering gaze rested on her with a blatant sexual intensity. ‘And yet I want to possess that body, and until such time as I consider you have paid the debt you and your mother owe my family, you will stay with me.’

He had as good as called her a whore, but that paled into insignificance at the mention of her mother. A growing sense of dread seeped into Eloise’s mind. ‘What has my mother got to do with this?’ she asked shakily.

‘Oh, please!’ Marcus mocked her supposed ignorance, but when she still stared at him with wary eyes, he gestured with his palms up. ‘Okay, Eloise have it your way,’ and he clarified with impatience, ‘Chloe rented one of my uncle’s villas, seduced the man, and then persuaded Theo to give her half a million to invest in her jewellery business—with your collusion, Eloise—and the pair of you vanished as soon as the cheque cleared.’

Appalled at the scenario Marcus presented, Eloise felt tension tighten her every muscle. Because, deep down, she had a horrible feeling there might be some truth in his words. Her mother had been close to Theo Toumbis when they’d stayed on Rykos. They’d departed in a hurry. Maybe Chloe had borrowed money from the man. Eloise had not known her mother well enough to say yes or no. But her mother was dead, and in deference to her memory at least deserved her support, Eloise staunchly reminded herself.

‘You expect me to agree to be your, your mi—mistress.’ She stammered over the word. ‘Until I pay off some mythical debt I am supposed to owe you.’ Eloise tried for a laugh. ‘Dream on, Buster.’ Pushing back her chair, she stood up again.

A chilling smile formed on his lips as he also rose to his feet ‘Think about it. You agree to my terms, or I pull out of the deal with your firm.’ His black eyes, gleaming with an unholy light of triumph, captured hers. ‘Tonight’s celebration, Eloise, will be looked on as a wake. Without the capital to maintain the Paris branch, you will have to close with a mountain of new debt, and within a very short space of time your London base will go bankrupt. I will make sure of it.’

‘You can’t do that!’ Eloise gasped, amazed at the change in the man from sophisticated charmer into a ruthless, remote figure. She saw the implacable determination in his hard gaze, and she shook with fear and outrage. Rage won…

Well, he was not getting away with it. How dared he threaten her like this? Who the hell did he think he was? ‘I won’t let you,’ she snapped.

‘You can’t stop me,’ Marcus said without a flicker of emotion. ‘Speak to Harry—he will confirm what I say. I’ll give you until tomorrow to decide. But think of the effect on Katy and Harry and their baby, their livelihood, before you make up your mind.’ Dropping a bundle of notes on the table, he took her arm and urged her forward. ‘This is too public.’ His dark impervious gaze swept the room. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a cab,’ he added smoothly, viewing her with dark threatening eyes.

‘I don’t need to think,’ she spat, her fury rising to eclipse her earlier fear completely. ‘The answer is no—and, as for Kate and Harry, they are my friends. They’ll stand by me and ignore your ridiculous accusations.’ Eloise took half a dozen enraged steps at his side without realising, then stopped suddenly, yanking her arm free.

‘And I’ll get my own cab,’ she hissed. ‘I want nothing from you, and this so-called business partnership will be dissolved tomorrow. I don’t know how you talked Ted and Harry into it, but we are getting out.’ She stepped out into the foyer.

‘As you please.’ Marcus’s voice followed her, low and lethal. ‘Then I will see you in court.’

The heated colour drained from her face. She stilled. The exit to the street and freedom was barely a step away, but for Eloise it might as well have been a million miles. Once she had given evidence in a court case, and it had been the worst experience of her life. No way could she face doing it again. Taking deep steadying breaths, she fought down the panic that threatened to choke her, and slowly turned to face Marcus. ‘Court? What do you mean by court?’ she demanded starkly.

‘Unless we come to a private agreement, I shall of course present the evidence of your deception to a court of law.’ A shrug of his broad shoulders, and Marcus’s mouth curled in a cynical smile, apparently registering a supreme masculine indifference either way that made her blood run cold. ‘The decision is yours, but you no longer have until tomorrow. I want your answer tonight.’

Eloise swallowed hard, smoothed the fine fabric of her dress down over her hips with damp palms, and wondered what had happened to the Marcus she had first met. The Marcus who had valued her innocence, and then later the lover who had made her initiation into womanhood a magical experience. Was she really such a dim-wit that, for a few short hours, a few kind words and sweet caresses, she forgot what life had taught her? Men could be swine, and worse…

She would never make the same mistake again. Imperceptibly her shoulders straightened, and the ability to disguise her inner thoughts, developed with years of practice, slid back into place in her mind, like a steel trap door closing. She had vowed once never to trust another man as long as she lived, and for a brief space of time she had forgotten, but never again.

‘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.

‘All right,’ Eloise said lowering her eyes from his to intense gaze, afraid he would see more than she wanted him to know. ‘I agree, one year from today and we go our separate ways.’

‘I knew you would be sensible, after all what have you got to lose?’ he husked, his hands stroking up over the soft curve of her shoulders.

Eloise didn’t answer for a long moment. I knew you would be sensible. His arrogant assumption stiffened her spine, as nothing else could have done, a slow-growing, icy anger invading every cell in her body. Marcus did not know her at all, and never would…

For four years she had had no faith in her own femininity and had repressed all her sexual urges, until three months ago when Marcus had shown her in one memorable night what it was to be a woman. For a while she had confused lust with love. But by not contacting her again Marcus had effectively disabused her of the notion, and his actions tonight simply underlined the point.

For the first time in her life she faced up to the fact she was a mature woman, a sensual being with needs and desires of her own and she had no need to be ashamed of them… Ironically, Marcus had taught her that tonight as well. If sex was all he wanted, what had she got to lose? His words! They had already been lovers, and she did want him; she had a sneaky suspicion he might be the only man she wanted. But she owed him no loyalty, nothing, and she could walk away when the time came with her business and life intact.

She let her gaze slide over him, sizing him up, tall powerful, authority stamped in every line, a pure alpha male. She didn’t doubt he would take her to court. She lifted her eyes to his face—strikingly handsome, with a strong jaw that was beginning to show a dark shadow, and a wickedly sensuous mouth—and she had made her decision. Why not use him as he intended using her?

‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’ she finally answered. Eloise saw the blaze of triumph in the glittering depths of his eyes, and his satisfied smile. She felt his hand tighten on her shoulder. She knew he was going to kiss her and she waited until his dark head bent towards her before tilting up her chin determinedly and meeting his smile with a cold one of her own.

‘But first we will have to work out the technicalities,’ she said brusquely, and saw his head lift and the flicker of surprise chase across his handsome features. ‘I will not have Katy or Harry involved in any way in our private arrangement.’

Marcus couldn’t read the expression in the depths of her huge emerald eyes. But he guessed she was thinking there was really no way out for her. And this was her way of gaining some kind of control.

‘I agree, strictly personal between you and I.’ He could be magnanimous in victory, and let her think she had won a point. He drew her closer, he had more pressing needs right at this moment. ‘After all it isn’t Katy or Harry I want to sleep with,’ Marcus drawled in a deep husky tone, his breath fanning her cheek.

She had agreed to be his for one year. He should have felt elated but he couldn’t help wondering what her eyes would look like if they were shining with joy for the man she loved, instead of the man she had agreed to sleep with for money, because the bottom line was, that was what she’d just done.

For a second his fingers dug almost angrily into the tender flesh of her shoulder, refusing to admit he was disappointed, telling himself revenge was sweet.

‘Marcus…’ Eloise planted her hands on his chest with the intention of holding him away. Immediately she knew it was a mistake; the hot heat of his skin beneath her palms was an enticement to stroke, to linger, to explore the muscular contours.

‘I love the way you say my name,’ he declared throatily. His dark head lowered and his carnal mouth found her parted lips.

The instant their mouths met, Eloise sank beneath a hot hungry surge of passion. It shouldn’t be like this, but it was what she’d just agreed their arrangement should be, and her treacherous body felt otherwise. She surrendered instantly to the drugging pleasure of his sensuous mouth and the heated caress of his hands, and within seconds constructive thought became impossible.

His hands wrenched down the top of her strapless dress again, and with a groan Marcus lifted her and suckled an erect rosy nipple. It was a torment, a sweet torment that sent quivering need lancing through her body, and a shocked cry escaped her convulsed throat.

Somehow she was on her back on the sofa, with Marcus on top of her. He skated a hand over her burgeoning breast, his dark eyes blazing down at her, as his long fingers toyed with her sensitised flesh until she was utterly possessed by the power of sensation. Her hands clasped his broad, tanned shoulders, her fingers trailed with tactile delight over the satin-smooth skin to tangle in the soft curling chest hair, scratching a hard male nipple.

With a low groan Marcus’s dark head dipped, and his mouth was on her breast again, but this time his tongue and teeth sent her shuddering into spasm after spasm of mindless pleasure. She twisted urgently beneath him, possessed by a need, a hunger so intense she was lost to all else.

Sinking back on his knees, Marcus grated, ‘I want you now,’ and a large hand skimmed the fabric of her gown down over her hips and legs, and tossed it to the ground. ‘Damn it, I can’t wait!’ His eyes black pools of desire in the taut planes of his face, he stared down at her. His long elegant fingers grasped the tiny black lace briefs, her only covering, and drew them from her body.

Naked beneath him, Eloise didn’t care. He was hot and hard and very male, and she was amazed at her own pleasure in simply looking. But looking was not enough; she wanted him naked as herself. Involuntarily, she reached out her hand and fumbled with the fastening of his trousers. He did it for her…

With a low laugh, a husky sound of primitive pleasure, Marcus covered her mouth with rough drugging kisses, as he dispensed with the remainder of his clothes.

He reared over her, naked, and without warning, in an explosion of renewed passion, he kissed his way down her sensitised body, mouth, breasts, stomach, and finally settled at the juncture of her thighs.

She arched off the sofa like an arrow from a bow, shuddering uncontrollably; never had she experienced such intimacy. She tangled her fingers in the night-black hair of his head, and urged him back up to her.

‘You drive me mad.’ Marcus growled when he drew level with her passion-glazed face.

He took her swollen mouth with a raw, savage hunger that sent her over the edge into a wild writhing wanton in his arms. She rubbed her aching breasts against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers digging into his flesh. His hands swept down her body in one long, heated caress and then he lifted her, curling her legs around his lean waist, and surged into her in one mighty thrust.

Stilling for a moment, he shuddered against her, his molten black eyes almost angry burning into hers. ‘You do this to me,’ he rasped, and thrust again.

Eloise felt him move with every pore and cell in her body, smooth and slow, then fast and rough, driving her ever higher until she was consumed by the mighty primeval rhythm of his huge body, the explosive force of his virility urging her to the ultimate peak of excitement. She sank her teeth into his shoulder, as she soared over the edge into a clenching quivering climax at the same time as he did.

Pinned beneath him, and shivering in the aftermath of passion, Eloise tried to get her tumultuous emotions under some kind of control. But all she could think of was the blessed weight of his hot, damp body, his heartbeat thumping against her breast, the heavy sound of his laboured breathing, a symphony to her ears. Her hands stroked down his broad back, loving the sensation of sweat-slicked skin beneath her fingers, loving him… No… She must not confuse great sex with anything else, ever again. She meant nothing to him, and when he abruptly rolled off her and stood up, she told herself she was glad, burying the memory of the afterglow of pleasure they had shared the first time they had made love in the deepest recess of her mind. She wanted nothing from Marcus, no emotional involvement of any kind, she ruled in her head.

She glanced up at Marcus and was suddenly extremely conscious of her naked state, but it was obvious he didn’t feel as awkward as she did. With casual ease he picked up his trousers and stepped into them, zipped the fly, and just as casually bent and picked up her dress and dropped it on her.

‘Cover yourself. You don’t want to catch cold.’

Catch cold? He had to be joking! She had burned for him, and even now simply looking at him brought warmth to her face she could not hide.

But he wasn’t joking. His dark eyes raked over her in analytical scrutiny, and he concluded. ‘You’re incredibly beautiful, incredibly sexy, but with no morals. Still, two out of three isn’t bad,’ he offered with a husky laugh. ‘There is a bed next door.’ A smile curved his sexy mouth, his dark eyes gleaming with renewed desire. ‘Let’s use it.’

‘Let’s not.’ Eloise pulled her dress over her head and stood up, smoothing the fabric over her slender hips. His amusement and obvious contempt for her as an individual was enough to re-enforce her no emotional involvement rule. Marcus hated her, and yet she had fallen into his arms like a ripe plum, and loved every second, she admitted honestly. But she had no intention of following his every command like some concubine; her pride would not let her.

Why, why Marcus? How was it Marcus could turn her into a weak, needy woman, when other men, even men she knew well and respected, left her cold? It had to be her own traumatic past. Plus, she dryly admitted, his undoubted sexual expertise had made her a victim to her own body’s uncontrollable desire for the man, and she didn’t want to be. She was no man’s victim.

With that thought uppermost in her mind, she raked her hands through the tumbled mass of her hair and, discovering a couple of hair pins, she twisted her hair into a knot at her nape, fixed with the pins. Making a determined effort to appear sophisticated, she straightened up and directed a cool glance at Marcus.

‘I have to leave. I have a breakfast meeting with Katy and Harry and, as we agreed, it’s better they know nothing about…’ Was it an affair? Business. She struggled with the wording, the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘Our arrangement,’ she finally settled on.

‘Our arrangement,’ Marcus drawled with a sardonic arch of one dark brow. She was doing it again, blushing… The little witch actually thought he was going to sneak around like some illicit lover. Well, she was in for a rude awakening.

‘I think the word you are looking for is affair, Eloise, and as for keeping it a secret—’ he gave her a chilling half-smile ‘—forget it. You and I are partners in every way, and I will attend the breakfast meeting with you.’

The horrible part was, Eloise knew she could not stop him. Her gaze slid over his half naked body, igniting a familiar flare of heat deep inside her, and she tried to dampen it down. ‘With your investment in KHE, that is your prerogative.’ She endeavoured to keep the conversation impersonal. But how could her voice sound so matter-of-fact, when inside she was a mass of confusing emotions? she wondered.

‘Yes, and don’t you forget it.’ Black eyes glittered over her taut figure. ‘We are going to have a very public affair, Eloise. As I told you before, I’m not taking the chance of you finding some other wealthy fool to bail you out.’

Eloise looked at him, incredulous and inexplicably hurt. ‘You imagine I would do that?’

‘I know so.’ He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘And I see no reason to take an unnecessary risk. You will be publicly labelled Kouvaris’s woman.’ Broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. ‘I have yet to meet a man brave enough to cross me.’ His firm lips curved at the corners in a cynical smile. ‘Or foolish enough.’

It was the supreme arrogance that got to Eloise. Her palm itched and she longed to smack the grin off his face, but warring emotions stayed her hand. She did not dare, if she hoped to persuade him to at least try and be discreet. Her stomach churned over at the thought of being branded Marcus’s woman. She cherished her privacy above everything.

She looked at him, her green eyes colliding with hard black, and it took every ounce of will power she possessed to hold his gaze. ‘Katy knows me well. She will never believe we are an item, not so fast,’ she said softly.

Marcus threw his head back and laughed out loud and, taking a step forward, his hands settled on her shoulders. ‘Eloise.’ He shook his dark head, his eyes lit with amusement roamed over her. ‘But we were sweethearts on our first dinner date,’ he declared with shattering logic. ‘I bet the last three months you waited for my call, wondered where I was and with whom. And tonight, as soon as you saw me, your gorgeous eyes dilated, and that sexy body of yours sent off signals like the firing of a rocket on the launch pad.’

Mortified, Eloise swallowed hard. ‘That’s not true,’ she muttered.

‘Katy might know your mind, but your body is all mine. Do you want me to prove it to you again?’ Marcus said softly into the suddenly tension-filled atmosphere.

‘No.’ Her green eyes pleaded with him. ‘But please will you be discreet in front of Katy and Harry, at least until they leave Paris? I’ll think of something to tell Katy when I get home.’ Her lips thinned. ‘Obviously not the truth.’

‘Yes, okay.’ Marcus was prepared to set her mind at rest for the moment.

‘Thank you,’ Eloise managed to say and, taking a step back, she added, ‘You can call me that cab now.’ And, while she waited for the taxi, she told him the name of the hotel and the time of the breakfast meeting, plus some of her latest ideas.

Marcus looked at Eloise. She had backed away from him, as far as the door, as if she could not get away fast enough. She was rambling on, and he was pretty sure, she had no idea what she was talking about. As he watched, he realised she actually was incredibly nervous, if not frightened.

His gut tightened, and for a second he wondered if she really was afraid of him, but then he saw the tip of her tongue lick over her bottom lip, swollen from the passion of their kisses. Hell, no, she had wanted him every bit as he wanted her. He was falling into the same old trap of assigning finer feelings to the woman, when he knew for a fact she did not have any. It was more likely she did not want her friend Katy to discover the dubious deal she and her mother had got up to, and realise that Eloise was not quite the honest, straightforward girl she appeared to be.

Picking up his shirt, he slipped it on, a smug smile curving his mouth as Eloise was silenced for a moment, her green eyes watching his every move with a fascination she had great difficulty disguising. He stepped towards her.

The entry phone pealed. The cab had arrived.

Marcus took her down to the street. The soft light of the street lamp turned her glorious red hair into a fiery halo, and he couldn’t help himself. He clasped her face between his hands and looked deep into her emerald eyes, then bent his head and kissed her gently on her softly swollen lips. He felt the sudden tremor sweep through her and her sudden tension as she tried to prevent her reaction.

Her resistance was a challenge and he was about to deepen the kiss, show her the futility of trying to deny the devastating physical desire between them. But for some inexplicable reason he didn’t. ‘I’ll see you back to your hotel,’ he offered softly, running an elegant finger down the soft curve of her cheek, before setting her free. ‘If you like.’ He gave her the choice.

‘No. No, thanks. We will meet at breakfast in a few hours.’

Once inside her hotel room, Eloise headed straight for the shower. She stood under the powerful spray, scrubbing at her slender body, trying to remove the scent of Marcus from her skin. But it was a futile exercise. She only had to think of him to taste him on her tongue, feel him on her skin, and after five minutes she gave up. Drying herself down with a large fluffy towel, she walked back into the bedroom and, picking up the white cotton tee-shirt she favoured for sleeping in, slipped between the sheets on the wide bed and closed her eyes.

But sleep was a long time in coming. She could have spent the night lying in Marcus’s arms. A tear trickled from the corner of her eyes to flow smoothly down her cheek. No matter how she tried to pretend, she knew in her heart she could easily fall in love with Marcus all over again. In his arms she felt safe and loved, which in reality was stupid, she knew. There was no denying the power of the sexual chemistry between them, but it could not negate the fact that they didn’t even like each other. He thought she was a thief and worse. Her innate honesty forced her to admit he had good reason to think so. But did that justify his treatment of her? She had tried to explain but he was incapable of listening, or only heard what he wanted to hear.

She had met a lawyer like that in the criminal court at the tender age of twenty, and it had taken her years to recover from the verbal mauling. Consequently, she was not prepared to justify herself to any man ever again.

No, she would play his game, act the worldly woman he imagined she was until his desire for revenge on her ran out. Dear heaven, she’d had plenty of practice at hiding her true emotions. As a child she’d pretended to her grandparents and everyone else she didn’t mind her parents never being around. How hard could it be to act the successful, sophisticated mistress of a man like Marcus for one solitary year? A vivid mental image of his glorious naked body filled her mind. Not hard at all when the fringe benefits were spectacular sex, she thought, her temperature rising. She rolled over onto her stomach, muffling a groan of frustration in the pillow, and finally fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AT SEVEN-THIRTY the next morning Eloise walked into the dining room of the hotel. She had dressed with care in slim-fitting stone linen trousers, with a matching jacket and mint-green silk top beneath. With the careful use of cosmetics, she hoped she had disguised the ravages of the emotional turmoil and sleepless night from her friends’ view. She needn’t have worried! A glimmer of a smile curved her full lips as she saw Katy and Harry already seated at a table, by a window overlooking the river. Katy was wearing sunglasses.

Eloise walked over and joined them. ‘Hangover, Katy?’ she prompted, pulling out a chair and slipping off her jacket. She placed it around the back and sat down opposite her friends.

‘And good morning to you, too,’ Katy mocked, and Harry laughed.

‘Got it in one, Eloise. My wife’s first big night out since becoming a mum, and she has overdone it somewhat. Poor Floe got up with the baby during the night, and she’s busy packing for all of us. Help yourself to coffee, and you and I can run over what needs to be done. We’ll save the big discussion until you return to England.’ He cast a loving look to his wife. ‘Katy is in no state to have any valid opinion on anything, this morning.’

Eloise poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot provided. The table was set for three and Harry had already ordered continental breakfast. She knew they were leaving for the airport by eight-thirty, and she felt a tiny stab of guilt because she had told Marcus the meeting was at eight-forty-five—but then, as she reminded herself, she didn’t owe him any loyalty.

Katy groaned. ‘You’re right. Keep it light.’ Removing her sunglasses, she winced. ‘My God, never again!’ And, raising bleary eyes to Eloise, she added, ‘Trust you to look good. So come on, tell me what you and our new partner Marcus got up to last night after we left?’

‘We had a dance and I got a cab home.’ Eloise took a long swallow of her coffee, successfully fighting back the blush that threatened. She had a vital question of her own she wanted answered. She had realised in the early hours before dawn when she had time to think straight, Marcus couldn’t have blackmailed her half as effectively if he had not now owned a chunk of their company.

Eloise was no fool. She’d realised if it had been a simple question of repaying the money her mother stole, she could probably have arranged a loan on the property that housed the company. It was in her name but was rented at a peppercorn rent to KHE. Unfortunately, with Marcus now having taken over Ted Charlton’s investment in KHE and added a considerable amount to it, he was in a position to ruin them. She didn’t trust him an inch, and the more she thought about it the more she did not believe Marcus had bought Ted’s share in KHE simply to help the man out. It would not surprise her at all to discover it was the other way around. Marcus had sought Ted out to get a bigger hold over Eloise. He obviously had a healthy appetite for revenge.

‘I want to talk to you about Marcus.’ Her determined green eyes fixed on Harry. ‘How exactly did he become involved with our business? I do think you should have discussed it with me first.’ She didn’t want to fall out with Harry, but she could not allow the unorthodox way Harry had behaved go unchallenged.

For the next few minutes Harry explained and, by the time he’d finished, even Eloise could see there was nothing much else he could have done. Apparently Ted Charlton had informed Harry a few weeks ago his divorce settlement had cost more than he thought, and he was going to have to pull out of the deal. But Ted had called back a few days later and told him not to worry, he had lined up another backer, Mr Kouvaris, and he was prepared to invest twice as much as originally agreed. Harry hadn’t wanted to worry Katy and Eloise, so he’d decided to keep it to himself until it was finalised and the Paris boutique opened.

Eloise could not argue with his reasoning. Harry had confirmed what Marcus had told her, that Ted had actually offered him the shares. Her sinister reading of the situation was wrong; her paranoia was showing again, she thought grimly.

Marcus had told her the truth, and it made her feel slightly better. But if she ever saw Ted Charlton again she had a few very pointed questions to ask him. Not least why he had told Marcus she had slept with him?

For the next half-hour they discussed the opening and various other matters, and it was suggested Eloise should stay in Paris for a week, rather than the couple of days first arranged, just to make sure everything was going smoothly.

‘Okay.’ Eloise agreed, draining her coffee after eating the last crumb of a particularly delicious chocolate croissant. ‘But hadn’t you two better collect Benjamin and Floe? You don’t want to miss your flight.’ She wanted them long gone before Marcus turned up.

Her stomach was churning and her palms were damp just at the thought of Marcus’s impending arrival. Eloise had little faith in her ability to pretend normality with Marcus in front of Katy. Her friend knew her too well, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief as Katy and Harry got to their feet. Shoving back her chair, she slipped her jacket off the back and stood up.

But her relief was short-lived.

‘Well, good morning,’ Katy exclaimed.

Eloise felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and saw the smile on Katy’s face, just before a strong male arm wrapped around her waist and drew her back into disturbing proximity with every elegant line of a large muscular body. Marcus was early!

‘Good morning Katy, Harry,’ Marcus intoned brightly.

Eloise stiffened, and shot him a startled glance. He looked vibrantly masculine, dressed casually in cream cotton pants and a matching polo shirt, his dark features relaxed in a broad smile—while tension knotted every muscle in her body, as she fought the tingling awareness his touch always invoked.

Feeling manipulated, but unable to do anything about it, she watched, as with a swift scrutiny of the remains of breakfast on the table Marcus remarked, ‘I appear to be rather late.’ His glittering gaze switched to her, and without warning his dark head swooped down, his firm lips brushing hers in a brief kiss. ‘Eloise, darling, I thought you said eight forty-five. But I forgive you. It is such a delight to see you looking so beautiful and fresh after our late night.’ With arrogant aggression his dark eyes lingered on her now scarlet face, challenging her to object to the intimacy.

The swine was doing it deliberately, Eloise thought furiously. So much for being discreet. She cast a glance at her friend and saw the look of astonishment on Katy’s face. ‘I must have made a mistake,’ she muttered, trying to wriggle free from his restraining arm, but his fingers simply dug deeper into her waist.

‘What late night, Eloise? You said you had a dance and caught a cab,’ Katy demanded, but her eyes were smiling.

Marcus answered for her. ‘She did…eventually. But only after we had visited a local place,’ Marcus positively purred, as he surveyed Eloise with dark slumberous eyes, making no attempt to disguise the gleaming awareness in their depths. ‘It was great, wasn’t it, Eloise?’ and he smiled.

She cast him a withering glance, and saw the wicked amusement in his smile. His apartment, local place—my eye! Eloise simmered with anger but, with her two friends watching, she could do nothing but agree. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, sorry you missed breakfast, Marcus,’ Harry cut in. ‘But we do have to dash. Not to worry, though, Eloise is staying the rest of the week, and she can fill you in on anything you need to know.’

‘I’m sure she can,’ Marcus drawled, with a long lingering look at Eloise.

Katy’s gaze flicked between Eloise and the man holding her, a frown pleating her brow. ‘It’s okay, Harry, you stay and have a coffee with Marcus. Eloise can come upstairs and help me. I know she wants to say goodbye to her favourite godson,’ she informed. ‘We will meet you down here in twenty minutes.’

Marcus had to let Eloise go. But not before he had deliberately dropped another kiss on the top of her head with a murmured, ‘Don’t be long.’

‘Right! What is going on?’ Katy demanded as soon as they got in the elevator. ‘Marcus is all over you like a rash, and I’ve never seen you so flustered.’ She appraised Eloise with sharp eyes. ‘Three months ago you had a dinner date with him and told me it was nothing, a meeting between old friends. Now the man is our partner and he can’t keep his hands off you.’

Thankful for her escape from the blasted man for a while, Eloise looked into the slightly worried eyes of Katy. Her friend knew her past history far too well to be fooled into thinking Eloise would indulge in a casual affair, and she knew what she had to do.

‘I think I’m in love.’ She saw Katy’s mouth fall open in shock. ‘And I think Marcus feels the same.’ Katy knew her too well to believe anything less. She had been Eloise’s rock and support after the savage attack she’d suffered, and all through the horror of the court case and publicity that followed. She knew Eloise had never looked at a man since. But Katy was a romantic and Eloise knew nothing less than true love would do for Katy to believe her.

‘And have you two, last night…well, I mean, did you?’

‘Yes and it was fine,’ Eloise said telling the truth at least partially, with a scarlet face.

‘Oh, Eloise, I am so happy for you.’ And suddenly Eloise was wrapped in Katy’s arms. ‘I knew one day everything would work out for you.’

Watching the happy family group bundle into the waiting cab, and drive away, all the energy drained out of Eloise. She had done it. She’d smiled and convinced Katy she was happy in her new relationship with Marcus. She’d listened while Katy had fantasised of course Marcus must have loved her all along, and that was why he’d invested in their small company. He’d done it for Eloise.

Eloise did not disillusion her, though it did cross her mind for one mad moment to tell Katy the truth, as they were all leaving and she was struck with the most horrendous feeling of being deserted. The safe, successful world she had built for herself was never going to be the same again. But hugging baby Benjamin to her breast and kissing him goodbye had convinced her she couldn’t. There was no way on earth she would jeopardise Katy’s happy family unit.

Pale and strained, she threw a bitterly resentful glance at Marcus. ‘You certainly didn’t waste any time publicising our sordid affair.’ He’d turned and was walking back towards the bank of elevators on one wall, his hand apparently glued to her waist, urging her along. ‘If you think your behaviour this morning was being discreet, then God help me.’

‘Smile,’ Marcus suggested silkily, his dark eyes absorbing the tense pallor of her beautiful face. ‘Or people might think we’re fighting.’

‘Since when did you care what other people think?’ she flung back, her nostrils flaring at the disturbingly familiar scent of him as he ushered her into the elevator and wrapped his arms around her. Stiff as a board, she glared up at him. ‘You promised we would keep it private until they had left Paris.’

‘So I lied. A man will promise anything to a woman to get her into bed. You are not that naïve, Eloise,’ he opined sardonically. ‘You’ve done the same yourself countless times, I have no doubt.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘After all, you lied to me about the time of the breakfast meeting.’

She went from red to as white as death. Being caught out in a lie was embarrassing, but realising he thought her capable of using her body to get what she wanted and it didn’t actually bother him told her how little he truly thought of her. Anger and humiliation turned her stomach and she tore herself free from his restraining hold just as the elevator stopped.

‘You slimy snake, why don’t you take a hike?’ she spat and, marching straight to her room, she slid the card in the lock and pushed the door. Nothing happened!

A flash of anger stayed Marcus’s step for a moment. He was not in the habit of taking insults from a lady, and certainly not one he had thoroughly bedded only hours earlier. But then, she was no lady, he reminded himself. A liar—yes, and a very sexy one at that, and not worth getting angry over. But with a great rear, he thought as he followed her down the hallway. He wanted her in his bed, nothing more he told himself.

Marcus watched her futile attempt to open the door. Her face was pink, she was angry; no, angry didn’t cut it. From the set of her jaw and the tension in every inch of her luscious body, he realised she was nervous, her small hand shaking.

‘Allow me.’ Marcus took the card from her trembling fingers, and opened the door and followed her inside.

‘I told you to go.’ Eloise turned on him.

Marcus reached out and held her by the shoulders. ‘Is that really what you want?’ His brown eyes darkened as they skimmed over her, lingering on the swift rise and fall of her breasts, clearly discernible beneath the fine silk blouse she wore, before returning to her face. He caught a brief glimpse of something very much like fear in her gorgeous green eyes, and inexplicably he felt a twinge of guilt.

He’d accused her of being a thief, and with all the subtlety of a tank he’d told her he wanted her in his bed. Then, while she was still trying to come to terms with the passion they’d shared last night, he’d strolled in on her this morning. Angry at her lie about the time, he’d deliberately embarrassed her in front of her friends, making it plain they were an item.

‘Why don’t we both take a hike, as you so eloquently put it?’ Marcus prompted with a wry smile. ‘We could spend the day sight-seeing, having fun.’ He looked into her eyes, saw the angry puzzlement there, and felt a pang of conscience, but not enough to stop him drawing her against him and covering her mouth with his own.

‘Stop it,’ Eloise gasped. She fought him at first, twisting her head from side to side. But he was so persistent and oddly tender; his mouth moved gently against hers, not stopping until, with a little moan, she surrendered and kissed him back.

Marcus broke the kiss, put his hand under her chin, and tilted her head back. ‘Spend the day with me.’ Amused dark eyes rested assessingly on her beautiful if flushed face. ‘You know you want to.’

She did… But catching the hint of mockery in his expression was enough to bring her back to reality with a bump.

‘I have to go to work.’ Jerkily, Eloise pulled away from him. ‘That’s why I am here.’ And, crossing to the bed, she picked up her purse from the bedside cabinet. Once out of his reach, she took a few deep steadying breaths, managed to get her racing pulse under control and recovered some of her formidable strength of will. Turning, she tossed her head, her red hair flying around her lovely face, determination in every taut line of her slender body.

‘After all, you do have an interest now in KHE, and the harder I work the more profit for you,’ she said curtly.

Marcus gave a sardonic laugh. ‘I’m glad you realise that,’ he mocked. ‘But, as I’m the boss in this affair, I decide which tasks you perform first.’ He cast a provocative glance at the bed before his dark gaze returned to her shocked green.

The implication in his hooded eyes as she took a step in the direction of the door filled her with disgust and, to her shame, a secret thrill. Her heartbeat leapt at the thickening of the atmosphere; fingers clutching her purse, she stepped hurriedly past him. ‘I have to go… I have an appointment with the new sales assistant.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

Sharply disconcerted, she swung back around, and collided with gleaming black eyes. ‘You, but…’

‘As you so succinctly pointed out, I have a vested interest in the business.’

Two hours later, Eloise walked out of their new shop, silently fuming. She’d thought she was doing quite well with her schoolgirl French, explaining to the new manageress—a very elegant French lady—and a younger female assistant what was expected of them. Then Marcus had cut in and introduced himself as a partner and wouldn’t you just know it? Eloise thought, simmering with resentment. The man spoke fluent French, and charmed the two women so completely Eloise might as well not have been there, for all the notice they took of her.

‘Did you have to be so damned interfering?’ Eloise snapped, as they stood on the pavement in the summer sunshine. ‘I’m perfectly capable of instructing the staff. You didn’t have to fawn all over the women.’

Marcus caught the anger in her emerald eyes. A hectic flush coloured her cheeks, and he let his eyes wander with sensual intensity over her, lingering deliberately on the proud thrust of her breasts against the silk shirt. His sensuous mouth quirked at the corners in a knowing grin and he chuckled.

She felt her nipples tighten, and his chuckle simply enraged her further. ‘What’s so funny?’ she snarled.

Throwing an arm around her stiff shoulders, he drew her into his side. ‘You’re jealous, Eloise.’

It wasn’t what Eloise had expected, and she spluttered, ‘I am not, you egotistical baboon!’

After a second’s pause Marcus threw his dark head back and laughed out loud. ‘Well, I suppose a baboon is a step up from a snake. But you are jealous?’ His amusement lingered in the narrowed eyes that studied her face. He brushed back a stray tendril of red hair curving her cheekbone. ‘Why not admit the truth, Eloise?’ he demanded huskily. ‘It’s the same for me.’

Marcus knew as soon as he said it, he had made a mistake. The man he had been five years ago when they first met, and he had thought her innocent, might have admitted to jealousy. But not the man he was today, with the evidence of her perfidiousness always at the back of his mind. He prided himself on being a sophisticated lover who delighted in women, and always brought them pleasure, but never, ever lost control or revealed his own emotions. Somehow Eloise had the damnable ability to make him forget what she really was, and he didn’t like it.

What the hell? he told himself. For one day he was going to forget everything and just enjoy…

Eloise’s heart skipped a beat. Marcus, jealous? The notion was balm to her battered pride and she was wretchedly aware of how much she wanted to believe him.

His dark head bent and he kissed her briefly on her lips. His arm dropped from her shoulders and he waved his hand in an expansive arc.

‘Look around you, Eloise. The sun is shining, we are in Paris, a city designed for lovers and, whatever else is between us, we are lovers. Indulge me and let me show you around.’

She looked at him. The dark vitality of his masculinity was a potent temptation to any woman, and she was no exception. Why he wanted her didn’t seem that important all of a sudden. The sun gilded his black hair in golden highlights. Eloise’s admiring emerald eyes clashed with smouldering black, and his starkly handsome features darkened, a slow sensual smile curving his beautiful mouth. Her heart missed a beat and resumed at a faster pace.

He extended an elegant tanned hand towards her. ‘Go with the flow, Eloise. Isn’t that your English expression?’ His accent thickened in his husky-voiced question and she allowed him to tuck her slender hand in his.

‘Yes.’ His glittering gaze mesmerised her. ‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, and felt the flow of electricity from his touch through every nerve in her body.

‘I thought the Eiffel Tower first. You agree.’

‘Do I have a choice?’ she prompted with a wry smile, seeing the determination in his expression. He really did mean to do the whole tourist bit, and somehow she found it rather endearing.

‘For a beautiful lady, you ask far too many questions,’ Marcus remarked and tugged her along the pavement.

They rode the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Eloise took one look at the panoramic view, and immediately her legs shook and her head spun. She saw Marcus gesture to something in the distance and vaguely heard his voice extolling the virtues of some building, but she felt dizzy. Reaching out, she gripped his arm, and clung. Heights were not her thing.

‘Eloise.’ His narrowed gaze swept her pale features, instantly recognising the problem, and pulled her into his arms. ‘You should have told me you were afraid of heights. We’re going back down.’ And he held her firmly in his protective embrace, only releasing her as they stepped back onto firm ground.

Eloise glanced back up at the towering iron structure, and still felt slightly dizzy. She leant against one of the mighty iron supports for a moment, marvelling that she’d actually had the nerve to go to the top. ‘I did it.’ She flashed Marcus a shaky smile.

‘Yes.’ He smiled back. ‘But I think Les Invalides, and Napoleon’s tomb next; it is underground and safe for you. Unless you are afraid of going underground as well,’ he queried seriously.

She was elated that at last she had finally seen the view from the top of the world-famous tower. She had never dared do it by herself, even though she had been to Paris quite a few times in the past months—and, surprised by Marcus’s apparent concern, her luscious lips parted in a beaming grin. ‘Marcus, you’re fussing like an old woman,’ she giggled.

An arrested expression flickered across his handsome face, and he closed the space between them. He braced his hands on the iron beam either side of her, and covered her mouth with his. And there at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, in broad daylight, with hundreds of people watching, he kissed her with a hunger, a fiery brand of ownership that sent a wave of scorching heat racing through her veins.

‘Marcus.’ She gasped his name as he released her swollen lips. ‘People are looking.’

‘So? You’re my woman,’ he declared on a ragged breath. ‘But you’re right, I am not usually in the habit of kissing in public. But you drive me crazy.’ He looked around distractedly, ‘Let’s go.’

Marcus could have been one of Napoleon’s generals Eloise thought with secret amusement, as he proceeded to lead her to Les Invalides, then across the river to the Arc de Triomphe, and the tomb of the unknown soldier. He pointed out the matching arch over a mile away, marvelling at the skill of the architect.

They sat at a pavement café of the Champs Elysée, and there with the local Parisians, and the obvious tourists from all over the world, they shared a bottle of wine, and a meal of light fluffy omelettes with salad. Whether it was the wine or the company, Eloise realised she really was enjoying herself. Marcus was a good conversationalist and very knowledgeable about Paris, and as if by common consent they avoided talking about anything personal. Relaxed, Eloise drained her glass and replaced it on the table. She glanced across at Marcus; he was withdrawing some money from his wallet.

‘Are we leaving already?’ she demanded. ‘I quite like watching the world go by.’

And he loved watching her, Marcus realised, but didn’t say it. ‘Yes,’ he confirmed. The jade silk shirt was sleeveless, and the top button was unfastened, revealing a shadowy cleavage. Intellectually, he knew she was a liar and a cheat, but it didn’t stop his body responding in a most inconvenient manner.

‘I plan we visit the Louvre next for approximately two hours, and then visit the Pompidou centre,’ he ground out, shoving one hand in his pocket and rising to his feet.

‘Very organised,’ Eloise teased him but took the hand he held out to her, and let him lead her down towards the Louvre.

The queue to enter was huge…

Eloise turned laughing eyes up to Marcus, and saw the frustration in the set of his hard features. ‘Finally defeated, mon generale,’ she mocked. ‘You have to wait like everyone else.’

‘No, I think I have waited long enough.’ He tightened his grip on her hand and surveyed her with blatant male intensity.

Suddenly tension simmered in the air between them. The crowd around them vanished and Eloise was drowning in the darkening depths of his deep brown eyes. His thumb stroked the palm of her hand and then he tugged her very gently against the hard heat of his body.

‘Why wait to see an ancient work of art, when I have a perfect work of art in my grasp?’ he said with blunt urgency. ‘My apartment is not far.’

She wanted to lash out at him for looking at her with such arrogant possession. Yesterday she might have done but, after last night, all she could think of was his sensual mouth on hers, his large, strong, naked body possessing her.

He pulled her along the road and into the shadowed entrance hall of a large building. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and she could sense the powerful sexual tension that gripped his great frame. At the foot of the stairs, he glanced down at her and, as if compelled, he backed her against the wall and covered her mouth with his own in a ravishing kiss that left her boneless when he finally lifted his dark head.

‘Hell! Why did I choose the top floor?’ he grated and dragged her up the stairs, finally turning around and sweeping her up in his arms, for the final two flights.

He opened the door, and she was back where she had been last night. This time, Marcus didn’t hesitate but marched straight into the bedroom.

Eloise didn’t have time to survey her surroundings as he lowered her down the lean length of his superbly fit body. She could feel the tension in his every muscle, the faint musky scent all male and all Marcus, and she quivered, inside heat surging in her lower body.

His hands dispensed with the buttons down the front of her blouse with a speed that smacked of vast experience, but Eloise didn’t care; she grasped his lean waist and hung on as he slipped her blouse from her shoulder and flicked her bra open and off.

With a groan Marcus dropped his head and suckled at an erect dusky nipple, and her hands clenched fiercely in his waist, an involuntary groan of pleasure torn from her throat. Her head fell back, and then her whole body as Marcus eased her down on the bed and, with hands that shook slightly, divested her of her trousers and briefs.

His own clothes were shrugged off in a second and he was over her, large, lean and magnificently aroused. She was awed by his spectacular male beauty and helpless in his grasp as his strong hands swept the whole length of her slender frame. One hand swept upwards over the curve of her thigh, and with his other he caught her throat, and his mouth crashed down on her already parted lips.

His long fingers explored the silken red curls at the juncture of her thighs with devastating effect, even as his mouth trailed down her throat and back to her aching breasts. He lingered there, teasing her sensitive flesh until every nerve in her body tautened to breaking point, in fiery anticipation.

‘I have to have you now,’ Marcus muttered thickly.

He bit down on a distended nipple, then soothed with his tongue and she writhed beneath him, consumed by a hunger, a need so intense she cried out his name.

The sound of his name from her lush lips drove him to the edge and Marcus arched back and, cupping her bottom, he thrust deep into her hot, tight, silken sheath.

Eloise dug her fingers into the night-black hair of his head, and gave herself up in wild, wanton delight to the primitive joining. She was inflamed to fever pitch, and when he took her mouth again in a savage admission of need she returned the kiss, her tongue duelling with his. His great body stilled, fighting to retain control.

Eloise slid her hand down the indent of his spine, felt him shudder, and clenched his buttocks, needing him to move, to ease the intolerable tension, but he stayed fast.

Lifting his dark head, black eyes burning down into hers. ‘You make me…’ but whatever he had been going to say was lost as Eloise involuntarily clenched and tightened her legs around him.

He moved hard and fast and Eloise naturally, wantonly picked up the furious rhythm and was spun into a world of pure sensation that exploded in a shattering conflagration like a star going nova. She clung to him, whimpering cries escaping from her.

Marcus, his breathing audible, stared down into her dazed green eyes, and slowly eased from her allowing her limp body to sink back on the bed. His dilated black eyes still fixed to her, he rolled off her and, brushing her lips with his, he leant on one elbow and stared down at her in silence for a long moment, his large hand stroking down her still-quivering body with a tactile delight.

‘Exquisite,’ Marcus murmured softly. ‘I have never seen you totally naked in the light of day,’ and he dropped another kiss on her brow.

Only then did Eloise realise it couldn’t be more than three in the afternoon, the summer sun was shinning though the window, lighting every corner of the bedroom, and she was stark naked with a man who was her enemy. ‘Oh.’ Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

Marcus’s narrowed gaze swept her hectically flushed face, and lower to her defensive arms over her chest, and then he burst out laughing.

‘What’s the joke?’ she demanded, and with a speaking glance Marcus led his gaze linger on her folded arms, and lower to where his long leg lay over her lower body, then back to her face.

‘A bit late to be bashful, darling.’ Marcus fought to restrain his laughter. ‘After what we’ve just done.’

Eloise saw the humour in her defensive action, and chuckled. ‘Yes, well, I am shy.’

‘You can certainly act shy,’ Marcus drawled and, lifting a finger, he traced the smiling curve of her mouth. ‘But, thankfully—’ he surveyed her with delighted masculine satisfaction ‘—in bed you are the most wonderfully passionate, sexy woman. I can’t get enough of you.’

Eloise almost laughed again, but it was with sick humour. If only he knew since the age of twenty she had never looked at a man. Before that, Marcus himself had been the only male she had allowed to touch her and he still was….

Marcus scanned her naked body spread out before him, and let his finger trail from her mouth to circle the areolae of her breasts; he felt her tremor and, lifting his dark head, he scrutinised her with a reawakening of desire. A tiny muscle pulsed at the corner of his mouth. ‘I doubt I will ever have enough of you,’ he breathed.

Held by his darkening eyes, she was shaken by his unconcealed passion, and tore her gaze away to look somewhere over his shoulder. To believe him would be the road to hell, she knew. She could not let her guard down, but as he once more took her mouth in a hot hungry surge of passion Eloise caved in. Her hands gripped his smooth shoulders, and skimmed over the tautness of the muscles flexing in his back and, closing her eyes, she bowed to the inevitable.

‘You are so hot, so tight,’ Marcus rasped as once more he drove her to the heights and, groaning her name, he thrust deeply into her one last time, felt her come and then jerked violently with the force of his own release.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MARCUS flopped over onto his back carrying her with him, folding her in his arms so tenderly, for a second Eloise felt as she had the very first time they made love. But not quite… Then she had felt as though they were one single identity bound by love. Now she knew better…

Her mouth pressed a brief caress against his bronzed chest, breathing in the hot, moist scent of him. Then she lifted her head and collided with slumberous dark eyes. ‘I need the bathroom,’ she said prosaically and wriggled from his hold.

Standing in the shower cubicle, the warm spray beating down on her, Eloise tried to come to terms with what she had done, but before she could get her chaotic emotions in any kind of order, the door of the shower stall opened and Marcus appeared. Very tall and broad but without an inch of fat on his muscular frame, his black hair and eyes gleaming, he was magnificently male and incredibly gorgeous.

‘Allow me,’ he chuckled, knowing exactly what she was thinking, and took the soap from her numb fingers.

What followed was a lesson in sensuality that left Eloise weak as a kitten, and clinging limply to his wide shoulders as he carried her to the bed and tucked her in.

She groaned and rolled over on the wide bed, fighting the demons in her mind, and suddenly opened her eyes. It was dark, and for a moment she did not know where she was; then she remembered. She glanced across the bed. She was alone.

Five minutes later, dressed and with her hair combed back in a ponytail, she nervously made her way into the sitting room. Marcus was at the desk, a laptop computer open in front of him, obviously working.

What did one say after spending all afternoon in bed with a man? she thought despairingly. ‘I think I’d better be going now,’ was the best she could come up with.

Marcus spun around in his seat. ‘Eloise, you’re awake,’ and, getting to his feet, in two lithe strides he was beside her. ‘And you’re not going anywhere. I’ve cancelled your hotel room.’ With a wave of his hand, he indicated a suitcase on the floor. ‘And arranged for your clothes to be sent here. It makes more sense to stay here while we are in Paris.’ As he bent his head she knew he was going to kiss her.

Evading his mouth, she stiffened angrily. ‘You…you have…my hotel room.’ She could not get the words out, she was so mad at his high-handedness. ‘How dare you?’ she finally snapped. ‘You had no right.’

Marcus stilled and studied her beneath hooded dark eyes. ‘I have every right, Eloise. You gave me the right yesterday when you accepted my terms to keep you out of court.’

Reminded with such brutal candour of their deal, Eloise paled. ‘I see.’ And she did—he held all the cards and he was the sort of man that always won. ‘But what will I tell Katy?’ she murmured under her breath, but he heard her.

‘I’ll take care of Katy and Harry,’ he said arrogantly.

With the same speed and cunning as he had taken over her life, no doubt. Pride alone made her square her shoulders and face him. ‘I suppose it will be more convenient for the brief time I am in Paris,’ she agreed, and, with a burning desire to hit back at him, she added with mock sweetness, ‘after all, why should I spend my money on a hotel bill when I am a wealthy man’s mistress? In fact I could do with some new clothes. I didn’t bring much with me, because I thought I was only staying a couple of nights.’

Marcus had the gall to laugh. ‘That’s what I like about you, Eloise. Even when you’re down you’re never out.’

‘Pig,’ she snapped. ‘I’m going to unpack.’ She brushed past him to get to her suitcase.

But later that evening, once more in the wide bed, with Marcus, pig was not the word that sprang to mind. Eloise had to clench her teeth to hold back the words of love that hovered on her tongue, and repeat over and over in her head no emotional involvement.

When she finally had the breath to speak and her emotions under control she asked casually, ‘How long have you had this place?’

A husky chuckle greeted her enquiry, and held firm against the side of his mighty body, she glanced sideways up at him. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You, Eloise. Together, we have just experienced mind-blowing sex.’ Amused dark eyes rested quizzically on her lovely face. ‘And you come out with a mundane question like that.’

Her lips compressed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise conversation was forbidden between bouts of sex.’

‘Bouts of sex.’ Marcus’s expressive mouth curved into a sardonic smile. ‘Crude, Eloise.’

‘But then you are?’ she snapped back.

She felt his body tense, and his fingers bit tightly into her side, and she saw the swift flare of anger in his deep brown eyes. Then the corners of his sensuous mouth quirked in a cynical smile.

‘If you really think that, Eloise, then your sex education has not been as extensive as I thought. Perhaps I should show you the difference.’ And, flipping her onto her back he hovered over her. Catching her hands in one of his, he pinned them above her head and kissed her.

She felt the latent passion in his kiss, but he went on kissing her, and pinned to the bed she was unable to resist. With hand and mouth he tormented her until she was drowning in something so incredibly erotic that she groaned out loud, and she was incapable of offering any protest as he roughly positioned himself between her thighs.

Her body cried out for him, and in that moment it hit her like a bolt of lightning. She loved him, always had and probably always would. It didn’t matter that he was ruthless and arrogant and felt nothing for her but lust. She knew he was the only man she would ever allow to touch her, and a single emotional tear squeezed from her eye.

Marcus looked down at her and stilled. Hell what was he doing? He knew he could have her, here and now, the act primitive and yet satisfying, and it took all his will power to pull back, his body rock-hard and aching.

Eloise glanced up, her green eyes slowly focusing on Marcus, and wondered why he had stopped.

‘What we share is not crude, Eloise.’ He smiled a ruefully slightly humorous grin, accurately reading her mind. ‘And I intend to keep it that way.’

Marcus watched the fleeting emotions of surprise, regret and finally relief chase across her exquisite features, and accurately read every one of them, amazed at his own restraint and slightly worried. He had never felt protective of his usual lady friends but for some inexplicable reason with Eloise it was different.

He paused and cleared his throat. ‘Now, what was it you wanted to know? How long have I had this place?’ Rolling over on his back and curving her unresisting body in the crook of his arm, he proceeded to tell her.

‘My father bought this apartment for me when I spent a year here studying French. My father was of the old-fashioned school, who thought if one wanted to be a player in the world-wide business market, then it was essential to speak the two languages of diplomacy, English and French.’

Realising she loved him made her feel incredibly vulnerable but, somehow comforted by the warmth of his body and the deep melodious tone of his voice, she slowly relaxed. ‘Ah, so that’s why you are so fluent in French,’ she murmured. ‘And the London hotel—don’t tell me he bought that for you as well?’ Such conspicuous wealth was unimaginable to Eloise.

Marcus chuckled. ‘No, I bought the hotel myself a few years later. When I was a student in London I stayed in a hall of residence. It was single-sex and very correct.’

She looked up beneath the thick fringe of her lashes. The sensual curve of his mouth brought vividly to mind how it felt on her own, and her stomach flipped. She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to admit she loved him, and certainly did not want Marcus to discover how she felt, and she hid the disturbing thought with humour.

‘Why is it I have difficulty associating you with correct and sex?’ she posed. ‘Unless, of course, you’re a secret S and M freak?’ she concluded with a grin.

A husky chuckle greeted her comment. ‘Wishful thinking, darling.’ And, leaning over her, he added, ‘S and M is not my thing, but I will be perfectly happy to oblige if your fantasy is to be bound to my bed.’

‘No, certainly not,’ Eloise shot back, horrified at where her attempt at humour had led.

‘Pity,’ Marcus observed with a grin, his dark eyes laughing down at her, and wondered if she was aware she had the most expressive eyes; every flicker of emotion was recorded in the swirling emerald depths. ‘Still, I think I can survive on straight sex, as long as it is with you.’

‘Straight sex, with a crooked lady friend.’ She said the first thing that came into her head, and then wished she hadn’t as she saw the swift flare of anger in the depths of the black eyes that held hers. Then a muscle in his jaw twitched, a slow smile tilted the corners of his lips again, and he lifted a finger to trace the contours of her slightly parted lips.

‘Forget the crooked part, and be my lady, and I will do the same,’ Marcus offered lazily. ‘The deal we made need not affect our relationship, unless we let it.’ He shrugged a smooth, tanned shoulder. ‘A truce, if you like.’

Pretend the deal never existed. It would be very foolish, Eloise told herself, but with Marcus’s hand slipping from her lips to her throat and lower, she felt like taking the chance. His words had given her the first crumb of hope for the future. ‘All right,’ she agreed rather breathlessly.

‘That design looks really promising.’ Katy stood behind Eloise surveying the drawing board over her shoulder. ‘Inspired, in fact. It just goes to show what the love of a good man can do,’ Katy teased happily.

Eloise grimaced! If only that were true, she thought longingly. But Marcus’s intentions were far less honourable. A lustful revenge was more what he had in mind.

‘And where is he?’ Katy demanded as Eloise turned in her seat to look at her friend. ‘We haven’t seen him for nearly a week.’

‘Marcus does work,’ Eloise drawled mockingly. ‘He has an office on Wall Street, and he keeps apartments in London and Paris, but his home base is in Greece. And hopefully, if we all work a bit harder, we might end up with three or four outlets as well.’ She diverted Katy from any more personal questions by asking how the latest designs were selling.

It was over a month since she had returned from Paris. The week in Paris had been a revelation to Eloise, and she blushed at the thought. She’d spent most of it in Marcus’s wide bed. They’d eaten out occasionally, and he’d insisted on taking her shopping and spending a fortune on clothes for her. She’d tried to stop him, pointing out she had only been joking when she suggested he buy her clothes, and in any case she was only going to be with him for one year.

His short reply was to remind her of their truce.

On returning to London, he’d insisted on accompanying her to her apartment. She hadn’t wanted him in her own home, and she certainly hadn’t wanted him to make love to her there, but he did. She couldn’t sleep in her own bed at night without thinking of him sharing it with her.

The next evening he had called, supposedly to take her out to dinner; instead, she had landed up in the king-sized bed in his London penthouse, and dinner was a cheese sandwich before, at her insistence, she returned to her own home.

In the ensuing weeks, he had behaved as far as Katy and Harry were concerned as the perfect suitor for their friend, handsome, sexy but more than that—he was caring and concerned, and his input in the business had been invaluable. He had a wonderful sense of humour. Eloise had watched him joking and laughing with Jeff and Julian, and Katy and Harry; they had all dined frequently together, and according to all of them Marcus was wonderful.

He was the same with everyone; even baby Benjamin gurgled when Marcus appeared. Eloise kept reminding herself, he was a master manipulator and a devious swine—but, God help her, even as she hated him for what he was doing to her, she was finding it harder and harder to retain a semblance of distance from the man. Every night that she spent in his bed, when he made love to her with a passion, tenderness, or simply a ravishing hunger, it became more difficult to hold back the words of love she ached to say.

True to his word, their affair was high profile. He’d insisted on taking her to the premiere of a film, where they’d been photographed, and appeared in the gossip column of a national daily the following day. Eloise cringed at the publicity, and lived in fear of anyone making the connection with her past. She had tried to argue with Marcus and, to give him his due, after that one event, he’d bowed to her wishes, and intimate restaurants, and an occasional trip to the cinema had followed.

Surprisingly, as the weeks passed, Eloise found herself actually thinking of Marcus as a normal boyfriend. He did nothing to dispel the notion and remarkably the truce they’d struck in Paris was holding up. Neither ever mentioned the real reason for their togetherness. They talked, they laughed, they made love, and the few times he couldn’t see her, he sent her flowers, and phoned every day.

‘Daydreaming won’t get the work done.’ Katy’s voice cut into her troubled thoughts. ‘Mind you, I don’t blame you. Much as I love Harry, I can see what a wonderful catch Marcus is. If you play your cards right, you could keep him—wedding bells, the lot, I’m sure.’

Eloise gave a sharp laugh. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ But in her heart of hearts she wished it were true. It was becoming harder and harder to maintain the invisible barrier she had erected in her mind that kept her from declaring her love to Marcus. And lying to Katy didn’t help. She longed to confide the truth to her friend, but she could imagine Katy’s angry reaction if she did. Marcus is not my boyfriend, he simply blackmailed me into being his mistress for a year and in return he won’t wreck our business. Katy would probably kill him…

‘And, to answer your first question, he’s in New York and likely to stay there for a while. And, knowing Marcus, I doubt if he’ll be missing me for long. There are too many beautiful women in the world ready to accommodate him.’

‘Your trouble is, you don’t realise how lovely you are, both inside and out. But Marcus knows, I’m sure.’

‘Thanks for the compliment, Katy, and I hope you’re right.’ Eloise forced a grin and, turning back to her drawing board, she added, ‘But in the meantime I suggest you and I get back to work,’ and resumed sketching.

Freedom was a funny thing Eloise mused, as she strolled down Kensington High Street on the second Friday of Marcus’s absence. Retail therapy, Katy had said as she’d told Eloise to take off for the afternoon.

Eloise had told herself she was glad to be on her own again, free to spend her time as she chose, but the reality was she missed Marcus’s lovemaking—even if it was just sex—and yes, she missed his company. She missed him…

Marcus had stipulated one year as his mistress, and to her horror last night she had actually caught herself working out how many weeks she had left, and resenting his time away from her. He was stunningly attractive, and she had heard New York was full of bright, beautiful women. Alone with her thoughts, she was eaten up with jealousy and finally realised Marcus might not even stay a year with her…

She knew he wasn’t actually bothered about the money she was supposed to be paying in kind. How could he be, when he spent a fortune on clothes and presents for her? She comforted herself with the thought perhaps he had got over his original anger, and genuinely enjoyed her company.

More and more over the past weeks Eloise had the growing conviction Marcus was truly beginning to care for her on a deeper level. He showed it in so many ways—flowers, an exquisite antique emerald and diamond necklace with matching earrings. She’d tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t let her, telling her it was a memento of their time in Paris, and had actually belonged to some duchess who was beheaded in the French revolution.

Sometimes the present was small, a single rose, and sometimes ridiculous, like when he left for New York and he presented her with a tiny ugly troll, and demanded, ‘Promise me this is the only male you will look at while I am away.’ Giggling, she’d promised and they’d made wonderful love. He telephoned her first thing in the morning British time, from his bed as it was about two in the morning in New York, and he liked to talk to her before going to sleep. She found it endearing, and it fed the hope that was growing in her heart that her love for him had a chance.

He was coming back next Tuesday and her spirit lifted at the thought, and she walked into Harrods with a smile on her face. A negligée to knock Marcus’s eyes out, she decided. Stopping by the perfume counter, she picked up a tester, and was about to spray some ruinously expensive scent on her wrist when a familiar voice called her name.

‘Eloise. How are you?’

She dropped the bottle back on the counter and turned around.

‘Ted. Ted Charlton, I have a bone to pick with you,’ she said bluntly, but she could not help smiling at his sheepish expression.

‘Guilty,’ he held up his hand. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but let me take you out for an early dinner, and I’ll explain.’

It was a warm summer evening and a long, lonely weekend stretched before her. She had nothing planned for tonight other than returning home and watching television. Why not? she thought.

‘Yes, okay.’ She waited while he bought a bottle of perfume.

‘I have a hot date Saturday night,’ he explained with a chuckle. ‘Let’s find somewhere to get a drink and then we’ll eat, and I’ll confess all my sins.’

Ted found them a great French restaurant and ordered a couple of Martinis, a bottle of good wine and the food.

‘I saw the pictures of you and Marcus in the press, and I can guess why you want to talk to me.’ Ted’s comment came over the aperitif.

Eloise took a moment to find her voice. ‘Marcus appears to be under the impression you and I…’ She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed.

‘I know what you’re trying to say.’ Ted helped her out. ‘And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lied. But try and understand from my point of view, Eloise.’

‘I’m listening,’ she said quietly.

‘Marcus Kouvaris is a lot younger than me—very handsome, very successful, very clever.’ Ted lifted his glass and drained it, looking rather wry.

One delicate brow arched quizzically. ‘So?’ she prompted.

‘Well, it doesn’t show me in a very favourable light.’

‘Ted, forget the light—just tell me what happened,’ Eloise said bluntly.

‘It was really my ex-wife’s fault. Her lawyer did me for millions, and I had a very sweet deal, almost completed. No disrespect to KHE, but it was worth a lot more than your small business, I was short of cash, and I needed the money quick. I knew Marcus Kouvaris was in town, and I remembered the way he’d looked at you.’

‘The way he looked at me? What on earth has that to do with your business dealings?’ she asked, totally confused.

‘I’m a man; I know how the male psyche works. So I approached Kouvaris to take my share of KHE off my hands. I knew he could easily afford it, and it would earn him Brownie points with you. I wasn’t wrong; he agreed immediately.’

‘You mean, you think Marcus bought in to KHE to please me?’ The enormity of what Ted was suggesting boggled her mind, until she remembered the blackmail. But, even so, Ted’s suggestion made her think… Marcus had not gone deliberately seeking shares in KHE, so that must mean something.

‘Of course, Eloise, you are a stunningly beautiful woman and a talented artist as well. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t fancy you, believe me.’

‘Flattery, Ted, won’t get you off the hook. I want to know why you lied to Marcus about you and me.’

‘You can put it down to an old man’s pride or sour grapes. I invited Marcus to have dinner at my hotel to celebrate the deal, and then at my insistence we retired to the bar. What can I say?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I had too much to drink and this exquisite blonde I had been trying to impress for the past few days made it very obvious she wasn’t interested in me—but that she fancied Marcus instead. He made it obvious he wasn’t interested, and when she finally gave up and left, after giving me the cold shoulder, I was feeling pretty miserable. So when Marcus asked exactly how well I knew you—’ He hesitated, his face turning a dull shade of red.

At least he had the grace to blush, Eloise thought, holding Ted’s blue eyes with her own. ‘Go on.’

‘I lied and said we’d spent the night together. It was male ego, and plain old-fashioned jealousy. First my ex-wife rejected me, and then the girl in the hotel who’d been quite happy to drink with me the night before only had eyes for Kouvaris. There’s only so much rejection one man can take. I admit I was drunk and I didn’t see why Marcus should get away worry-free, and if my stupid lie has hurt you in any way I’m sorry.’

Eloise shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, Ted.’ The fact Marcus had turned down the other woman made her feel generous. ‘I forgive you.’

‘You love the guy.’

‘Something like that,’ she said with a smile. Marcus was not quite the devil she tried to paint him, she knew, and a tiny seed of hope rooted in her brain. Maybe her love for Marcus was not completely futile…

The food arrived and was excellent. It was nice to sit and chat with the ease of old friends; Ted was one of the few men she was comfortable with. Later, when Ted got her a cab to go home and insisted on accompanying her, she made no objection. She even asked him in for coffee…

Marcus swung out of the taxi, and leapt up the few steps to the entrance door of the Georgian building. He lifted a finger to press the bell for Eloise’s apartment and realised the door was open. Careless, but it suited his purpose. He wanted to surprise Eloise, and the tingling sense of anticipation at the thought of seeing her again lent speed to his long legs, as he ran up the two flights of stairs without catching his breath.

He’d spoken to her on the telephone late last night and told her he wouldn’t be back until next week. But after putting the phone down, having heard the husky sound of her voice ringing in his ears, he’d wanted her so badly he’d cancelled some meetings and crammed the rest into a couple of hours in the morning, and taken the next flight out of New York.

Marcus moved towards the door at the end of the hallway. He could hear the sound of voices. Good: she was home, and obviously watching the television. His hand grasped the door handle; it yielded to the pressure and he strode across the tiny inner hall, and into the sitting room.

‘Eloise, darling.’ She spun around in surprise at the entrance to the hall that led to the bedroom, and the breath caught in his throat.

Marcus’s gaze flew over her. Her red hair framed a startled but incredibly beautiful face and fell in a tumbling mass of curls over her creamy shoulders. Her body was encased in a wisp of blue silk, tiny straps supporting the slip-styled dress that ended a few inches above her knees. There was no mistaking the firm thrust of her breasts or the tightening of her nipples as she stared at him, and what held him transfixed was not the shock that widened her brilliant emerald eyes, but the sheer wonder of her smile that followed.

‘Marcus, you’re back!’ Eloise cried in delight. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until next week.’ She blinked; it really was Marcus, looking staggeringly handsome in a perfectly tailored silver-grey business suit. But it was the glittering warmth in his dark eyes, especially for her, that made her breath catch.

He started slowly towards her. ‘I cancelled the rest of my business meetings,’ he declared throatily. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

CHAPTER NINE

IT TOOK every bit of will power she possessed to stop herself running to him and throwing her arms around him. ‘Marcus.’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘I’m…’ Glad to see you, was what she had been going to say. What a copout! He was her lover, and she loved him, and courageously she decided to try honesty. ‘I’ve missed you.’ After all, he had returned early; that had to mean something.

He stopped when he was inches away from her. ‘Eloise,’ he husked. His dark eyes, blazing with desire, scanned her and, reaching out, he folded her in his arms and covered her mouth with his own.

His mouth was hot and searching with a hungry intensity that she met and matched. Eloise whispered his name as his tongue parted her lips. She arched against him and wound her arms around his neck, her hands stroking the silken hair at the nape, before sweeping lovingly across his powerful shoulders.

‘So long,’ Marcus groaned and pressed her body to his. ‘Too long.’ He could feel the rounded fullness of her breasts crushed against his chest. This was what he had come back for…

She was all woman; the scent of her, the soft curves and long shapely legs, promised and beguiled. He moulded her buttocks and lifted her, the seductive tilt of her pelvis fitting into the cradle of his hips, as he ground his rock-hard length against her in raw need.

‘Ooops, sorry.’

Marcus jerked his head back, his black gaze clashing with the blue of Ted Charlton. The man had obviously just strolled into the room from the direction of the bedroom. Marcus felt the breath leave his body as though he had been punched in the gut, and for a second a red haze of rage blinded him. He swore violently in Greek, and abruptly thrust Eloise away from him. ‘You bitch.’

Eloise stumbled back, her eyes widening in horror as she realised what it must look like. ‘No. It’s not like…’ She looked up at Marcus and ground to a halt. The change in him was devastating. Incredulous rage clenched his hard dark features, a muscle jerking uncontrollably in his taut cheek.

‘Then what is he doing here?’ Marcus’s eyes burnt into hers. ‘Or shall I guess?’ he drawled with cynical contempt. ‘A week without sex and you’re anyone’s.’ His gaze sliced back to Ted, apparently unable to believe what he was seeing.

Eloise was shaking, terrified by the cold deadly look in Marcus’s eyes; but beneath the terror she had a hysterical desire to laugh at his contemptuous conclusion she could not live without sex for more than a week. If only he knew…

She grabbed his arm. ‘No, Marcus, listen to me. I bumped into Ted in a department store; he was shopping for perfume for his girlfriend, and I challenged him to explain what he meant by telling you I had slept with him.’

‘I just bet you did. Persuaded him to lie for you?’

‘Damn it, no.’ Eloise cut him off. ‘Ted lied to you; he told me the truth over dinner.’ She tightened her grip on his jacket as he would have pulled away. ‘All about your celebration dinner and getting drunk and the girl in the bar. He told you he slept with me because he was jealous of you. Surely you can see that…?’ she prompted desperately.

‘All I see is a conniving lying bitch,’ he snarled, his black eyes blazing, ‘who would sell her body for the price of a dinner,’ and she knew he hadn’t believed a word she’d said.

The Marcus she loved didn’t exist, she realised with blinding clarity. He was a figment of a nineteen-year-old’s imagination. She didn’t recognise the man towering over her, dark and dangerous, but for Ted’s sake she tried once more to defuse the situation.

‘I shared dinner with Ted because he wanted to explain and apologise to me for lying about me to you, nothing more—and if you’re too pig-headed to see that, tough.’

Marcus took a step towards her and he lifted her hand off his sleeve, then he stopped. Her green eyes clashed with his; she saw the fury and contempt and thought, What was the point?

All that linked her and Marcus was sex. A shameful passion on her side she was helpless to control, and a virile man’s lust powered by revenge on his. Marcus did not love her, and never would, and that was the greatest pain of all. She took a deep shuddering breath and suddenly Ted was pushing Eloise to one side and facing Marcus.

‘If you want to lash out at anyone, Kouvaris, try me.’

Marcus’s hand shot out and he grabbed Ted by the collar and slammed him back against the wall. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ he snarled. He wanted to smash the man’s face to a pulp and he didn’t question the reason.

‘You’re a fool, Kouvaris,’ Ted grated in a high-pitched voice, nearly choking and clutching at Marcus’s hands.

‘I can beat the hell out of you, any day, in any way,’ Marcus raged, his violence controlled by a thread.

‘I know,’ Ted shot back. ‘That’s why I lied and said I’d slept with Eloise. I saw the way you looked at Eloise the first time I met you,’ he stated cynically. ‘And I saw the way the girl in the bar looked at you, when the night before she had been all over me. I was drunk, I was jealous and I lied. Rejected by a wife and a bar-girl, I was damned if I was going to make it easy for you to get Eloise. Lousy, I know, but that’s the truth.’

The two men stared at each other. Ted’s face red and Marcus’s grey beneath his tan, only his eyes blazing black with rage.

For a long moment Eloise simply stared at the scene before, all her energy concentrated on fighting the awful pain she was trying to hide. But as she watched the pain dissolved into a quite different emotion.

They were like two stags at bay, both ruthless powerful men, leaders of the pack. She recognised the angry acknowledgement between them—the old giving way to the young, but not without a fight—and a slow-burning anger ignited in her breast.

This was her home, her life. Pride stiffened her spine. She didn’t have to justify her actions to any man, certainly not the two egotistical male chauvinists before her, who were scrapping like two dogs over a bone. And in her living room!

‘Right, that’s it! Cut it out,’ she yelled. ‘And both of you can get out.’

Marcus shot her a look of outraged incredulity. She was ordering him out… He was the injured party in this debacle.

She met his gaze, her green eyes sparking fire, and she might have laughed if she hadn’t been so angry, Marcus looked so put out! ‘Let him go,’ she snapped.

Slowly, Marcus released his iron grip on Ted’s collar and some of the rage faded from his eyes. She was standing tall and proud, her luscious body bristling with tension. She was beautiful when she was angry. She was beautiful any time, and lost in passion beneath him she was paradise. Whether she and Ted were telling the truth or not, was he prepared to give up all that simmering sexuality? The tightening in his groin answered for him. Hell, no—not yet.

Marcus glanced back at Ted. ‘I think it’s time you left,’ he grated through his teeth. ‘Eloise is mine.’ His narrowed eyes fixed on Ted, his great body tense and towering threateningly over his rival. ‘You understand?’

‘Do you?’ Ted murmured dryly, shaking his head. He walked past Marcus. And, for sheer devilment, stopped and dropped a light kiss on Eloise’s cheek. ‘So long and good luck, and if you ever need me get in touch.’

‘You’re pushing your luck,’ Marcus growled, taking a step towards him.

‘No.’ Ted grinned back and, picking up the gift-wrapped bottle of perfume from the table where he had placed it earlier, he waved it in front of Marcus’s face. ‘I never trust to luck. I have a hot date tomorrow night, and I know how to treat a lady, unlike some.’ Laughing, he strolled out of the apartment.

Her legs trembling, Eloise sat down on the nearest sofa. ‘I think you’d better leave.’ Marcus had claimed her as his, as though she was an inanimate object, instead of an intelligent woman with thoughts and feelings. Well, he could go to hell, for all she cared. She had had enough.

‘No,’ Marcus bit out, crossing the space between them in one lithe stride. ‘I cancelled my plans for the next few days to see you, and I haven’t changed my mind.’

He looked down at Eloise. Maybe she was innocent where Ted was concerned. Ted had been very drunk in New York, and bitching at losing his wife and a ton of money. He vaguely remembered Ted introducing him to the blonde bimbo, and then she had been all over Marcus like a rash, so much so he had been quite rude to get rid of her.

As for the rest—his dark eyes roamed over Eloise. She was watching him, her green eyes cool, her luscious mouth held in a grim line. The red-gold tumble of her hair falling over her silky-smooth shoulders, so proud, so brave, and he was yelling at her like a loony.

If he was honest, he doubted she’d ever been involved with her mother’s scam. He’d seen the company books, and discovered the company had been set up nine months after Chloe’s death. Harry had told him the initial finance was from Eloise’s inheritance from her late mother’s estate. Eloise had bought the premises. Realistically, Eloise should be the major shareholder, and yet according to the records they were three equal partners, all drawing the same salary. If Eloise was a gold-digger, as he had thought, then she had a very funny way of going about it. Katy and Harry would not have a business if it were not for Eloise.

She was probably innocent of all he had accused her of, and incredibly generous to those she considered friends. Marcus suddenly realised he wanted to be in that company, to bask in Eloise’s approval. He’d known a lot of women in his life, some almost as beautiful and with the same luscious curves as Eloise—well, no, not quite as perfect, but some a lot more sexually aggressive in bed. But he also knew with absolute certainty none had come close to affecting him the way she did.

If he’d ever caught any other woman he was involved with alone with another man, he would have walked out the door and out of the woman’s life without a second thought. It scared the hell out of him that he couldn’t do that with Eloise.

Since the day he’d first met her as a young girl, she’d never really left his mind and, after the last weeks together, the happiest in all his thirty-four years, she had become an obsession. An obsession that had made him act out of character, and dash back early from the USA, his business incomplete, simply to see her. She was a fever in his blood, and he intended to keep her until the fever burnt out. A secret obsession Eloise need never be aware of, but he would have to watch her more carefully in the future. Innocent or not, there would be no more Teds… He would take her home tomorrow, he concluded arrogantly.

Marcus was still here and he still wanted her. Eloise did not know whether to laugh or cry. She could hear her heart thudding in shock, an erratic rhythm against her breastbone. Marcus must be able to hear it in the tense silence, but she dared not look at him; instead, she asked the one vital question.

‘So, now do you believe I never had an affair with Ted?’ Her eyes focused on the floor. It suddenly seemed imperative to her that Marcus showed some tiny bit of faith in her.

‘It’s not important. Forget it; I have.’

Her head came back at that, her eyes fixing on his in bitter resentment. She loved him but right at this moment she hated him. He didn’t trust her an inch and never would, but still she decided to give him one last chance. The final test, she told herself.

‘You saw the perfume Ted had bought. I told you we met by accident,’ she said through tight lips. ‘I told you Ted had lied and he confirmed it.’

One ebony brow arched in sardonic amusement. ‘So you did,’ he mused as he sank down on the sofa beside her. He was too close and her pulse leapt at his nearness.

‘Will anything convince you?’ she asked flatly. ‘Spelling it out in blood, maybe?’

Marcus ran a comprehensive eye over her and, reaching out, he let his long fingers tangle in her silky red hair. ‘If you want to convince me—’ his voice deepened ‘—feel free to try.’

She had her answer. Sex was all Marcus wanted from her. She tried to pull her head away but he wouldn’t let her escape. Her stormy eyes clashed with mocking black and his long fingers in her hair tightened their grip. ‘It should be fun,’ he teased.

‘That’s all I am to you, a sex game, you egotistical bastard,’ Eloise shot back, her fury edged with fear as his dark head descended. She tensed, eyes wide and glinting with defiance. She was damned if she was going to roll over again beneath his sensual onslaught. That was all she had done since they met in Paris and it had to stop, she told herself.

But her traitorous pulse raced into overdrive as Marcus covered her lips with his own in an explosive kiss. His dark head blocked out the light and his hand curved around her waist, hard and restraining, while he plundered her mouth at will.

Her pulse raced, and she gripped his arms in a last-ditch attempt to break free. But he wouldn’t let her go. He simply flattened her to the sofa. His hard, hot body sprawled on top of her, and his mouth continued to ravage her own, rough and then tender as one long hand swept down her body, and back to cup her breast.

She fought for control. ‘No,’ she moaned against his lips, struggling to breathe, denying the sensations he was forcing her to feel. Her nipples tautened into tight buds, and she trembled, unable to control her treacherous body’s reaction. But by a supreme effort of will she lashed out at him with fist and knee.

He reared back, and she caught a brief glimpse of his stunned expression as she flung herself over the arm of the sofa and landed on her feet.

‘What the hell was that for?’ Marcus sat back against the sofa, rubbing a hand across his cheek.

‘Figure it out for yourself.’ Her chest heaving, she stood a few feet away, staring down at him with angry green eyes. How it was possible one man could be so infinitely desirable, a great lover, and yet be completely lacking in the emotional department Eloise did not know.

Marcus’s eyes were dark and glinting with suppressed anger, and with an impatient gesture he got to his feet and moved towards her. ‘You’re mad because I chased Ted.’

Eloise swallowed unevenly. ‘No, not that you chased him,’ she said quietly. ‘But that you never believed him and, more importantly, me.’

His dark eyes pinned hers, shrewd and penetrating. ‘You want me to believe you; it bothers you that I don’t. Why is that, I wonder? Perhaps you care for me rather more than your sharp tongue will admit.’

Any minute his clever mind would work out how she really felt about him, and she couldn’t let that happen. ‘No, but I object to being treated like a whore, a woman who will sleep with a man one minute and quite happily sleep with another an hour later, and by your actions that’s how you see me.’

‘Ah, Eloise.’ Marcus’s expression was grim. He looked at her standing there, so young and looking so incredibly sexy and yet innocent at the same time, and it gave him a peculiar feeling in the region of his heart that was almost pain. ‘I only ever think of you as a clever, incredibly beautiful woman, and you shame us both by thinking otherwise,’ he said gently and, reaching out, he caught her shoulders and drew her gently towards him. ‘And if I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry.’ He moved one hand towards her cheek, and trailed gentle fingers down until he reached her chin.

A betraying pulse began to beat at the base of her throat and a nervous flutter stirred her stomach. ‘That’s a first.’ She tried for sarcasm, but the tremble in her voice gave her away as he tilted her chin and looked deep into her wide emerald eyes.

His eyes grew dark. He brushed her mouth gently. ‘And I do believe you about Ted.’

‘You do?’ She stared at him, and her heart skipped a beat. He believed her. Was she hearing right? A heady excitement bubbled through her.

‘Yes, I do.’ Tension snaked through Marcus’s large powerful body. His hand slipped from her shoulder to tighten around her slender waist, and he smoothed a few tendrils of glorious red hair from her brow. He had to keep it light, he wasn’t yet ready to confess he was blinded by jealousy.

‘After all, any woman with me as her lover wouldn’t look twice at Ted,’ he said with a husky chuckle, his slumberous dark eyes holding hers.

Eloise couldn’t help it; even when she was angry, he had the ability with a word, a look, a touch to make her change her mind. Her lips twitched. ‘You arrogant devil!’ She shook her head but he looked deep into her green eyes and saw the humour she couldn’t quite hide.

‘But you like me,’ he murmured teasingly, and suddenly Marcus, who had never considered if a woman liked him or not, found he was waiting, his heart pounding for her answer.

‘Yes, you could say that,’ she responded with a husky chuckle of her own, and then very gently, almost reverently, he bent his head and kissed her, and she kissed him back in helpless surrender.

He gently pulled her dress off her shoulders, his dark gaze flicking over her pouting breasts, raising her in his arms, slowly with the tip of his tongue he circled the areolae of one hard nipple.

‘Oh, yes,’ she sighed, immediately thrown back into a whirlpool of sensations. ‘Please.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Marcus parroted, his mouth enclosing the rigid tip and slowly licking her aching flesh, teasing with tongue and teeth until her back arched, and she was burning with the heady heat of passion and desperate need for continuance.

He slipped his arms beneath her, lifting her high so he could capture her mouth with his in a long drugging kiss as he carried her into the bedroom. He slid her down the long length of his body, letting her feel the pulsing ache of his arousal as he eased her out of her dress in one smooth movement.

He was wearing too many clothes. A low groan of frustration escaped her and she pushed her hands beneath his jacket up and around his back, dragging his head down to her, finding his mouth with her own.

Airborne again, Marcus laid her down on the bed, and in seconds joined her naked. A deep erotic sigh of pleasure escaped her, as the black hair of his chest rubbed against her turgid nipples.

Long fingers traced the length of her body, the indentation of her waist, the silky softness of her flat belly, and she trembled. She gripped his shoulders quivering with need. But he played with her mouth, licking and nibbling, then thrusting with his tongue, and all the time his long fingers slowly stroked the curve of her hip, the smooth skin of her inner thigh, but frustratingly refraining from touching her where she longed to be touched.

‘Marcus,’ she panted, her small hands sliding down to cover his, lost to everything but her own need.

‘Tell me what you want,’ Marcus rasped in a dark undertone, his breath fanning her cheek, his night-black eyes searching emerald. ‘Perhaps this?’

Her whole body jerked as his seeking fingers parted the velvet folds of flesh to touch the hot, moist, pulsing point of pleasure, sending convulsive shivers lancing through her.

Her hands roamed feverishly over his shoulders and skated down his back, around his broad chest to trace the silky black line down over his taut stomach, driven by a purely female primeval need to possess and be possessed, to claim him as her own. Her slender fingers found him, curving around the satin-coated steel length of him with shivering excitement, stroking him, made bold by her need.

She felt his great body shudder, and briefly she felt an incredible sense of power. But a heartbeat later she could not think at all as his mouth caught hers in a savagely hungry kiss. Involuntarily her fingers tightened around him.

With a guttural groan, Marcus raised his head. ‘You do it,’ he spelt out roughly, his night-black eyes clashing with her dazed green. Shuddering on the edge in a passion-induced dream, she did…

Eloise awoke early the next morning and yawned widely. She stretched languorously and was instantly aware of the warm male body beside her. Slowly turning her head, her green eyes widened on the sleeping figure of Marcus.

He lay on his back, one arm trailing across the top of her pillow, the other flung across the other side of the bed. The sheet was draped low across his hips, his broad hair-roughened chest rising slowly and evenly in sleep.

She glanced up at his face. With his eyes closed, and a day’s growth of beard darkening his firm jaw, he looked less than his perfect self, younger and somehow vulnerable.

Heat coloured her cheeks as she recalled last night, and her own part in it. She had actually touched him intimately with hands and mouth, something she had never imagined doing, and yet with Marcus she wanted to. It was unbelievable…

He was amazing. They had made love with a passion a hunger that lasted for hours until, sated and exhausted, she had fallen into a dreamless sleep. Her love-swollen lips curved in a smile of pure female satisfaction. Hardly surprising he was still asleep, she thought, her fascinated gaze sliding over his naked torso.

Even with her body aching in muscles she never knew she had, she couldn’t keep her eyes off his gorgeous bronzed body, and recalling how it felt to be thoroughly possessed by him made her shudder with remembered pleasure. Unable to resist, she reached out her hand and gently smoothed the soft black hair from the centre of his chest down to the narrow strip that disappeared beneath the sheet.

‘Hmm. That’s nice,’ Marcus murmured, moving and pressing a kiss on the top of her head.

‘I thought you were asleep.’ Eloise blushed scarlet and lay back, feeling almost happy. Marcus had said last night he believed her about Ted. A giant step forward—surely it couldn’t be long before he believed she was innocent of all he had accused her of?

‘I was, until you assaulted me.’ Marcus grinned and sat up, pulling her up with him. The dark eyes that met hers danced with wicked humour, and she smiled back.

‘Me?’ she questioned in mock indignation.

‘Yes,’ Marcus answered, and after kissing her thoroughly he rolled off the bed. ‘I’ll make breakfast, you start packing. We’re going to Greece.’

‘You’re kidding, of course,’ she exclaimed, her eyes skimming over his lithe body and wondering how a naked man could still manage to portray such stunning arrogance.

‘I couldn’t possibly leave London at the moment,’ she said easily, thinking of all the new designs she was involved with for their expanding business, and Katy’s light workload because of her preoccupation with Benjamin. Which was only as it should be, Eloise thought, her mind wandering into the realms of fantasy, imagining what a baby with Marcus as a father would look like.

The thought brought her up cold, all the colour leaching from her face… She looked at him as he turned back to face her, and watched the humour vanish, and his face grow cool and distant.

His dark knowing eyes rested on her pale face. ‘You can and you will, Eloise. You have far too many distractions in London.’ He knew he sounded harsh, but he couldn’t help it; she had looked at him, white-faced and horrified, and it gave him a peculiar feeling in the area of his heart again.

How could he have gone from wanting, needing and believing her to this hard-faced tyrant, Eloise wondered, within minutes of waking up? A night of passion meant nothing to Marcus, and his complete lack of emotion simply confirmed what she already knew.

But she lived here, Eloise reminded herself firmly. She worked here. He had to be crazy. She couldn’t drop everything and swan off to Greece at his say-so…

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I would be ridiculous if I left you here alone again. On Rykos, when I am not around, my family and friends will take care of you.’ Marcus knew from experience how difficult it was to have a sex life on the tiny island without everyone knowing about it, and he was a man… For Eloise, branded as his woman, it would be impossible. No man would go near her, and that suited him just fine.

‘I do not need taking care of,’ she fumed. Where did he get off ordering her around? Well, she wasn’t putting up with it any more and she was damn well going to tell him so, but before she could open her mouth again he’d left.

She listened to him running the shower in the bathroom, and expelled a shuddering sigh. What was the point of arguing with him? she decided with bitter resentment. After the night they’d spent together, she’d had high hopes Marcus might begin to trust her, might care about her. But he’d made it brutally clear he didn’t. Her mind in turmoil—Greece apart—it had hit her when thinking about babies. Marcus was always meticulous about using protection, but last night he had forgotten…

Half an hour later, she joined him in the kitchen. As she walked towards him, clad in well-washed denim jeans and a baggy grey tee-shirt, she was aware she looked a mess, and didn’t give a damn. She wasn’t going anywhere and that was final.

‘You’re wearing that to travel?’ he asked flatly. ‘Hardly flattering, and jeans are far too hot for August in Greece.’

‘I’m not going to Greece. I have neither the time nor the inclination,’ she told him coldly, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite him at the tiny kitchen table, surprised he had actually prepared coffee, toast and a selection of conserves. He wasn’t totally hopeless in the kitchen, she thought dryly, suddenly feeling hungry. She filled a cup with coffee, took a sip, and reached for a slice of toast, before bravely raising cool green eyes to his. ‘Some other time, perhaps.’

Marcus’s gaze narrowed and swept over her tensely held body perched on the chair. She was nowhere near as confident as she tried to appear. ‘Nice try, Eloise,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But it isn’t a request, it’s an order.’

‘Tough. I have to work, and I have a commitment to Katy.’

‘Need I remind you, we have a deal? Your first commitment is to me and, as for your work, you can design as easily in Greece as in London.’

His deliberate mention of their deal hit her like a cruel blow, and she despised herself for harbouring a lingering shred of hope that he would grow to love her. When was she going to learn? Pride alone made her squeeze back the tears that threatened and, lifting her head, she said, ‘But I don’t want to,’ bravely defying him.

Hooded dark eyes surveyed her. ‘You don’t have a choice.’

‘So this is the end of the truce,’ she snapped back.

Marcus cast her a cynical smile. ‘Yes, if that’s how you want to see it. But why pretend, Eloise? We both know I only have to touch you to make you change your mind.’

Stunned at his arrogance, her appetite deserted her, and the toast dropped from her fingers. Her gaze skated helplessly over him. He was wearing the same clothes he had arrived in last night. He should have looked a mess. But the grey designer suit fitted him like a glove, the jacket straining over broad muscular shoulders; even the blue shirt still looked perfect. How did he do it? Or was it her?

God help her! But she was made humiliatingly aware that he only spoke the truth, and it shamed her to the depths of her soul. She felt so vulnerable. What was he doing to her? A vivid mental image of last night heated her flesh, the images so real, she could almost feel the touch of his hot, hard body against her skin.

The doorbell rang and she leapt to her feet, almost stumbling on her headlong flight through the small hall to open the door. He was insidiously taking over her life; she did not seem to have the strength to deny him, and it terrified her.

Katy walked in. ‘Your paper.’ She dropped the paper in the direction of the hall table, lifting her head and sniffing the air. ‘Is that coffee I smell?’ and she headed for the kitchen.

Eloise closed the door and bent down to pick the paper off the floor. It had fallen open, and her eyes caught a name in the centre page. Rick Pritchard. The blood drained from her face, her hand shook and, closing her eyes, she paused for a moment. Then with slow deliberation she rose and folded the paper and placed it on the table.

The name was a timely reminder. It was way past time she got herself back under control. She had allowed Marcus to break through the shield she kept over her emotions, the only person to do so in four years. She must rebuild her defence against him. But how easy that was going to be with Marcus calling all the shots? A deep, shuddering sigh escaped her and, straightening her shoulders, she took a few long steadying breaths, practising the exercises she had been taught. She could hear Katy’s voice and the deep rich tones of Marcus’s and then laughter.

If there were any repercussions from the unprotected sex of last night, Eloise knew she would have to leave Marcus. Which meant she would have to sell the house and break up the partnership. The sound of Katy’s laughter would be a thing of the past, as would their friendship, and all because of Marcus Kouvaris. But at this particular point in time she did not care. She had more important things to worry about, like staying alive… Suddenly Greece seemed a very desirable location.

By the time Eloise entered the kitchen, Marcus had talked Katy into believing it was a marvellous idea for Eloise to go to Greece. Eloise put up a token argument, not wanting Marcus to realise she had changed her mind—not because of him or Katy, but because Eloise wanted to be anywhere but England…

A dark skinned maid escorted her up a palatial marble staircase and along a wide corridor, and into a bedroom. ‘The master’s,’ she said with a giggle.

Eloise looked at the girl blankly. ‘Thank you, that will be all,’ she murmured, surprisingly not in the least embarrassed, and watched as the young maid backed out of the door and shut it behind her.

Her beautiful face impassive she glanced around. Large, it was sumptuously elegant with a huge bed on a raised dais as the main feature. She strolled across the mosaic floor and pushed open a door to a sybaritic bathroom, in black and gold, with a large circular spa bath, double shower, and marble and mirrored walls. It fitted the man, she thought idly, and re-entered the bedroom and crossed to the window that took the place of one wall. She slid it open and stepped out onto a long balcony. The air was hot and heavily scented after the coolness of the bedroom, and the view so spectacular she caught her breath.

A paved patio with a dolphin-shaped swimming pool as its centre led to a garden that was a riot of colour in the early evening sun, and gently sloped down to a low wall, and a sandy beach and the clear blue sea beyond. She glanced to one side and saw an orchard, a mass of orange and lemon trees, and in the distance she could see the small cluster of luxury villas. None so luxurious as this, she was sure, and one the scene of the drama five years ago that had led to the tragedy her life had become now, she thought bitterly. She looked in the opposite direction and her heart missed a beat. She recognised the cliff and the precarious path down to the hidden bay.

Abruptly, she turned back to the bedroom. Marcus had brought her to his home on Rykos… A house, he had told her on the flight across, he had designed and had built in the last couple of years. What he had not told her was it was in close proximity to the cliff and beach where he and Eloise had once shared a picnic.

Eloise had kept the memory of that one perfect day in her heart and head as a kind of talisman. In times of great pain and stress, she used to conjure up the bay in her mind, to blank the horror out. It was ironic that, after reading that hated name, Rick Pritchard, in the paper this morning and, rigid with shock, she needed her talisman view, and there it was before her very eyes—and it did not work any more.

The innocent nineteen-year-old had finally gone forever. Marcus had made sure of that; and, the truly sad part was, he had not even noticed…

CHAPTER TEN

METHODICALLY Eloise unpacked her clothes, placing them in the wardrobe and drawers provided in the dressing room, deliberately avoiding looking at the masses of male garments.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

On her knees, placing the last of her underclothes in a scented drawer, Eloise glanced up. Marcus was towering in the doorway, barefoot, and obviously paused in the process of undressing. The trousers of his suit were unfastened and hanging perilously on his lean hips. His shirt was open to the waist, revealing a hard, muscular chest shaded with black hair. He was a powerful, virile male, she thought almost objectively. Then she saw the expression on his darkly handsome face, one of arrogant astonishment.

He expected to be waited on hand and foot. He had probably dropped his shoes, jacket and tie in a trail across the bedroom floor, she guessed. ‘What’s it look like? I’m unpacking,’ she said facetiously. ‘It’s what we lesser mortals do.’

Hooded black eyes narrowed on hers. ‘I employ staff for such things.’

‘Yes, O lord and master,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘I heard that,’ Marcus drawled silkily. ‘And as long as you remember it, we’ll get along fine.’

He scanned her wide green eyes, anticipating her angry rebuttal, but surprisingly she simply said, ‘Okay,’ and stood up.

‘Wait.’ He caught her arm as she would have walked past him, inexplicably angered by her apparent indifference. ‘The staff are employed to take care of my guests; they are happy to have a job, and will be insulted if you do not use them.’ He sounded like a pompous prig, he knew, and the knowledge made him frown in self-disgust.

Eloise glanced at the hand on her bare arm, and up into his thunderously frowning face. ‘Yes…okay.’

Damn it. She was doing it again, with the okay, and he didn’t like it one bit. Thinking about it now, he realised she had been doing it ever since Katy had lent her voice to his, in persuading Eloise to agree to come to Greece with him. She had been the same on the plane.

His dark eyes narrowed intently on her lovely face for a long moment. But her usual brilliant green eyes returned his scrutiny expressionlessly; something was missing. He felt like shaking her. Instead, his hard features perceptibly darkened.

‘O…kay,’ he drawled cynically. ‘Now share a shower with me,’ he demanded with deliberate provocation, his fingers tightening on her arm.

Eloise was aware that Marcus was trying to rile her on purpose. Why, she had no idea. The only connection between them was sex, and from now on it was going to stay that way until their relationship had run to its natural conclusion, and without trust on either side that should not take too long. But for the moment she had to stay away from England; that was the most important thought in her head.

If she discovered she was unlucky enough to be pregnant, then all deals were off, KHE would have to get by without her, and she would be on her own. In the meantime, she would enjoy what Marcus offered. She could be as hard as a man, if she tried.

‘Yes, okay.’ She lifted her hand and placed it on his broad chest. ‘Whatever you say.’

Marcus made love to her hard and fast with the water cascading over their naked bodies, he felt her climax, her fingernails tearing into his back as they both reached shattering fulfilment at the same time.

His breathing rough and audible, he shot her a blistering glance, and slowly unwound her long legs from around his waist and lowered her limp body to the floor. With one arm supporting her, he reached over and turned off the shower tap, then dropped a soft kiss on her forehead.

‘We’d better get out of here and get dressed,’ he said ruefully. ‘I meant to tell you before I was distracted—Aunt Christine and Stella are coming for cocktails and dinner.’

Reeling under the force of her own response, to be hit with his relatives’ arrival in pretty much the next breath simply confirmed for Eloise she had been right to decide emotional detachment was the only way to deal with Marcus.

Straightening, she shrugged off his arm. ‘Right, okay,’ she said calmly and, unconscious of her nudity, she stepped out of the shower. She picked a towel from the pile provided, wrapped it around her naked body and left the bathroom, without looking back at Marcus.

Okay—she had done it again… An incredulous frown pleating his broad brow, Marcus grabbed a towel and flung it around his hips. For the first time in his adult life he felt guilty about having sex, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit.

Eloise quickly dried her body and slipped on her clothes without glancing in a mirror. She felt as if she was moving, talking, acting through a swirling fog. She had felt like this before and knew it was the shock of hearing the news about Rick Pritchard, and she had to battle to break free. Only in Marcus’s arms had she become truly aware again, a wry smile twisted her lips. Unfortunately, she couldn’t spend the rest of the day in his arms. She knew from past experience it usually took about twenty-four hours for the paralysing fear to fade.

Dinner was not the ordeal Eloise had expected. Christine was a woman in her forties. She must have been Marcus’s mum’s younger sister, Eloise surmised. She was small and plump with gentle brown eyes, and Stella at seventeen was a younger version. It became increasingly apparent to Eloise as the meal progressed that Christine obviously had no knowledge of the state her husband had left his affairs in. She was a lovely lady and, from her comments to Marcus and to Eloise, it was obvious she had total and utter faith in Marcus to look after the financial side of her life.

After admiring the amber pendant Eloise was wearing and hearing Eloise worked as a jewellery designer, Christine remarked, ‘You are the first girl my nephew has seen fit to introduce to our small family, and you are lucky. He is brilliant at business; he will help you.’ She turned her warm brown eyes to Marcus. ‘I am right. No?’

Eloise swallowed a lump in her throat at the expression of tender love they exchanged. And when the evening was over and Eloise stood at the door of the villa and was subjected to a hug and a kiss from Christine and Stella, plus a demand she must visit them for a meal, her throat closed up with emotion.

This would not do, she told herself, walking back inside. In any other circumstances she could have really loved Marcus’s relatives… But the knowledge that her mother Chloe had had an affair with Christine’s late husband and conned him out of a great deal of money made the bile rise in her throat and left her with an acrid taste on her tongue.

Meeting Christine had brought it home to her as nothing else could why Marcus held her in such low regard.

‘Would you like a nightcap?’ the object of her thoughts enquired as they entered the hall.

She arched her shapely brows. ‘Not wise after all the wine I have consumed,’ she responded flippantly. Actually, she hadn’t drunk much, but she wanted to get away from Marcus for a while.

‘Don’t worry. I won’t let you get drunk,’ he advised her smoothly, his narrowed dark eyes skimming over her figure. Every shapely curve revealed by the green silk dress which was held up by tiny sequinned shoulder straps. It was so slim-fitting that there was a split up one side to enable her to walk, and he remembered the fun he had had buying it for her in Paris with a smile.

Eloise lifted a graceful shoulder. ‘Yes, all right.’

His smile extinguished, Marcus’s sensuous mouth tightened into a hard line. She looked at him and smiled, but it was as if she wasn’t there. ‘Sit on the terrace. I’ll bring the drinks out,’ he snapped. Without a word Eloise sat down and, instead of being pleased she had done as he said, Marcus felt irrationally angry.

Reclining on a lounger on the terrace with a glass of juice in her hand, Eloise glanced across at Marcus. He was leaning against the ornate balustrade, staring down at her. In a white dinner jacket and black trousers, he was devastatingly handsome, but the hint of anger glinting in the darkness of his eyes was unsettling. What had she done wrong now? she wondered bitterly. Not servile enough for him? Well, tough…

‘You liked Christine and Stella?’ Marcus prompted.

‘Yes, they’re both charming. In other circumstances I’m sure we could have been friends.’

‘What do you mean—in other circumstances?’ he demanded hardily. ‘There is nothing wrong with now.’

Gracefully, Eloise rose to her feet and, after draining her glass, placed it on a nearby table.

‘Okay, if you say so.’

‘No, it is not damn well okay.’ Marcus moved to block her path his hands closing like talons on her shoulders. ‘What is with this “okay” to everything I say?’ he growled with savage frustration. ‘You’ve barely said a sentence since we left London.’

He hauled her against him and she looked up into his hard features, and was suddenly aware of the brush of his long body against her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise I was supposed to make brilliant conversation as part of our deal,’ she said bluntly.

‘Damn the deal, and talk to me,’ Marcus groaned, his fingers gentling on her shoulders. ‘This is my home, and I want you to be happy here.’ His dark eyes caught and held her own. ‘I want us to be happy here. Not just okay.’ And as he said it he knew he meant it. He wanted much more from Eloise than sex. He wanted her warmth, her friendship, her love…

He wanted to forget their deal! Eloise was so surprised, the shock that had almost swamped her mind all day, but had begun to lift over dinner finally vanished, and she responded tentatively. ‘I’m a bit tired from the flight and everything. Disorientated.’

Deep in her innermost being, she wanted to believe he was serious. She’d only ever belonged to Marcus in the physical sense, and with the warmth of his body enfolding her she was loath to give up the little he was prepared to give her. Was she going to let the ghost of the past that had haunted her all day win, or was she going to take one last chance?

‘Let’s go down to the beach,’ Marcus suggested. ‘The sea air will clear your head.’

‘Ok—’ She nearly said it again, and a brief smile tilted the corners of her mouth. ‘A very good idea, I agree.’

Marcus slanted her a wry grin, and dropped an arm around her bare shoulders. ‘Come on.’

They walked along the deserted beach in a relatively peaceful silence.

For Eloise the underlying tension was never far from the surface but, looking around her, scenting the clear night air, the only sound being the gentle movement of the sea, she realised she felt safe. She cast a sidelong glance at her companion through the thick fringe of her lashes, and knew she had Marcus to thank for her feeling of well-being, and she made a conscious decision to try and relax, live for the moment.

It was a wonderful night, a clear star-studded sky with the full moon gleaming on the dark water. Eloise kicked off her shoes and walked into the gentle waves whispering over the sand. The water was warm, and she turned playfully back to Marcus. ‘Come and have a paddle.’

‘I can do better than that,’ Marcus said thickly, and slowly he stripped off his jacket and spread it on the sand. His shirt, trousers, everything followed.

Astonished, wide-eyed, she watched her own personal striptease show, a slow burning need igniting in her belly. He stood tall and straight not a yard away. A work of art that rivalled Michaelangelo’s David, perfect in line and form, and totally unashamed of his magnificent aroused body.

His dark eyes captured hers, and she was powerless to break the contact. ‘Now it’s your turn, Eloise.’

Hypnotised by the burning intensity of his gaze ‘Yes,’ she conceded softly. Safe and sure in his protection, she caught the hem of her dress; she slipped it over her head, and threw it onto the sand, freeing her high firm breasts to the warm night air and Marcus’s rapacious, hungry and very masculine appraisal.

She tucked her fingers in the top of lacy white briefs, and slowly stepped out of them one leg at a time; then, straightening up, she squared her shoulders and looked at Marcus.

In silence they simply stared at each other, totally naked, at one with the earth, sea and sky.

Marcus reached out his hand, and Eloise placed her own small hand in his palm. His night-black eyes caught and held hers, the simmering passion in his gaze igniting her own. Adrenaline raced through her veins; anticipation heated her blood. For the first time in her life she rejoiced in her own sexuality, neither afraid nor ashamed.

In that moment she saw them as two supreme beings, naked as nature intended, free from all the shackles of convention, all worldly cares, and she stepped forward.

‘You are perfection,’ Marcus groaned as their mouths met in a desperate hungry passion.

He shaped her swollen breasts with shaking hands, his thumbs grazing over the hard tight peaks, before lifting her in his arms, and lying her on his outspread jacket. His large powerful body stretched out beside her his shoulders shook as he lifted his head. ‘Every time I see you, I want you more.’

Reaching up Eloise framed his head in her hands and urged him down to her. ‘Don’t talk,’ she murmured. She wanted nothing to spoil the erotic dream consuming her and pressed her mouth to his, her tongue daringly searching the moist depths of his mouth.

Time suspended in another dimension, they touched, tasted, and explored and, mindless in the grip of a primeval passion, the sea water gently lapping at their limbs, they finally came together in a glorious, slow-burning, ecstatic climax that left them both shuddering in the aftermath of exquisite pleasure.

Marcus recovered first and, smiling down at her, a smile of smug male satisfaction, he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Skinny-dipping next.’

It was another first for Eloise. She had never swum naked before and later, when they made their way back to the house, dishevelled and looking as if they had done exactly what they had done…she wondered if she ever would again.

The sun was shining through the window when Eloise’s eyes fluttered open.

Marcus, a fully dressed Marcus, if one could call denim shorts and a sleeveless black tee-shirt fully dressed, was standing by the bed. ‘What time is it, what are you doing?’ she mumbled, closing her eyes again. So much virile male pulchritude was a jolt to her system so early in the morning.

‘Almost noon.’

‘What?’ Her eyes flew open.

‘I thought you needed the rest, and your friend Katy called. Apparently she has talked Harry into letting her come out for a few days. She will be arriving this afternoon.’

Her eyes properly open now, Eloise looked at Marcus. The lover of last night had gone; his dark eyes were narrowed speculatively on her small face, his body tense.

‘That will be nice,’ she said politely, his obvious reserve a timely reminder to her to keep her emotional distance from the man, and she dragged the cotton sheet up to her armpits.

‘Maybe, but it seems rather a sudden decision on Katy’s part,’ Marcus opined darkly. ‘So much so, I could be forgiven for thinking you had arranged it between you. Are you really that bored at the prospect of staying alone with me?’

His black eyes roamed broodingly over her beautiful face, the fabulous red hair spread over the pillow, to where she had tucked the sheet firmly across her breasts. His throat constricted as he recalled the lushness of her body beneath the sheet. Hell! What on earth was the matter with him? Challenging her like some jealous teenager, just because she had a friend coming to stay, when he wanted her all to himself, he finally acknowledged with a frown.

Watching him frown, Eloise shivered in spite of the heat. Marcus was back to his usual cool, remote self. Yet she could have sworn in the middle of the night she had felt his arms close around her, holding her close, protecting her. Sadly she realised it had been wishful thinking on her part. Inexplicably, she felt like crying but, gritting her teeth and fighting back the tears, she sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up under her chin.

Taking a deep breath, she tilted back her head. ‘You have to be joking.’ She forced a light laugh. ‘I wouldn’t dream of inviting a friend of mine anywhere near you, unless I had to. And may I point out this is your home; Katy asked you. You could have said no.’ She knew she had gone too far; he took a step forward, his black eyes blazing, and then he stilled.

Marcus stared at her as if she had sprouted horns and a tail. Her words had cut deep. She had no family, but she didn’t even want him near her friends, while he had wanted to bring her to his home, delighted in introducing her to his family, and was looking forward to her meeting his friends on the island.

In that moment, Marcus, a man who had never believed in love, suddenly realised he was madly, passionately in love with Eloise. He bent forward again. ‘Eloise.’ He had to tell her and, reaching out, he gently stroked her red hair from her face.

Eloise flinched back.

‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘I…’ and he could not say it. The deal, everything came flooding back, and he almost groaned out loud. How could he have been such a blind fool? He didn’t give a damn about revenge. It was Eloise he wanted, had always wanted, and he’d been too arrogant, too jealous, to admit as much.

‘I’ll go and collect Katy,’ he said, pulling back. ‘You rest, eat, pamper yourself—do what women do.’ He must sound like an incoherent idiot, he knew, but he had so much ground to make up with Eloise, he didn’t know where to start.

A grim smile twisted his lips. He needed a strategy to woo her, win her love. On the plus side, he knew he wouldn’t need to coerce her into bed. The chemistry between them was explosive. Maybe a private talk with Katy might give him a few pointers.

‘Pamper?’ Eloise exclaimed and, watching the fleeting expressions chase across his handsome face, she was totally confused.

Glancing back at Eloise, seeing the confusion in her emerald eyes, the master strategist lost it. ‘I want us to stay together, get married, everything,’ Marcus said with grim determination, sitting down on the bed and pulling her into his arms.

She shook her head, unable to believe her ears. He looked more like he had swallowed a dose of horrible medicine than a suitor. Then he kissed her.

‘Damn Katy,’ Marcus muttered, lifting his head, as the whirling blades of a helicopter landing broke the silence.

Eloise looked up and collided with lustrous dark eyes. Was she dreaming or had Marcus really asked her to marry him? He looked frustrated and, unbelievably for him, vulnerable, unsure. ‘Katy,’ she mumbled irrationally, too stunned to comprehend what he meant.

‘I have to go and collect her, but think about what I’ve said,’ he prompted, and leaping to his feet, he left.

Not for a moment admitting he had to get away, he was as stunned as Eloise looked. He had proposed marriage without a second thought. Hell, who was he kidding? Without even a first thought! His brilliant mind had been turned to mush by a pair of green eyes. Eloise drove him crazy. He must be crazy to want to give up his freedom. A few minutes after climbing into the waiting helicopter, a broad smile broke on his face. He felt nothing but joy.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘NO BENJAMIN with you?’ Marcus asked, after the usual friendly greetings to Katy. ‘I’m amazed you could bring yourself to leave him at home.’ He smiled as he escorted the rather frazzled-looking Katy across the tarmac to the heliport. ‘It must have been a sudden decision on your part to visit Eloise,’ he prompted. He still had a lingering suspicion Eloise had somehow arranged this visit to avoid being alone with him, though he did not see how. He had never let Eloise out of his sight, since yesterday morning.

‘It was, and I’m only staying the one night.’ Katy shot him a worried frown. ‘But after I read the newspaper, I really didn’t think it was something I could tell Eloise over the phone.’

‘Sounds dire. Don’t tell me the firm has collapsed overnight without her,’ Marcus quipped.

‘No, but it does concern Eloise.’ Katy glanced at Marcus, and was reassured by his cheerful grin.

‘You know, before meeting you I would have bet Eloise would remain a virgin till her dying day,’ she confided in him chattily. ‘But she’s blossomed incredibly into a confident woman with you to look after her. Harry and I were amazed when she agreed to go to that film premiere with you. I would have sworn Eloise would never appear in the public eye ever again after the trauma she went though with the court case. The victim’s name is supposed to remain secret, but that slime-ball’s letter from prison to the gutter press threatening revenge, nearly finished poor Eloise off. But your trip to the premiere convinced us both she’s finally got over her fear of men and recognition.’ Katy gave Marcus a grateful smile. ‘But old habits die hard; we’ve protected her for so long. I want to be there for her when she finds out.’

Victim? Court case? His Eloise a virgin? Marcus’s mind reeled under the implication, a deep, dark, bottomless pit opening up before him. Katy obviously thought he knew what she was talking about. Glancing up, he realised they were at the helicopter.

‘Finds out what?’ he asked lightly, helping Katy into the helicopter and handing her a set of headphones, desperate to continue the conversation in flight.

‘This is great. I’ve never been in a helicopter before.’

Marcus forced a smile at Katy, but he had to know why she was here. Something was terribly wrong. ‘Yes, but you were going to tell me…’

‘Oh, yes.’ Katy sobered. ‘Eloise will have told you all about the assault and stabbing.’ Marcus felt the blood drain from his face, and he listened in growing horror as Katy rambled on.

‘It was a terrible time, and she was so brave all through the trial. But what you can’t know—I only found out late last night, when I got around to reading the paper—Rick Pritchard, the man who attacked her, who got a seven-year sentence, is to be released on Monday after serving only four years.’

‘I see.’ Marcus froze, the blood turning to ice in his veins.

‘Yes, well, after he was sentenced, he vowed from the dock he would get Eloise, and I saw the look in the fiend’s eyes. I wouldn’t put anything past him. The letter he sent to a newspaper a couple of weeks later simply reaffirmed the fact. But she has you to protect her and the fact she’s in Greece instead of London is actually quite fortuitous. The swine is unlikely to find her on Rykos,’ Katy opined, ending on a cheerful note. ‘Oh, look, I can see the sea and dozens of little islands. It’s beautiful.’

‘Yes.’ Marcus carefully pointed out various landmarks. He did not dare reopen the discussion on the attack. He had never felt such rage and fury in his life, or such disgust, most of it directed at himself. God, what had he done? Suddenly a lot of little things made sense. Katy’s and Harry’s protectiveness towards Eloise; Eloise’s dislike of publicity—and he silently groaned.

The sound of the helicopter made Eloise’s heart skip a beat. They were back. With one last glance in the mirror, she ran from the bedroom, and down the stairs, happy anticipation giving a bloom to her cheeks, and brilliance to her emerald eyes.

She wasn’t dreaming; Marcus had asked her to marry him. The why and wherefore she would have to discuss with him but, for the first time since meeting Marcus again, her heart was bursting with hope for the future. She’d told herself not to get too excited but she couldn’t help it. She’d dressed in a simple mint sheath dress, and on her feet she wore soft leather mules in the same colour. She had brushed her hair back and left it loose. She didn’t want to overdo it and look as if she had dressed up especially for Marcus.

Stopping her dash for the door, she made herself walk slowly out on the terrace and around to the rear of the house, in sight of the landing pad. She watched as the tall figure of Marcus stepped down from the helicopter and swung the smaller figure of Katy to the ground.

‘Fantastic,’ Katy murmured, walking around the terrace with Marcus at her side, and the houseman bringing up the rear, carrying Katy’s holdall. ‘This is some house, Eloise!’

‘Glad you like it.’ Eloise grinned at Katy. ‘Wait until you see the pool,’ and she glanced up at Marcus. ‘Perhaps we can all try it later when Katy’s settled.’ She smiled a little nervously, still a bit unsure about his proposal, but there was no reciprocal smile; his dark features looked coldly remote.

‘Not for me. I have some work to do in my study. Nikos here will show you Katy’s room, and as she is only staying one night I’m sure you two want to gossip. I’ll see you both at dinner.’ He strode into the shadowed interior of the house without a backward glance.

One phone call and Marcus turned pale as death. The hand holding the receiver shook with the force of his emotions. ‘Fax me the lot—trial transcript, newspaper articles, everything.’ Dropping the phone, he paced the length of his study like a caged tiger.

He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to, but he knew it was true. When the fax machine started printing he sat down at his desk and started to read. The detective he had hired had said before Eloise was as pure as the driven snow and he, with his cynical mind, had thought he was being facetious. To see it in black and white in the trial transcript made him sick to his stomach. She had been a virgin when she was attacked, and technically still had been afterwards. The fiend had not succeeded.

Eloise, his Eloise, had been returning across a park alone after a game of tennis, and been brutally attacked by a depraved man, Rick Pritchard. Luckily a couple out walking their dog had disturbed him. Eloise had been rushed to hospital and the police called, and then the stab-wound to her inner thigh had been treated and she’d regained consciousness.

He buried his head in his hands, the full horror of what had happened to Eloise piercing him like a knife in the heart. The scar on her leg… She had said it was an accident. She had nearly bled to death…

Leaping to his feet, he wanted to smash something, or someone; impotent fury blazed in his black eyes. He had never felt such rage, such hatred, in his life; he wanted to kill Rick Pritchard with his bare hands. That being impossible, he once more picked up the phone. There was not a flicker of emotion in his dark sardonic features, but the implacable intent in his jet-black eyes would have scared the devil himself, as in a cold, hard voice he issued his instructions.

‘A lovely pad,’ Katy declared half an hour later seated opposite Eloise at the small table on the balcony of her bedroom. Nikos had thoughtfully provided a jug of iced tea and two glasses, plus a plate of various Greek delicacies to nibble on.

‘I can see why Marcus wanted to bring you here, you lucky girl.’ She sighed in delight at the panoramic view of sea and sky.

Eloise looked across at her friend. ‘Okay, Katy, why the rush out here?’ It was totally out of character for Katy to fly anywhere unless she had to.

Bright brown eyes turned compassionately to Eloise. ‘There’s no easy way of saying this. Rick Pritchard is due to be released from jail on Monday.’

Eloise quelled an internal shiver at the mention of the name. She should have guessed. She’d read the article in the paper herself yesterday morning. Of course Katy must have seen it and, being Katy, worried over her.

‘Is that all?’ Eloise tried a smile, deeply touched by Katy’s concern. But if the last few months had taught her anything, it was she could no longer hide from the harsh reality of life or depend on other people to protect her. Katy had her own family and life to lead. ‘I know, Katy. I saw the article when you gave me the paper yesterday. It is not important,’ she lied.

‘You’re sure? You’re not frightened he’ll come after you?’ Katy asked seriously.

‘Really, Katy… Do I look frightened?’ Eloise prompted and, casually picking up a small stuffed vine leaf, she waved her hand around. ‘Look where we are and with whom. Marcus is more than a match for any man, or woman!’ She allowed a brief, knowing smile to curve her lips, before she popped the morsel of food in her mouth.

‘Yes, you’re right.’ Katy smiled back, completely taken in by Eloise’s consummate acting. ‘Harry said I was worrying unnecessarily, and Marcus seemed quite cool when I told him about it. But, hey, now I am here, can we at least try out the pool.’

The food stuck in Eloise’s throat and she had to swallow hard to dislodge it horrified by Katy’s comment. ‘You told Marcus?’

‘Yes, on the way over. Why, does it matter?’

Recovering swiftly. ‘No. No, of course not, but do me a favour—don’t mention it to him again.’ The thought of Marcus knowing her dark secret mortified her. ‘He’s Greek, a typical macho male, and as you can imagine any mention of an attack on his lady puts him in a bad mood.’ She made it up as she went along. ‘And I really don’t want to talk about the case.’

But she knew she was only putting off the moment of reckoning. Once Marcus got her on her own he would want the full story. Now she understood why he had appeared cold on his return with Katy.

‘Sure, if you say so. The subject’s closed,’ Katy said understandingly, then grinned. ‘Now lead me to the water.’

They spent the rest of the afternoon at the pool, but there was no sign of Marcus. The whole situation put Eloise under a severe strain. So far, by some miracle she had managed to fool Katy into thinking Marcus was the love of her life and everything was fine. If Katy realised everything was not as it seemed, she would question Eloise until she got the truth.

But what was the truth? Eloise thought as she stood in the bedroom, fastening polished jade earrings to her ears, a perfect match for the patterned green silk sarong-style dress she had opted to wear for dinner. So much had happened, so fast. She was plunged into turmoil by her conflicting emotions.

Yesterday morning she had told herself she hated Marcus, because he’d ordered her to come to Greece, but after reading the newspaper she’d jumped at the chance to get away. She’d spent all day in a state of shock. Then last night and the episode on the beach when she had succumbed to his blatant sexuality yet again, she’d felt no shame, but freedom. This morning Marcus had asked her to marry him, and for a while she’d believed happiness was a possibility. But when he returned with Katy, it was as if the last twenty-four hours had never happened.

Dear heaven, it was no wonder she was an emotional basket case, she told herself bitterly. She was a complete novice when it came to male-female relationships, and Marcus was a vastly experienced, complicated man. He was also a very traditional male, with a high profile position to uphold in the business world. Not the sort of man who would take for his wife a woman who had been violated and the centre of a sordid court case, she concluded sadly.

Straightening her shoulders, she left the room to collect Katy and go down to dinner, her stomach churning with nervous dread, waiting for the axe to fall. Trying to understand what drove Marcus was like riding a rollercoaster, a spectacular high then a deep, depressing trough. Never mind the fact some madman might be chasing her…

They ate dinner out on the terrace with the sea and night sky as a backdrop. Marcus looked his usual magnificent self in a lightweight linen suit, and by the coffee stage he had shed his jacket. He ruled the conversation with all the charm and wit of a true Renaissance man. Katy was completely fooled, but Eloise could sense the underlying tension in the taut set of his wide shoulders.

She hadn’t had a private word with him since his bombshell proposal this morning. He’d waited until she and Katy had appeared for dinner before exiting his study with a murmured apology about changing for dinner. He was avoiding her, obviously disgusted.

Now, the few times their eyes met, his narrowed into hard darkness masking all expression. Obviously he was regretting his reckless proposal, Eloise thought sadly, but then she had not really believed him anyway. Miracles didn’t happen. At least not to her.

Inwardly she heaved a sigh of relief when, after demolishing almost a whole bottle of wine single-handedly, Katy said she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

‘Yes. I’m rather tired myself,’ Eloise agreed, rising from her seat. She glanced across at Marcus. ‘I think I’ll call it a night,’ she said smoothly, playing her part for the benefit of Katy. ‘If you don’t mind.’ Her green eyes widened as she saw the flash of something almost feral in the black eyes that met her own.

‘You do that, sweetheart,’ he said. With perfect manners, he rose as they did, and turning to Katy wished her good night, and then, glancing at Eloise, he added, ‘I am going to have a brandy. I will see you later.’

Following Katy into the house, Eloise heard the sarcasm in his tone, and slanted him a sharp backward glance—but, to her astonishment, she caught an expression of such bitter devastation on his darkly handsome face, her step paused. She wanted to go to him and ask him what was wrong. Then common sense prevailed; she was imagining things. Marcus had never needed anyone in his life, and she caught up with Katy, and showed her to her room.

Shedding her clothes, Eloise showered, and slipped a brief white cotton nightgown over her head. Returning to the bedroom, brush in hand, she sat down on the bed, and began brushing her hair. Marcus confused and tormented her, until she could no longer think straight. She’d tried. She’d tried to retain some control, to defend her poor heart against the overwhelming attraction of the man, but she was beginning to believe it was a hopeless task. She was hopeless. Her lower lip trembled; a solitary tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away with her free hand, then brushed her hair with more ferocity than was strictly necessary. She refused to wallow in self-pity; she was a survivor—she had proved that once before, and she could do so again.

Lost in her own thoughts, Eloise did not know how long she had been sitting on the bed, when she glanced up and saw Marcus standing a few feet away.

He was as cold and still as a marble statue. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the silence. Eloise swallowed hard vaguely threatened by his silent scrutiny. ‘The bathroom’s free,’ she said inanely.

‘So is your attacker,’ Marcus hissed between clenched teeth. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been attacked?’ he demanded softly.

‘I didn’t think you’d be interested. Anyway, Katy has told you now,’ Eloise answered bluntly, staring at him as he wrenched off his tie as if it were choking him and undid the first few buttons of his shirt.

‘Katy thought I knew,’ he raked at her, tight-lipped with temper. ‘After a few calls, I finally received the transcript of the trial and the press reports. I have just finished reading them.’

All the colour drained from Eloise’s face, and the brush fell unnoticed from her hand to the bed. ‘It was a long time ago,’ she tried to say nonchalantly, but the tremble in her voice was plain to hear. She hated the thought of Marcus reading every horrible torturous intimate detail of the worst episode in her life.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Marcus demanded savagely. ‘Why did you lie? I asked you about your scar and you said it had been caused by an accident.’

Eloise slowly stood up, and told him the truth. ‘I was shy; it was the first… I didn’t want you to know, not then, but later maybe.’

‘Why, why in God’s name would you hide such a thing from me?’ Marcus’s fury was so real she took a nervous step back. He saw it, and went white, strain etched in every line of his face. He had thought she was a virgin, but had ignored it, and it only served to make him more furious. ‘You were afraid of me.’ He hissed in outraged disbelief.

Eloise shivered. ‘No, I just wanted to forget.’

‘Forget?’ he bit out incredulously, ‘And how the hell am I supposed to forget?’ Marcus seethed, his glittering black eyes clashing with hers, and she caught her breath. She did not have to listen to this. It was as she had thought—he was disgusted by the court case, disgusted with her.

‘The exquisite face, the luscious body.’ His gaze slid down over her scantily-clad form and he reached out and caught her wrist as she would have whirled away.

‘God, but you’ve got your revenge, Eloise.’ He surveyed her with burning intensity. ‘Have you the slightest idea how I feel? How can I forget that I all but forced you into my bed?’ he demanded, his black eyes raking over her with contempt.

Eloise flinched as though she had been struck, but pride alone made her face him. She stiffened, and stared at him with ice-green eyes. Another room, another man accusing her. As if it was her fault she was a beautiful sexy girl, a tease—of course she led the defendant on. It was the past come back to haunt her yet again.

‘Don’t touch me. Let go of my arm,’ Eloise snapped, cold anger covering the pain he was inflicting by his callous words. ‘If, as you say, you read the transcript, you know that technically it was attempted rape and assault with a deadly weapon. You do not come into that category.’ Eloise threw him a look of pure scorn, denying the feelings he could arouse in her even when he was behaving like the worst kind of chauvinist. ‘Yet,’ she concluded viciously.

Marcus released her so abruptly she fell back against the bed. He lifted his hand and drove shaking fingers through his thick hair. Hell, what was he doing, raging at Eloise? None of this was her fault. She was the victim, and he was filled with self-contempt.

‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ he conceded tautly. ‘I allowed my anger to get the better of me. Sorry.’

She raised her eyes. Marcus saying sorry was a new experience—but one look at his face and she realised he looked less in command of himself than usual. In fact he looked absolutely dreadful. ‘Forget it,’ Eloise muttered with a negative shake of her head, and sat down on the bed, her trembling legs no longer capable of supporting her. ‘I have.’ After the court case, she’d vowed never to be forced by any man into defending her actions, and she was not about to do so now with Marcus.

There was a long silence, then Marcus took a deep breath and straightened to his full height. ‘I can’t forget what that man did to you Eloise. I wasn’t angry with you, I was furious with him, and myself.’ His black eyes captured hers, and there was no doubt of the sincerity in their depths. ‘I feel like the lowest of the low. I refused to believe a word you said, because all the evidence made you seem a liar. So I didn’t care how I got you in my bed, as long as I did. I would be lying if I said I regretted making love to you—I don’t, though I recognise I’m not much better than the man who attacked you. But you have nothing to fear from me, Eloise; I will never touch you again.’

Eloise turned paper-white, and there was an even longer silence while she digested what he’d said, and stared back at him, her green eyes curiously blank. She had been a challenge to him, but he didn’t want her any more.

‘It’s okay,’ she said finally. She had always suspected once he discovered her past he would lose interest in her. ‘I’ll go back with Katy tomorrow.’ She wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t going to beg. ‘As for the money I owe…’

‘You don’t owe me a thing, Eloise. I’ve known that since Harry told me how you’d invested your inheritance to start the business and you’re all equal partners that you don’t care about money.’

Eloise knew somewhere in the back of her mind he was telling her something vital, but she couldn’t think straight. She felt sick inside and, taking a few deep breaths, it was only by a mighty effort of will she managed to shore up the defensive wall in her mind that stopped her bawling her eyes out. ‘Okay.’

She was doing it again. Marcus’s dark eyes narrowed, harsh and brooding, on her pale face and finally his brilliant brain discerned instantly what she was doing. He was appalled he hadn’t recognised the tactic sooner, appalled at his own insensitivity.

‘No, damn it, it is not okay,’ he swore. ‘Don’t do that again. I realise now why you were like that yesterday. You were in shock; it’s self-protection. You knew, didn’t you? You knew the rat was being set free.’

‘I read the paper before we left London. Yes,’ she admitted, her head bent, no longer caring what Marcus thought or felt. Just wishing he would leave, before she broke down completely.

A deep agonised groan had her lifting her head. Marcus stood, shoulders stooped, his hands covering his face, and as she watched his hands slid down to his sides. He stared down at her, his black eyes glazed with moisture, his handsome features twisted in horror.

‘What is it, Marcus?’ she asked hoarsely, deeply disturbed by his ashen pallor.

‘God help me!’ His tormented black eyes caught and held hers. ‘Yesterday you were in shock and I ordered you into the shower.’

Eloise had never seen such pain and anguish in her life, and slowly it dawned on her—Marcus, her arrogant, infuriating, powerful lover, the keeper of her heart if he did but know it, was racked with guilt.

She reached up and placed her hand on his curled fist. ‘I enjoyed our sojourn in the shower,’ she said softly.

He continued to stare at her for a disturbing length of time, as if he had not heard; then his fist unfurled and he clasped her hand in a deathlike grip. ‘Oh, God, Eloise,’ he groaned from deep in his throat, and pulled her up into his arms, crushing her to him. ‘I wish that were true.’

‘It is,’ she murmured tilting back her head to look up into his agonised face.

He stared at her for a moment in solemn silence, his eyes probing hers with a burning intensity; then, as if he could not help himself, he groaned again, his dark head descending. ‘I love you so much, Eloise.’ He buried his face against her throat. ‘I can’t bear the thought of anyone hurting you, and I know I must have hurt you. God! I took your innocence, I made you stay with me. I am no better than the scum who stabbed you.’

She felt as if all the air had left her lungs, by the fierce pressure of his arms, and she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mouth fell open in shock. Marcus loved her. She lifted a tentative hand to his head. She hated to see her proud, arrogant lover so distraught, and she knew what she had to do.

‘Marcus, you never hurt me, and certainly not physically. I always wanted you, even when we fought. I want you to believe me.’

‘You are too soft-hearted for your own good,’ he groaned against her throat and, lifting his head, his black eyes lingered on her slightly parted lips. ‘You need someone to take care of you,’ and he brushed his mouth over hers in the lightest of kisses. ‘Let it be me, and I swear no one will ever hurt you again.’

‘You…you love me?’ She had to ask, to be sure.

‘Eloise,’ he murmured thickly, his fingers brushing her hair lightly from her flushed cheeks, while his eyes devoured her. ‘I love you, and I have never felt more unworthy than I do at this moment. I can only pray that you will forgive me and let me try to make you happy.’

Her green eyes widened to their fullest extent as he spoke; it was almost too incredible to believe, but it was there in the gleaming depths of his dark eyes. It was there in the arms that tightened around her almost in desperation, and she finally knew it was there in his heart. ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she whispered unsteadily. ‘Just kiss me and tell me again you love me.’

He kissed her with a tender passion that stirred her more deeply than anything had ever done before. Her arms linked around his neck and she lost herself in the miracle of the moment.

‘I love you, Eloise,’ Marcus groaned and, sweeping her off her feet, laid her down on the bed, removing her nightgown in between kisses. He stared down at her and, with a hand that visibly shook, he traced the length of her leg and the hard ridge of tissue. For a second his dark eyes flashed violently. ‘God, I could kill him,’ he snarled.

‘Marcus.’ She held out her arms to him. ‘Forget him and come to me.’

He made love to her with a care a depth of passion that touched her soul. His mouth found the scar and laved the length, and more. Eloise held nothing back and gave as much pleasure as she received, until they lay sated in each other’s arms, two hearts beating as one perfect whole.

‘Please marry me,’ Marcus rasped throatily, and Eloise moved sinuously against him.

‘Another deal?’ she teased, glancing up at the darkly handsome face above her, and was stunned by the vulnerability in his night black eyes.

‘No.’ His sensuous mouth tightened. ‘You never were, or were never meant to be.’ Marcus said with scrupulous honesty. ‘We need to talk.’ Rolling onto his side, he propped his head on one hand and looked down at her.

‘When Theo died, and I discovered what Chloe had done, I hired a detective to find her. When I was informed Chloe was dead and she had no sister, I was intrigued. The money meant little to me; I was more interested in finding you, to be brutally honest,’ he said ruefully. ‘You had haunted my dreams for years, seriously curbed my womanising ways, and I was curious to discover what had become of you.’

‘I don’t think I like the womaniser bit.’ Eloise grinned up at him, but the rest was like manna to her love-starved heart.

‘Yes, well, when the detective found you and informed me of your real name, and you owned a jewellery firm, I was bitterly disappointed; along with the signature on the contract it seemed to confirm that you were in league with Chloe. Then, when the detective told me you were as pure as the driven snow, I didn’t want to hear any more. In my cynical mind, I thought he was being sarcastic. I decided to look you up, and come to some arrangement over what I considered should be Theo’s share.’

‘But I told you the truth, Marcus. My mother used my college project and she also forged my signature. It had absolutely nothing to do with me,’ Eloise protested.

‘I know that now.’ Marcus calmed her with a finger across her lips. ‘Let me finish. When I saw you by chance at the supper club, I was struck dumb; you were more beautiful than I remembered, and you were with a much older man.’

‘I wasn’t with Ted, well…’

‘Shh. For the first time in my life I was hit by jealousy. And I thought of what you and your mother had done to my uncle and his family—and I was furious.’

‘I told you….’

His dark head swooped and he stopped her with a kiss. ‘Please, Eloise, I want to get everything out in the open between us. No more secrets.

‘When I took you out to dinner, I was going to expose you as a liar and a cheat and demand Theo’s money back—but, over the meal, you were so sweet, so much fun, I thought, why bother? I didn’t need the money, and then, when we made love…’

Eloise smiled dreamily up at him. ‘That night was so perfect. It was a miracle for me. I never expected to be able to let a man touch me, but with you it was different. I think it was because I had known you before the attack, and so you weren’t a stranger. It was as though the trauma of the past didn’t exist and I was nineteen again.’

His dark eyes locked with hers. ‘God, Eloise! What I have put you though?’ he said slowly, and she felt his muscles lock with tension. ‘I know it was your first time. You were so nervous, so obviously inexperienced. I fully intended to keep on seeing you, and to forget about the fraud against my uncle.

‘Then, after the phone call, when we were leaving, and you quite happily said you had obtained finance from Ted Charlton the night before. Everything you said suggested you’d slept with him. You got back to your apartment at three. You were so excited it was five before you finally slept—I wanted to strangle you. Then you signed the deal in the morning and celebrated over lunch.’ His dark eyes clouded with remembered pain. ‘I was gutted, thinking I must have been mistaken about your innocence, as you had spent the night and half the day with Ted to get him to invest in KHE, just like your mother, and then came to me.’

‘You…’ Amazement made her eyes widen. ‘You actually… I wondered why you were so dismissive when you took me home.’ Eloise stared at him. ‘But it was nothing like that! Ted left me at the door. When I said we discussed Paris, I meant Katy, Harry and I. They waited up for me, as they tend to worry over me since the attack. Ted called the next day for a meeting with Harry, and then took us all out to lunch.’ Recalling the conversation at the time, Eloise realised how it might have sounded. ‘But if you thought… No wonder…’ she trailed off.

A wry smile twisted his sensuous lips. ‘That’s exactly what I thought. My ego took an absolute hammering; I didn’t know if I was on my head or my heels. I needed to get away from you, to think.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Eloise murmured, wriggling a little closer to the warmth of his naked body.

He chuckled and continued. ‘I delayed going to America, and deliberately took Nadine to the charity ball, hoping you would see the photograph.’

‘I did,’ Eloise admitted. ‘I was terribly hurt but, funnily enough, in one way I was grateful, because even if I never saw you again, you had cured me of my emotional hang-up where men were concerned. At least, that was what I told myself.’

One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment—but I’m not sure I want to be seen as a sex counsellor.’

Eloise gave him a playful punch in the chest and let her hand linger there lovingly. ‘You’d better not, Buster. I’m the only female you’re ever going to counsel.’

‘You’re the only female I want to.’ He ran a tender hand down her throat and over the soft swell of her breast.

She shivered and covered his hand with her own. ‘And Nadine, what happened to her?’ she asked hesitantly.

‘I’m a lot older than you are, and there have been women in my life—but only on a casual basis. Nadine was one of them. I hadn’t seen her for some months and I looked her up when I arrived in London, but that was as far as it went. Our first date and I saw you and no other woman would do. You’re the only woman I have slept with since the moment I saw you again. Believe me.’

She wanted to believe him, and she knew some things she would have to take on trust. ‘I do.’ But she still didn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for three months, and she asked him.

A dull tide of red ran up over his high cheekbones, and he looked less than his usual arrogant self. ‘I didn’t dare. But, God, I wanted to… Haven’t you realised yet? You’re my obsession, you drive me crazy. I love you quite desperately. After making love to you, there could never be anyone else for me. When I went to America—’ he hesitated ‘—I was so angry, I was determined I was going to make you pay. I consulted my lawyer, supposedly on behalf of Aunt Christine, and he was of the opinion the legal case would cost more than the actual money Theo had lost, and that an out-of-court settlement was the way to go. But I told myself I didn’t want to see you ever again, and I tried, I really tried. I concentrated on work to the exclusion of all else, determined to forget you ever existed. Then Ted Charlton got in touch with me and almost begged me to take over his commitment to KHE. After two months of aching for you, I thought, why not? It was a legitimate reason for seeing you. Then he told me he had slept with you, and confirmed what I suspected. All my anger surged back, a hundred times worse. I convinced myself if you slept with him for money, you could damn well sleep with me.’

It was Eloise’s turn to put her finger over his lips. ‘I really never slept with him.’

His mouth quirked in self-derision. ‘I know that. I think I’ve always known, but jealousy is a powerful emotion. And, if I’m honest, deep down you terrified me; it suited me to think of you as some kind of thief, because then I could deny the very real feelings I had for you. I could pretend you were just like all the other women I have known, self-seeking and greedy. If I once admitted you were different, I knew my bachelor days would be numbered. I told myself I was buying into KHE to help Ted and to get Theo’s money back, but I came to the opening of the Paris boutique, secretly hoping you would…’ He lifted an elegant bronzed shoulder. ‘I don’t know…fall at my feet in love and gratitude,’ he said wryly.

Eloise half smiled. His description was not far wrong; she very nearly had.

‘It wasn’t funny,’ Marcus murmured intently, brushing a caressing hand gently over her firm breast, as if compelled. ‘I ached to be like this with you again, but instead you looked at me like something you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe.’

Eloise sighed, stirring against him, and grinned. ‘That bad, hmm?’

This confession was certainly good for her soul, but she wasn’t so sure it was doing much for Marcus’s ego. ‘But you blackmailed me into your bed anyway,’ she prompted him.

‘By then I was determined to have you, and Ted had given me the lever, and to my shame I used it. Revenge is a very powerful emotion and I figured you owed my family.’

‘So when did you finally realise you loved me?’ She tried to sit up, and Marcus held her back down by simply rolling over her, his elbows either side of her shoulders and his hands cupping her head. The fully naked body contact and the warmth of his breath on her face made her lose her train of thought for a second.

A long kiss later, he stared into her emerald eyes. ‘I always have; I was going to marry you when you were nineteen, but you vanished. So I denied I loved you to myself. I thought it was a sign of weakness, and I kept on denying it.’ A dull tide of colour washed over his olive skin. ‘Until this morning, I looked at you and I knew I was fooling no one but myself. My control snapped and I probably made the least romantic marriage proposal known to man, and I dared not wait to hear your answer in case it was no.’

‘I liked it.’

‘Forgive me, Eloise, and marry me.’ She was stunned to see a trace of doubt in his night-black eyes. ‘I will look after you, protect you, and I know I can make you love me eventually or die trying.’

‘You won’t have to try. I do love you, Marcus, and the answer is yes.’

EPILOGUE

KATY collapsed on to the bamboo cane sofa next to Harry. ‘Let the holiday begin; give me a drink quick.’

Eloise smiled and Marcus stood up and crossed to the drinks trolley. ‘What will it be, Katy—wine or something stronger?’

‘G and T. I need it.’

With a sigh of contentment, Eloise watched her husband of a month mix the drink. They had married in a simple ceremony in the island church, with close friends and family, plus every inhabitant of the island. Eloise had never been happier.

Her sparkling emerald eyes followed Marcus; he never failed to stir her. This evening he was wearing tailored shorts and a soft cotton shirt, and he was without doubt the most handsome sexiest man alive, and he loved her.

As if sensing her scrutiny, he handed Katy the glass and crossed to sit down next to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder, and squeezing gently. ‘All right, my love?’ he enquired huskily and, running the tip of his tongue along her pouting lips, he claimed them with a kiss.

‘Never better,’ she whispered back, her pulse speeding up, and for a moment wished she had not invited Katy and Harry to stay for a week.

‘You two are hopeless,’ Harry teased. ‘We came here on holiday, not to watch an X-rated show.’

Leaning back, Marcus chuckled. ‘Well, we are all adults here.’ Glancing with mocking intent around the terrace he added, ‘The little devil Benjamin has finally gone to bed, it seems.’

‘Yes, thank God.’ Katy sighed, taking a long swallow of her G and T.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard yet,’ Harry said, changing the subject. ‘It was in the paper last week; Rick Pritchard apparently got into a fight outside a pub in Dover. He was found in a back alley, badly beaten, and is now in intensive care. They reckon it was foreigners, probably illegal immigrants that did it, because they’ve all vanished. So you won’t have to worry about him any more.’

‘I never did worry about him,’ Marcus said smoothly. ‘His sort usually get what they deserve.’

Watching Marcus, Eloise had the strangest feeling he was not the least surprised by the news.

Later when they were alone in their bedroom, she leant against him, her hand toying with the waistband of his briefs. ‘Did you know about Pritchard?’ she asked huskily, her own breathing unsteady, as his hands slid up under the fine silk of her nightgown to curve around her bottom, urging her closer.

‘I would die if I lost you.’ Marcus groaned as her fingers traced the hard masculine length of him.

‘That’s no answer,’ she murmured unsteadily, glancing up and catching a flash of something that looked suspiciously like triumph in her indomitable husband’s eyes.

‘It’s the only one you need,’ Marcus growled and, sweeping off her nightgown, he carried her to the bed.

And he was right. Eloise sighed happily some time later, safe in his arms.

The Greek Tycoon’s Revenge

PROLOGUE

ORION MORALIS—Rion to his friends—impatiently tapped his long fingers on the steering wheel of the powerful sports car. Athens was notorious for traffic snarl-ups, so it was no surprise he was stuck in one. He was going to be late for a damn dinner party he did not want to go to in the first place. It was his father’s fault, he mused.

Rion had arrived back from a two-month business trip to the USA late last night. At eight this morning his intercom had been activated and his father had breezed into his apartment.

‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’ Rion had asked, and the answer had amazed him.

‘I had lunch with Mark Stakis yesterday, and he has agreed to sell his company at a really good price.’ He’d quoted a figure. ‘How about that?’ His dad had beamed. ‘I haven’t lost my touch yet.’

His father’s determination to take over the Stakis shipping line was becoming an obsession. Rion was not involved, but he knew the firm was worth a lot more than what Stakis was asking—the man was giving his business away. But his dad was obviously delighted. He was retiring in the autumn and this deal was to be his last—which was just as well, as his dad was definitely losing his mind if he believed the offer to sell at that price was genuine.

‘So what is the catch?’ he had prompted dryly.

‘Well, Stakis does have a couple of provisos. First, he wants a few shares in the Moralis Corporation instead of more cash. Second, he wants you to marry his granddaughter, so he will know someone of his blood will still be connected to the business that has been his life and his father’s before him after he is gone.’

Rion couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Incredible.’ He shook his head. ‘I am not marrying any woman for years—if ever—and as for Stakis’s granddaughter, it would be a physical impossibility. The man doesn’t have a granddaughter. His son Benedict, his wife and teenage children were killed in a helicopter crash ages ago—or had you forgotten?’ he queried seriously.

‘No, of course not. It was a tragedy!’ his father declared indignantly.

Then his father told him the story. Benedict Stakis had fathered a child with an Englishwoman when his own wife had been pregnant with twins. Stakis had only discovered the existence of his illegitimate granddaughter after his son’s death. Apparently Benedict had persuaded the woman to keep quiet in exchange for setting up a trust fund with an English lawyer to provide for the child. Mark Stakis had finally met the girl, Selina Taylor, last September, and now she had finished school she was spending the summer in Greece with him.

‘You want me to marry a schoolgirl?’ Rion asked with a laugh, relieved his dad was not going senile. ‘You aren’t serious?’

‘I am serious, and it is not funny. The girl is not a child; she is nearly nineteen. She is staying at Stakis’s home in the city and he is holding a dinner party tonight to introduce her to society. We are all invited, so you can meet her and see what you think.’

‘No. I don’t need to think. Definitely not.’

‘At least meet her. This is too good a deal to pass up.’

But pass it up Rion had—adamantly—over and over again. Then his father had brought up some of Rion’s past ladyfriends, and a recent episode when Rion had been pictured in a tabloid outside a nightclub arguing with the paparazzi over a married lady who was no better than she should be, and had told him it was time he got himself a good woman instead of the bad he so obviously favoured.

His father had then hinted that he would have to think seriously of delaying his retirement and was not happy at the thought of leaving the business until he knew his son was settled.

His father was not averse to a bit of emotional blackmail … Yet they both knew Rion had, over the past few years, been the driving force behind the diversification from the original Moralis shipping line into the international company it was today. But Rion also knew his father’s doctor had warned him after his last heart attack to retire or suffer an early demise. Never mind the fact his stepmother, Helen, would be furious if she had to postpone the world cruise she had planned for his dad’s retirement in September.

Finally he had agreed to attend the dinner, but had made it very clear that was all he was promising—and only to humour his father. His dad saw this deal as the finishing touch on a successful career. He might actually succeed in taking over Stakis Shipping, but he would have to do it without Rion marrying some schoolgirl …

The idea of a marriage for business reasons was not something he would ever contemplate—but then he found the idea of marrying for love just as unpalatable. He wasn’t convinced the emotion actually existed …

He’d loved his parents, and had thought they’d loved each other. He’d been eleven when his mother had died, and six months later his father had married his secretary, Helen, because she was pregnant. That had hurt Rion, still grieving for his mum. At nineteen he had believed himself in love with Lydia, a stunning society beauty three years older than him. In the year they were together she had vastly expanded his education in the sex department—especially the many and varied ways to please a woman.

Rion had seriously considered asking her to marry him, but swiftly changed his mind when he’d caught her in bed with another woman … Lydia had laughed and suggested he join them, but he had refused, feeling betrayed, and he never did propose. But ‘each to his own’ was his motto, and they remained friends to this day.

With the benefit of hindsight he realised why Lydia had been such a good teacher!

Now at twenty-eight, Rion had learnt to be more discerning in his choice of partner. He liked sophisticated women who accepted from the start that all he offered was pleasure for as long as it lasted. He was not into commitment. He had enjoyed a few relationships, but never again imagined he was in love.

The repeated tooting of car horns reminded him where he was and he drove on.

The Stakis house was in the best suburb of Athens. A long drive led up to an impressive entrance portico. Not knowing how many guests were attending, Rion parked at the bottom of the drive so he could make a quick exit. He had a hot date arranged for later with Chloe, a model he had met twice before, and he walked up the drive with a spring in his step that had nothing to do with the dinner party but everything to do with anticipation of ending a couple of months’ celibacy …

A maid answered the door and showed him through the rambling old house to where the guests were gathered.

Rion walked into the room and paused when he saw the girl standing with his half sister, Iris. It had to be the granddaughter—and she was nothing like he had expected and certainly no child, if his body’s immediate reaction was anything to go by. Selina Taylor had a knock-out body, and he had to fight to control the pleasurable hardening in his groin area at the sight of her before moving on.

She was about five feet six, with full, firm breasts, a narrow waist, slim hips and fabulous legs—all perfectly displayed by the short emerald-green designer gown she wore and the sexy stiletto sandals.

Up close she was stunning. Her hair was reddish gold, its curls cut short to frame the perfect oval of her face. Her features were even and her complexion as pale as cream—when she wasn’t blushing, he amended, which she did rather a lot, he realised as the evening progressed.

But even scarlet-faced she was still lovely. Her expressive eyes fascinated him—big and cat-like, and the most incredible colour: hazel, or amber with a hint of green was as near as he could get. When she laughed they gleamed golden, and when she glanced his way they widened and she looked at him almost in awe—which he found flattering and incredibly arousing.

She had an innocence about her, and a lack of artifice that was totally genuine, Rion was sure. And he should know. He had met enough women who tried to play the innocent but with eyes as hard as stone.

‘So, how long have you been learning Greek, Selina?’ he asked her over dinner, wanting to know more about her. He didn’t question why …

He was stunned by her reply. She already spoke Italian and French, and had been learning Greek since meeting her grandfather, but she specialised in Chinese and Arabic and was going to university in the autumn.

She was definitely bright—and yet oddly naive. Rion was an experienced man of the world, used to the attention of women, and was well aware of Selina’s interest in him as the conversation flowed around the table. Under any other circumstances he would have pursued the mutual sexual attraction, but Selina was strictly out of bounds.

For all her stunning looks she obviously had little experience of men.

Coffee was served, and with his usual iron resolve Rion dismissed Selina from his mind. He took a sip or two of coffee and then swiftly drained his cup. Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet. He thanked Mark Stakis for dinner and made the excuse of a conference call booked at his apartment from the USA.

‘Shame you are so pushed for time, but don’t let us delay you.’ Mark Stakis smiled at him. ‘In fact take a shortcut through the garden—it is quicker that way.’ Turning to his granddaughter, he said, ‘Selina, show Rion the pathway to the drive. It will save him time.’

Of course the girl agreed and rose to her feet. Rion was amazed at how obvious the old man was being, but he couldn’t say anything. Instead he followed Selina down the steps from the terrace to the garden path. The poor girl hadn’t a clue Mark Stakis was trying to marry her off …

‘Steady, Selina.’ Rion reached for her arm as she caught the killer heel of one shoe in the decorative paving. ‘I am not in as much of a hurry that I want to see you break your lovely neck.’ Running his hand down her arm, he clasped her hand. Moving on, he said smoothly, ‘So tell me, Selina, how do you like staying in Greece with your grandfather? It must be a lot different from the life you lead in England.’

‘There is no comparison.’ she said. ‘He lives in such splendour.’ Glancing up at him, she added, ‘In fact I was amazed to discover I had a grandfather, and even now I still find it hard to believe.’

She smiled and made no attempt to free her hand from his, and as they walked down the dimly lit garden path, with a little prompting from Rion, she told him all about herself. Her mother was dead and she lived with her Aunt Peggy whom she had known all her life. She had been to continental Europe before, but last Christmas had been her first visit to Greece.

Rion found himself feeling sorry for Selina. She’d had a mother who had denied her knowledge of her father, a father who had ignored her, and now a grandfather who had befriended her for his own reasons. He looked into her big golden eyes, then down to the soft pink mouth, and suddenly it wasn’t sorrow he felt but an overwhelming compulsion to comfort her … kiss her … just once …

He slipped his hands around her waist and drew her gently against him. Lowering his head, he brushed her full lips in a tender kiss. He had meant it to be brief, but the taste of her was instantly addictive. He felt her tremble as he coaxed her lips apart to accept the subtle penetration of his tongue. She swayed against him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her body pressed against the lean, hard length of him.

Rion knew he should stop, but he was enchanted by her taste, her tentative touch, the unconsciously sinuous movement of her body against his, and was reluctant to let her go. Finally, painfully aroused, he drew in a deep, shuddering breath and curved his hands around her shoulders, putting some space between them. He held her for a long moment until his breathing returned to normal, and saw her dilated pupils, the sensual longing in her eyes that she could not disguise. He knew he had to see her again.

Selina was so sexy, and yet so naive. He had an urge to protect her … along with a more basic urge—which of course he knew he must deny, he told himself piously ….

The date he had lined up for after the dinner party was a disaster. Chloe would never speak to him again. He had taken her to a nightclub and then back to her home. Refusing her offer of coffee with a kiss on the cheek, he had left her at the door.

CHAPTER ONE

THE blistering heat of the July day had faded to a bearable level as the luxury yacht glided into the harbour of the Greek island of Letos just before midnightb.

Orion Moralis—tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and with a dark frown on his handsome face—the powerful, and some would say ruthless, owner of the vast Moralis Corporation—walked down the stairs from the bridge and onto the main deck. Casually dressed in combat pants and an open-necked black shirt, he paused for a moment to look at the assortment of buildings surrounding the harbour. The church tower held centre stage in the only village on the island, where Mark Stakis lived. Had lived, he amended with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Though as far as Rion was concerned the man had been dead to him for years.

His yacht, with a crew of seven, was fitted with state-of-the-art technology and had been heading for the coast of Egypt for a rare three-week break. Rion had planned to combine essential work with a cruise and a diving holiday. He had heard the news that Stakis was dead and had had no intention of going to the man’s funeral—but yesterday morning he had received an informative e-mail from Stakis’s lawyer, Mr Kadiekis, requesting his presence. He had diverted the yacht midway across the Mediterranean to get here—his trip cut short before it had started.

Rion strolled across the deck and stopped at the rail to glance down at the harbour to where a sailor was securing the yacht to its berth. He was impatient to get ashore; he needed to stretch his legs and shake of the restlessness that had plagued him for months—a major factor in his decision to take a break from his hectic work schedule. The restlessness had increased considerably after the news Mr Kadiekis had given him …

Amazingly Mark Stakis hadn’t changed his will in years, and the knowledge had brought memories Rion had thought dead and buried to the surface with a vengeance.

Six years ago he had married Stakis’s granddaughter Selina Taylor—and what a mistake that had been. Rion rarely if ever made mistakes—in business or in his private life—and it had been a huge blow to his ego when his young wife had betrayed him. For a second black fury blazed through him at the memory. Then abruptly he turned from the rail, and with the gangway in place walked down onto dry land.

Breathing deeply of the night air, Rion walked the length of the harbour away from the lights and onto the beach, enjoying the stillness of the night. The further he walked the more the anger the thought of his ex-wife had aroused in him ebbed away, and he began to relax. He listened to the soft sound of the waves against the shore as he strolled around the headland and through the trees, and realised he had reached the Stakises’ private beach.

He stopped for a moment and looked at the sprawling white villa set on the hillside. A single light shone from the building, dimly illuminating the elegant terraces trailing down to the shore. A retaining wall with a gate gave access to the beach and he glanced, around wondering if there was any security. Suddenly the gate opened.

Rion’s dark eyes narrowed on the white ghost-like figure that appeared thirty feet away, then widened on the very obvious feminine form … certainly neither ghost nor Security.

He stepped swiftly back into the shadow of the trees as the light of the moon illuminated the woman, jogging over the sand, the white robe she wore flying out behind her.

Selina. It had to be …

Rion stiffened, every muscle in his body tense. Although he’d had prior knowledge that she would be here it was still a shock to see her. The woman had some nerve. It was common knowledge that from the day she had returned to England after their divorce her grandfather had cut off all contact with her. But Rion wasn’t surprised. The scent of money was a big lure, he thought cynically.

He stood motionless, his dark eyes narrowed intently on his ex-wife. She obviously thought she was alone as she shrugged off the robe and let it drop to the sand, pausing for a long moment and looking out to sea, a minuscule white bikini her only covering. It was definitely Selina—but not quite as he remembered her. The short, strawberry-blonde hair was now long, swept back in a ponytail that fell midway between her shoulder blades, and as for the rest …

Rion’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes darkening in primitive male appreciation and his body hardening as she pulled the tie from her hair to let it fall in shimmering waves down her back. Then, tilting her face to the night sky, she stretched and raised her arms above her head as though in some kind of pagan worship to the moon. Incredibly, she was even more attractive than he remembered, her body toned and shapely. She was a modern-day Eve—temptation personified.

The pale silver light gleamed on high, firm breasts, the shadowed indentation of her tiny waist and the sensual curve of her hips, and he could not take his eyes off her.

Then, as he stared, enthralled by her beauty, she ran forward and leapt, her back arching in a graceful curve as she dived into the sea.

Fascinated he watched her slender arms scything through the water with barely a ripple as she swam out to sea. Too far out. The worrying thought hit him, and suddenly she slid beneath the waves. With a knee-jerk reaction Rion stepped forward. But she reappeared an instant later and he faded back into the shadows, his heart pounding, and watched as she changed to a butterfly stroke and drew near the shore. She stilled to float gently on her back, her arms and legs outstretched, like some star nymph of the sea.

Rion had never seen anything more erotic in his life. She spun a few times, like a whirling dervish playing in the water, and finally walked out of the sea and strolled back up the beach. Reaching for her robe, she slipped it on and looped the belt around her waist. She lifted her hands and, tilting back her head, swept the long mass of her hair back from her face. She paused for a moment.

Fiercely aroused, Rion wanted her with a hunger that disturbed him. Obviously he had been too long without a woman, he reasoned. For a moment he had trouble remembering how long—months, he realised in surprise. Well, that was about to change—and he knew exactly who with …

His eyes raked over Selina, a predatory light in their darkening depths.

He must have made some movement, because her head had turned in his direction as though she sensed his presence. It crossed his mind to walk out and confront her. But the time was not right. It was her grandfather’s funeral in a few hours. He could wait …

Selina owed him. Not so much money—though that was obviously the reason for her appearance at her grandfather’s funeral, as she was the old man’s only relative.

Narrow-eyed and aching with frustration, he watched as she slowly scanned along the treeline where he stood. He held his breath, then let it out slowly when, after what seemed like an age, she finally shook her head and turned to walk away.

His eyes glittered with a ferocious light as he fought to crush the sexual hunger that had hit him like a thunderbolt. Once he had believed Selina was a poor little innocent, with no parents and no one to care for her and a grandfather who had his own agenda. He had felt sorry for her. But not for long. Less than four months after they had met he’d married Selina and she had betrayed him …

Rion had cut her out of his life and his mind. Selina had been dead to him from that moment on. But when he’d heard she was to be here, and he had been gifted a way to make her suffer in a monetary sense—strip her bare for her betrayal—he had decided to do so. But now a much more satisfactory scenario came to mind. His lips curled and there was an anticipatory gleam in his dark eyes. A female companion was a sexual necessity for a relaxing holiday—and who better than Selina? He would strip her bare, all right, and sate himself in her lush body once and for all …

The moment of reckoning had been a long time coming, but now it had. He was going to have Selina again—not tonight, but soon, very soon. They would have the honeymoon he had once planned and never taken. She owed him that much at least. She had fooled him once with the shy, blushing virgin act, and he had treated her with kid gloves for the short time they were married. But she had soon shown how devious she really was—especially when it came to their divorce. This time it would be on his terms. The gloves were off …

Selina had walked out of the sea and swept back her hair with a smile on her lips, feeling refreshed and at ease, her eyes on the night sky. She’d stiffened as she recognised the constellation of Orion, directly above her. In Greek mythology he was a great huntsman of charm and beauty who on his death had been placed by the gods in the constellations of the sky.

Nothing like the Orion she had known, who had all the charm of a rattlesnake, Selina thought scathingly.

She glanced down and along the beach to the distant lights of the harbour, then back towards the trees, and suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She had the strongest feeling someone was watching her. Not the stars—she wasn’t a fanciful teenager any more …

Maybe swimming in the middle of the night had not been such a great idea, but the pressure of the past few days had finally got to her, and she hadn’t been able to sleep for the heat … Well, that was what she blamed her agitation on, rather than face her grandfather’s death and the painful memories returning to Greece had evoked. Selina could remember with blinding clarity the first time she’d met her grandfather, and the start of a fairytale life that had quickly turned into a nightmare.

She’d had a happy childhood with the mother she had loved—a beautiful, dramatic and vibrant woman, a trained opera singer—and her Aunt Peggy, whom she adored. She wasn’t really her aunt, but a babysitter-cum-housekeeper—as she had realised when she was about five.

Her mother had told her that her father was dead, and for years Selina had accepted that. So it had come as an enormous shock when, in the September after she turned eighteen, she’d met Mark Stakis—an elderly Greek who had said he was her grandfather and told her the true story of her birth.

His son, Benedict Stakis, was Selina’s biological father, and he had died with his family in a tragic accident.

Mark Stakis had only learnt of the existence of Selina after his son’s death …

It had hurt Selina deeply to realise her mum had always known that Benedict Stakis was alive. But in return for a house, and a guarantee to pay for Selina’s upkeep until she was twenty-one, her mum had signed a contract to keep his identity secret from everyone—including her daughter …

Sighing, Selina began walking back to the villa. In the seven years since she had met her grandfather life had taught Selina a lot. She had seen some of the terrible things people were forced to do just to live in this world, and she no longer judged her mother quite so harshly for doing what she had done to ensure a good life for her daughter.

God, she had been so naive when she had met her grandfather, Selina thought, entering the villa and closing the door behind her. She had spent Christmas with him, here in this house. She glanced around the huge if somewhat tired-looking reception hall. But it had been what had happened the next time she’d visited Greece that had haunted her for years. Not any more. She was her own woman now and intended to remain that way.

In her experience good men were in a minority, and ruthlessly ambitious immoral men were in the ascendancy in today’s world. She only had to remember her younger self and the night she’d met Orion Moralis to confirm her view, she thought, letting her mind slip back to the past …

She had been so excited to be back in Greece for a second time, and she’d been staying in her grandfather’s house in Athens. He had held a dinner party, inviting the Moralis family.

Selina had been introduced to Helen Moralis and her daughter, Iris, a few days earlier, and they had been kind enough to take her around the sights and shops. They were there, with Paul Moralis, the husband and father.

Orion, the son, had arrived late, and Selina had taken one look at him and thought ‘tall, dark and handsome’ could have been coined for him. He had smiled and talked to her, his twinkling dark eyes mesmerising her, and with every passing minute she had fallen deeper under his spell.

Finally, when dinner was over, he’d said he had to leave early to take a conference call. Her grandfather had told her to lead Rion out through the garden because it was quicker.

She had stumbled on the garden path in the high heels Iris had convinced her to buy, along with the daring green dress she’d been wearing, and Rion had caught her. He had kept hold of her hand and talked to her, charmed her, and finally kissed and caressed her.

She had fallen headlong in love with him.

Even now, years later, the memory made Selina shiver—with revulsion, she told herself. The only person being led down the garden path that night had been her, she had realised bitterly a few months later.

Straightening her shoulders, she glanced around the silent house and walked up the grand staircase to her bedroom. Tomorrow was her grandfather’s funeral. She had to stay strong to get through the day. As Anna had said, it was up to Selina, his only relative, to ensure his funeral was perfect—as befitted a man of his great stature.

Personally, Selina wasn’t convinced he had been great. But when Anna, his housekeeper—the one person who had befriended Selina in the past and the only one she had kept in touch with since leaving Greece—had called to say he was seriously ill, and had asked Selina to come immediately, she hadn’t been able to refuse. Now she was glad she had arrived two days before her grandfather had died. They’d had a chance to talk and make a sort of peace with each other.

Reconciled with her grandfather, however briefly, Selina had agreed with Anna’s suggestion that she stay and act as hostess to the guests that were expected for the funeral. Now was not the time to be reliving painful memories of the past—if ever …

Rion Moralis waited until he saw Selina disappear through the garden gates and reappear walking up the terraces that led to the villa. There was a shaft of light as she opened the door of the house and vanished again. She was obviously home safe.

Turning, he strolled back along the beach the way he had come, remembering the first time he’d set eyes on Selina. Thinking about it now, as he rounded the headland and saw the lights of the harbour, Rion smiled grimly. That fatal day had been the start of the train of events that had led to his disastrous marriage.

Selina had not been the usual kind of woman he was attracted to, but that had not stopped his body reacting instantly the moment he saw her. She had blushed when they were introduced, but in conversation over dinner it had become obvious she was a bright young woman.

Later, when she’d walked with him through the garden to his car, against his better judgement he had kissed her. With hindsight he realised he had behaved like the teenager Selina actually had been, letting his body’s desire have its way. He’d kissed her again and she had responded with eager naivety, confessing she had never been kissed before—which had only inflamed him more. She hadn’t tried to stop him when he’d trailed his hand down her throat, traced the creamy curves of her breasts, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her dress to tease the small, pink nipples …

Damn it … He was hard again at the memory. He had never felt such an uncontrollable urge for sex with a woman before or since—and it had to stop.

He had proposed to her on this very island soon after they’d met, and had married her on the seventeenth of July in the local church—to the delight of his father and Mark Stakis.

Later, Rion had cynically decided that given the circumstances of their meeting and his opinion of the female sex, he hadn’t been so much surprised as angry when, nine weeks into the marriage, he had returned from a business trip early in the morning on the day of her nineteenth birthday, wanting to surprise her with a diamond pendant he had commissioned specially for her and with arrangements made for a belated honeymoon in the Seychelles.

He had surprised her, all right—with a man. Leaping out of her bed. Not a man—more a boy …

When he’d been able to see through the red haze of fury that had engulfed him, naturally he had thrown her out and informed his lawyer to instigate divorce proceedings immediately. He had neither seen nor spoken to her since.

But he had been surprised, and absolutely furious, when he had discovered just how bright the supposedly shy Selina was when it came to their divorce …

She had refused to sign papers admitting adultery for a swift no-contest divorce in front of his lawyer and her grandfather, then returned to England and consulted a lawyer of her own—the father of her friend Beth, both of whom had been guests at the damned wedding!

Her lawyer had then had the audacity to inform Rion’s lawyer that Selina would consent only to a no-fault divorce. Otherwise she would meet him in open court. The devious little witch had intended to cross-petition, citing Rion’s adultery with various women!

His lawyer had advised him that although Selina had little chance of winning it would be wiser to accept her offer and avoid the publicity a court case would arouse. Her lawyer had evidence to support Selina’s case: video clips of Rion from gossip websites.

One was of him with Chloe in the nightclub, the same night he had met Selina. Chloe was quoted as giving him a score of four out of ten for his sexual ability. A woman scorned, he thought ruefully. Another was of Rion arguing with a photographer outside a club while Lydia, who was now married to Bastias, an influential Greek banker, looked on, plus a couple of other women Rion barely recalled meeting and certainly had not bedded.

Rion had had no choice but to agree with his lawyer—though it had infuriated the hell out of him to do so … Grimly he had conceded that the internet was great for business but a thousand times more lethal than the paparazzi when it came to one’s private life. Even now it enraged him that he’d been outwitted by a faithless teenage wife …

He had blanked her from his mind. He’d been a free man again and had got on with his life, expanding his business empire. But now, after hearing from Kadiekis and seeing her tonight, she filled his mind again as he walked back to his yacht.

Making for his cabin, he stripped off and took a long, cold shower …

CHAPTER TWO

SELINA kept her head bowed as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Mark Stakis was the grandfather she had never known existed until she was eighteen—and now, seven years later, he was dead.

Most of the villagers had turned up for the service, and a lot of the social elite from Athens had arrived by helicopter. She felt as if the eyes of every single one of them were on her, watching and waiting to see if she would break down and cry, as a good granddaughter should. But then she had never been a good granddaughter. She was the bastard from England who had been kept secret for years.

Even after her mum’s death when she was fifteen she had lived in blissful ignorance of the truth of her birth for three more years. After meeting her grandfather she hadn’t known what to think any more. The certainties in her life had been shaken. Maybe that was why she had leapt so hastily into marriage? she thought. Not that it mattered now. Her grandfather had been kind to her in his way, she supposed, and before he died he had said he was sorry, he had done what he’d thought was best for her …

What a horrendous mistake that had been …

With hindsight she should have known. On discovering the truth about her father and the death of his family she should have realised she was the only relative Mark Stakis had left—and given his state of health—was ever likely to have.

Talk about a tragedy, Selina mused. Rich Greeks seemed to have a predilection for them. More money than most people could ever dream of and what good did it do? When he could have built a good relationship with Selina, once she’d got over the secrets and lies she had grown up with, her grandfather had wrecked any possibility of it happening with more secrets and lies. If only he had been honest from the beginning, she thought sadly, a tear sliding down her cheek.

The priest’s voice broke into her reverie and she lifted her head, bent and picked up a handful of earth and dropped it on the coffin.

Standing by the priest, Selina accepted the condolences of the guests as they filed past, and invited everyone back to the villa. Finally, with a supreme effort of will, she forced herself to look coolly up at the last guest. She had glimpsed his presence at the back of the church as she had followed the priest out. Shock had slammed through her for a moment, then determinedly she had chosen to ignore him, but now she had no choice …

Orion Moralis—her ex-husband—a man she had hoped never to see again in her life …

He looks older, was her first thought, and more impressive than ever was her second. Six feet two with thick black hair. Her glance skimmed over his hard, handsome face and down to his broad shoulders. He was wearing a black silk suit, a white shirt and black tie, and in the sizzling summer sun he still managed to look cool.

Rion was the type of man she actively disliked—arrogantly sure of himself and never listening to anyone. As she knew to her cost. A man used to ordering others around, getting his own way. And yet there was something about the enigmatic dark eyes, the sardonic arch of the black brows, the curl of his lip, the jut of his jaw that was compellingly attractive. Sexy … But not to her. Not any more.

‘I’m sorry for your loss, Selina,’ his deep, dark voice drawled, and she would have had to be deaf not to hear the sarcasm in his tone!

‘Thank you,’ she responded equally insincerely, and stiffened as two strong hands curved firmly around her shoulders and pulled her close to his long body.

Shockingly, the strength, the warmth and the scent of him reached out to her, and a flicker of heat ignited low in her belly. He bent his dark head and in that fractured moment she knew he was going to kiss her. His lips brushed one pale cheek and then the other.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ she snapped, angry at her involuntary reaction to him.

‘Protecting my business interests,’ he mouthed against her ear. ‘A death can cause trouble in a company if there is a hint of disagreement between shareholders—and your grandfather was a shareholder.’

How typical, Selina thought, the warmth vanishing. She almost laughed out loud, but didn’t dare. She had a horrible feeling that after the emotional upheaval of the past few days she would end up crying.

Taking a step back, she shrugged his hands from her shoulders. ‘You have not changed,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘Always business first—last and always.’

‘Not always. The last time I was on this island was the day I married you—and I didn’t have business on my mind then,’ he drawled.

Selina glared at him—and wished she hadn’t. The latent desire in his dark eyes reminded her of another time, and for a moment she could not look away. But as he continued to speak her problem was solved.

‘But you are right, Selina, business is my passion—which is lucky for you. You are about to become a wealthy woman … but then you probably already know that.’

He was still the overwhelmingly arrogant chauvinistic pig she remembered—and she also remembered something else.

‘All I know is that for a man who the last time we met swore never to see or speak to me again you are remarkably visible and verbose,’ she said mockingly, and had no trouble walking away to join the priest.

She thanked him for the service and strolled with him to a waiting limousine. It was a mile from the church to the villa, and she was glad to escape into the air-conditioned interior of the car. She was hot and angry and she could not be sure it was just the sun …

From the first time she’d set eyes on him Rion had made her blush and a whole lot more … But never again she vowed. She knew him for what he really was. Most men would be content to be born with wealth, but not Rion. He was a ruthless, manipulative devil who would step over anyone who got in the way of his driving ambition for more wealth and power. Since they had parted she had seen men a whole lot worse than Rion, she conceded, but with the same driven need.

Men who pursued their own selfish desires to the detriment of others and who were instrumental in the choices she had made in her own life …

Selina had a point, Rion conceded, a wry smile twisting his lips as he watched her walk away. Her shapely bottom swayed temptingly beneath the tight black skirt of the elegant sheath dress she wore. She still had a fantastic pair of legs, he noted as her dress rode up to her thighs as she slid into the backseat of a limo, and she had obviously learned how to walk in high heels. Selina had always been a lovely girl, but now she had fulfilled her potential and matured into a stunningly elegant and beautiful woman.

Rion’s resolve hardened as he began the walk to the Stakis villa. When he had held her he had seen in the darkening depths of her expressive eyes that for all her outrage Selina wasn’t immune to him. The attraction was still there.

Yes, seducing Selina would give him incredible satisfaction. Every rampant hormone in his body was telling him that. As would her final surrender and her humble apology for having the colossal nerve to try and tarnish his good name by suggesting they contest their divorce in an open court.

The memory of the action Rion’s lawyer had first suggested he pursue—labeling Selina an adulteress for the rest of her life—conveniently escaped him, but while he walked towards the Stakis home his determination to make sure Selina didn’t escape him grew with every step he took …

Selina sensed the moment Rion walked into the room—because however much she tried she couldn’t quite dispel the disturbing awareness that arose within her whenever she was in his presence. And she wasn’t the only one, she recognised.

Dynamic and strikingly attractive, he bore a sophisticated air of wealth and power combined with a raw animal magnetism. Men and woman alike could not help but recognise it, and the momentary pause in the chatter of conversation confirmed it.

The noise and laughter soon resumed and she thought dryly that the Greeks certainly knew how to enjoy themselves.

After pretending to listen to Mr Kadiekis, her grandfather’s lawyer, waxing lyrical about his brilliant son who had just passed his law exams, she excused herself, with the explanation that she needed to check on the staff. She wove her way through the guests with a pleasantry to some and an acceptance of condolences to others.

Selina had almost made it to the kitchen when Rion stopped in front of her, blocking her way through the crowd of people.

‘You are looking flushed, Selina. I saw you talking to your grandfather’s lawyer. Anticipation getting to you?’ he prompted, and looked at her with a hint of mocking arrogance in his expression.

The smirk and his cynical implication that she was here for what she could get from her grandfather’s death got to her. Tossing back her head, she let her eyes clash with his. ‘I don’t know what you are trying to imply, and I don’t want to know. You will have to excuse me. I need to check the kitchen,’ she said, coolly polite.

‘No, you don’t. You simply want to avoid me. And I have to wonder why,’ he replied, with the sardonic arch of one black brow.

Selina tilted her chin and looked up at him. ‘We are divorced—have been for years, remember?’ she prompted, sarcasm evident in her tone. ‘And, to be blunt, I don’t like you.’ She’d told him straight—now he would leave her alone.

‘There was a time when you did,’ he said, and the reminiscent gleam in the dark eyes that met hers made her heart miss a beat. ‘Once we were as close as two people can be, Selina … a hell of a lot more than once,’ he teased softly.

For a second, a vivid image of their bodies entwined flashed in her mind, and she wished it had not.

‘True, we parted badly, but I forgave and forgot years ago. Surely now we can be friends?’

Friends? Rion had to be joking after the way he had treated her. She recognised the basic all-masculine gleam in his eyes—she had seen it in many a man’s eyes in the years they had been apart. She wasn’t a naive teenager any more, and she knew it wasn’t a friend he wanted. But she couldn’t prevent the sudden tightening in her chest or the throb of her pulse. Anger, she told herself, and swallowed hard. She was unable to speak for a moment, or tear her gaze away.

Rion took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waitress and handed it to her.

‘Here—join me in a drink for old times’ sake. As I recall we had our moments …’ he drawled, his gaze roaming brazenly over her body.

Selina knew exactly the moments he was referring to. Without thinking she took the glass. Their fingers brushed and a shiver snaked down her spine. Quickly she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip. Long-buried memories were resurfacing in her mind. The connection she had felt the moment she saw him, their first kiss, their lovemaking, his tanned, naked body, all muscle and sinew … He had been like a Greek god to her, with his thick, silky black hair and his soulful eyes with their curtains of black lashes …

Damn—what was she thinking? Selina blinked. There was nothing soulful about Rion. Soulless, more like. She took another gulp of wine. Why on earth was she recalling the good times they had shared when the bad had far outnumbered everything else?

Selina had been married to Rion for eight weeks when his father had retired and set off with Helen on a world cruise. They had moved from Rion’s apartment to stay at the family home and watch over his half sister Iris for a the last couple of weeks of her summer vacation, and then see her safely returned to the international school she attended in Switzerland. During the second week, Rion had gone to Saudi Arabia on business.

Iris had asked if she could invite some friends over on the Thursday evening, for a farewell party before she returned to school. Rion had not been due back until the Friday night, so Selina had agreed—she hadn’t seen any harm in Iris having a little party.

Selina could still recall every minute detail of the whole mortifying scene when Rion had returned unexpectedly very early the next morning. Hearing her name called, she had woken from a deep sleep to glimpse a half-naked man dashing out of her room. Rising up on her elbows, she’d seen Rion standing at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes blazing with fury, rage etched in every line of his hard face.

‘Rion …’ She’d shaken her head in confusion. ‘What …? Who was that …?’

‘Your lover,’ he snapped, his eyes as hard as jet, his face suddenly an expressionless mask. ‘Get up, clean up and get out. The marriage is finished. I never want to see or speak to you again.’

‘You can’t mean that—this is some ghastly mistake!’ she’d cried.

But it had been no mistake. He’d spun on his heel and left without another word.

She remembered the utter humiliation she had felt when she’d realised Rion had instructed the staff to escort her from the house before noon and ordered a car to send her back to her grandfather in disgrace—the adulteress wife on her nineteenth birthday, of all days. She’d tried to get in touch with Rion but it had been hopeless. As he had sworn on the morning he threw her out, he wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t listen and wouldn’t speak to her.

The final disillusionment had come a day later, when she’d managed to meet Iris. Selina had told Iris she was sure she had not had sex with the boy, Jason, as that evening she had gone to bed early, with a couple of painkillers for cramps. The next morning, confused and in tears after Rion’s dismissal of her, she had stumbled into the shower and realised the feminine protection she wore was still firmly in place.

Iris had just laughed and said she knew anyway. Then she had admitted that Jason, the neighbours’ gardener, was her boyfriend. After Selina had gone to bed the rest of them had continued drinking. Iris had told Jason to wait until everyone had left and then give her ten minutes before following her up to her bedroom, the second on the left. Unfortunately the idiot had taken the second on the right, ended up in Selina’s bed and passed out.

Jason had told her the sound of footsteps in the hall had awakened him, and when he’d seen a redhead instead of Iris’s black hair on the pillow next to him he’d been horrified. Panicking, he had leapt out of bed, pulling on his pants, and had run for the door just as Rion had walked in. Head down, he hadn’t stopped running until he was out of the house.

Selina had begged Iris to tell Rion the truth but she’d flatly refused, saying her life would not be worth living if she did. Rion would tell her parents and she would be grounded for months—if not years. To justify her refusal Iris had told Selina that Rion had already arranged to take her back to school tomorrow and fly on from Switzerland to the USA, for an unspecified length of time. Selina would be better off going back to England and to university, she’d told her, and getting on with her life. Because Rion didn’t really love her. He had only married her to seal a business deal with her grandfather.

Iris had overheard her parents talking about it when they’d thought she was asleep in the back of the car on the way home from Selina and Rion’s engagement party at a deluxe Athens hotel. She’d added that Rion would never be faithful anyway, because much as she adored her brother he was a confirmed womaniser. To prove her point she’d got out her laptop and shown Selina some of the pictures and comments Rion’s female friends had posted on social websites.

Reading what other women said about their relationships with Rion had been mortifying. One had been a posting by a woman called Chloe, pictured with Rion in a dimly lit club. The date was a date that was engraved on Selina’s mind: the night she had first met Rion and he had kissed her. He had lied even then! He had not hurried off after dinner for a conference call but to meet this woman …

But what had finally convinced Selina was a shot of Rion arguing with a photographer outside a nightclub with a woman named Lydia looking on. Iris had told her that Rion had been in love with Lydia, and wanted to marry her years ago. But she had married a banker, Bastias, instead.

Sickeningly, Selina had realised, that Rion had introduced her to this Lydia and a woman friend in a restaurant on one of the rare occasions he had taken her out to dinner. Her heart, already cracked, had finally shattered into a million pieces, her love destroyed and turned to dust.

She’d been left devastated, but angry with herself for being such a fool, and on returning to England Selina had determined to get back at Rion through his arrogant pride. Amazingly, she had succeeded—and though it had not mended her broken heart it had gone a long way to restoring her confidence, Selina thought now as she drained her glass of wine. She was a much stronger woman for the experience, and she had no need to fear Rion any more. He wasn’t worth a moment of her time.

Rion had fooled her and used her. It was that simple. The words bartered bride sprang to mind …

‘You and I were never friends, Rion,’ she said bluntly. ‘And I never needed your forgiveness. If anything it was the other way round. But, as you said, it was a long time ago and long forgotten.’

‘Oh, come on, Selina.’

His hand reached around her waist and pulled her closer. She felt the heat of his body through the few inches of space separating them and her heart skipped a beat.

‘I found you in bed with another man, not the other way round as you tried to imply in the divorce.’

It was the arrogant drawl and the mockery that cooled her senses. ‘I didn’t have to try. Anyone knowing your reputation with women believed me. Whereas you leapt at the chance to name me an adulteress wife simply because a drunken boy passed out in the wrong bed,’ Selina shot back flippantly, though she was battling to still her suddenly racing pulse.

‘You know me so well, it seems, Selina,’ Rion said, his lips twisting in a smile as his hand fell from her waist. He straightened up, and there was not a hint of amusement in the dark eyes that clashed with hers. They were as hard and cold as ice.

‘My problem was I never knew you at all.’ She shook her head. ‘But it no longer matters,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘Now, I must check the kitchen.’

Rion’s eyes narrowed on her flushed, determined face. That she had the nerve to try and defend the indefensible with a feeble excuse that a drunk had passed out in her bed was unbelievable, and fuelled his anger and determination to have her back in his bed.

With a shrug of his broad shoulders he moved to one side to let her pass. ‘Oh, it matters, Selina. But I can wait.’

Wait? What for? Selina wondered. They had nothing to say to each other—never had, really. She had been an innocent, gullible teenager who had fallen madly in love with the first man who kissed her, and it had suited Rion to marry her at the time. She had been taken for a fool and discarded at the first opportunity he could find because he had got the company he wanted. It was that basic. And why was she wasting her time thinking about the past? She had moved on years ago, and in a day or two she could go back to her normal life, where her focus was really needed.

She walked past him, her head high, and made it to the kitchen. With a smile for Anna, busy arranging pastries on a tray, she took a bottle of water from the fridge. She picked up a glass from the bench and sat down at the table with a sigh of relief. She poured the sparkling water into the glass and, lifting it to her lips, drank most of it down in one go.

‘You look like you needed that,’ Anna said, and the compassion in the older woman’s dark eyes restored Selina’s mood a little.

‘You are right, Anna—I did.’ Selina sighed. ‘I never expected the funeral service to be so long. I thought I was going to faint with the heat at the graveside.’ It had nothing to do with the hateful Rion and her recent brush with him.

‘Not surprising. It has been a stressful day for everyone. But hiding in here won’t help.’

‘I’m not hiding—simply taking a break from the guests. Most of whom I don’t know anyway,’ Selina said truthfully.

But she harboured no doubts that they all knew her, and knew the lurid stories about her. From illegitimate granddaughter to adulterous wife, she thought bitterly.

‘One guest you know well: Orion Moralis. I’m sorry, it must have been a shock for you seeing him here. It never occurred to me he that would come to the funeral, because after you left he never spoke to your grandfather again. But I suppose it is the socially correct thing to do.’

‘More likely good business,’ Selina said dryly. ‘And there is no need to apologize. I’ve spoken to Rion and we are friends—it is fine,’ she lied.

‘Thank goodness for that. Apparently his yacht arrived late last night. According to the gardener, who spoke to one of the crew this morning, they were heading to the Egyptian coast but diverted to here. It seems a lot of effort to attend the funeral of a man he had not seen in years. I was worried there might be something else, and I didn’t want to see you hurt again.’

Anna knew the truth about their brief marriage. Selina had confided in Anna when she had so ignominiously been sent back to her grandfather, and Anna believed Selina’s version of events.

‘There is no fear of that happening,’ Selina said, rising to her feet. ‘Now the funeral is over and everything is settled I will be leaving tomorrow morning. I have a flight booked back to England tomorrow night, so I can spend a week with Aunt Peggy before returning to work. I promise, Anna, you have nothing to worry about. You can carry on as usual, looking after the villa until you want to retire. I know my grandfather will have taken care of you.’ She knew this to be true, as her grandfather had told her so before he died. ‘Now I’d better get back to the guests. Hopefully they will start leaving soon.’

‘Good idea. I’ll tell my two girls to slow down with the refreshments—that usually works.’ Anna grinned.

Straightening her shoulders, Selina walked back into the main living room that opened out onto a wide terrace that overlooked the bay and noted that a lot of the guests were outside.

She spotted Rion at once. He was taller than everyone else and standing with two men—probably discussing business. From the couple of social events he had taken her to in the past, she knew that was all he ever did.

As she watched she saw him turn as an older grey-haired man joined the group. The man said something and Rion threw back his head and laughed, his hair shimmering black as a raven’s wing in the sun, his teeth shining brilliant white against his olive-toned skin.

A little curl of heat rippled through Selina’s body—because whatever else Rion was, there was no denying he was breathtakingly attractive. She was disgusted with herself for still reacting to the man, and yet she could not look away. But she wished she had as suddenly Lydia appeared and reached up to kiss Rion on the cheek.

Selina stiffened. It was a timely reminder. How had she not noticed Lydia at the funeral? Or the older man whose arm Lydia now casually looped through hers—obviously her long-suffering husband.

Poor fool, Selina thought cynically, her blood turning to ice in her veins. In that moment Rion looked across at her. Coolly she held his gaze, saw the mocking amusement in his eyes as he raised his glass. A gesture of recognition or in invitation to join the group? She didn’t know or care which, and she turned and walked back inside.

She’d been cured of Rion ages ago, and what she had just witnessed in the garden confirmed her immunity. She strolled across to where the owner of the village bar and some of the other locals stood, and joined their group.

An hour later, with the whirring of helicopter blades, the guests began to leave. Selina smiled and listened to fulsome speeches until her jaw ached, and soon there was only Mr Kadiekis and a few villagers, chatting with a relaxed Anna and her daughters.

‘You still here, Rion?’ she asked with a frown as her ex-husband stopped in front of her. But her pulse didn’t so much as flicker. She had assumed he had gone—or to be honest hoped he had … ‘I thought you would have left by now. The gardener said you interrupted your cruise for the funeral. Very noble, but don’t let us delay you any longer,’ she said bluntly.

Rion arched a brow as he leant a broad shoulder against the wall, effectively blocking her view of most of the room.

‘Your concern is touching, Selina, but I am not in any hurry. Obviously you still have an affinity with gardeners because your information is correct—I am taking a break.’

If his crude crack about gardeners was meant to rile her he was wasting his time. She was totally immune to him.

‘Take a tip from me, Rion—a funeral is not a great way to start a holiday. So feel free to leave as soon as you like,’ she said facetiously.

Rion straightened, trying to ease the almost permanent ache in his groin, which he had acquired since seeing Selina on the beach last night, her gorgeous body clad in the sexy white bikini. For an instant a vivid memory filled his mind. She had stood before him once wearing plain white briefs and a white cotton bra, a picture of innocence, her skin flushed and as soft as silk beneath his fingers as he undressed her completely, here on this island. He felt some indefinable emotion flow through him. Regret?

No. He dismissed the thought that swirled in his mind. He did not do emotions. He just wanted Selina again, and he was determined to have her by friendly means or foul. He didn’t care which, so long as she was his soon.

‘I intend to,’ he said. ‘But as you appear to be free of any male companion at the moment, I thought as an old friend you might like to join me on my yacht for a while.’ He lifted a finger and brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘You are no longer a teenager, Selina. You have changed into a feisty and exquisitely beautiful woman. I like the new you,’ he said huskily. ‘And the attraction between us is still there. We could have fun. What do you say?’

Rion’s searching gaze swept over the beautiful face turned up to his. In a perfect scenario Selina would say yes, but he half expected an angry no. Her face revealed nothing. She didn’t so much as blink.

‘Your grandfather’s death must have been stressful for you. A couple of weeks cruising will help you unwind, and we can get reacquainted.’

Still no response. Slowly it dawned on Rion that Selina was not reacting as he’d expected—not reacting at all …

‘It is a very kind offer, but I am not interested, thank you,’ she said politely, her usually expressive eyes oddly opaque.

From the first time they’d met the sexual attraction between them had been instant, and when they’d met again today, after years apart, Rion had recognised the sensual awareness still there when he held Selina, had seen it in her expressive eyes … Yet now he sensed complete indifference—not a reaction he had ever experienced in the women he met—and his jaw clenched in anger and frustration.

How did Selina do that? He wanted to grab her and shake her, but most of all he wanted to be buried deep inside her.

After he had spoken to Kadiekis about the e-mail he’d received he had known immediately that he could use the information to his advantage, so he gave up on friendly and resorted to foul. Any sense of guilt he might have felt for exploiting Selina’s current situation for his own satisfaction was outweighed by what she had done in the past. Nobody got the better of him—in business or otherwise—and got away with it. Few dared to try, but his oh, so innocent little wife had—with a deviousness he had never suspected she possessed. Now it was his turn.

‘Think about it, Selina, and maybe for your own good you will change your mind,’ he suggested silkily.

Selina was going to be his again, and he would make her forget every man she had ever known and enjoy doing it—until he tired of her and threw her out for good …

His dark gaze was shuttered, and Selina heard the threat in his tone, but it did not bother her. ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ she mocked. Rion meant nothing to her now and she turned to walk away, not interested in him or anything he had to say.

Before she could move Mr Kadiekis stopped her.

‘Selina, dear—and Rion.’ He nodded to him. ‘Nice to see you two getting on so well. It will make everything so much easier.’

Make what easier? Selina wondered—and then she had no more time to wonder as the lawyer carried on talking.

‘I don’t want to rush you, Selina, but my helicopter will arrive in less than an hour. So if we go to your grandfather’s study now I can explain his will and answer any queries you may have.’

‘Yes, okay. I’ll just go and get Anna,’ Selina offered.

‘No need—you can give her the relevant information later.’

Selina caught a flicker of unease in the lawyer’s eyes before he took her arm. To her surprise he told Rion to follow them.

She heard Rion agree, but did not see the triumphant glance he shot her as Mr Kadiekis ushered her into the study.

CHAPTER THREE

MR KADIEKIS took the chair behind her grandfather’s desk and Rion lowered his long length down on the battered hide sofa against the wall. Ignoring him, Selina took the straight-backed chair at the side of the desk and sat down, still puzzled as to why Rion had been invited and not Anna.

Half an hour later Selina was no longer puzzled. She was incandescent with rage. Her grandfather had lied to her again …

After decades of faithful service from Anna and her husband, who had died in the same accident as his own son, Mark Stakis had not mentioned his housekeeper in his will at all—not even a token sum. Anna would be so hurt if she knew, and immediately Selina decided Anna was never going to find out what an ungrateful old rogue Mark Stakis had been. Not for the sake of his reputation, but for Anna’s peace of mind. She was determined to do whatever it took to make sure Anna got the security she had so obviously earned and deserved.

Selina had inherited everything—not something she had expected or wanted. Maybe her grandfather had known her well enough to know she would take care of Anna, but it did not alter the fact he had lied to her.

As for her inheritance—in reality it was a double-edged sword. Mark Stakis had few assets left, and any money was tied up in such a way as to cost Selina dear. According to Mr Kadiekis in the past few years her grandfather had taken to gambling online in a big way. Shares, poker and sports—he would bet on anything, saying it was the only pleasure he had left. Consequently the house in Athens had been sold long since, and this villa was mortgaged to the hilt. His only income had been the twice yearly dividend from his Moralis shares which, as the lawyer pointed out, was luckily controlled by Orion Moralis!

Luckily … Selina certainly did not feel lucky. She could not believe it. But she had caught the gleam of triumph in Rion’s dark, mocking eyes and she knew the lawyer was correct. She had to deal with the situation. Battling to control her rage, she mentally reviewed the options open to her—precious few … Calmly she suggested Rion buy back the shares, thus enabling her to take care of Anna. The housekeeper need never know. But Rion refused, saying he preferred to ‘discuss it later.’

Mr Kadiekis said he was confident they would work something out and he would abide by what they decided, but he had his helicopter to catch, and ended the meeting by telling Rion to get in touch with him when they had reached an agreement. It enraged Selina still further …

Convinced all Greek males had to be chauvinists from birth, Selina escorted the lawyer out of the villa, her mind whirling as fast as the blades on the helicopter waiting on the lawn. Stunned at what she had learnt, she watched Mr Kadiekis board and the machine take off before turning to go back inside.

Rion was leaning casually against the door frame, watching her with heavy-lidded narrowed eyes, his thick lashes flicking against his high cheekbones.

‘I think now it is time you and I had that discussion, Selina Taylor,’ he mocked, using her full name as stated in the will.

The damned, awful, bloody will … Selina swore under her breath and tightened her lips, because she didn’t trust herself to respond to the hateful man. Instead she tried to walk back inside—but she had only taken a step when Rion caught her upper arm and spun her back from the door, leading her around the far corner of the villa.

‘Let go of me,’ she snapped, her eyes spitting fury as she tried to twist free of his grasp. ‘You knew about this, you bastard.’

‘Harsh words, but calling me names won’t help you, Selina. Only I can.’ A cynical smile twisted across his face. ‘You would do well to remember that.’

Selina stopped struggling. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed Rion’s agreement. Stiffening her spine, she looked straight at him. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m sorry,’ she apologised—though it choked her to do so. But antagonising the mighty Orion Moralis would get her nowhere.

‘Apology accepted.’

‘Magnanimous swine,’ she murmured under her breath. In cool, measured tones in sharp contrast to her furiously beating heart she said, ‘Put it down to shock. It is not every day a woman of twenty-four discovers she has a guardian.’

‘Understandable,’ he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders, and let go of her arm. ‘I’m guessing you do not want Anna to hear us before we reach a satisfactory arrangement, so let’s take a walk. The pavilion is not far, and it’s private. I seem to remember it always was before,’ he prompted, and strolled on, expecting her to follow him.

Silently fuming, Selina took a step and stumbled forward. It had nothing to do with his mention of the pavilion—a place where Rion had kissed her senseless and a lot more … Damn it! He was getting to her again. She vowed to act cool and controlled until she got him to agree with her and left.

Then Rion turned and looped an arm around her waist to steady her. She forgot her vow and tried to jerk free, but his strong arm tightened, holding her pressed firmly to his side.

‘Behave, Selina,’ he ordered. ‘To convince Anna, we will have to present a united front, and fighting is not going to do it.’

He was right again, and reluctantly Selina walked beside him, acutely aware of Rion’s towering presence as he continued to walk and talk.

‘Most people would say you have nothing to worry about. Your grandfather has left you his five-percent share in the Moralis Corporation, which I can assure you brings a quite substantial income by any standards. The fact that Stakis sold the house in Athens and mortgaged the villa having lost all his money gambling I knew nothing about until today.’

Still simmering with anger at the unfairness of the situation—and other emotions she preferred not to recognise—Selina glanced up at his harshly handsome face. His expression was bland, giving nothing away, and yet still he exuded an aura of power and a sheer masculine sex appeal that was hard to ignore. But ignore it she did. Been there, done that and never again. She was immune …

This was purely business, she staunchly reminded herself. Not that anything about Rion—business or otherwise—was ever pure, she thought bitterly.

‘Maybe you didn’t know about his gambling, but you sure as hell knew he made his will the weekend of our engagement party and never changed it,’ she flung at him as, with his arm clasped firmly around her, he ushered her down through the old olive grove to the pavilion. ‘I’m not eighteen any more so don’t take me for an idiot, Rion. You must have insisted on being in control of the shares for twelve years as part of the deal you made with my grandfather to marry me and take over his company.’

Rion tensed and stopped a few feet away from the trellised archway of the pavilion, his arm falling from Selina’s waist and his hands curling into fists at his sides. How the hell had Selina heard about the deal his father and Stakis had arranged? Only three people had ever known, and his father would never have said anything. Rion certainly had not …

‘Who told you that?’ he demanded. It had to have been Stakis. He had never liked the man. He’d been a devious old devil—as he knew better than most—but to tell his own granddaughter that he had used her to seal a business deal was cruel … and not strictly true …

Finding she was free from Rion’s confining hold Selina glared up at him. ‘I didn’t know before I married you, that’s for sure, and who told me does not matter. The fact you don’t deny it is enough,’ she said flatly. ‘But to convince my grandfather before we were even married to make you the sole trustee of any shares I might inherit until I reached thirty was genius—a great bit of business on your part,’ she said scathingly. ‘I can’t believe the lawyer insists it is legal. We have been married and divorced, for heaven’s sake! And where did Kadiekis get the idea you and I get on so well that it would be fine? He could have only got that from you …’

Rion’s face was impassive, but she noted lines of strain around his firm mouth.

‘Unless you want the world to see and hear you ranting, I suggest we go inside,’ he said curtly, and placing a hand in the middle of her back, he urged her forward through the arch into the pavilion.

Selina stopped dead and glanced around, her breath catching in her throat. Nothing had changed: the same plump blue cushions—faded now—were stacked along the deep padded seat that doubled as a daybed against the back wall of the pavilion. The only other furniture was a wooden table with a dead pot plant on top. The pavilion had been built for the grandmother Selina had never met. According to Anna, the poor woman had suffered from a weak heart and crippling arthritis in her later years. This had been her favourite view of the bay. She had died three years before her son and his family—a blessing, in a way …

Not a lucky place, and haunted by ghosts, Selina thought bitterly.

Rion left her where she stood and dropped down on the bench, discarding his jacket and tie. He needed time to assimilate the fact that Selina had found out about the marriage deal …

The irony was that a week after meeting Selina he would have done just about anything to get her into bed, he’d wanted her so badly …

When he finally had he’d been so out of control for the first time in his life he had had sex without protection. With the prospect of a pregnancy in the mix, as well as the business, he had asked her to marry him. Selina had been ecstatic, his father and Stakis had been delighted, and Rion had felt supremely confident that he had made the right decision all around. He would like a son and heir someday, and with the virgin Selina at least he would be sure he was the father.

Maybe her hearing about the marriage contract went some way to explaining why Selina had betrayed him with another man. She had been so naive when they’d married—so open in her avowals of love. After the divorce he had realised cynically she had simply been enamoured of her introduction to sex. But for all that, she had been a refreshing change from the women Rion had known before. She must have been hurt and disillusioned, learning that he’d married her as part of a business deal, and had got back at him in any way she could.

But betray him she had, and it was something he could never forget. Not once, but twice—first by leaping into bed with another man and then with the conditions of the divorce.

Now he just wanted her body—and he was wasting time.

Selina turned to lean against the archway and look out over the headland. The interior of the old pavilion held too many memories, and she had to focus and get out of here as quickly as she could.

‘I am not going to rant—I simply want to get this untenable situation settled as soon as possible,’ she finally responded, having heard the rustle of cushions as Rion sat down. She did not turn her head. ‘My only concern is Anna and her family. As I said, you can buy back your shares and—’

‘Enough, Selina,’ Rion interrupted. ‘Much as I admire your glorious long hair, I flatly refuse to talk to the back of your head. Come and sit down and we can discuss your problem as reasonable adults.’

Rion was her problem, Selina thought scathingly. Ignoring his compliment about her hair, she took a few deep breaths in an attempt to stay calm. Unfortunately she needed his agreement for Anna’s sake, so slowly she turned to face him—and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

He had taken off his jacket and removed his tie, opened the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing the strong column of his throat and the beginnings of black curling hair on his bronzed chest. With his long legs stretched out before him he looked totally at ease and as sexy as sin …

She stiffened, banishing the guilty blush that rose in her cheeks at the wayward thought. With a mighty effort of self-control she swiftly raised her gaze to his face. There was nothing easy in the dark eyes that met hers, she realised, but a cold predatory gleam that threatened her in some way. A flicker of fear trickled down her spine.

‘I am not going to jump on you, Selina. It is safe to sit down. I seem to remember the last time we were here you were not wary but willing.’

He had sensed her fear. The damn man could read her mind.

Marshalling her thoughts, she picked her words carefully. ‘I was an infatuated young fool,’ she said slowly, realising that if she hoped to win Rion over to her way of thinking there was no point in arguing over trivia. Reluctantly she sat down, leaving as much space between them as the close confines of the pavilion allowed. ‘But, just so we understand each other, age and experience have taught me caution. Now, can we get down to business?’

Underneath she was silently seething. As if she needed reminding that it was in this pavilion that Rion had made love to her for the first time and then asked her to marry him. She’d been hopelessly in love with Rion and of course she had said yes. Later she’d realised he had seduced her and married her for business reasons. And now she knew more than she’d ever wanted to know about the sex business, she thought grimly.

‘You were never a fool, Selina—quite the opposite. Few if any people get the better of me, but you did,’ he said, shooting her a dry glance. ‘Yet sitting here I find this place brings back so many memories. I remember when we had sex for the first time. You gave yourself to me so sweetly, so eagerly, you blew my mind.’

The husky tone of his voice got to her and she could not look at him. Instead she stared straight ahead at the view of the bay. The sea was shimmering in the golden rays of the setting sun.

Gave herself so sweetly! Blew his mind! Once Selina had believed that with all her heart. Rion had kissed her and the world had ceased to exist. In between kisses the daybed had been opened and he had undressed her and encouraged her to do the same, and she had gazed in wonder at his magnificent naked body as he had laid her down on the bed and joined her. She had known she’d been born for this moment—this man. She had given herself rapturously, eagerly, totally mesmerised by him.

Six years ago she had been fathoms deep in love with Rion and utterly convinced he felt the same way about her. It had only been later—much later—that she’d realised she had been seduced by a master player, and the pain had been like a knife in her heart. For months after she’d asked herself how could she have been so stupid as to believe a handsome, wealthy business tycoon like Rion Moralis had married her for love.

After the wedding he had installed her in his bachelor apartment and carried on with his life as usual—working sixteen-hour days, business trips abroad—while she had spent her days sightseeing and her evenings waiting for Rion to come back and take her to bed.

At first she had made dinner every night—until at Rion’s suggestion she’d stopped, because he’d rarely known what time he would be back, and it had been simpler to have dinner delivered, which was what he had done before. In the nightmare week after they parted she had worked out that he had only taken her to a restaurant three times and twice to a party in the whole time they were married. He had probably spent more time with his other women than he ever had with her.

Then to be confronted by his lawyer and her grandfather and told Rion wanted a quick divorce on the grounds of her adultery had been the final straw.

Men, who needed them? Selina thought scathingly. She had a father who had paid not to know her and a grandfather and a husband who had used her for their own benefit.

It was anger and the injustice of it all that had finally saved her sanity. She had returned to England and told Beth the whole story, and to Beth’s credit she hadn’t said I told you so. Though on the day of Selina’s wedding Beth had tried to warn her that it was all a bit quick. With hindsight she should have listened. Instead she had gone ahead, convinced all her dreams had come true.

It had turned into a nightmare, and at her friend’s suggestion she had spoken to Beth’s father—an international lawyer—and with his help had found the courage to hit back. It hadn’t eased the ache in her heart but it had done wonders for her self-esteem …

Rion was so handsome, so physical, and so outside her experience. He had overwhelmed her and she had fallen headlong in love with him the night they’d met. He had called her a few days later and taken her out to dinner a couple of times. Then three weeks after they’d met Rion had accepted her grandfather’s invitation to spend the weekend at the villa and seduced her …

The rest was history … And the present was all she cared about.

‘Cut out the ramble down memory lane, Rion, and let’s get to the point,’ Selina said curtly. She was not going to let him think he could seduce her with a few soft words. She wasn’t that girl any more. The fact he had just said ‘we had sex for the first time’—not made love, as she had once naively imagined—simply confirmed her rock-bottom opinion of the man and defiantly she held his gaze.

The atmosphere between them simmered with sexual tension, and something in the depths of his black eyes made her temperature rise and her temper quickly follow suit. Swallowing hard, she regained control of her senses. Rion could spot any weakness a mile off and she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he still affected her. Business was his thing, and now it was hers.

‘Contrary to what you think, I don’t want anything for myself. But I do care about Anna and her daughters. They mean more to me than my grandfather ever did. Not content with setting me up to marry you, he actually lied on his deathbed—he said he had taken care of Anna.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘Naturally Anna must stay at the villa, and as you are my trustee for the next few years I need to know the share dividends will cover the mortgage, enable me to give Anna a decent sum of money and pay her salary for as long as she wants to work. Preferably you’ll buy your shares back, which hopefully will give me enough to pay off all the debts and take care of Anna. Then I never need see you again. Make up your mind fast. I know how valuable your time is.’ She could not resist the facetious dig. ‘Plus I have a flight booked from Athens tomorrow evening, and I want everything settled before I leave.’

Abruptly straightening up, Rion turned sideways and let his gaze rest on Selina. Conflicting emotions were battling within him and he was not happy with that. She was really exquisite, with her long red-gold hair framing her face and falling around her slender shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts beneath the silk of her dress and her long legs neatly crossed at her ankles. There was a reserve about her, but also an innate sensuality that nothing could disguise, and he could feel the rush of blood to his groin … the tightening of arousal. Her small chin was tilted at a determined angle and her amber eyes stared coldly at him.

He frowned. The innocence he had admired when they’d met had well and truly gone, he realised with a tinge of regret but no surprise. Selina had the nerve to say she never wanted to see him again, but he was the injured party, he reminded himself. He had caught her in bed with another man and there must have been many more since then …

Rion let his anger at her betrayal fill his mind and easily regained control of his body. He would take Selina, enjoy her, then cut her out of his life for ever … But first he was curious to know why she needed money.

‘Anna is not my concern,’ Rion finally responded. ‘Though commendably you have made her yours. What I find odd is why you need money so quickly. I gave you a generous settlement for a brief nine weeks of marriage … I’d be interested to know what you have been doing since the divorce to spend it all.’

He casually slipped his arm along the back of the seat and let his hand rest on her shoulder. He felt the slight quiver in her slender frame.

‘As you know I’m a businessman, and I don’t throw good money after bad.’ He watched her long lashes lower, masking her expressive eyes, and knew she was not as unaffected as she pretended. He waited …

Selina was no longer cool. She wanted to shrug Rion’s hand off her shoulder, but the past few years had taught her to show no weakness where men were concerned, and bluntly she told him the truth.

‘I went to university, as originally planned. Aunt Peggy called to tell me I had passed my exams the week before we married. I was offered a place at university. She suggested I accept and then talk it over with you later. I agreed simply to keep her happy,’ she said honestly. ‘I mentioned it to you the same night, but you barely listened in between taking calls and working on your laptop as usual …’ She shot Rion a scathing glance. ‘Anyway, when I returned to England at the end of September luckily I was in time to take up my place at university. Three years later I got my degree, and since then I have travelled the world as a translator. Mandarin and Arabic are very popular and always in demand. I make a good living. I gave the bulk of my settlement to a children’s charity.’

Selina did shrug her shoulder now, hoping to dislodge the disturbing warmth of Rion’s hand from her skin, but it didn’t happen.

Orion Moralis—a highly successful man of the world—was for an instant struck dumb. He’d had no idea Selina had accepted a place at university. He had naturally assumed that when she’d agreed to marry him she had given up the idea of further study. Had he really been so arrogant, so insensitive, he barely listened to her?

Yes, he had, he realised. Her willing body in his bed had been enough for him and he had never given much thought to anything else. Work had been his main priority at the time.

For a moment he was slightly ashamed. Then he remembered the divorce … and exactly how clever Selina was. He was not surprised she’d got her degree—but as for the rest …

He glanced down at her, his dark eyes narrowing as they met cool amber and then roamed over the beautiful face, the sultry pink lips that invited a kiss. ‘Very noble of you,’ Rion offered, but the cynic in him found it hard to believe she’d given that much money to charity.

She was a sophisticated lady, so she had travelled the world and enjoyed the high life till the money ran out, probably. But he had never met a more sensual woman. He only had to look at Selina even now to be turned on, and he knew he was not alone among the male population. Hell! Seeing a face and body like Selina’s, a host of men would queue up to employ her even if she spoke gibberish. The dress she wore was designer label, as were the shoes. He knew because he had bought a few in his time, and it was more than likely some man had provided them for her … Not that it mattered to him—in fact, it made it easier.

‘In that case, Selina, I am certain we can make a deal.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SELINA glanced up at Rion. His statement was music to her ears.

‘You are …? We can?’ she exclaimed with a relieved smile. ‘Thank heaven for that. I’ll go and tell Anna.’ She made to rise but Rion’s arm slid from the bench down her back, his hand gripping her side.

‘Not so fast, Selina. You have not heard what I am offering.’

Suddenly Selina was acutely aware of how close they were. Never mind worrying about Rion’s touch on her shoulder—she knew she was in much deeper trouble. The pressure of his long-fingered hand against her ribcage was perilously close to the underside of her breast. He moved slightly, his taut thigh pressing against her leg, and to Selina’s dismay she could feel an old familiar heat flooding through her veins.

How had that happened?

‘In any successful deal both parties have to be satisfied, you would agree?’ Rion queried, his dark eyes boring down into hers.

She would have had to be blind not to notice a different question in the black depths. Selina tensed as her stomach lurched, and she fought to break free from the hypnotic power of his intent gaze.

‘Yes.’ She nodded her head to break eye contact. An inner voice of reason was telling her she must get this conversation over with as quickly as possible, while her body was telling a different story. Her immunity to Rion was suddenly taking a stomach-churning nosedive.

‘Good. I’m quite happy to cancel the trust and buy back the shares you hold at their present value.’ Rion mentioned a sum of money that made Selina gasp. ‘You will easily have enough to take care of Anna and do whatever else you want to do.’

‘That’s very generous of you. I’ll—’

‘I haven’t finished,’ Rion cut in, his free hand sweeping back the long length of her hair from one shoulder to curve around the nape of her neck. A thumb seemingly idly stroked her throat, making each separate nerve end tingle and tauten in response. ‘To satisfy me, Selina, I want you to join me on the yacht for the next two weeks—as my lover.’

Fighting against the sensual awareness that his close proximity aroused, Selina thought for a moment she had heard wrong … Rion couldn’t have asked her to be his lover … Then she looked into his eyes and for a moment was transported back in time. The desire in the black depths was a potent reminder of what they had once shared.

Helplessly, she stared at him, her mind screaming that he was worthless, she hated him, even as her pulse accelerated like a rocket in shameful response to the promise of passion in his gaze, to the warmth of his hand curved around her neck.

Then he spoke, and as the import of his words sank in she snapped back to reality.

‘Think of it as the honeymoon we never had, Selina, but without the marriage. No strings attached. I buy back the shares, you get the money, and no further contact between us—business or otherwise—will be necessary.’

Her eyes widened and she glared with rising anger at his handsome face. He was smiling complacently. How dared the arrogant devil assume he could walk back into her life and insult her by trying to blackmail her into his bed when he had so spectacularly thrown her out before? It was too incredible to believe! And to actually suggest calling the trip a honeymoon was so callous—the man had to have about as much sensitivity as a block of granite. But why was she surprised? she asked herself. She already knew that …

They had spent their wedding night on the Moralis yacht, cruising back to Athens. Rion had promised to take her on a dream honeymoon a week later but it had never happened …

Selina’s lips moved but she could not get the words out, too furious to make a sound.

‘If you really care about Anna you will agree. As you said yourself, Selina, you are no longer a teenager but an experienced woman of the world. You must have had quite a few lovers—some good, some not so good … But you already know we are compatible, and a trip on my yacht will be fun. At least you’ll know what you are getting.’

A few lovers! Fun! The assumptions and the arrogant conceit of the man so enraged Selina she was almost apoplectic.

Grasping his hand at her side, she determined to break free.

Rion had put totally the wrong interpretation on her silence. She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his disgusting proposal, but before she could say a word his arm tightened around her ribcage like a band of iron. His thumb scraped over a nipple, the fine fabric of her dress no deterrent to the hardening peak. His mouth captured her parted lips in a seductive kiss, his tongue exploring the moist interior with a subtle eroticism that soon changed into a blazing statement of intent.

Stirred on different levels—excitement, anger—Selina knew she should resist. But it had been so long since she had been held kissed and caressed by a man … and the fact that it was Rion, her one and only lover, had a catastrophic effect on her self-control.

She trembled, and sensations she had repressed for years cascaded through her body overwhelming her defences. Involuntarily she reached for his broad shoulders and clung to him as the kiss she had thought to resist turned into a passionate seduction of all her senses, and she responded eagerly, matching his passion with her own.

His mouth left hers and she stared up into his dark eyes. She saw smouldering passion overlaid with a hint of male triumph, and the haze of desire slowly faded from her bemused mind. She lowered her head and let her hands fall to her sides. She was reeling with shock, mortified by the force of the emotions he had unleashed in her, and for the first time in years she blushed. She didn’t dare look at him.

His hand twisted in the long length of her hair and tilted her head back so she had no choice but to face him. ‘Ah, Selina, there is no need to blush.’ He pressed a kiss to her brow and brushed her lips with his as his arm fell from her waist. Only his hand in her hair was keeping her captive. ‘In fact I’m amazed you still can blush—and it is good to know the chemistry is as explosive as ever,’ he murmured against her mouth. His lips trailed across her cheek, his breath warm on her ear. ‘Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.’ And, lifting his head, he smiled into her eyes. ‘Agreed, Selina?’ Freeing her hair, he smoothed the curling tendrils over her shoulders

Furious with Rion, but even more furious with her helpless reaction to him, she wanted to slap the triumphant smile off his face. Okay, so he could turn her on with a kiss and a caress, but then Rion was the type of man who could probably turn on any woman from eighteen to eighty. He had certainly had plenty of practice, Selina reasoned.

But to insult her with his crack about blushing, and then in his arrogance ask her to trust him and think she would fall into his arms like a besotted idiot, ready to do his bidding … Well, he had another think coming …

He was in for a rude awakening.

She shoved him hard in the chest and leapt to her feet, fighting to control her breathing and her rage. She gathered her scattered thoughts before turning around to look down at him, lounging back against the bench, watching her with narrowed eyes.

‘In your dreams, maybe—but not mine, Rion. I’m no longer the naive girl you married, and I don’t have to agree with anything you say any more,’ she told him scathingly. ‘If I can’t get the money for Anna it is not the end of the world. I do own the villa, and she can stay in it for the rest of her life. As for the mortgage—I can take care of it and her salary for six months. You may be the trustee of my inherited shares until I am thirty, but you can’t refuse to pay me the dividends every six months—and if you try, I will take you to court. And we both know you would not want that.’

Selina was proud of her spirited response, even if her heart was beating erratically, and she silently congratulated herself on her mature, reasoned reply. So, okay, she had slipped a dig in at the end—call it female vanity—but she saw no harm in reminding the superior swine that he had not always got his own way …

Rion, his mouth tightening, icily furious, looked at Selina, standing a few feet away, her lips swollen from his kiss, her face flushed, but with defiance in her glittering eyes and every line of her sexy body. That the deceitful witch had the audacity to threaten him a second time with court had ignited his temper all over again. Yet he had a sneaky admiration for her nerve. But she was right—there was nothing innocent about her any more, and he had heard more than enough … He stood up.

He had not thought he was a very vengeful man, and he had had no intention of going to Stakis’s funeral. But when Mr Kadiekis had informed him he was still a trustee named in the will and his presence was needed at the reading, which was to take place straight after the funeral as Selina Taylor, the only beneficiary, planned to leave the next day, he had changed his mind.

Learning she had come back to claim her inheritance had reignited a bitter rage in Rion that he had buried for six years. He had never considered contacting Selina, but having her served up on a plate was a different matter. Then, when he’d seen her again last night—a stunningly beautiful woman, sexy as hell, frolicking in the sea and hardly the grief-stricken granddaughter—revenge had sounded better and better.

‘You are either very brave or very stupid, Selina,’ he offered. ‘I let you get away with your slanderous lies last time because it suited me to get a quick divorce, but it won’t work a second time.’

Rion stepped closer and saw her flinch.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but the Moralis Corporation is family-owned, as I’m sure your grandfather told you. I am the major shareholder, along with Helen and Iris, and you are the fourth and very minor last,’ he said, his derisive tone a deliberate insult. ‘I am in control and there will be no dividends unless I say so. But it was a nice try …’ he drawled mockingly.

‘You can’t do that!’ Selina exclaimed, stunned by his revelation, but watching Rion tower menacingly over her she had a horrible sinking feeling he could. ‘I mean …’

‘I can do what I want, and right now I want you. But my time is limited.’ He tipped up her chin with one long finger, his dark eyes capturing hers. A shiver of fear snaked down her spine—but not enough to quell the lingering heat in her body aroused by his kiss. She shook her head and his finger fell away, but it wasn’t much help to her. He was still too close.

‘There is an American expression: three strikes and you’re out. This afternoon I invited you as a friend to join me on my yacht for two weeks—you look tired, like you could use a break. Then I offered to make a deal that is acceptable to you. Now I am telling you: my yacht is leaving at midnight. Agree to come with me or you are out.’

‘But …’

Wide-eyed and wary, Selina stared at him, her hands curling into fists at her sides, trying to hold herself together while her thoughts were in chaos. The fact that Rion thought she looked a wreck niggled, and didn’t help her confidence. Blinking, she ran her financial status through her mind and realised there was no way she could personally keep Anna—she had other vital commitments …

‘What will I tell Anna? I thought …’

What had she thought? That a man like Orion Moralis would agree out of the goodness of his heart? Hadn’t she learnt years ago he did not have one? Maybe she was still naive—because it had never occurred to her that Rion would withhold the dividends.

‘Agree and we will go and see Anna together. I will back whatever you want to tell her,’ he said, extending a hand to her.

Selina glanced down at his strong, long-fingered hand. He had brought her to climax with those elegant fingers before … Her thighs flexed and, shocked, she stifled the memory, going hot and cold and hot again. Ignoring his hand, she glanced up, her gaze skating over his hard face. She saw the determination in his heavy-lidded eyes and knew he meant what he said. She went cold again.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Selina finally cleared her mind of the sexual fog Rion had induced and asked the question she should have asked in the beginning. ‘You can have any woman you want—your list of lovers is legendary—so why me? We don’t even like each other.’

‘I like what I see, Selina darling,’ he drawled, his gaze roaming over her in insolent appraisal. ‘Very much so. And I want to see a lot more. You looked great in that tiny white bikini, but your naked body in my bed will look even better.’

The colour drained from Selina’s face and her eyes widened in horror. Her instincts had been right last night—someone had been watching her.

‘You were on the beach spying on me.’ She was angry and frightened but forced herself to stare coldly at Rion. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘No, quite the reverse—you looked beautiful and erotic playing in the sea, Selina.’ His hand snaked out and caught her shoulder and she stiffened in rejection. ‘So much so I decided to renew our acquaintance,’ he mocked, his hard eyes narrowing on her pale face.

Selina shrugged, trying to dislodge his hold on her and at the same time hoping to convey her indifference to him—with no success.

‘Well, you have. And flattered though I am,’ she said with sarcastic bite, ‘I can’t just take off on holiday with you. I have commitments—work …’

Actually she was on holiday—she had a six-week break between jobs. She had planned to stay at home with Peggy for a couple of weeks, but she had already lost a week coming here, and then she had planned to help Beth with the charity for a month before her next assignment.

Even if she wanted to go with Rion—which she definitely did not—it was impossible.

‘Let me enlighten you, Selina. You don’t have a choice. To put it bluntly, it is payback time,’ he drawled, with a silken menace that made her blood run cold.

She looked at him in disbelief. ‘There is always a choice,’ she said tightly.

‘Not for you. Not this time. As far as I know you are the only woman to cheat on me with another man, which was bad enough, but to threaten me with a public fight over the divorce so I had to concede to your demands was worse. There is a saying: revenge is a dish best served cold. As by a quirk of fate, Stakis never changed his will. I decided it was time to take mine. Call it closure, if you like. As for your work commitments—if they are that—’ he prompted, with a sardonic arch of an ebony brow ‘—cancel them and I’ll pay you double what you lose in salary.’

Typical of Rion the businessman. Believing his wife had been unfaithful did not bother him half as much as not getting his own way in the divorce, and in that moment she hated him with a fury she could hardly contain.

Selina wanted to claw at his conceited, arrogant face and tell him to go to hell. But instead she counted to a hundred under her breath, fighting to maintain her self-control.

Tilting back her head, she swept her eyes over Rion, a scornful gleam in their golden depths. She knew exactly what he meant and was filled with revulsion—but sadly life had taught her not to be surprised. In a weird way it put things in perspective for her and finally cooled her temper, and she began to think seriously about his offer—or rather his ultimatum!

The life and death of Mark Stakis had put her in this position. Chance … fate … it didn’t matter which. The question was, with her firmly held moral beliefs, could she walk away from Anna and her girls?

No, she would not be able to live with herself if she did …

Selina knew there was no other work on the island for Anna, and since the death of her husband she had been the only financial support for her daughters. Thea, the youngest, was joining her sister at college on the mainland in the autumn hoping to become a lawyer. There was no way Selina could destroy those young girls’ dreams … which was what would happen if she walked away. She had spent the past few years trying to help children’s much smaller dreams come true.

Rion was a filthy-rich powerful man, and what he wanted he got—money no object. And at the moment he wanted her … A cynical smile twisted her lips. The great Orion Moralis would be outraged if anyone dared suggest he paid for sex, and yet what he was suggesting was no different in her eyes.

She thought of her Aunt Peggy, whom she considered her family. Although Peggy had claimed her state pension two years ago naturally she still lived with Selina, and depended on her to a large extent. She would never dream of leaving Peggy to fend for herself, as her grandfather had done Anna. Then there was Beth and her husband, Trevor, and the charity they ran that needed Selina’s regular financial support. She made good money at her job, but it was not enough to cover any more commitments.

She stifled a despairing sigh. She needed the money from the shares she had supposedly inherited for Anna but she had to go through Rion to get it. Unfair, but then life wasn’t always fair …

Selina thought of all the people she had met, some so very young, who had really suffered and sacrificed for their family—not for a couple of weeks but for years. Could she in all conscience do any less? she asked herself. How hard could it be to put up with Rion? He said he wanted her, but only for two weeks—no surprise there. He had the attention span of a flea where women were concerned. He scratched the itch and leapt on to the next …

She could ‘lie back and think of England,’ she supposed. A clichéd expression but probably true for many women …

Her decision made, she put her hand in Rion’s. ‘Agreed.’ She shook his hand to seal the deal and swiftly pulled free. ‘Now can I go and tell Anna the good news?’

‘Yes, but first …’ Rion wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her hard against him. Cupping her chin between thumb and forefinger, he tipped her head back. ‘Anna is an astute lady. You need to look the part.’

He was going to kiss her again, she knew and Selina splayed a hand on his chest to push him away, but with his shirt open her fingers made contact with satin-smooth flesh and her stomach churned.

‘Yes, touch me, Selina.’ His voice lowered to a husky growl and she felt the warmth of his skin beneath her palm as his mouth covered hers.

She tried to stay rigid in his arms, her mouth closed, and she did it for a few seconds. Then her lips quivered beneath the pressure of his as he circled them teasingly with his tongue. He bit her bottom lip, and involuntarily her mouth opened. He caught the tip of her tongue and sucked lightly before deepening the kiss, his tongue probing the interior of her mouth with a gentleness that sent shivers through her slender frame. His hand stroked down her neck and over her breast and finally her body betrayed her. She was eighteen again and eager, her resistance melting, and she kissed him back.

Rion felt the yielding softness of her body and broke the kiss. Her head was tipped back, her eyes closed and her lips parted, and he knew with little effort he could have her here and now.

Selina opened her eyes and Rion’s mouth fastened over hers again. His hand moved to curve around her buttocks and involuntarily she pressed closer, felt the hard length of his arousal against her belly. His other hand cupped her breast, his long fingers teasing the burgeoning nipple through the silken fabric. The deep, searing kiss and the caress, the heat of his hard body, the scent of him—all so achingly familiar, and in seconds she was drowning in a sea of delight.

Rion heard her whimpering cry and felt her small hand stroke beneath his shirt. Stifling a groan, he knew he had to stop now or he wouldn’t be able to, and he eased away, linking his hands behind her back.

‘Ah, Selina.’ He looked into her passion-hazed eyes.

‘I think that is enough. Anna will have no trouble believing we are reconciled now.’

Enough? Reconciled? Selina came down to earth like a spent balloon, all the air knocked out of her, humiliatingly aware of how easily she had succumbed to Rion’s brand of lovemaking. No, not love … just sex, she reminded herself. Something she must never forget again. Her body might be weak and hot but her heart would forever remain a block of ice where Rion was concerned.

‘What do you mean, reconciled?’ she asked, and took a step back. His arms fell from her waist and she glanced up at him, noting the dull flush on his high cheekbones and realising he was nowhere near as cool as he acted—which was some slight consolation.

‘How else are you going to explain to Anna you are leaving with me tonight?’

‘Well, I am sure as hell not going to tell her we are reconciled. Anna is not an idiot—she would never believe that,’ she shot back, her mind spinning, searching for an answer. ‘I told her earlier I was fine with you being here. She was worried you might be up to something, as you hadn’t spoken to my grandfather in years.’ Thinking on her feet, she added, ‘I was due to leave tomorrow morning, but I have not booked a boat to the mainland yet. If I tell Anna you have offered to take me back to the mainland earlier, so I will have time to call on Mr Kadiekis to sign some legal documents and speed up the processing of the will before I fly out tomorrow night, I think she would quite easily believe me.’

‘My, my, Selina!’ Rion grinned. ‘So quick-thinking and so devious. You have certainly matured. But I agree.’ And, looping an arm around her shoulder, he led her out of the pavilion and back towards the house. She made no attempt to break free.

Selina’s mind was filling with the enormity of what she had agreed to with every step she took.

‘You’d better decide quickly exactly what you are going to give Anna before we reach the house, Selina. Anna is not going to be convinced she is mentioned in the will if you are indecisive.’

Rion’s businesslike comment was a timely reminder of why she had agreed with him—why she was strolling through the orchard with his arm around her—and it hardened her resolve to do the right thing by Anna.

‘Anna can have the villa. I doubt I’ll ever be back,’ she said with a hint of bitterness. At the same time she wondered how she would explain to Beth she was going to be delayed because she was going on a two-week holiday with her ex-husband …

‘Not a good idea. Anna would find it very hard to believe Stakis left her the house—and even if she did how could she possibly afford the upkeep of the place?’ Rion pointed out. ‘She would have to sell it, and the legal documentation would reveal you had owned it before you gave it to her, which would defeat your purpose of keeping Anna in the dark about the true contents of the will.’

‘Oh,’ she said, and it did not help realizing Rion was right.

‘As I see it, you can give Anna a lump sum—say fifty thousand or, being generous, a hundred thousand—which you will easily be able to afford. As a local islander Anna will be able to get a house in the village for that. You keep the villa, and keep on employing Anna for as long as she wants to work. You can visit whenever you like, and rent it out as a holiday let the rest of the time. That way the villa will still be an asset for you. One day you might marry again, have children and want to live here—after all, you are half Greek.’

‘I’m not in the least Greek, I will never marry again and I have no intention of having a child. There are enough in the world already that need looking after,’ Selina said, finding her voice. ‘As for Anna—you are right. I’ll tell her she was left a hundred thousand.’ She glanced up at Rion and saw he was frowning—strange when she had agreed with him! ‘I need to make a few phone calls before I leave.’

She never lied, but now she was going to have to—three times in one day, she thought helplessly. Selina knew Beth would readily accept she had decided to take a holiday and booked a cruise around the Mediterranean, and would be happy for her. Beth was always telling her she worked too hard and should take a break and relax. If she told Beth the truth she would be outraged and beg her not to go with Rion. She knew what a wreck Selina had been after her ill-fated marriage. There was no reason to upset Beth unnecessarily, and the charity needed every penny it could get …

CHAPTER FIVE

ALMOST midnight—the witching hour, Selina thought fancifully as she stood on the deck, her hands gripping the ship’s rail as the luxury yacht slid smoothly out of the harbour of Letos. Thankfully it was a newer model than the one on which she had spent her ill-fated wedding night.

She was still stunned at how easily Rion had charmed Anna. He’d told her she had inherited a hundred thousand euros in the will, Selina had added that she wanted to continue to employ Anna to take care of the villa for as long as she wanted to work, and Anna had been so happy it was not surprising she’d believed everything Selina had said. She had accepted her story that it made sense to return to Athens with Rion so she would be there by the morning and have time to see Mr Kadiekis before flying out in the evening. So much so Anna had actually helped Selina to pack …

As soon as they’d come on board Rion had introduced her to the only other guest—Dimitri, a shaven-headed, fit-looking man in his fifties—telling her he would look after her for a while as Rion had to join the captain on the bridge and see the yacht safely out of harbour.

Dimitri had taken her bags and shown Selina to her cabin. He had explained how the computerised system worked and told her if she wanted anything to call. Then he’d told her Rion had the master cabin next door.

At least she had her own cabin, Selina thought with a sigh of relief. But even so, after unpacking her clothes and taking a quick shower, she had slipped on an old sweatsuit—enough to turn off any man, she thought. But five minutes later, unable to stand the confines of the cabin with its bed—a reminder of why she was there—she’d slipped on a pair of flip-flops and escaped to the deck.

But there was no escape for her, Selina realised. She must have been mad to agree to Rion’s demand. She was never going to be able to do it … He was expecting an experienced lover—he had said as much—and she was the opposite. She had been celibate since their divorce. True, she had dated a few men, shared a kiss, but had never been tempted into a sexual relationship. She had seen more than enough of what it did to people and wasn’t interested.

Rion descended the stairs to the main deck and stopped, drawing his black brows together in a frown. Selina was leaning over the rail, and even from this distance he could sense the tension in her. She did not want to be here, he knew, and felt a slight twitch of conscience. But she looked so gorgeous, with her long hair tied up in a ponytail dancing around in the sea breeze.

He noted she had changed the elegant dress for a baggy blue sweatshirt and pants, probably meant to put him off. But they were doing just the opposite. He felt his whole body respond and put his conscience aside. He had no need to feel guilty. Selina was getting what she wanted, like most women—money—and he was confident enough in his masculinity to know he could keep her satisfied and happy in his bed.

Selina smothered a cry of surprise as two strong arms folded around her waist. Lost in thought, she had not heard Rion approach. Letting go of the rail, she clasped his forearms, but the feel of his firm, warm skin against her palm made her catch her breath. The memory of another night and a different yacht, but with the same man doing exactly what he was doing now, flashed through her mind. And the memory of her avid response.

Not surprising, really, as after the first time they had made love Rion had never made love to her again, saying he wanted to wait and make the wedding night special. More likely he’d had some other woman—probably Chloe—warming his bed, she had realised later.

Stiffening, Selina turned her head to cast him a sidelong glance. ‘You surprised me. I thought you were with the captain.’

‘I was, but you looked so alone.’ His dark head bent and he nuzzled the back of her neck, her earlobe. ‘I decided to keep you company.’

‘There is no need,’ Selina said, trying to hang on to her self-control, which was becoming harder to do by the second with the warmth of his breath against her ear and the slight spicy scent of his cologne. It was hard to suppress the old familiar feelings and the memories she had thought long forgotten.

‘Trust me—there is,’ he said huskily, nibbling her neck and then sucking the tiny pulse that beat there as his hand snaked up beneath her sweater to cup her breast. Kneading gently, his long fingers slid teasingly over the swelling peaks in a caress that made her shudder from head to toe.

Selina gasped, her heart pounding. Why had she thought a scruffy old sweatsuit was enough to deter Rion? And she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, she thought helplessly. She tried to wriggle free from his hold—a bad mistake!

He pressed her back against his great body and she let her hands fall to her sides—and was immediately made aware of the strength of his masculine arousal against her buttocks.

‘Feel what you do to me?’ Rion rasped against the hollow of her throat, kissing and licking her tender skin.

‘Let me go,’ she got out shakily, her overheated body combining with the feeling of being completely surrounded by Rion making her head whirl. She grasped his arm at her waist, trying to prise herself free, but as she did so he rolled her aching nipples between his index finger and thumb, sending shafts of aching pleasure from her breasts to her loins, while his sensuous mouth lingered on the pulse that beat wildly in her throat, making her tremble, making her weak …

She raised her hands again, but with a will of their own her fingers seemed to glide up over his forearms, his muscular biceps.

‘Don’t …’ she murmured desperately. ‘Someone will see.’ A low moan escaped her as the hand at her waist slipped beneath her sweatpants to splay across her bare stomach and finally to cup the delta of her thighs, while his other hand continued the delicious torment of her breasts.

‘No one can see except perhaps the fishes,’ Rion rasped. ‘Relax and enjoy.’

‘No …’ she moaned. But against her will she was caught up in the wild, sensual hunger that rose from deep inside her as the past and the present collided in her mind. Her head fell back against his chest, her neck arching as he eased her legs slightly apart. His long, skilful fingers traced the delicate folds guarding her feminine core, searching the hot, damp centre with his fingertips, the pad of his thumb finding and stroking the tiny point of sensitive nerves to swollen pulsing pleasure … She was on fire, every nerve end taut with need …

‘You like that, Selina. You want more,’ he breathed against her ear, and nibbled on the tender lobe. ‘You only have to ask,’ he rasped.

She was trembling with need and yet a note of discord at his words pierced the sensual haze that was her brain. A flash from the harbour lighthouse spun across the water, dazzling her eyes and reminding her where she was.

‘No, Rion.’ She breathed his name and grasped his wrist, digging her fingers into his skin as much to quell her own desire as his intention.

Rion wasn’t sure how it had happened so fast, but Selina had responded to everything he’d done to arouse her, and aroused him so much he was desperate to be inside her. And yet she had the strength of will to stop him. The girl he had married would never have done so—but the Selina of today was a much stronger character.

He knew with his superior strength and skill he could easily persuade her differently, but he was reluctant to do so. Maybe he had been crass to demand she ask him. But he had never known a woman so responsive, and he was not going to let her slip back into denial.

Sliding his arm around her, he turned her to face him. ‘You’re right, Selina, the cabin would be better.’ And he stroked a hand up her back, holding her close, aware of the erratic beat of her heart. ‘But no more games. We both know what we want.’

He dipped his head and kissed her long and deep, until he felt her relax against him, her slender arms sliding around his neck. Raising his head he smiled into her eyes.

‘Bedtime, Selina,’ he said, and swept her off her feet.

Aching with frustration, and dazed by his kiss, Selina clung to Rion’s broad shoulders as he carried her through to his cabin and laid her down on a huge bed. She was intensely conscious of him—his dark chiselled features, the unfathomable depths of his eyes—and she wasn’t capable of resisting or uttering so much as a word as he reached for her and deftly removed the baggy suit.

What was the point of resisting anyway? Even if she could—which she very much doubted. It was too late for that. They were at sea, and so were her emotions … The result was inevitable, because she had made a deal and she must honour it. An impish devil whispered in her mind: So why not enjoy the experience? No other man had ever made her feel the way Rion did and probably never would!

He’d said he wanted her naked in his bed and here she was. He had seen her naked dozens of times—well, maybe not. She had been a bit of a prude about walking around naked, unlike Rion who had often teased her about it. But now she was naked, exposed, and Selina had a moment of panic, glancing warily up at Rion looking down at her.

She saw the hunger and the dark desire in his eyes, and her heart missed a beat and another, as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his broad muscular chest with its sprinkling of black hair arrowing down his stomach. Then he took off his pants, and she swallowed hard as his magnificent bronzed body in all its masculine beauty was revealed to her no longer wary but wondering eyes. He was incredible. The strength and the power of his erection made her gasp and desire kicked in her belly, her body throbbing in hungry recognition.

Suddenly she felt totally inadequate. He was expecting an experienced lover. Weakly she asked, ‘What do you want me to do?’

Rion stilled, hearing the catch in Selina’s voice. His dark eyes sought hers and he saw the shadows in their amber depths. He didn’t want her thinking she had to do whatever he said, he realised, even though he had given her little choice but to come with him.

His avid gaze roamed over her incredible naked body.

Selina was perfect—quite perfect: her glorious hair trailed across the pillow, her superb breasts and straining nipples, the flat stomach, the soft strawberry-blonde curls at the apex of her thighs, the long legs …

Rion wanted her badly—but he wanted her warm and willing. Lying down beside her, he raised himself up on one elbow and looked into her wide and wary golden green-flecked eyes. ‘Just be the beautiful, sexy woman I know you are, Selina …’ He brushed her lips with his. ‘Let me do the rest.’

The strange thing was that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be like this with him, Selina thought, but said nothing. The flush of desire burned her skin as he smoothed a hand along her shoulder.

She trembled as his lean hands shaped her waist, her thighs, and then moved back to let his fingers drift over her breasts, grazing the tight peaks.

He bent his head and kissed her with a gentleness, an aching warmth that surprised her, and she was seduced all over again by his tenderness. Her lips parted to taste him with her tongue, her hands moving of their own volition up his chest.

‘Oh, yes …’ Rion groaned against her mouth as she touched him, and he kissed her again with a demanding, possessive passion that sent electric sensations arcing through her, tightening her body, driving her wild.

His hand stroked down her belly, his long fingers playing with the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs before moving between the velvet lips, the tips teasing and stoking the fire in Selina’s blood to fever-pitch.

Selina’s hand clenched on his shoulder as arrows of liquid heat shot to her damp, pulsing core. She raked a hand through his dark hair and shuddered, wanting him … all of him … with a white-hot wanton passion. Her other hand reached for the velvet-and-steel length of him, her slender fingers barely closing around the thickened strength of him, moving, exploring.

Rion groaned, ready to explode. Fighting for control, he pulled her hand away and, dipping his head, captured a pouting nipple in his mouth while his long fingers explored the hot wet centre of her with delicate strokes.

Selina’s eyes closed, her face taut with pleasure at his hungry suckling, the insistent harder rhythm of his fingers. She felt her muscles clench, her body lifting, trembling on the brink, then convulsing in shuddering release as Rion lifted her and, with one powerful thrust, filled her.

‘Rion … please!’ she cried, not sure she could take any more.

But she was wrong, and she was flung into a maelstrom of sensations that went on and on as his hard length stretched her and thrust deeper and faster, until with an answering cry Rion’s great body shuddered, filling her with his very essence.

Rion rolled onto his back, weak with release but still with enough strength to take Selina with him, so she lay cradled across his heaving chest. He was shocked. He had never come so fast or so fiercely before—ever … Not even when they were married. Then he had been gentle with Selina, thinking to lead her slowly down the sexual highway.

Rion raised his hand to brush her silken hair back from her face, and found himself huskily apologising. ‘Sorry I was a little quick, but it has been a while.’

Selina shifted against him, one slender leg brushing over his groin. Amazingly he felt himself stir again as she lifted her head and glanced up at him. ‘You were fine,’ she murmured, a dazed look in her gorgeous eyes, and let her head fell back on his chest.

‘I’ll make it better next time,’ he said, and felt her body relax.

Next time, Selina thought—then stopped thinking and closed her eyes.

Rion held her close and stroked his hand gently over her head, let the silken strands of her hair slide seductively through his fingers. He brushed his lips across her brow and realised she was asleep. Next time was not going to be as soon as he had hoped, he thought, a rueful smile twisting his lips. But with the warmth and the weight of her body over his chest, the feminine scent of her filling his nostrils, he didn’t really mind. He could wait …

Selina was his for the next couple of weeks—and, given her response, longer if he so chose, Rion thought with a sense of masculine satisfaction. He relaxed.

Then it hit him what he had done—or to be precise what he had not done …

Damn it to hell! he cursed. Only twice in his life had he forgotten, and both times with the same woman … His sense of satisfaction vanished like smoke in the wind.

‘Selina—Selina!’ He slid his hand from her head to her waist, to tip her onto the bed.

Snuggled against a hard, warm body Selina let her eyes flutter open. Someone was calling her name. For a moment she was totally disorientated—then suddenly she was lying flat on her back.

‘What?’ she muttered, and her eyes opened wide at the sight of Rion sitting up, his upper torso turned towards her. ‘Is it morning?’ she asked, though it wasn’t daylight, she realised, but moonlight that illuminated Rion’s bare chest and face.

Then it all came back to her. She was in Rion’s bed and they had made love. Suddenly she was conscious of her own naked state and felt a slow tide of warmth spread through her body—not so much a blush, more an involuntary sensual response to the man looking down at her. But by the thunderous expression on Rion’s hard face he was having no such reaction.

‘I did not use any protection, Selina. I need to know: Are you on the Pill?’ he demanded

‘You woke me up to ask that?’ The warmth seeped away and, sitting up, she reached for the edge of the coverlet and pulled it over her chest.

‘Yes, it is vital. I have no intention of being trapped into becoming a father and paying for it the rest of my life. I never forget to use a condom, and I can assure you I am perfectly healthy. I have regular check-ups—can you say the same?’

Selina had heard some insults in her twenty-four years, but Rion’s took the cake! How like a man. He didn’t want to be trapped—no thought for the woman who would have to carry the child for nine months and look after it for the rest of her life. All Rion was worried about was the money it might cost him …

What a charmer. But then why was she surprised?

She considered stringing him along. Letting Rion sweat for a few weeks would serve the arrogant devil right. But then that would involve her keeping in touch with him, and she didn’t want that … did she?

‘Lucky for you I am on the Pill.’ Ironically, when she had returned to England after Rion had thrown her out she had consulted her GP about her cramps and he had put her on the Pill. ‘And I had a check-up four months ago.’ Which she had—but not for the reason he thought. ‘I have not had a lover since. Can you say the same?’ She repeated his own question with a cynical arched brow in his direction and then, swinging her legs off the bed she stood up, ignoring Rion.

‘Good,’ Rion said, and he felt good. Of course Selina was on the Pill—she was an intelligent, sexually active woman who took care of herself. It made perfect sense. ‘And to answer your question yes, I can say the same. It seems we have both had a barren spell.’ He chuckled, and looked at her shapely naked body as she bent down to pick up her sweatpants from the floor with her back towards him.

Suddenly Rion didn’t feel so much fine as hungry. He was hardening again at the sight of her peachy bum slowly disappearing beneath the blue pants. He rolled off the bed and in one lithe movement reached for her arm and spun her around to face him.

‘Why bother dressing? We have the night ahead of us and the best is yet to come,’ he drawled, supremely confident of his virile prowess.

Selina’s eyes widened on his as she saw rekindled passion in the deep black pupils, sensual invitation … Hastily she lowered her gaze, refusing to be tempted. But looking at him standing in front of her stark naked was no help. His big body gleamed in the moonlight and incredibly she saw he was aroused again. She felt a renewed flicker of desire flare inside her.

She stiffened and doused the flame. ‘I’m going to bed. Dimitri gave me the cabin next door, and I prefer to sleep on my own,’ she clipped.

Rion recognised her defiant stance and was infuriated as well as frustrated. ‘Reneging on our agreement already, Selina? You are here as my lover, remember?’ he told her bluntly.

His dark eyes flicked over her face, over the wild tangle of hair falling to her shoulders, the proud thrust of her full firm breasts, the rosy nipples still swollen from his mouth. Her slender arms were by her sides and her hands clenched into fists.

‘Playing games will get you nowhere. You sleep in my bed unless I say otherwise.’ Rion didn’t know why he was insisting. He preferred sleeping alone. He had never spent a whole night with a woman in years—not since Selina …

Selina’s shoulders slumped. ‘Okay,’ she said. He was so damn arrogant, and she was too exhausted to argue with him. There was no point anyway. Rion would do what he liked—he always did. In his business life and his private life. With a skill and cunning that rarely failed. She meant nothing to him other than a female to warm his bed for two weeks. She had to remember that.

Turning, she walked around the foot of the bed and climbed in, pulling the coverlet up to her neck.

Just like that she had given in, and Rion was left standing like a lemon, watching her pull the cover over her body. He didn’t know whether he felt pleased or angry. What was it about Selina that managed to confuse him so easily? Whatever it was, the bed beckoned, and he lay down beside her and drew her unresisting body into his arms.

‘A kiss goodnight?’ he drawled softly, lowering his dark head.

Selina glanced up into his handsome face, saw the sensuous intent in his black eyes. She could not help it. A wide yawn escaped her.

As a passion killer it was classic …

Rion’s lips twitched in a wry smile. She was so beautiful, so very feminine—and so very tired, he realised belatedly. A pang of guilt stabbed at him, but though he had no doubt he could persuade her, he wasn’t a selfish enough lover to try.

While Selina had been making calls to rearrange her work schedule Anna had told him that when the doctor had said Mark Stakis only had days left, not knowing who to call, she had rung Selina. Without hesitation Selina had dropped everything to come straight to Greece. She had sat at her grandfather’s bedside for two days, only taking the occasional nap, until he died, and then she had arranged the funeral—contacting all the necessary people and holding up marvellously all day as a perfect hostess. Then Anna had asked him to make sure Selina caught her flight all right—because she really needed a rest.

Avoiding her lips, he pressed a kiss on her forehead. ‘You’re tired. Go to sleep.’

Selina needed no encouragement, and with a deep sigh she was asleep in seconds.

It took Rion a lot longer as Selina twisted restlessly in her sleep, ending up with a slender arm slanting down over his body, her hand splayed on his belly, her head resting on his chest and her firm breasts pressed against his side. Her steady breathing teased the hairs on his chest, and if her hand moved a fraction of an inch he would no longer be responsible for his actions.

CHAPTER SIX

RION opened his eyes instantly, aware Selina had moved. He lay still, the heavy beat of his heart thudding against her breast and the deep rise and fall of his breathing stirring her hair. Her head was still on his chest, and the hand he had been wary of earlier was resting on his shoulder. It was the leg she had slid between his thighs that had aroused him from sleep—in more ways than one … Yet she seemed to be sleeping like a baby while he was hard and aching.

He ran a finger lightly up her spine, his other hand stroking gently down to her pert rear. She was warm and shapely, her skin as soft as silk beneath his hand and there was only so much frustration a man could stand, he decided. But before he could make a move, amazingly he felt her lush mouth kiss his chest, her hot little tongue licking a nipple to pebble-like hardness, her slender hand on his shoulder inching up his neck.

In their brief marriage she had flung her arms around him and kissed him enthusiastically when he’d returned home and when he’d made love to her she’d been amazingly responsive, yet rather shy, but she had never once initiated sex. Now …

Rion stifled a groan and waited in sensual anticipation of what she would do next …

Selina’s eyes blinked open. She was vaguely aware of a tingling sensation travelling the length of her spine. Her sleepy gaze rested on Rion and she stretched sensuously across his great body—and felt the growing pressure of his arousal against her thigh. Dream-like, she kissed his broad chest and put out her tongue to lick a dark male nipple, let her fingers edge up into the silken black hair of his head.

She sighed with pleasure, breathing her husband’s name, and planted a string of kisses up his throat, tasting his skin. Her small white teeth nipped teasingly at his firm chin and, raising her head, she brushed his lips lightly with her own. Finally she looked up into his eyes, saw the gleam of desire in the black depths. An all-female smile curved her mouth. Rion wanted her …

Rion …

Suddenly Selina was wide awake and aware of where she was—and why. Mortified at what she had done, she placed her hands on his chest to push away from him.

‘Don’t stop now.’ Rion noted the confusion on Selina’s face as her body arched back. Sliding an arm around her, he cupped the back of her head in his hand. For an instant she resisted. ‘I have never had a pleasanter awakening,’ he said huskily, and pulled her head down and captured her mouth, silencing her muffled protest with his.

Her lips opened beneath his and Rion tightened his hand around her taut buttocks, holding her against his pulsing length while his mouth devoured her. His tongue was mimicking what he really wanted, but this time he was determined to go slow and savour her.

Selina hadn’t a chance. Her mind and body had already betrayed her and she was hot for him. When he took possession of her mouth a low moan escaped her and she responded with equal fervour.

She didn’t protest when he broke the kiss to roll her onto her back. Big and dark, he loomed over her, raking her naked body with hungry eyes, and she revelled in his scrutiny. She lifted her hands to trace the hard planes of his bronzed chest, caressing, and felt him shudder as she stroked lower to his belly.

‘Oh, no.’ Rion caught her wrists and pinned her arms either side of her body. ‘My turn, Selina, my pace,’ he rasped and, bending his head, his sensuous mouth found hers and her lips parted eagerly to the erotic penetration of his tongue. They kissed long, deliciously, and finally desperately broke the kiss to breathe. Then with deliberate intent he began a slow seduction of her achingly receptive body.

Selina’s breath caught as Rion’s lips trailed a path from her mouth to her throat along her collarbone, and for a second time her breath stilled as his head inched lower towards the soft curve of her breast.

With incredible tenderness he kissed a burgeoning peak, opening his mouth to circle the aureole with his tongue before beginning a delicate suckling that pulled like a live wire from her breast to her pelvis, tightening as he continued with an erotic teasing and tasting that was halfway between pleasure and pain. Just when she thought she could stand no more, he moved to bestow a similar torment on its partner. She tried to reach for him, to touch him, but he held her hands firmly at her sides and found her mouth again, kissing her with a hungry passion then trailing kisses over her throat, her shoulders, before inching lower, driving her wild with exquisite pleasure. He inched his way lower still, and wantonly she yielded to the demands of her body and Rion’s sensual mastery.

He circled her navel with his tongue, and suddenly her hands were free as he parted her legs. His head dipped to nuzzle at the junction of her thighs, his tongue slipping between the dewy folds to taste her.

Selina had never experienced such intimacy before and, shocked, instinctively reached for his shoulders to push him away. But shock gave way to intense sensual delight, and her slender fingers threaded through his hair, holding him closer.

She was totally oblivious to the guttural cries and moans that escaped her as Rion, with wicked expertise, drew every atom of pleasure from her body until she abandoned herself to the tumultuous waves of sensations rocketing through her slender frame.

Vaguely she heard Rion groan, ‘I dreamt of you like this …’ and her passion-hazed gaze sought his.

He was kneeling between her thighs, his eyes dark orbs of molten desire, and was lifting her hips. Her body arched like a bow string, her head fell back, and she grabbed at him with desperate hands as with one long, powerful thrust he filled her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she clung as he plunged deeper and sent her soaring into the dizzying heights of sensual overload with a white-hot passion that consumed her.

‘Yes—oh, yes!’ she moaned, her hands grasping, caressing his sweat-slicked satin flesh in a delirium of need as he drove hard and deep, then slowed and stilled, again and again, until finally with one mighty thrust he drove her to the peak of fulfillment and she soared over the edge. His hard, sweat-slicked body bucked and shuddered as he joined her in a sublime explosion of release.

Selina lay beneath him, shaking in the aftermath of passion. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gloried in his weight, in the erratic thud of his heart against her own as the shudders faded and a hazy glow of repletion enveloped her totally supine body.

It was a low throbbing sound in her head that woke Selina—or was it in her body? Selina thought drowsily, stretching and aching in places she never had before. Slowly she opened her eyes, and was immediately dazzled by the fierce light of the sun shining on her face. Closing them again, she turned away from the blinding light. It was then she realised the throbbing was the sound of the yacht’s engine. She was naked in bed, and everything came flooding back.

She stared around at the spaciousness of the master cabin, panelled in walnut with a cleverly built-in closet, a cabinet and a desk. A luxurious sofa and a large chair flanked a polished wood occasional table. The whole effect was elegant and very masculine. As were the navy Egyptian cotton sheets that were rumpled over the enormous bed.

‘Oh, God, no,’ she groaned.

‘Hardly the reception I was hoping for.’

A deep, dark voice laced with amusement echoed in her head.

She opened her eyes again. Rion was standing in the open door, a tray loaded with cups in his hands and the scent of fresh coffee floating in the air. Bare-chested, with khaki shorts riding low on his lean hips, he looked gorgeous, vital and wide awake, while she felt like death.

‘You did not say no last night,’ Rion drawled and, crossing to the bed, placed the tray on a side table. He sat down on the bed. ‘Quite the opposite at one point, I recall,’ he said, and chuckled.

‘Good morning,’ she murmured, ignoring his comment.

Self-loathing was flooding through her at her abject surrender to Rion. But maybe it was to be expected after being celibate for years, she told herself fatalistically. The alternative—that it was only Rion she could not resist—she didn’t dare contemplate. She sat up, dragging a sheet with her and tucking it under her armpits. Taking the coffee cup he held out without looking at him, she took a sip and then drained the cup.

‘So formal, Selina, and not actually true.’ He reached and ran his fingers through the tumbled mass of her hair, smoothing the silken strands back from her shoulders to curl down her spine, sliding his hand down her arm. His touch was light as a feather, creating tiny tremors beneath her skin. ‘I thought you needed the rest.’

‘What time is it?’ she asked and finally glanced at Rion.

She saw the half smile pull at his sensual sculpted mouth, saw the intimate knowledge in his twinkling dark eyes, and her traitorous heart squeezed. The twinkle she had thought long gone was back, and she knew a half-naked smiling Rion was infinitely more dangerous to her emotional health than the ruthless cynical man she knew him to be …

‘Noon—but relax.’ He took the empty cup from her hand and placed it on the tray. ‘Lunch will be served in an hour or so. Plenty of time.’ And before she’d realised his intention, he had flipped the sheet down to her waist.

‘No, I need a shower,’ Selina snapped, and tried to grab the sheet. But he caught her hand in his and held both to her stomach.

As if she had never spoken he continued, ‘Last night was great, Selina, but it will be even better now I know what you are capable of.’ His free hand reached for her throat, tipping her head back. ‘The shy innocent has long gone, and you delighted in seducing me with your sweet mouth … and the rest.’

His hand slid down the soft hollow of her throat and continued its downward journey, brushing the rosy peak of one breast and then with elegant fingers manipulating the tip to pouting hardness.

‘Rather like this,’ he mocked softly, his fingers playfully walking across to her other breast and delivering the same treatment. ‘I appreciate the more experienced Selina, and that innocent blush is quite a clever trick.’

‘No!’ She was protesting against his assumption and the sensual intent she saw in his dark eyes even as her pulse rate leapt at his wandering hands. ‘I didn’t know it was you. I was half asleep,’ she said without thinking—and knew as soon as the words left her mouth she had said the wrong thing. ‘I mean …’

‘Too much information, Selina,’ he mocked, his lips curving in a sardonic smile as his hand reached up to tangle in her hair, jerking her head towards him. His face was inches from her own. ‘This time you will know it is me.’ He spoke with a deadly calm that was belied by the barely leashed anger in his dark eyes.

‘You don’t understand—’ she said, but his mouth slammed into hers, kissing her with a domineering savage passion that—humiliatingly—she could not help responding to with an aching need. Then somehow she was on her back and Rion was straddling her, propped up on his strong forearms either side of her body, studying her as if she was some fly under a microscope.

‘Your sex education, Selina, while having improved in the physical sense is sadly lacking in etiquette,’ he grated. ‘First lesson: never tell your partner you were thinking of someone else during sex.’

Selina, her heart racing, heard the inimical anger in his tone, saw his tight mouth and the dull flush on his high cheekbones, and realised too late what she had invited with her careless remark. Rion was hanging on to his fabled control by a thread.

‘I never …’ She choked incoherently as scorching dark eyes raked over her face, her upturned breasts. Lowering his head, he caught a throbbing peak lightly between his teeth to lash the swelling tip with his tongue. The breath whooshed from her lungs in a gasping groan, warmth pooled between her thighs, and involuntarily her slender hands reached for him.

What followed was a master class.

Selina had had no idea the human body was capable of such unfettered passion … no idea she was capable of behaving like an untamed being, willing to follow Rion’s inventive eroticism down pathways she had never dreamt of—until she thought she might pass out from the force of the incredibly emotional storm raging between them.

With his great body over hers, the shuddering tremors finally stopped and Selina opened her eyes, trying to regain control of her erratic breathing and pounding heart. Slowly Rion withdrew and rolled off her. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, his other hand resting across her stomach.

She blushed as she met his dark enigmatic gaze, stunned by what he had done—what she had allowed him to do. She had actually encouraged his sexual manipulation of her body and every one of her senses until that final out-of-this-world orgasm.

‘I never …’ She couldn’t continue, more confused with herself than Rion.

He kissed her damp forehead and smiled a slow, completely masculine grin. ‘I rather gathered that—and yet you are an incredibly sensual woman. Admit it, you enjoyed every second. I made sure you did. Maybe because you dented my masculine ego and I wanted to prove a point. I was a little overenthusiastic, but no woman sharing my bed ever thinks of another man.’

Such conceit! Selina marveled. But she could well believe it. Rion was an incredible lover. But then he had a lot of practice … She was not his first lover and she certainly would not be his last. Whereas he was her first and only, and she had a growing suspicion he might well be her last. She could not imagine doing with any other man what she had done with Rion. They had joined in the most intimate way possible. They should have been as close as it was possible for two people to be. But sadly Selina realised, with a sense of something precious lost, that Rion was right again. Sex was just sex … two bodies connecting but the mind and heart miles apart.

She glanced down. His bronzed body was perfectly formed, like the Greek god she had once thought him. He was no longer a god in her eyes but a man like any other, with human frailties … Handsome, wealthy and single he could take his pick of women—and frequently did, she had no doubt. Rion had a high libido and enjoyed sex, but he didn’t believe in monogamy. He was a chauvinist, and women let him get away with it for the pleasure of his company. And who could blame them? There were much worse vices she knew …

She had been surprised and, being honest, secretly a little pleased that he had actually confessed to having his ego dented by her. And now, held against him, sated with sex, she could not argue with his statement. She looked up at his face, a dry smile curving her swollen lips. ‘You are so arrogant, Rion, and as it happens I wasn’t thinking of another man last night. I was thinking of you. I was half asleep and thought I was still married,’ she said. She saw his smug smile and added, ‘But thankfully I woke up from that nightmare …’

The hand on her stomach moved to take her chin between thumb and forefinger, his dark eyes capturing hers. ‘You were doing great until the end, Selina. I’ll make you pay for that later,’ he forewarned her, a slight smile quirking the edges of his mouth. ‘Or maybe not,’ he amended. ‘We could just agree to ignore the past and enjoy the next couple of weeks for what they are—a holiday between two friends.’

Selina’s eyes widened. Rion a friend? That would be a first …

‘Don’t look so shocked.’ He chuckled. ‘I do have friends. Dimitri and Captain Ted have been personal friends of mine for years, and I also keep a friendly relationship with my crew. I do not want them to see us at loggerheads. I run a cheerful ship, and I want it to stay that way. Plus there is no denying sex between us is fantastic.’

She wanted to deny him but it would be a lie, she acknowledged. So much for lying back and thinking of England. Rion looked so attractive with his black hair dishevelled and his handsome face lit with amusement. She felt her heart flutter in her breast. She still wanted him, and this might be the only sex she would ever get …

She had been like a puppy dog lapping up any sign of affection from its master during their brief marriage. But now she worked with captains of industry, billionaires. Some she liked better than others, but she had no problem maintaining a friendly relationship with all of them. A lot of her clients employed her over and over again. Would it be so impossible to develop a friendly relationship with Rion? It would make the next two weeks much easier. She could look on it as a job—which in a way it was … He was paying for it, she reminded herself bluntly.

Stuck on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean, she didn’t have much of a choice anyway. She could try to resist him but, humiliating as it was to admit, she had spectacularly failed so far. Or she could do as he suggested and try to accept him as a ‘friend with benefits.’ She believed that was the popular term.

‘Yes, why not?’ she said just as her stomach gave an almighty rumble.

Rion laughed. ‘Great.’ He leapt off the bed and pulled on his shorts. ‘Come on, Selina, get up,’ he commanded. ‘You can take that shower and I’ll order the food you so obviously need.’ And, still chuckling, he turned to walk out of the door.

Without thinking she flung a pillow at him and missed—and heard his laughter as the door swung closed behind him. She rolled off the bed and walked into the en-suite bathroom, hardly glancing at the luxury fittings.

Naked, she stepped into the huge shower cubicle and turned on what she hoped was the tap—only to have jets of water hit her from all sides. She gulped and blindly reached for the door. She stepped back out, wiping her hair from her eyes. She looked around and spotted the bathing accoutrements lined up above a vanity basin. She glanced at the bottles and jars—all masculine. So she would smell like Rion. But then she did already, she thought, and picked up a bottle of shampoo and padded back to the shower stall. She eyed the controls, worked out how to turn on only the overhead sprays, and warily stepped back inside.

Tipping a dollop of shampoo into her hands, she quickly washed her hair, and then liberally anointed her body with shower gel. Finally she tilted back her head, closed her eyes and let the powerful spray rinse her hair and her body, trying to rid herself of the tension the pressure of the past few days had caused.

She raised her hands and ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing the wet strands from her face and then lifting her arms high above her head. She linked her fingers and stretched on tiptoe, easing the ache in muscles she had never known she had …

‘Now, that is an exquisite sight,’ a deep, husky voice growled, and at the same time two large hands cupped her breasts.

She let out a yelp and grasped a pair of strong wrists. A large naked male was at her back. ‘You are insatiable.’

‘And you love it,’ he said huskily. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re wrong this time. My turn for the shower.’ And, locking his arms around her waist, he swung her out of the cubicle. Catching up a huge towel, he wrapped it around her and briskly rubbed her dry. ‘Now, go to your cabin and dress—preferably in the white bikini. Lunch is on the sun deck. I will meet you there in thirty minutes and after that I’ll give you a tour of the yacht.’

Back in her cabin, Selina crossed to the closet where she had placed her clothes last night, and withdrew a bra and briefs, a pair of denim shorts and a white tee shirt. She put them on. She was definitely not wearing the white bikini. Rion needed no encouragement, she thought, flushing with shame at the ease with which she had surrendered to him.

Images of his naked body covering hers flashed through her mind. Trying for normality, she picked up her phone and took care of a few essential work queries, then reluctantly left the cabin and ascended the stairs to the main deck. Her hair would dry naturally in the sun—in a curly mess, probably, but she didn’t care.

She was here to get an inheritance she had never wanted but now, through no fault of her own, needed. And Rion controlled it, she thought grimly. She had lost her illusions long ago. She was here at his command, as his sexual plaything, and that was all she had to remember …

The weather was perfect. The sun shone in a cloudless sky, glinting off the waves of the azure sea. She could think of plenty of people in worse positions, and her spirits rose. She should be thankful for what she had. What was two weeks out of her life? A mere blip.

A small, dark-eyed young man appeared, with a heavy-laden tray in his hands. He introduced himself as Marco and offered to show her the way to the sun deck with a broad smile on his face. She smiled back and chatted easily to him as he led her up three levels to the sun deck. Her eyes widened in surprise on a plunge pool and a Jacuzzi set on one side of the deck. Maybe that was why Rion had told her to wear her bikini? Too late now.

She glanced down at a low table, set with cutlery, condiments, glasses and an ice bucket containing a bottle of wine. ‘I could have eaten on the main deck, Marco, and saved you the walk,’ she said, smiling. ‘I will next time.’

Rion reached the top of the stairs from the wheel-house and paused to catch his breath—not from lack of energy but at the picture Selina presented. Wearing brief denim shorts and a tee shirt, with flip-flops on her feet, she was talking to Marco. A brilliant smile curved her soft mouth, her eyes were shining and her glorious hair shimmered like beaten gold in the sun.

‘No, you won’t.’ Rion walked forward. ‘I decide where we eat.’ It was callous of him, but he had heard what she said, and seeing Selina smiling at young Marco had hit a nerve …

Selina glanced back to where Rion stood. He had showered, shaved and changed into a checked open-necked shirt and another pair of khaki shorts. He looked vitally attractive and as bossy as ever …

‘Yes, oh, master,’ she mocked, and turned to smile at Marco again before sinking down on a carefully placed lounger.

Marco put a bowl of salad, bread, a platter of delicious-looking seafood and another of various meats on the table.

‘You are learning, sweetheart,’ Rion drawled. ‘But where is the bikini?’

‘I forgot,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’ And gave him a saccharine smile.

His dark eyes were openly laughing at her little rebellion. With one hand he deftly unfastened a few more buttons of his shirt and sank down onto a lounger, stretching his long legs out before him in negligent ease.

‘Thanks, Marco. I’ll pour the wine.’ Rion dismissed him.

‘Iris was right to call you Old Bossy Boots. I should have listened to her,’ Selina opined, and reached forward. Taking a plate, she piled on salad, prawn, langoustines and crusty bread. Fish first, meat second, she thought. ‘What is Iris doing now?’ she asked idly, popping a prawn in her mouth and forking up some salad as Rion poured the chilled white wine into two glasses.

‘She is married to an Australian of Greek descent and living on the Gold Coast in Australia. They have a son, and are expecting the arrival of their second child any day now. Helen is in her element as doting grandmother, and spends a lot of her time there,’ he told her, piling his own plate high with assorted meats and salad and starting to eat.

‘What about your father?’ she asked in between mouthfuls of food. ‘I bet he spoils the boy rotten.’

Rion put down his knife and fork and shot her a hard look. ‘No, my father never got the chance. He died five years ago. Not unexpected. He knew his heart was damaged and his time limited.’

‘I’m so sorry. I know how close you were. It must have been hard, losing him,’ Selina said softly.

‘Drop the false sympathy, pethi mou,’ Rion drawled. The endearment was an echo from the past but with a sardonic emphasis. ‘You are more likely to dance on his grave. I know your grandfather must have told you that my father made a deal with him to buy Stakis Shipping that included you.’ He elevated one shoulder in a negligent shrug, but his strong face hardened. ‘It was to be his last big deal before he retired—supposedly his final success. He enjoyed a world cruise and died a couple of months after he returned. End of story.’ Picking up his knife and fork, Rion resumed eating.

So did Selina … but something about the information was disturbing her. She was not sure it was the end of the story. ‘If your father—’ she began.

‘Enough, Selina.’ Rion cast her an impatient glance. ‘Talk of the past is out, remember?’ Draining his wine glass, he rose to his feet. ‘Now, if you are finished eating, I’ll show you around the yacht.’

Selina finished a langoustine, refusing to be hurried, and glanced up at him through the veil of her lashes. Big and boldly handsome, Rion was a live wire, full of restless driven energy. He always had been, Selina realised, and always would be. He worked hard and played hard and rarely stopped. No woman would ever tie him down.

She glanced around at the fantastic view and rose to her feet with a shake of her head. ‘Yes, okay—lead on.’ Rion was incapable of relaxing. ‘Though I’m surprised you like cruising. Days at sea with nothing to do but admire the view does not seem like you.’

A glint of humour flashed in Rion’s eyes. ‘I love the sea.’ He let his gaze slide blatantly down the length of her body and back. ‘And the view,’ he quipped with a heart-stopping sensuous smile that made her breath quicken. ‘But you are right. I worked for a while this morning—I do every day.’

Why did his brilliant white smile suddenly remind Selina of a predatory panther?

‘Then I relax in the afternoon—sometimes in the pool. But as you have forgotten your bikini, your loss is my gain.’ And he kissed her and took her back to bed.

Eventually Rion did take her on a tour of the yacht, and introduced her to Captain Ted—an Englishman—who made her feel at ease by saying, ‘Rion told me an old friend was joining the cruise and I imagined another Dimitri. It is a real pleasure to meet you and a relief—you are a thousand times better to look at.’ He grinned. ‘Anything you need, just ask me.’

‘Down, Ted,’ Rion said dryly, slipping an arm around Selina’s waist. ‘The lady is my guest and I will provide everything she needs.’

As he led her away from the bridge for a moment it crossed Selina’s mind Rion that might be jealous, but she instantly dismissed the thought.

She enjoyed the rest of the tour. She might have been overawed by the Theodora, a beautiful, luxuriously fitted vessel, with five guest cabins, a formal and an informal salon, but her job had on occasion taken her on yachts even larger and more blatantly luxurious. None had been as eclectically fitted out with a mixture of traditional and new, and meeting the crew and seeing the way they worked she recognised the easy, friendly atmosphere on the Theodora was not something she had ever felt on the bigger yachts she had travelled on. She was quietly impressed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

BACK in her own cabin, Selina showered again and, slipping on silk briefs and a bra, looked at the few clothes in the closet. She had not brought a large suitcase, so she had none of the smart suits and gowns she needed to blend in with the upper echelons of society the majority of her clients inhabited to choose from. She had only a small suitcase, containing toiletries, towels, her sweatsuit, a sweater, a swimsuit, a bikini and underwear, the black silk dress she had worn for the funeral plus two summer dresses—one blue and one yellow, which had the advantage of being crease-resistant and could fold up into the size of a man’s hanky—two shirts, two tee shirts and two pretty tops, a pair of smart white linen pants, denim shorts, a pair of flip-flops, black high heels and a pair of sandals.

She flicked through the closet and took out the yellow dress, eyeing the black one she had worn for the funeral and the stiletto heels. She slipped the yellow dress over her head. After applying some moisturiser to her face she brushed her hair, put on her sandals, and left the cabin.

Nervously Selina entered the main salon, feeling like a scarlet woman—but in yellow … Rion, looking wickedly attractive in white pants and a white shirt, crossed to take her arm.

‘You look lovely,’ he said huskily, and offered her a drink as he led her across to join Dimitri and Captain Ted at the bar.

Selina took a sip of the martini she had requested and began to relax. After she discovered over the pre-dinner drinks that Ted’s parents lived in Weymouth, not far from her home, she did not feel such an alien in the all-male company and relaxed a little more.

Dinner was a casual affair. Marco presented the wine and filled all the glasses, then served the food, which was superb. Not surprisingly, with three men present the conversation got around to cars. Selina sipped at her wine and listened. Apparently Rion had recently bought a Bugatti Veyron, whatever that was, and the discussion of its merits went right over her head. She drained her glass. Then Ted said he was thinking of buying a new Mercedes.

Selina grinned. ‘You must have been to that Mercedes dealership, Ted—the one with the museum and training track in Weymouth. It is a great place. A friend took me and I got a new Mercedes there—the small fourteen hundred. It took two months to be delivered and I collected it …’ she paused to think; her schedule had been so messed up ‘… ten days ago. I love it—though I only got the chance to drive it a couple of times before I had to come to Greece,’ she said ruefully.

‘Surely a family funeral takes precedence over a car?’ Rion opined. ‘Unlike your grandfather, the car will still be there when you get back.’

She looked at Rion, seated at the head of the table, and caught an expression of cold contempt on his hard face. What had she supposedly done wrong now? Not that she cared.

‘Yes, of course,’ she responded. And fortified by wine added, ‘That is, providing Aunt Peggy, who is driving the car while I am away, has not run into anything again. She wrote off my Beetle in a car park.’

Ted and Dimitri laughed, and Rion smiled, but she saw no humour in his eyes.

Although the food was excellent Selina had lost her appetite—or maybe it was the wine—and she was glad when the meal ended. She made her excuses to leave before coffee was served. Not that it made any difference. Rion followed her and overrode any resistance she attempted with an ease that shamed but aroused her—and she still ended up in his big bed.

That day set the pattern for the following days. They ate lunch and dinner together—Rion was a good conversationalist, and they discussed a variety of subjects but never the past—and they had sex every night in his vast bed.

She never actually spent a night in her own bed. Rion worked in the morning and after lunch they enjoyed a siesta of sorts but with little real intimacy—which suited Selina fine.

Four days later Selina stood impatiently on the deck and watched Rion, wearing a black wetsuit that revealed in intimate detail the physical perfection of his great body, check all his diving equipment for the final time. She had never known Rion liked scuba-diving, nor that Dimitri was here for that express purpose until dinner two nights ago, when she had discovered the main reason for the cruise was a diving expedition the two men had arranged to explore sites off the coast of Egypt.

Satisfied everything was ready, Rion walked across to where Selina was waiting so impatiently. The baggy sweater she wore did not stop him from appreciating her lithe body and fabulous legs.

‘I’m still not sure about this,’ he said, looking down into her sparkling eyes and seeing the excitement there. She had asked him to let her go on a dive yesterday. Surprised that she could dive he’d said no, and that there was no suit to fit her anyway. Then apparently Dimitri had found an old suit in the locker, and she had caught Rion at a weak moment in bed last night and he had agreed. ‘Tell me again where you qualified as a diver.’ His mind had been on another sport last night.

‘I told you—I was a member of the school diving club, and then when I finished university I spent six months travelling in the Far East. I took my Diving Masters on a ten-week course in Queensland, Australia. I have my Paddy certificate. Now, can I suit up?’

‘Okay. But understand I am the master on this dive.’

‘Yes, of course—aren’t you always?’ she said, and wrinkled her nose at him.

Her enthusiasm was infectious.

Rion was beginning to realise everything about Selina was infectious.

Everyone on board adored her—from the oldest to the youngest. Dimitri and Ted, the most reserved of men, could not keep their eyes off her and nor could Marco, who had previously worn the suit that Selina was wearing today.

The thought of a suit that had been plastered to young Marco’s body in equally intimate contact with Selina’s was somehow distasteful to him. Why, Rion wasn’t sure—in fact where Selina was concerned he wasn’t sure of anything any more. For a woman who wore designer clothes and casually admitted that an obviously male friend had bought her a Mercedes, she happily walked around the yacht wearing a pair of old denim shorts and a shirt. She never wore make-up, the only cream he had ever seen her use was sunblock, and with her glorious hair piled on top of her head with a rubber band and flip-flops on her dainty feet she looked like Orphan Annie … a very sexy orphan Annie.

All the previous female guests on his yacht he could remember had invariably worn full make-up and stretched out on the sun deck wearing the briefest of bikinis or even just a thong, advertising their attributes to Rion and the whole crew. Selina, on the other hand, when she did go in the pool, wore a black sports costume—sexy, but not the bikini that he fantasised about. And she never sunbathed. He would usually find her sitting in the shade with a book or on her phone. She was the least vain woman Rion had ever known—which didn’t sit well with his opinion of her as a devious, greedy woman who used her physical assets and talents to enjoy the high life.

Looking down at her as she peeled off her sweater, his dark eyes flared and his breath stopped in his throat. She was wearing the white bikini, with those tempting little ribbons holding it together, and instantly he could feel his erection straining uncomfortably beneath his wetsuit. Every thought left his head except the one telling him he needed to get in the water fast or disgrace himself.

Over an hour later, back on board with her wetsuit stripped off, Selina kneeled on the deck and emptied her net of finds on the polished wood. She spotted a small encrusted lump with a glint of gold on one side and picked it up. She glanced over her shoulder at Rion, sprawled in a lounger a few feet away.

‘Look, Rion—I’m sure this must be gold. A coin … maybe a doubloon from a pirate ship?’ She stretched her arm back, holding it out for him to see. ‘What do you think?’ she demanded, excited by her find.

Rion thought she had incredible sparkling eyes, a vivid imagination, and was slightly mad … Madly beautiful … With her bum in the air and her body half twisted towards him she gave him a shockingly tempting view of one perfect breast almost falling out of the tiny triangle of white material.

‘I think we should take it down to the lab, get it cleaned and see.’

What he actually thought was that he wanted to take her inside and ravish her. She was driving him crazy. He had never dived with a woman partner before—never considered it—but Selina had amazed him. She was good—very good—except for a tendency to dive down and pick up any old junk off the seabed. Watching her sleek body in the water had been a bit like water torture for him …

Until today Rion would have sworn it was impossible to be aroused thirty feet under water …

There was another certainty gone …

‘Great—just wait until I pick up the rest.’ Selina turned to put her other finds back in the net.

‘No, just take the coin.’ Rion got to his feet and strode over to her. ‘The sun will dry the rest out.’ And with a bit of luck blow it away!

‘Good idea.’ Selina sprang to her feet with her find in her hand. ‘It was wonderful today. Thank you for taking me.’ She grinned.

He smiled—a wry curve of his sensual lips. ‘My pleasure.’ Well, not quite. He intended it to be. But he didn’t make the crack that hovered on his tongue. She reminded him of the girl he had first met—so innocent, her face flushed with pleasure …

He led her below deck to the diving lab, where any finds were examined and placed in a locker.

Ten minutes later Selina looked in awe at the coin Rion held in the palm of his hand. ‘What do you think? Is it Egyptian? Greek? Or maybe Spanish?’ she asked excitedly.

‘It is definitely Greek—and now I want my reward for cleaning it,’ Rion said huskily. Watching her jump up and down with pleasure in her white bikini was killing him.

‘Can I hold it? Is it really ancient?’

Unaware of Rion’s problem, Selina felt excitement fizzing through her as she glanced from the coin in his hand up into Rion’s dark face. Only then did she see the banked-down desire and something else … an echo from the past in his expression … that made her excitement level rise even further.

‘I’ll look it up later,’ he said, and dropped the coin on the steel table. His dark eyes holding hers, he curved an arm around her waist to pull her close. ‘Right now I have a more pressing problem I need to deal with. The vision of you in this bikini has been haunting me for a week,’ he breathed against Selina’s lips, tempting but not touching, running a long finger beneath the fine strap of her top.

Selina’s breath caught at the feel of his hard, hot body against her, stirring her blood and melting her bones, and she couldn’t speak, could only stare as Rion stepped back and pulled off his khaki shorts. She gasped at the sheer strength of his arousal.

‘I can’t wait,’ he murmured, and he flicked the clasp between her breasts and peeled the scrap of material over her shoulders and down her arms to fall to the floor.

She let him, excitement riding her. His hands clasped her waist and he bent his head to brush her lips with his, moving lower to draw one pouting nipple into his mouth, suckling then delivering the same treatment to the other. While his hands stroked over her hips his fingers deftly unfastened the two tiny ribbons that held the fabric that protected her modesty. He pulled the slip of material between her legs and dropped it on the table.

Selina saw his face, a taut mask of raw passion, and shuddered in eager response as in one deft movement his strong hands lifted her onto the table, wrapped her legs around his waist and thrust into her already moist, waiting body. She grasped his arms, his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his flesh as he possessed her with an uncontrollable driven hunger, and she convulsed around him, shuddering violently as he climaxed with her.

He folded his arms round her and rested his head against hers for long minutes, until finally the lingering waves of release faded away and they could breathe again.

‘I didn’t—’

‘Don’t say a word. Just lift me off here,’ Selina said huskily.

Rion lifted her up and slowly lowered her to the ground. ‘Are you okay?’

She looked at him naked, and then at herself, a wobbly rueful smile curving her swollen lips. ‘I’m not complaining, and I’ll be fine if I can find my bikini.’

Selina glanced around the room, her eyes scanning the tabletop and spotting the lower half of her bikini. She picked it up and tied it back on.

Wordlessly Rion retrieved her top and his shorts from the floor and pulled his shorts on. What could he say after ravishing her on a metal tabletop? That he never lost control? Well, that was a lie. He had—quite spectacularly. He handed her the top …

Selina took it and slipped it on. Feeling better dressed, she looked around again, her smooth brow creasing in a frown as she scanned the long table a second time. Eventually she turned back to Rion and placed her hands on her hips, indignant amber eyes clashing with his.

‘I will kill you, Rion Moralis, if you have lost my coin. You put it on the table and I can’t see it anywhere now.’

Rion couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing …

‘It is not funny. The coin might be a valuable find—very ancient. You said it was Greek.’

‘It is. But it is not gold and not very old,’ he said, grinning down at her. ‘It is a fifty-drachma coin from nineteen-ninety, and no longer any use because the Greek currency changed to the euro in two thousand and one.’

Selina was crushed ‘Really?’ She looked up into Rion’s laughing eyes. ‘You knew before we—’

‘Sorry. Yes. But you were so excited I didn’t want to disillusion you.’

‘You mean until you had your wicked way with me?’ She grinned up at him.

Rion swept her up in his arms. ‘What can I say? A man needs to do what a man needs to do.’ He buried his head in her glorious hair and, biting his lip to stop laughing, carried her to her cabin and lowered her gently to her feet. ‘Take a rest before dinner, Selina, you have had a strenuous day.’ And, planting a swift kiss on the tip of her nose, he walked out, still grinning broadly.

‘You look happy,’ Dimitri said as he strolled into the main salon and poured himself a whisky from the bar.

‘I am,’ he said, glancing at his old friend who was sitting having his usual whisky and soda. He realised he actually was. He hadn’t felt this good in ages. Raising his glass, he took a swig of whisky. ‘It was a great dive and Selina really surprised me. She is very good.’

‘What happened with the gold lump she recovered from the seabed?’

Rion grinned and told him.

Dimitri started to chuckle, then laughed out loud. ‘I bet Selina was disappointed it wasn’t the treasure she thought she had found.’

‘No, she took it quite well—she saw the funny side,’ Rion corrected him.

‘Yes, she would,’ Dimitri said, more seriously. ‘Selina is an incredible girl—just the sort you should marry. If I was single and twenty years younger I’d marry her myself.’

A sharp stab of anger twisted Rion’s gut at the mention of marriage. Selina was hot in bed but he would never forget she had betrayed him.

‘That’s never going to happen. She is my ex-wife.’

Dimitri choked on his whisky.

Selina awoke to a loud whirring noise and turned her head. The impression of Rion’s head on the pillow was the only sign he had been in the bed, but stretching her body reminded her. At dinner last night Dimitri and Ted had delighted in teasing her about the coin she had found, and finally Rion had decided they needed an early night. They had retired to bed, where they had indulged their sexual appetite to the full, and now he had gone—not that Selina was complaining. She had been with him all the way and was exhausted. Glancing at the bedside clock, she groaned.

It was only five in the morning. As the noise got louder she rolled over onto her stomach and pulled a pillow over her head to block out the sound. She needed her sleep. It would be nice to wake up in her own bed for a change—she never had so far …

The next time she opened her eyes she saw Rion, dressed in his usual khaki shorts and a white open-necked shirt, his hair still wet from the shower. He looked disgustingly fit and devilishly attractive. ‘What time is it?’ she asked. And, not waiting for an answer, said, ‘A terrible noise woke me up at five this morning. You had gone. What was it?’ She assumed he had gone to investigate.

‘Nothing to worry about and it is now ten.’ Handing her a cup of coffee, he added, ‘Drink this and then get dressed. I have a surprise for you.’

He put his hand in his shorts’ pocket and handed her a coin.

She turned it over and saw the date: nineteen-ninety. ‘You are joking?’

Rion leant over and dropped a brief kiss on her parted lips. ‘I thought you might like to have it as a keepsake.’

‘Very funny. I am never going to live this down—and if that is the surprise, I am not impressed,’ she said, but grinned and put the coin on the side table.

‘No, that is not the surprise. When you are ready meet me at the diving station.’

Round-eyed, Selina looked at the new red-trimmed black wetsuit and saw it was her size. Then she looked up at the two men standing watching her, both with broad grins on their faces.

‘I love it! Thank you.’ She stretched up and flung her arms around Rion’s neck and kissed his cheek. ‘But where did you get it from, out here in the middle of the sea?’

‘The noise you heard last night was a helicopter. I had it flown in from Cyprus.’

‘What …?’ she exclaimed, taking a step back. For Rion to go to so much trouble for her was incredible—and then another thought struck her. ‘That helicopter must have cost a fortune. With all the needy people in the world tell me you didn’t waste all that money just for a wetsuit? The old one was fine,’ she remonstrated.

‘No, of course not,’ Rion replied, and Dimitri cut in.

‘The helicopter was delivering essential supplies and more oxygen tanks. The wetsuit was just added to the list. Try it for size and then you and Rion can get a dive in—about forty-five minutes, okay?’

‘Oh, great.’ Selina grinned. ‘I don’t have to feel guilty.’

Apart from being teased by just about everyone on board about her so-called find the day before, today had been perfect, Selina thought later that evening when, wearing the blue silk dress, she joined Rion, Ted and Dimitri for dinner in the main salon.

The conversation was mostly about diving, and Dimitri made her laugh when he recounted some of his experiences as a diving instructor. Selina was surprised to learn he had known Rion since he was a boy, and had actually taught Rion’s mother Theodora, whom the yacht was named after, to dive. Selina had assumed the yacht was named after some woman Rion had known, and though she was loath to admit it she was relieved to know she was wrong.

Apparently Dimitri, who was also a qualified geologist, had worked as a diving instructor in Greece in his twenties, and then when he’d met his wife, who was South American, had moved to Brazil and started his own diving school there. It had become highly successful and now his eldest son ran it so Dimitri had the time to concentrate on exploration. He read old literature on wrecks and, using his geology skills in studying the seabed, was hoping to find some evidence of them, if not the actual wrecks.

‘So that is why you spent most of today’s dive with your camera and stopped me from picking anything up,’ Selina prompted, grinning at Rion.

‘Something like that, sweetheart,’ Rion said, with an amused smile that made the men grin.

She had no idea why. But the endearment and the tenderness she heard in his voice stole her breath away.

Later there was no thought of sleep as they lay in the big bed, naked limbs entwined, flesh on flesh, exploring and encouraging, bodies moving in perfect rhythm as they found the highest pinnacle of pleasure.

The following two days went by much the same. Rion restricted her to one dive a day, and though she never found anything significant, she didn’t mind. Much as she loved scuba-diving, she found she was also enjoying the leisure time. Usually she was an early riser—seven at the latest—but now she slept until nine or later. Whether it was the exercise, the lifestyle of sun, sea and sex, she didn’t analyse. She simply took each day as it came and was surprisingly content to do so.

But in the darkest corner of her mind a warning voice told her it was far too good to last. This casually dressed, caring and friendly Rion was not the real Rion—the ruthless business tycoon who had cut her out of his life without a word—and she was in grave danger of living in a fool’s paradise if she let herself believe otherwise.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SELINA wasn’t sure what or who had woken her and languidly she turned her head, resting her eyes on Rion. He was lying flat on his back, one long arm stretched across the top of the pillow behind her head, the other flung out across the bed, palm-up, long fingers loosely curled. His broad chest rose and fell. He was deeply asleep.

He had made wonderful love to her—slowly, tenderly, laughing, talking and teasing. She had unthinkingly commented that she had never realised a honeymoon could be such fun, and he had made amazing love to her again until, exhausted, they had slept.

Raising a hand, she lightly brushed back a lock of black hair from his brow. In sleep he looked younger, the long, thick black lashes edging his cheekbones concealing the cynical hardness that she had noticed in his eyes when they met again.

Since their first dive together, she mused, there had been no trace of hardness when her eyes met his, but an ease and humour—even gentleness. Against all the odds given their mutual past and the reason she was here, she felt as if they had developed a friendship of equals.

In the depths of the sea, moving among a myriad of aquatic life in a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes as diving buddies, it was magical. The correct signals were instinctive but almost superfluous. They were so attuned to each other—perfect partners. Over meals with the others, or amid the talk and laughter during the day, she was always conscious of the underlying sensual awareness between them. She sensed it in a light touch on her arm, saw it in a look, a certain gleam in his eyes. She knew it meant Rion always wanted to make love to her.

No, he didn’t. There was no love involved …

She tried to remind herself of that and realised it was becoming much harder for her to believe that the passion they shared was basic sex. True for Rion, yes … she had known that from the day she had seen him with those other women, heard the comments about him on video …

In a cruel moment of self-awareness she knew she could no longer fool herself that it was true for her. The ache in her heart growing with every breath she took, she stared through the darkness and finally accepted her own truth.

She loved Rion—probably always had …

Lying next to him in the vast bed, she squeezed back the tears that threatened. She had cried an ocean of tears over Rion six years ago, and she knew she had to get away before she broke down and humiliated herself by doing the same again.

Tentatively she edged away from the warmth of his big body. He wasn’t holding her, but she felt him stir and froze for an instant then moved again making sure to miss his arm across the top of her pillow. Finally she slid out of bed.

Uncaring that she was naked, she quietly fled back to her own cabin.

Selina closed the door behind her and with legs like lead crossed the room to flop face-down on the bed.

She couldn’t and wouldn’t put herself through the agony and humiliation of loving Rion again. But she felt the pressure building up inside her, the pain she was helpless to prevent, and silent tears of anguish filled her eyes before running down her pale cheeks. A low moan escaped her as she felt the salty taste of tears on her lips.

Hating her own weakness, she rubbed the tears away with a fist and rolled over onto her back. She gazed sightlessly at the ceiling, her mind churning with memories she would never forget.

Why, oh, why had she put her head in the same noose twice? she asked herself. She was not a teenager any more with a head full of romantic dreams of a soul mate, a husband, a family. She was a twenty-four-year-old career woman who had learnt more about the sordid side of life than she could ever have imagined, and in her own small way was trying to do something to improve the lives of others a lot less fortunate than her.

So she loved Rion, and she would have to live with that knowledge to her dying day, she thought bleakly. It changed nothing …

She slid off the bed and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she stood under the soothing spray. She still had her work, her purpose in life, and she still had to get through a few more days with Rion. She hated him for what he had done to her before, and yet paradoxically still loved him. He must never find out.

She turned off the shower and stepped out, drying herself with a large towel. She walked back into the room and glanced at the bed. No—lying down was not an option. In sleep the dreams would come, and she did not need that. She pulled on a bra and pants and padded back into the bathroom. Taking the hair dryer from the wall, she methodically dried her long hair. Then she returned to the bedroom. Pulling on her denim shorts, she slipped a black tee shirt over her head and crossed to the table. She sat down on the sofa and picked up her phone, surprised to see it was six in the morning.

She would have to face Rion soon, and she realised that to retain her pride and dignity everything must seem the same. She must behave the same. Five days left … could she do it? Yes, she had to … and then when the time came she would get the money for the shares and with her head held high walk away and never look back.

She’d wait an hour or so. A buffet breakfast was set out every morning from seven until ten by Louis, the French chef. She would make an appearance at seven. In the meantime, after answering a few e-mails she would contact Beth. They were about twelve hours ahead in the Far East—early evening was a good time to catch her.

Talking to Beth reminded Selina of the good in her normal life. She told Beth she was enjoying her holiday, and had been on a scuba-diving trip with a few others on the cruise and it had been great. Not exactly a lie. She simply omitted the fact it was a private yacht. Then she listened to her friend’s news, the latest successes, and hearing about the antics of the children lifted Selina’s spirits. She promised Beth she would see her in seven or eight days’ time and would stay three weeks before flying on to Australia to meet a client, and then rang off.

Popping her phone into the pocket of her shorts, she determinedly left the cabin to face the day and Rion.

She wandered into the salon, where the breakfast buffet was laid out. It was empty except for Louis, and she helped herself to a mug of fresh-ground coffee. She told him she was going to eat outside and reached for one of his delicious pastries, but he insisted he would serve her.

The main salon opened onto a semi-circular lounging area, with big soft cream leather seats arranged to follow the curve and a circular table in the centre. A tinted-glass retractable roof protected the furnishings without impeding on the view.

Selina took a long swallow of coffee and glanced around the empty deck and then out to the sea, glistening in the early-morning sun. Placing her cup on the table, she sat down.

‘Voilá!’ Louis appeared with a tray laden with exquisite pastries and placed it on the table with a flourish.

‘Louis, you are spoiling me—I only wanted one.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll get fat if I eat any more.’

In a Gallic gesture he flung his hands wide. ‘Ah Selina, ma chére, a woman as beautiful as you deserves to be spoilt. Trust me … I am a connoisseur of women and you are not the type to ever get fat.’

‘And you are an incorrigible flirt.’ She grinned.

‘Yes, he is,’ a deep voice drawled, and Selina glanced up as Rion sank down beside her. ‘Bring me a coffee please, Louis,’ he added as he slid his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her.

She dissolved at his touch, and knew without a shadow of a doubt she still loved him.

‘That’s better,’ Rion breathed, raising his head. ‘What happened to you? My bed was empty when I woke up.’

‘You happened. You were spread-eagle across the bed and I almost fell out, so I got up, intending to get in the other side, then remembered I wanted to call Beth and my phone was in my cabin. She is in the Far East, and with the time difference I was able to catch her. Plus, as we are going on a dive this morning, I needed the rest.’ She knew she was babbling, but could not help herself.

Rion sat back. He didn’t need reminding of Beth. Her father had been Selina’s divorce lawyer. But he was not in the mood to argue. He had other things on his mind—the possibility of a great deal going belly-up. But he was not about to let that happen.

He’d had a meeting scheduled for nine days’ time in Athens, with the owner of an American company who had offered Rion the chance to buy his company at a price to be agreed. This morning the man had contacted him to cancel, saying he had changed his schedule and would not be going to Greece after all. He would be in Malta for the next three days with his wife, then she was returning to the USA. He had further business in the Far East—maybe they could reschedule the meeting there?

Rion guessed the man was having second thoughts about selling, but knew it was too good a deal to miss. His mind was filtering through all the possibilities.

‘So you still keep in touch? That’s nice,’ he said rather belatedly to Selina. ‘But about the dive … I will not have time today—something has come up and I need to work on it. I’ll get Dimitri to partner you.’

Selina recognised the distant look in his eyes from old. Rion was here, but his brilliant mind was miles away. The warning voice in the darkest reaches of her mind rang loud and clear but too late. It had been too good to last. She had been right to be wary. Rion had not changed. Work was his great interest—scuba-diving and sex his relaxation.

He proved it that night at dinner. The yacht was sailing on to the last diving site, where they were due to stay for two days before cruising back to Greece. But over the meal, as the conversation turned to the next day’s dive, Rion said that unfortunately it would have to be the last. They were sailing on to Malta as soon as the dive was done tomorrow. Captain Ted had plotted a course so they would arrive in Malta late the next afternoon, and Rion had a meeting to attend in the capital, Valletta.

Selina’s eyes rested on Rion at the head of the table.

‘Just like that we are going to Malta?’ she snapped, still shaken and confused by the realisation that she loved Rion, and angry at him because he wasn’t worth her love, and angry at herself for her weakness …

His jaw tightened and his hard eyes met hers. She could tell he did not like being challenged.

‘Unavoidable, I’m afraid,’ he said smoothly. ‘I have a company to run and it takes precedence over everything else.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, with a hint of sarcasm … She was not in the least surprised. She knew just how persistent Rion could be in business. He had wealth and power and a single-minded ruthless determination to get his own way—a combination almost impossible to beat. He had married her and divorced her all in the name of business … now he had virtually blackmailed her into his bed. She could not see what benefit it was to him businesswise, but she would not be surprised if it was!

‘You will like Malta, Selina. I have it on good authority the shopping is excellent.’

His condescending tone infuriated her.

‘I know. I have been there,’ she said, anger and resentment swirling around inside her. His ‘good authority’ was one of his women, probably.

‘Not that surprising. Malta is a very popular holiday destination with the English, I believe.’

‘I wasn’t on holiday. I was working for an Arab sheikh,’ she shot back. ‘He was a generous man and gave me a lot of free time.’

Something ugly moved in his black eyes, but no hint of emotion disturbed the sharp angles of his handsome face. ‘Good for you.’

‘Yes, it was very good. I got to go diving off the island of Gozo.’ She tore her gaze away from Rion to glance across the table at Dimitri. ‘You should try it, Dimitri, if you have not already. The rock formation from the island and deep into the sea is fascinating, and the number of wrecks is amazing—from ancient times to the Second World War.’

Dimitri grinned at her. ‘No, I haven’t. But if we get there early enough maybe you can show me, as Rion will be otherwise occupied?’

‘I’d be delighted to,’ Selina agreed.

‘Forget it,’ Rion commanded, and frowned.

The moment he had seen Selina walk into the room he had sensed something different about her. Gone were the blue and yellow dresses she habitually wore, with their gently curved necklines so neatly styled to skim her figure. Instead she was wearing tailored white pants that clung to her hips and thighs and a skimpy green top, and she was wearing make-up for the first time since coming on board.

His frown deepened. She looked stunning, with the creamy curves of her breasts revealed by the silk top and her hair flowing in soft waves over her shoulders, and bore little resemblance to the Orphan Annie persona he had come to know and like. Was he disappointed? No. Selina was as he had thought when he’d met her again: the same as every other foxy female he had known, adopting an age-old ploy to try and arouse his jealousy by deliberately baiting him. Probably because he had been working most of the day and she had been deprived of his attention. She was flirting with Dimitri and his old friend was encouraging her for devilment, he knew. But Rion was never jealous, and no woman ever distracted him from his work, so he refused to rise to the bait.

‘When we arrive in Malta I doubt there will be enough light to allow you to travel to Gozo and dive. Plus I have invited an American couple for dinner and you will need to be prepared to meet them. Sorry, Selina—another time, perhaps.’

Selina’s eye rested on Rion. The supercilious swine wasn’t sorry at all. ‘No need to apologise—it does not matter. I get plenty of opportunities in my line of work.’ She smiled sweetly at him and resumed eating, letting the conversation flow around her.

Why she loved Rion she could not imagine. He was the most arrogant, overbearing man she had ever met—and she had met a few. Some even wealthier than Rion and, if she was being dispassionate about it, some better-looking. The Arab sheikh for one had been the most classically beautiful man she had ever seen, and surprisingly nice. He was very happily married—albeit with four wives—but had told her if he’d had a vacancy he would have married her …

The rest of the meal was a tense affair. Selina felt her nerves tighten every time she glanced up and met Rion’s dark, impenetrable gaze. She was glad when the meal was over, and refused to join the men on deck for a nightcap.

‘Goodnight,’ she said, and left.

Back in her cabin, she stripped off her clothes. Feeling vulnerable, she had put on a little make-up and dressed differently to give her confidence a boost. Now, as she removed her make-up with a cleansing wipe and walked into the en-suite bathroom, she wondered why she’d bothered. She piled her hair up and tucked it under a shower cap, then turned on the water and took a quick shower. Stepping back out, she dried herself, pulled off the shower cap and shook her hair out. She slipped on the towelling robe provided, and tied the belt loosely around her waist.

Sighing, she walked back into the bedroom—and froze. Rion was standing by the table, her phone in his hand.

‘What are you doing with that?’ she demanded, dashing across to him and grasping at her phone. ‘That is my private property and you have no right to touch it.’

‘I heard you in the shower and answered it for you,’ he said, with the arch of an ebony brow. ‘Someone called Trevor wanted you to confirm your date of arrival.’

Rion was angry. His expression was bland, but she could tell by the glitter in his eyes and the tension in his huge body.

‘I will later,’ she shot back, and shoved the phone in the pocket of her robe.

But Rion was not finished.

‘I told him I didn’t know the exact date but that you were my cruising companion for the next four days, if that helped.’

‘Oh, hell!’ she exclaimed.

As Rion reached for the belt of her robe, she batted his hand away in her agitation and glared furiously up at him.

‘What on earth did you say that for?’

‘I told him the truth. Something you seem reluctant to do. You seem nervous, Selina. Does Trevor believe he is your only lover?’ he queried cynically.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Just tell me you did not give him your name.’

‘As it happens, no, I didn’t.’ His stormy eyes narrowed on her flushed, furious face. ‘The poor devil was so shocked you were with another man he never asked me. In fact he actually apologised for disturbing you and hung up. But why does my name matter?’ he demanded curtly.

‘Isn’t that obvious? I don’t want anyone knowing I am with you,’ she fired back. ‘Certainly not Trevor, as he happens to be Beth’s husband. I have already lied to Anna, and told Aunt Peggy and Beth I’m on a holiday cruise around the Mediterranean with hundreds of other passengers. Beth will have a million questions when she hears I am with a man. Thank God she does not know it is you. She hates you.’

‘I’m not that fond of her either,’ Rion said dryly, and reaching for her shoulders pulled her closer. ‘But you—now, that is a different matter, Selina.’ And he dipped his head and brushed her lips with his.

She shivered, intensely aware she was naked beneath the robe, and glancing up saw the gleam in his eyes. Where had his anger gone? With his white shirt open to reveal the strong column of his throat he looked dangerously sexy and very sure of himself.

‘I don’t condone lies, but I can understand your reasoning and overlook the falsehood because you are a woman and can’t help yourself. A beautiful, incredibly sensual woman …’ he said with a smile. ‘I also realise why you were so cranky at dinner. You dressed to flirt because you were feeling neglected all day.’ He was so sure of himself he didn’t try to cover his arrogance.

‘You are unbelievable.’ Selina stared at Rion in a kind of fascinated horror. His reasoning was so wrong it was almost funny. She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth—that she still loved him and her behaviour had been a defence mechanism to hide the fact.

‘What did you want me to do after your little act?’ The smile left his face. ‘Change my schedule? Demand to know who the Arab sheikh was? You know me, Selina. Who I am … what I do. And what I never do is jealousy.’

‘You could have fooled me,’ she shot back furiously. ‘Answering my phone with your macho posturing—you have put me in the impossible position where I will have to lie to Beth yet again and invent a man friend. Sometimes you make me sick, Rion. Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?’

‘Well, I am thinking of you right now,’ he drawled mockingly, his hand moving from her shoulder around the nape of her neck.

Selina lost it. She pummelled him on the chest. ‘Sex is not thinking of another person,’ she flung at him, her amber eyes flaring wildly. ‘For you it is simply what you want and get with no thought for anyone else.’ She saw the blaze of fury in his night-black eyes and didn’t care. ‘Well, tough—it is not on the agenda tonight.’ She was shaking with temper and staggered back a few steps, moisture hazing her vision, her emotions haywire. ‘Get out, Rion. Just get out …’

Rion saw the shimmer of tears in Selina’s eyes and the black anger he felt at her tirade faded a little. She was upset, emotional, and he was useless at dealing with emotional women. He didn’t do emotions.

‘Don’t worry, I’m going. A hysterical woman and knowing I am your dirty little secret is a bit of a turn off. I’ll see you in the morning,’ he said bluntly and left, closing the door behind him.

CHAPTER NINE

‘THIS is ridiculous, Rion. I don’t like shopping and I don’t need a new dress. I’d rather stay on board.’

It was three-thirty in the afternoon; the yacht was docked in the Grand Harbour of Malta. Rion was wearing an immaculate silver-grey suit, white shirt and striped tie, every magnificent inch of him screaming dynamic, wealthy and powerful male. Selina, wearing her white linen pants and a shirt, was glaring defiantly up at him.

‘I beg to differ. Nice as they are, the only three dresses you appear to possess—the yellow, blue and black—are not suitable for the dinner party tonight. Justin and his wife will expect the best. You need something glamorous—and not black. Spend what you like, and get shoes, jewellery—whatever it takes. Now, get in the car, or I will be late for my meeting. The chauffeur will drop me off, then ferry you around the shops and return you to the yacht.’

‘Right—fine.’ She leapt into the backseat of the car, insulted.

She was still smarting from last night, and the telephone call she’d received from Beth at dawn this morning had not helped. Beth had wanted to know who the man was. Trevor had told her he sounded quite commanding and jealous, and Beth had asked for the whole story of her holiday romance and if he was a keeper …

Lying to her friend, she’d told her it was another passenger—a widower who was holidaying on his own, with whom she had struck up a friendship, just a friendship, and was enjoying his company. Whether Beth had believed her or not she wasn’t sure, but she’d changed the subject to work and ended the call.

Rion slid in beside her, his arm along the back of the seat, his thigh brushing Selina’s, making her body instantly aware of him. And that infuriated her even more. She would spend his money and enjoy doing it, she decided. She could donate the lot to charity, she thought, when they got to Greece in two more days.

All of a sudden the thought was not so satisfying …

Rion wanted glamorous—and, taking a last look at her reflection in the mirror, Selina grinned. The hairdresser had done wonders, and glamour was what he was getting—in spades. She left the cabin.

The silk crepe dress in midnight-blue had cost a fortune, as had the shoes that she had teamed with it—so much that her conscience had got the better of her and she had refrained from buying the jewellery Rion had casually suggested.

Rion heard Dimitri gasp and turned his head. He did a double take as Selina walked towards him.

‘Is this glamorous enough for you?’ she asked.

Rion was speechless. This was a Selina he had never seen before. Her gorgeous hair was swept up in a crown of curls on top of her head, a few strands of curls left to fall artfully either side of her beautiful face. Her huge amber eyes were cleverly accentuated by the use of eye-shadow and mascara, her lush lips painted a deep scarlet. Her make-up was subtle but perfect.

As for the dress she wore—no wonder Dimitri had gasped. It left little to the imagination. Jewel-encrusted straps over her shoulders widened into two triangular pieces of material that just about covered her breasts and tucked into a tight band beneath. The skirt hugged her hips and thighs to end a couple of inches above her knees. She was wearing sheer silk stockings and on her feet were jewelled shoes with killer heels.

‘You look exquisite—if a little daring,’ Rion drawled, eyeing her breasts, and looped an arm around her waist. He spun her around. The straps over her shoulders curved under her arms and left her back bare almost to the base of her spine, where a concealed zip held the fabric taut across her rear.

She shot him a glance over her shoulder. ‘Great, isn’t it?’ A feline glitter was in her amber eyes.

‘You can’t wear that!’ He grasped her arm and spun her back to face him. She looked spectacular in the dress and she knew it—but it was for his eyes only … ‘One spectacular cleavage is enough. You are almost showing two. Change to the black.’

Captain Ted walked in. ‘The car has arrived on the dock. Your guests are getting—’ He stopped, his eyes widening on Selina.

‘Right—we are coming,’ Rion said, and moved his hand from her arm to splay it across her back. He bent his head towards her as he led her outside. ‘Too late now to change, but be warned: I really missed you last night, and two can play your game,’ he murmured huskily, and let his fingers trail down her spine. He felt her quiver.

That Rion had admitted he had missed her shocked Selina into silence.

And she was having second thoughts about the dress as they stood at the top of the gangway to welcome their guests. Held close to Rion’s side, with his hand caressing her back, was a kind of torture and her breath hitched in her throat. She shot him a sidelong glance. ‘Stop it,’ she hissed.

‘Sexual attraction works both ways—painful, isn’t it?’ He grinned and straightened up. ‘Our guests have arrived.’ And thankfully for Selina his hand slid from her back and he took a step forward.

Her body still heated from his seductive touch. She glanced at the couple who had joined them on deck and then looked again, her amber eyes widening in horror. She froze, the blood turning to ice in her veins.

Selina concentrated on the woman. She was in her mid-forties, and very elegantly dressed. But all the time her mind was spinning, hoping she was wrong about the man …

She heard the man introduce his wife to Rion. Then Rion slipped his arm around her waist again, his fingers pressing her side, but she did not so much as flinch.

‘Selina, this is Justin Bratchet and his wife, Alice.’

Numb with shock, Selina shook hands with Alice first and tried to smile, spouting the social niceties, until finally she had no choice but to look at the man—Justin Bratchet.

She felt her flesh crawl as she shook hands with him, and forced a smile to her lips. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she lied, and pulled her hand free with indecent haste.

The dinner was informative, but also a living nightmare as far as Selina was concerned—from which she escaped as fast as she could.

Rion saw the couple ashore at the end of the evening and walked back on board. The evening had been a success, his meeting earlier had gone well, and the deal—after a bit of adjustment—looked like being a cinch. Though Selina’s behaviour had been a bit odd. He had sensed her tense the minute she’d met the couple, and he’d seen the look in her eyes as he introduced her to Justin. He had a gut feeling she knew the man. And she had excused herself from seeing the couple off the yacht with the plea that she needed the bathroom, which was odd.

Maybe Selina had bumped into Bratchet on her travels? This morning Rion had searched Selina’s name on the internet—something he had never done before. She’d taken some finding, but he’d been surprised at what he’d discovered. She was listed as a translator for a top international agency noted for its discretion and hired by governments and the like. There was a shot of her looking stunning but businesslike, standing at the side of an Arab sheikh at an international trade fair in China. Other delegates included a few heads of state. Selina was obviously at the top of her career ladder and had to be making a very comfortable living. Maybe he was wrong about her and she wasn’t a typical gold-digging female …

Reaching his cabin, he opened the door and saw at a glance she wasn’t there. Kicking off his shoes, he removed his jacket and tie and dropped them on the bed, flicking open the buttons of his shirt. He walked next door, contemplating removing that incredible gown with a smile on his face which broadened when he saw the view of Selina’s slender back. She had removed her shoes and was minus her stockings—lace-trimmed, he noted. Pity. He had wanted to peel them off.

His sensual smile vanished when he realised she was talking on her phone and that was the reason for her hasty retreat.

The click of the door opening alerted Selina, and abruptly she ended the conversation and rang off. She turned around. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said inanely.

Rion gazed straight back at her from below thick, curling lashes, his expression bland. ‘Obviously. Who did you want it to be? The man on the phone?’ he queried, and in two lithe strides he was towering over her.

‘It wasn’t a man—it was Aunt Peggy,’ Selina said, but could not look him in the eyes.

‘You called her at twelve at night?’ he prompted, and tipped up her chin with one long finger so she had no choice but to look at him.

‘Yes,’ she said thinking fast. ‘It is a little earlier in England.’

Rion raised a brow, dark eyes gleaming with suspicion. ‘I’ll believe you—but what else might I have got wrong, I wonder? I had the distinct feeling you had met Justin Bratchet before tonight. Have you?’

Shaking her head, she dislodged his finger and taking a step back, gave an emphatic ‘No!’ relieved she could tell the truth.

‘Yet you seemed to recognise him. Maybe from your travels? I looked you up on Google today and discovered you really are a high-flyer in your profession.’

‘You did what?’

‘You are listed on the website of the international agency you work for.’

‘Oh.’ She was glad she’d had the foresight to tell Beth not to list her on the charity’s website. She valued her career, and at least one of her previous employers would not be happy discovering what she did in her spare time. ‘Anyway, I don’t know and have never met Mr Bratchet before, and with luck I will never meet him again,’ she said adamantly.

‘You could have fooled me. I have met the man a few times in New York and I know he has a reputation of being a bit of a womaniser. You seemed to be encouraging him.’

She had, because she’d wanted to find out where he was going, and had succeeded. But she couldn’t tell Rion that.

‘When he asked you what you did you responded flightily—”As little as possible.” Which I know is a lie. Why?’

‘Because it is easier to tell that type of rich man who thinks he is God what he wants to hear—satisfied?’ she snapped. She had said more than she ought. Plus Rion, barefoot and with his shirt undone, was an endearing sight.

‘You really have it in for the poor man,’ Rion returned, studying her flushed face. ‘So he likes women and flirts? Hardly an offence.’

‘Yes, well, you would say that—given he is your friend. It is his wife I feel sorry for, poor woman.’

‘Your sympathy is wasted on Alice. She was a widow when she married Justin three years ago. He takes care of her and her daughter, and now her grandson. She has hit the jackpot; trust me, she will never leave him. I recognised the type the minute I met her.’

‘Okay—if you say so,’ she agreed. It was late and this conversation was going nowhere.

‘Is that another example of telling a man what he wants to hear?’ Rion asked sardonically and reached for her shoulders to draw her close. ‘Not that I mind in this instance,’ he mocked, and kissed her with a hungry thoroughness that left her breathless.

He pulled the shoulder straps of her dress down her arms and she helped, wanting to block the horrible evening from her mind and craving what she knew only Rion could give her. She gazed up into his lustrous dark eyes, shaded with passion, and her heart raced.

‘I knew you were braless,’ Rion groaned. ‘You have perfect breasts,’ he murmured, his dark gaze lingering on the creamy mounds for a moment before he lifted his eyes to hers. ‘You have no idea what you do to me, Selina. I have been aching to remove this dress from the second I saw you wearing it.’

‘I thought it would appeal to you,’ she replied.

Rion smiled and began removing his clothes. Breathless, she simply stared as he revealed his magnificent bronzed body to her avid gaze, and she reached for the dress at her waist, eager to wriggle out of it.

‘No, let me,’ Rion commanded. He picked her up and laid her down on the bed and stretched out beside her. ‘I want to take it off.’

He folded an arm around her and she was suddenly on her stomach. He trailed a string of kisses down her spine and slowly peeled her dress over her hips. Her whole body trembled as his clever fingers stroked and caressed while his lips continued their devastating path down her thighs, the backs of her knees. With the dress finally removed he turned her over and kissed and caressed his way back up her body. Finally his mouth took hers in a deeply passionate kiss as he settled between her thighs.

Selina wrapped her arms around him as if he was the only solid matter in the universe, her hands caressing his satin-smooth skin, tracing the length of his spine as she planted frantic kisses on the broad chest, the dark male nipples. She heard his guttural growl as, lifting her hips, he surged into her willing body, and she cried out with the exquisite pleasure of his possession, the feeling intensifying with every powerful thrust, growing into a mindless, mutually ecstatic climax.

But later—much later—listening to the steady sound of Rion’s breathing, she realised that tonight even the oblivion of orgasmic sex was not going to help her sleep.

Luckily she had never told Rion about the rescue centre Beth and her husband ran in Cambodia for a children’s charity. Selina had helped to set it up and finance it.

She and Beth had spent their last summer vacation before finishing university travelling through Thailand and Cambodia. Beth had met Trevor, an American, and it had been love at first sight. It was Trevor who had shown them the horrific child sex trade in Cambodia and explained how unscrupulous dealers travelled the countryside, telling poor families who lived off the land that they had a job for their son or daughter in a big city hotel, as a maid or boot boy, and offering them money. Of course there was no hotel work—though the children were kept in a hotel of sorts, where they were abused and forced into the sex trade. The really tragic part for Selina was that the children, after having to suffer such vile abuse from adults every day of their young lives, were too ashamed to tell their parents what was really happening to them.

Planeloads of men flew into the capital regularly from Europe, Japan and the USA, on specially organised sex trips. A lot of them wanted children—the younger the better.

Trevor had explained that the reason he knew so much about the trade was because his father worked for the American government, and the USA was one of the few countries to have passed a law enabling them to extradite any American citizen arrested for paedophilia in Cambodia and take them back to the USA to stand trial. The sentences there were a lot harsher. It had been listening to his father talk about his work and seeing the damage done for himself that had made Trevor determined to set up a rescue centre.

Beth, always passionate about injustice, was his perfect partner, and during that holiday the idea for a rescue charity was born. Selina had never touched her divorce settlement because she’d still had her father’s trust fund. She’d left university the following summer and donated the money to help set up the charity. With the help of Beth’s father the legal technicalities had been dealt with, and property bought. It had been converted into a fifteen-bedroomed centre with schoolrooms, craft rooms—everything necessary to help the children to regain their self worth and equip them with the skills to earn a legitimate living.

Beth and Trevor had got married at Christmas. Selina had been a bridesmaid. The following year, the rescue centre had opened, and with the help of a Cambodian politician, a police inspector and a local lawyer, they’d taken in ten children. Selina had stayed for three months to help, then spent the next three months in Australia, working as a translator for a tourist firm on the Gold Coast that specialised in Chinese tourists, and taking her diving certificate in her spare time. Then she had signed on with the international agency she still worked with now.

To date the centre had rescued over forty children—some of them as young as six. All had been counselled and some had returned to their families. Some had learnt new skills and found legitimate work, others were still at the centre, and sadly a couple of the older girls—if you could call fourteen old—had gone back to the sex trade. They were already HIV-positive and sure that in their culture no man was ever going to marry them …

Accepting a glass of fresh orange juice from Louis, Selina refused any food. Cradling the glass in her hand, she crossed to the huge glass doors that opened out onto the deck and paused for a moment. The sun was hot in a cloudless sky, as it had been for the whole trip—which was now almost over. She felt her heart contract with the knowledge.

Rion was seated at the table, wearing the familiar khaki shorts. His tanned shoulders were slightly hunched as he forked scrambled egg into his mouth with one hand, his other tapping something into a laptop.

One more night with him and it would be over. They would reach Greece tomorrow, conclude their business deal and cut the last slender link that bound them. Never to meet again. She would have her inheritance—or to be precise, Anna and the Taylor Foundation would. A satisfactory outcome, she told herself. Rion would move on to another woman, and she … well, she would what?

‘Don’t just stand there—come and join me.’

Selina didn’t answer her own question. She looked at Rion’s smiling face and walked across to take the seat opposite. ‘You looked occupied,’ she said, glancing at his laptop and then up at him. ‘Do you ever stop working?’ she asked, and took a sip of her orange juice.

He reached across and took her free hand in his. Raising it to his mouth, he kissed her palm, sending an electric sensation up her arm. A knowing, intimate smile curved his lips as she eased her hand from his.

‘I am going to in about half an hour. I have a few things to check out on the Bratchet deal—it is looking good, if a little expensive.’

‘You are going into business with that man?’ she asked, carefully placing her glass on the table.

‘No—not into business with him.’ The relief she felt was quickly destroyed as Rion continued, ‘He wants to sell up and has offered me first refusal on buying him out. It is a good deal—not so much for the motor trade he runs but for the prime location of the property he owns in New York. Even in a recession you can never lose on owning land in one of the greatest cities in the world. Bratchet knows that, and I am surprised he wants to sell simply because he has finally married and wants to play happy families with Alice and his stepchildren. He is asking more than I want to pay, but everything in life is negotiable and I’ll get it for the right price in the end.’ He grinned.

‘Yes,’ Selina agreed numbly. The irony did not escape her that the only time Rion had ever discussed his work with her was now. She had a good idea why Bratchet was selling up. And she could not bear to think why he doted on his step-grandson …

‘Give me five minutes, and you will have my undivided attention for the rest of the day.’

‘Okay.’ She watched Rion turn back to his laptop and, deep in thought, sipped at her orange juice, oblivious to the beauty of the day.

The day before the opening of the rescue centre in Cambodia she had been sitting talking with Trevor’s father, Clint, in the foyer of his hotel. He had pointed Justin Bratchet out to her as the man walked across to the reception desk to check out. Bratchet was a regular visitor to Cambodia to indulge his preference for young boys, he’d told her. A police contact had told Clint just that morning that Bratchet had finally been arrested the day before, because an eight-year-old boy he had abused had ended up in hospital. But Bratchet was a very wealthy man and had obviously bribed the right people. The charges had been dropped.

Selina had been horrified, and asked why the Americans didn’t arrest him. Dryly Clint had told her they could not. They could only extradite the man to stand trial at home if the Cambodian authorities arrested him first, but they would get him eventually, Clint had said. Bratchet might have got a fright and would stay away for a while, but he would be back. His sort couldn’t help themselves.

At dinner last night Selina had managed to discover that Bratchet was going to the Far East on business the next day, while his wife was going back to America.

‘Right, Selina, no more work. How would you like to go scuba-diving off Gozo today?’

She swallowed the yes that rose in her throat and let her eyes rest on Rion. ‘I thought we were sailing for Greece this morning?’

‘I’m not in any rush. We can take a day or two longer if you like.’

If he had said that yesterday she might have agreed, but not now … Last night her call had not been to her Aunt Peggy but to Trevor. A quick call, to tell him she had seen Bratchet dining in Malta with his wife and learned that Bratchet was leaving tomorrow for the Far East without his wife. Maybe he was tired of matrimony. She’d told him to look out for the man and rung off with the excuse that her new friend was waiting for her—which, in a way, had been true …

‘What about your business deal with Bratchet? You said it was expensive—are you still going to pursue it?’ She wanted Rion to say no.

‘Of course I am. What have you got against the man? The fact he flirted with you?’

‘No, I am far too mature for him anyway,’ Selina said, with a dry irony that was lost on Rion. ‘I just think there is something a bit sleazy about him.’ She wanted to tell Rion the truth, but she wasn’t sure she could trust him.

Rion got to his feet and came round to her. Taking her hand in his, he drew her up. He looked down into her lovely but serious face.

‘When a good deal is to be made the man offering it could be a serial killer for all I care. As long as it is legitimate, business is business.’ He should have known better than to try and talk business with a woman. ‘Now, do you want to go to Gozo or not?’

‘Not,’ Selina said, resignation filling her, and, pulling her hands from his, she took a step back. There was no future for them anyway—why prolong the agony by another day?

After what Rion had said she knew she could not tell him about Bratchet. She had trusted Rion once with her heart and he had broken it. Much as she still loved him she did not dare trust him again—not when other people, children, were involved.

If her hunch was right and Bratchet was on his way to Cambodia she knew Rion well enough to know he would tell the man. Maybe not in the pursuit of business, but out of genuine disgust at what the man was. But either way Bratchet would be warned.

‘We had a deal, you and I. Two weeks—and it ends tomorrow back in Greece. I sign the shares over to you, you pay me, and that’s the end.’

She glanced up. His tanned perfectly carved features were set in a cold mask. The flicker of pain she thought she’d seen in his dark eyes must have been a figment of her imagination, she dismissed a second later.

‘You are right, Selina. A deal is a deal. But it is not quite that simple,’ he said in a cold, flat tone. ‘I’ll tell Ted to prepare to leave immediately, and arrange with Kadiekis to meet us when we dock with the relevant documents. I spoke to him the day after we left Letos and he agreed to inform Anna by letter according to the terms you and I worked out for her. She has probably received the notification by now so there should be no problem.’ And, turning, he walked away.

‘Wait.’ She looked around, feeling guilty she had not thought to ask Rion about the lawyer. ‘You have left your laptop,’ she said weakly. He turned, his gaze flicking over her scathingly. ‘The heat will damage it …’ She trailed off as in a few lithe strides he picked up the laptop from the table and stopped in front of her.

‘Such concern for my property is admirable, Selina, and as you also belong to me for another day,’ he reminded her, with a predatory smile that left her in no doubt what he meant, ‘I’ll see you later.’

A deep, brooding frown creased Rion’s brow as he stood on the bridge as the yacht left the harbour. He knew women, and knew Selina had enjoyed the trip as much as he had, but she had turned down his offer to extend the cruise flat. She could not wait a minute longer than she had to to get away, and it bothered him.

He should be content. He had done what he had planned to do—have a relaxing break made all the more satisfying by Selina. He had got his revenge for her betrayal and enjoyed every minute. He was ready to get back to work full-time—especially with the Bratchet deal.

So why wasn’t he satisfied? And why did Selina and revenge in the same sentence make him feel thoroughly ashamed of himself?

CHAPTER TEN

‘SIT.’ Rion indicated a chair in front of his desk and walked around to take the seat behind it. He let his eyes rest coolly on Selina.

She was wearing the black dress she had worn for her grandfather’s funeral. Her hair was pulled back into a single thick plait to hang down her back, her face was carefully made up, and high-heeled shoes were on her dainty feet. He watched her smooth the skirt of the dress over her hips and thighs as she sat down, placing the black satchel she carried on her lap. She looked elegant and businesslike, but in his mind’s eye he was picturing her gorgeous body naked—her soft skin, the perfect breasts he had tasted so many times. Only last night she had been like a living flame in his arms. They had made love well into the early hours of the morning. Yet now she sat there, seemingly cool and composed, wanting the money …

Selina glanced around the huge office—all glass and steel, hard like the man. They’d met the lawyer over breakfast and pretended they were good friends while Kadiekis explained the handing over of her grandfather’s shares to her so she could sell them to Rion before the estate was finally wound up. That way the provision they had agreed for Anna was guaranteed and all debts would be covered. There would still be a healthy amount of money left over for Selina. She had signed the paper he’d given her, confirming the fact, and another notified document to cancel the guardianship. That had been fraught enough. Especially when he’d given the share certificates straight to Rion for safekeeping, as though she was some silly woman who would lose them before she got ashore.

But the trip from the marina in a chauffeured car to Rion’s office in Athens had taken almost an hour, and been a whole lot worse.

Rion had worked on his laptop or made calls the whole time, never saying a word to her. Not that she had wanted him to, but sitting beside him in the close confines of the car with the slight scent of his cologne tantalising her nostrils, she had been intensely aware of him. Wearing an immaculate grey suit, with his black hair swept back from his brow, he’d looked broodingly attractive, and she hadn’t been able to help noting every tiny movement he made—his arm touching hers when he raised the phone to his ear, the deep velvet tone of his voice, the accidental brush of his thigh against hers with the movement of the vehicle.

By the time she’d got out of the car she’d been hot, tense, her nerves wound tight as a drum. And her nervous tension had not improved when he’d taken her arm and led her into what was obviously a new building—nothing like the old office she had visited once when they were married. Then he’d urged her into the elevator, and now had ordered her to ‘Sit.’

‘I am not a dog,’ she said tartly, to break the growing silence.

‘No,’ he said, and lifted a black brow.

The insult, not spoken but implied, enraged her. This was the man she had stupidly, eagerly given her body to last night—and her heart and soul, if she was honest, because she’d known it would be the final time.

‘Trading insults is your thing, Rion. Why am I not surprised?’ she sneered. ‘You traded me once for a company, and again for sex. You’d trade with the devil himself—Bratchet for one. Now, give me the form to sign. Why we could not have done this on the yacht I will never understand. Then let me get out of here.’

‘You are overreacting to an imagined insult. And let’s get one thing straight,’ he said curtly. ‘I would never have married you to acquire the Stakis shipping line. I married you because I’d had unprotected sex with you. With the possibility you might be pregnant it seemed the right thing to do at the time.’

Appalled, Selina stared at him, the air between them crackling with tension. ‘My God—and that is supposed to make me feel better? Just give me the damn paper to sign.’

Not a muscle moved in Rion’s face as he pushed the relevant documents across the desk. He was within a hair’s breadth of losing his temper with her, but with a terrific effort of will he controlled the urge to shake some sense into her. She wanted him. He wanted her. But she blew hot and cold for no apparent reason and arguing with her would get him nowhere. The day wasn’t over yet, and with business out of the way he had plans to end it with Selina in his bed.

‘This is a copy of the official notification from Kadiekis agreeing to the sale of your grandfather’s shares to me before the estate is wound up. You’d better keep that. And these are the share certificates, which you might like to check to make sure they add up to what I told you. Finally, a transferral form, which you should read and sign where indicated.’

‘I don’t need to read it. Just give me a pen.’

‘Is that wise? How do you know you can trust me?’ he asked with a cynical arch of an ebony brow. ‘From what you just said, you don’t have much of an opinion of me.’

Mr Cool, Selina thought—while she was getting madder by the minute. ‘No, I don’t. At least not on a normal human level. But when it comes to a deal I know you are meticulous to the nth degree,’ she mocked. And, picking up the pen he had pushed across the desk, she signed the document. Standing up, she handed it to him. Then, placing the copy of the agreement he had suggested she keep in her satchel, she took out a notepad and wrote down her bank account number. Tearing it off, she held the page out to Rion.

‘You will need this. When you and Kadiekis have settled everything I would like any money that is left transferred to this account. That way we need never communicate again.’ The quicker she got out of here the better. She was perilously close to losing her temper altogether and telling Rion exactly what she thought of him. She might love him, but as a man he was a waste of space …

Rion’s eyes narrowed sardonically on her beautiful face. ‘I do have to sign as well, Selina.’ He knew she was hiding something. Her mention of Bratchet and the devil in the same sentence had set him thinking, and he was determined to find out what it was. Taking the document, he signed it. ‘Did you notice how much money you will receive?’ he asked, hoping to delay her. Taking the note from her hand, he felt her flinch as their fingers touched.

‘What you said a fortnight ago, I presume.’

‘Yes, that is correct.’ Glancing at the number on the note he wrote something else on it and turned to the computer on his desk. ‘I’ll enter your account number in the relevant file, and I might as well arrange the transfer of the shares now with my broker.’

In a matter of minutes it was done. Then, rising to his feet he walked around the desk and handed the note back to her.

‘In the unlikely event that anything goes wrong and you need to contact me, my personal cell phone number is on there.’ She took it, avoiding touching him this time, he noted. ‘Have you thought what you are going to do with the money that is left?’ he asked, wanting to delay her departure. He saw relief mingled with the anger in her expressive eyes.

‘Give it to a children’s charity,’ she said, pushing the note into her handbag and slinging it over her shoulder. ‘Now I’ll be on my way.’

‘The same children’s charity as before, I presume?’ he prompted, not convinced by her glib reply any more than he had been the first time.

‘Yes.’ She turned to go.

‘Not so fast.’ He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and spun her back to face him. ‘You and I are not finished yet.’

Selina glanced at Rion, furious at his bullying tactic to delay her. She had had enough. ‘We were finished years ago.’ She tried to pull her arm free but he simply tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her flesh, and she lost her temper completely. ‘My God, Iris did me a favour, telling me about you.’

‘Iris?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Telling you what?’

‘You are supposed to be brilliant—work it out,’ she snapped.

His other hand slid up her back to catch her long silken plait and tug her head back. ‘Cut out the sarcasm and tell me.’

Held in his firm grip, Rion’s eyes boring down into hers, she registered the implacable determination in the dark depths. Refusing to be intimidated, she thought, why not? Their business was concluded, and Rion could do with being taken down a peg or two.

‘It wasn’t my grandfather who told me about the marriage deal, as you seem to think. It was your half sister, Iris.’

‘Iris? I don’t believe you. She did not know.’

‘Yes, she did. She heard her parents talking in the car on the way back from our engagement party. How ironic is that?’ She felt him stiffen, his hand falling from her hair—though he still kept hold of her arm. Shaking her head, she eyed him contemptuously. ‘And she told me a lot more. The day you threw me out you told her never to speak to me again, but she did. Jason was her boyfriend. Iris had told him to follow her up to her bedroom—right at the top of the stairs. But he was drunk. He turned left and passed out in my bed. I never knew he was there because I’d gone to bed early with a couple of strong painkillers.’

Selina was on a roll. Everything Rion had denied her the right to tell him came spilling out with a vengeance.

‘Iris knew the truth. Jason told her he’d heard a noise in the hall, woken up. He saw red hair on the pillow and realised his mistake. Horrified, he dashed out of the bedroom. I begged her to tell you, but she was too frightened of what her bossy older brother would do. Knowing you, I can’t say I blame her—and in fact, as it turned out it was lucky for me. She told me about the marriage deal and what a womaniser you are. Who did you think showed me the shots of you and your lady friends on the computer? I didn’t have one at the time. Who do you think told me the woman you really loved and wanted to marry was Lydia, but she married someone else?’

Shocked rigid, Rion stared down into angry golden eyes glinting with shards of green and knew she was telling the truth. The story was so bizarre it had to be true. That Iris, his half-sister whom he had always protected, had been dating the boy and had known the truth all along and refused to tell him horrified him. All this time he had thought Selina had betrayed him, and she hadn’t …

A great wide chasm opened up in his mind, filled with memories he had banked down for years. The innocence Selina had gifted him, their wedding day when he had watched her walk down the aisle and thought her the most beautiful bride he had ever seen, the love she had given him unconditionally and he had taken for granted. How could he have been so arrogant, so stiff-necked with pride as to throw her out? What did that make him? And he had taken one look at Selina on the beach at Letos the night before the funeral and wanted her so badly he had blackmailed her into his bed.

‘Why didn’t you—?’

‘Tell you?’ Selina jeered, cutting him off. ‘You refused to see me, speak or listen to me, remember …?’ She saw him flinch. He had a right to. He didn’t like the truth. ‘Then you had the audacity to try to name me as the adulterous party. What a joke, given your reputation. I told Beth what had happened and thanks to her and her dad I fought you and won. It was the best thing I ever did. Beth reckoned you got off lightly. I should have demanded more money. But it was enough for me to get my self-esteem back, and the whole affair taught me a lesson I will never forget.’

‘What would that be?’ Rion asked not sure he wanted to know the answer. But he wanted to keep her talking while his mind grappled with the enormity of what she had revealed. What had he done?

‘To work hard, get a career and never count on a man to take care of me. With the shining examples of my biological father, my grandfather and my ex-husband I find it remarkably easy to remember,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I am leaving.’ And, tightening her grip on her satchel, she pulled her arm free.

‘No, not yet.’ Thinking fast for a reason to make her stay, he said, ‘I have not given you the salary you’ve lost for the last two weeks. I said I would.’

‘Forget it. I have.’

‘No. What I am trying to say is I owe you an apology, Selina—more than an apology. I don’t expect you to forgive me for not trusting you when we were married, but you have to admit finding a half-naked man dashing out of our bedroom looked bad.’

Selina couldn’t help it—she laughed … if a little hysterically. Rion could not be contrite in a million years. ‘Even when you try to apologise you still have to qualify it with your opinion. You could have asked.’ She put a finger on her chin and flashed him a pseudo-pensive glance. ‘Oh, no, you couldn’t. You wouldn’t speak to me!’

His lips twisted. ‘Cute, Selina. But please listen. I am serious. I have done you a terrible injustice—more than one.’ Grasping her shoulders, he held her still. ‘I want to make it up to you any way I can.’

She looked up and caught the grim urgency in his expression, the sincerity in the dark eyes that bored into hers—and the underlying gleam of awareness in the glittering depths. His great body was too close. She felt the pressure of his strong hands, the flexing of his long fingers on her arms, and knew she had to get out of here fast—before her traitorous body succumbed once again to the wonder of his.

‘More money? Forget it.’ She had to get away with her pride intact. It was all she had left.

‘No … yes. I mean I will marry you again—have a home, children.’ Rion was almost as shocked as Selina looked by what he’d said. Then like a lightning strike, electrifying in its intensity, it hit him. He actually meant every word …

During the time he had spent with Selina on the yacht he’d been more relaxed, more alive, and had more genuine fun than at any other time in his life. But it wasn’t just sex. It had never been just sex with Selina, but love. He had made love to her, and been too blinkered, too arrogant to see it until now. He loved Selina …

Selina’s lips parted in shock and for a moment her foolish heart leapt. Then reality clicked in. Nothing had changed. Rion didn’t love her.

‘Marry you again …? Are you mad …?’

She recognised his proposal for what it was. For once in his life the great Orion Moralis was feeling guilty. Well, he could drown in that for all she cared. He had made her feel guilty even when she had done nothing wrong. If he thought he could salve his conscience by marrying her again he was in for a big surprise. She was amazed he had the cheek to ask. In fact she was insulted and, feeling about him as she did, it hurt. And he had hurt her enough already to last a lifetime …

‘As for a home and children—you have to be joking. I don’t like the company you keep.’

‘A simple no would have sufficed. And what the hell do you mean by “the company I keep”?’ Rion demanded, his grip tightening.

For an instant she felt afraid. But she refused to be intimidated by a man—any man …

‘Bratchet for one,’ she sneered. Rion led a gilded life, and it was time he learnt not everyone was so fortunate. ‘I know you didn’t believe me, but I did give your money to a children’s charity. A charity that is needed because of depraved perverts like him, who put a boy of eight in hospital. It made my flesh crawl to shake his hand.’

She looked Rion straight in the eyes and told him about the charity Beth and Trevor ran, of which she was a silent partner and one of the main supporters. She felt him tense but spared him nothing, telling him the painfully tragic details with all the passion of a caring woman committed to the cause.

Rion let his hands fall from Selina’s shoulders. He could not believe what he was hearing. Of course he had heard as much as any normal person about the trade in child sex, but as he listened to her with growing horror his face paled. He was appalled at what she told him, and appalled at how badly he had misjudged her and how spectacularly he had failed to protect the innocent girl he had married from ever having to come into contact with such a sick, depraved side of life.

‘I had no idea,’ he murmured.

‘Why would you? In your world business and money is God,’ she said flatly. ‘Though you would be surprised how many very wealthy men like Bratchet use and abuse children. Perversion cuts across all levels of society and it costs money to fly to Cambodia,’ she opined cynically.

‘And you compare me with Bratchet?’ Rion queried hollowly.

‘No.’ She knew Rion’s sexual preferences all too well. Seeing him standing there watching her with dark haunted eyes, she felt her heart swell with love and compassion and knew it was time to go. ‘But people are usually judged by the company they keep, and as you said yourself yesterday, you would do business with a serial killer if it was legitimate and a good deal.’

Now Rion knew what she had been hiding—why she had refused to go on the dive. And, worse, he realised that one exaggerated throwaway comment he had made had killed any hope he had of keeping Selina.

‘I know it is a lot to ask, because it is your precious business, but do me a favour when you speak to Bratchet again: don’t mention what I have told you. When you caught me on the phone the other night I wasn’t calling Aunt Peggy, but Trevor, to tell him I’d seen Bratchet and learnt he was heading back to the Far East. His sort never change, and with luck he might be caught and not be able to buy his way out again.’

‘You have my word,’ Rion promised quietly, but inside he was a seething mass of emotions—fury at Bratchet, and at himself for being so blind, so arrogant he had refused to recognise the love he felt for Selina until now, when she was leaving him.

‘Thank you. And, hey, look on the bright side. If Bratchet is arrested you might get his company even cheaper and we’ll both win,’ she said facetiously.

Rion slowly shook his head, the hint of a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. ‘You are an incredible lady, Selina.’ Sadly he resigned himself to the fact she was never going to be his. He didn’t deserve her after all he had done. ‘I’ll arrange you a flight back to England.’

‘No need. I have already got my flights booked for Cambodia. I usually spend a month every year helping Beth and Trevor—though it is only going to be three weeks this time.’

Her eyes lifted to his and Rion saw the disdain in their amber depths. He knew she was remembering why her trip had been cut short. As was he. And if it was possible to feel worse he did.

‘Then let me make a donation to the charity,’ he offered.

‘It is simple. Just mail the Taylor Foundation.’ Selina reeled off the e-mail address. ‘But I would make it anonymous. Beth is a real crusader for justice—much more high-minded than me.’

Rion didn’t try to stop her when she turned to leave. Didn’t even touch her. He didn’t dare.

‘Your luggage is in the car. I’ll tell the chauffeur to take you where you want to go.’

His original thought of persuading Selina to stay a night or two more with him, never mind marry him, was dead in the water and, moving to sit at his desk, he simply nodded as she walked out of the door.

Half an hour later Rion hadn’t moved, but still sat with his head in his hands. He knew with gut-wrenching certainty that the same day he had finally realised he loved Selina he had lost her …

The phone rang and he ignored it. His secretary walked in and he told her he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day.

He glanced around his state-of-the-art office and rose to his feet to walk to the vast glass wall. He gazed out over Athens but it did nothing for him. He had health, wealth, work he enjoyed—a great life by any standard. Yet the one person he needed was forever unobtainable to him, and the pain was crippling.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SELINA stopped in the centre of the elegant foyer of the luxurious hotel in the centre of Rio that had been her home for the past ten days and turned to smile up at Antonio. Six foot tall, powerfully built and wearing a black tuxedo, white dress shirt and red bow tie, he was strikingly attractive—and a refreshingly honest man for all his wealth.

‘Thank you, Antonio, it was a lovely evening,’ she said. ‘And it has been a real pleasure working for you again. But I am leaving early in the morning so I will say goodbye now.’ She held out her hand but, ignoring it, he caught her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘You could change your mind and accept my offer to stay on as my mistress,’ he prompted with a grin. ‘Currently I have a vacancy—in fact I will always have a vacancy for you, Selina.’

Stepping back, Selina laughed up at him, shaking her head. ‘You are incorrigible, Antonio—and, no, I could not. But if you ever need a translator again you know how to find me.’

‘True. And if you ever change your mind, Selina, or need me for anything you have my number. Call me. If I can’t have you as a lover I’ll settle for a friend.’ He smiled.

Selina saw the warmth in his dark eyes and was touched. ‘Thank you. I will. Goodbye.’ And, turning on her heel, she headed for the bank of elevators without looking back.

Once in her room, she gave a sigh of contentment as she closed the door. Another successful job completed, she thought and, kicking off her shoes, crossed to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed. She began unpinning her hair from its intricate chignon.

Antonio Soares, the head of the largest mining consortium in Brazil and with interests worldwide, was one of the good guys, Selina reflected. She had met him two months ago, as a client in Australia, and she had travelled to China with him. Then he had hired her again for a Chinese delegation visit to Brazil. The trip had been a success for both parties, and tonight had been the final celebratory dinner before the delegation left in the morning.

She finger-combed her hair, smiling. Antonio was a self-confessed womaniser but he was also fun, and he made her laugh with tales of the doyennes of Brazilian society who kept trying to get him to marry their daughters. He was like Rion in a way—he worked hard and played hard—but, unlike Rion, Antonio was not hard of heart. She had met his ten-year-old son, Eduardo, and knew his much-loved wife had died in childbirth and he had no intention of ever replacing her.

In fact, she thought, given a year or so to get over Rion she might even accept Antonio’s offer to be his mistress …

Rising to her feet, she reached around to untie the halter neck of her dress and paused. For the first time in the three months since leaving Rion she realised she was beginning to think more positively of the future, even considering another man. That had to be a sign she was getting better.

She was about to unfasten the bow at the back of her neck when she heard a loud knock on the door.

Odd, she thought, it was after eleven, and she had not ordered anything from room service. She walked towards the door, not intending to open it until she’d asked who it was. But she never got the chance. The door opened and a man walked in, slamming the door behind him.

‘You!’ Selina exclaimed, her eyes widening in shock even as her traitorous heart leapt as she recognised Rion. His hair was longer and falling over his brow, she noted, and his usual sartorial elegance had slipped a little. The superbly tailored navy suit he wore no longer fitted so well. The jacket was loose across his chest and he looked leaner, his handsome features honed to an even more chiselled edge.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she asked, shocked rigid. Her insides were shaking. ‘And how did you get in?’ Stupid question. ‘Never mind. Just get out or I will call the manager.’ She didn’t like the ferocious look on his face and suddenly she was afraid.

‘Call away, but it won’t do you any good. I own this hotel, I have a key, and I want to talk to you.’

‘Own the hotel?’ she parroted, a host of conflicting emotions flooding through her. ‘But how did you know I was here?’ she demanded.

Rion ran his hands through his hair. It was that or grabbing Selina, and he didn’t trust himself to touch her after witnessing the scene between her and Antonio Soares in the foyer. But he could not take his eyes off her. Her glorious hair tumbled around her bare shoulders and the golden-brown shot satin dress she wore revealed a tempting cleavage. The satin slid sensuously over her shapely body to the floor. She looked beautiful and sexy and she was driving him out of his mind.

Rion shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to ease the fierce tension in his long body. ‘I decided to look you up.’

‘Look me up … Hunt me down, more like,’ Selina said, her voice rising incredulously. Her amber eyes flashed with temper, clashing with blazing black, but she was too angry to care. A few minutes ago she’d been congratulating herself on beginning to get over Rion, and now, like some evil genie, he’d popped back into her life.

‘What the hell for?’ She swore. ‘It is almost midnight in Brazil—halfway round the world from where you live, for heaven’s sake—and yet here you are. Are you crazy?’ she demanded furiously.

Rion grabbed her around the waist and hauled her hard against him. For an instant desire flared between them, and savagely she tried to crush it. But too late. She registered his eyes, glittering with an almost manic light.

‘Crazy, maybe—but it is you who have made me this way. And I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth if that is what it takes to get you back. Because I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else. Everything in me—everything I am—yearns for you,’ he declared harshly.

This was a Rion she had never seen before. He was like a man possessed. ‘You can’t just hunt—’

But he carried on as though she had not spoken, and being held against his body was making her temperature rise.

‘Do you think I haven’t suffered the torment of the damned since we parted? Knowing the truth almost unmanned me. You were mine first, and I don’t give a damn about any in between as long as you are mine last. As for Antonio Soares—I spoke to him downstairs and he won’t bother you again.’

‘Spoke to him? Bother me?’ She was turning into a parrot. ‘Antonio is a client—a friend, you Neanderthal,’ she shot back furiously, and tried to wriggle free. But he tightened his grip and with one hand stroked up her back, tangling his fingers in her hair and forcing her to look up into his dark face.

‘Where you are concerned I am. I can’t help myself. I lied when I told you I didn’t do jealous. I only need to see you smile at a man to be consumed by the green-eyed monster because I love you. I don’t expect you to believe me but I do.’

Selina blinked. Had she heard right …? No, it was impossible. She glared at him belligerently. ‘If this is another ploy to get me into bed you are wasting your time. Now, let me go.’

‘No. Never again, Selina.’ He lowered his head and kissed her with a possessive, seductive hunger that she fought to resist. But her traitorous body betrayed her and she felt her heart thud, the blood flow thicker in her veins. She raised her hands to push him away, but somehow her fingers involuntarily splayed across his broad chest and crept around his neck as she gave in to the sensual awareness Rion never failed to arouse in her and kissed him back.

Rion groaned and buried his face against her throat, inhaling the delicate scent of her skin. ‘Forgive me.’ He lifted his head. ‘I swore I wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t touch you until we’d talked and I’d explained.’ His anguished expression tore at Selina’s heart. ‘I know I don’t deserve you, but I do love you, Selina.’

Loved her? Was it possible? She raised a hand to feel his brow and brushed back a stray lock of hair. ‘Are you ill? Have you got a fever or something?’ She didn’t dare to believe in a penitent, loving Rion.

‘Only a fever for you. When I think of how brutally I cut you out of my life, divorced you without a word, I’m appalled. Discovering that my own sister was too frightened of me to tell me the truth makes me cringe inside. I never considered myself a vengeful person, and yet I took advantage of your grandfather’s will on the day of his funeral and used your generous heart, your caring for Anna, to get you back in my bed.’

‘You’re a ruthless man when you want something,’ Selina said bluntly. Though her lips throbbed sensuously from his kiss, and his confession was balm to her wounded heart, she was still not prepared to believe the seismic change from outraged macho male to supplicant lover.

‘I know. It is my character, I guess, but I am working to change it.’

A hint of a smile twitched Selina’s lips.

‘I can’t help it—the same way I can’t help wanting you. I love you, but I can’t find the words to describe my feelings. I have never had to try before,’ Rion said with a touch of his usual arrogance, pressing her closer to his long body.

The heat and the strength of him enveloped her.

‘To say I love you sounds so tame in comparison to what I really feel. That last day in my office, when I realised you had never betrayed me and I asked you to marry me again, that was the moment I finally recognised the limitless depths of my feelings for you … that I loved you.’

Five times he had mentioned love, and Selina was beginning to believe him. ‘You don’t have to tell me this,’ she said gently, noticing the lines of tiredness etched about his eyes, his mouth. Lifting a finger, she traced the contours of his lean, harshly handsome face. He was either ill or he did love her, and she knew which she’d prefer.

‘Yes I do. For a few glorious moments I was euphoric. Then in less than a minute I was in hell. When you told me you didn’t like the company I kept and why, and I realised what you did with your money … the Taylor Foundation … I had never been so horrified or ashamed in my whole life. Then I realised from your parting statement that I had in one careless comment made you forever associate me with that monster, Bratchet, and I had to let you walk away.’

‘Oh, no …’ She was shaken by the bleakness of his tone, and wanted to reassure him. ‘You might be arrogant, and look and act like a ruthless tycoon sometimes—well, most of the time—but I would never ever compare you with that horrible man.’

‘Thank you—I think,’ he said wryly, and brushed his lips across hers in the briefest of kisses. ‘That is what Dimitri said a week ago, when he arrived in Athens to visit his parents and we had a drink together. It is thanks to him I am here. He told me I looked a wreck, and asked me what had happened. I’d had a bit to drink and told him the story of our relationship. He told me I was a coward. If I loved you I had to fight for you. Then he mentioned he had seen you leaving an airport in Rio with Antonio Soares as he was dashing to catch a flight to Greece. He also told me there was a picture of you and Soares in some geological magazine, taken in China a month ago, and if I had a grain of sense I wouldn’t waste any more time. Am I too late?’

Selina lifted wide amber eyes to his but his long lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. But they could not quite hide the unfamiliar vulnerability in their black depths.

‘Or can I hope?’

‘Antonio is a nice man.’

‘I know him. He came on a few diving expeditions with Dimitri and I, and I liked him … But I am not such a nice man …’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Antonio is a friend—nothing more. You were my lover.’

‘I don’t like the past tense.’

Should she take a chance and tell Rion the truth? Well, she had nothing to lose. ‘Remember when you suggested extending our cruise, I wanted to say yes.’

Rion tensed, his long fingers digging into her waist as his other hand moved to cup her chin. ‘You did? Then why …?’ There was confusion in the dark eyes that held hers, and something else that made her heart leap in her breast.

Selina took a deep breath. ‘Remember the night I left your bed and told you the next day it was because I had almost fallen out? Well, it wasn’t true. That was the night I realised I had fallen in love with you again. I also realised with our shared past it was hopeless. I saw no point in prolonging the trip for a few more days because that was all it could ever be. Plus I was frightened I’d let slip what Bratchet was really like, and I didn’t trust you not to tell him. Stupid, really. I ended up telling you anyway.’

‘You said you loved me?’ Rion stared fixedly at her and she was struck dumb at the emotion she saw in his eyes. ‘You humble me,’ he rasped. ‘I know I can’t expect you to still love me after the way I have behaved, and I can’t blame you for not trusting me—I have done precious little to earn your trust. But I swear if you will give me another chance and marry me I will spend every day for the rest of my life trying to win your love and trust.’ He kissed her lightly, almost reverently, on the lips, taking a step back to set her free.

Selina stood in the middle of the bedroom, emotion at his words blocking her throat. She swallowed hard and searched his face for the truth. The rigidity of his features was betrayed by a muscle pulsing under the tanned skin. Her golden eyes met his and she saw his heart in his eyes, the mask of arrogance stripped away to reveal the vulnerable man beneath. She believed him, and yet she was still nervous.

‘Are you really sure about this … us …?’

‘I was never more certain of anything in my life. And if you still don’t believe me—tough.’ The vulnerable penitent gone, he reached for her and swung her up in his arms and onto the bed, pinned her beneath him. ‘I will have to convince you—in my defence, I love you.’

‘Wait …’ But he bent his dark head and took her mouth with a hard, hungry kiss that sent liquid fire flowing through her veins, and Selina wrapped her arms around him and gave in to the inevitable magic of his touch.

‘I worship you, Selina,’ he groaned staring down into her wide, gleaming gold eyes. ‘Everything that you are—funny, caring, compassionate, with a heart like a lion, beautiful inside and out. My life is meaningless without you,’ he told her throatily, his mouth grazing hers again.

Between kisses and caresses he stripped off their clothes, and with his great body half covering her they kissed—a slow, deep kiss full of promises of love and passion that made Selina’s heart tremble. Lost in the wonder of his love, with eager hands she caressed his powerful body, her eyes closing in ecstasy as Rion worshipped every inch of her with hands and mouth and husky words of love, until finally they were one in every way—heart, body and soul.

Selina stirred happily in the protective curve of Rion’s arm and glanced around. Pulling herself up on one elbow, she looked down at him.

‘Do you really own this hotel or did you just say that to shut me up?’ she asked with a grin, stroking her hand across his broad chest.

Rion groaned and caught her hand in his. ‘Yes, I’d never lie to you. I own quite a few properties in the centres of major cities—they are a good investment.’

She hid a smile. The tycoon was talking. Then she remembered. ‘You told me that before. I should thank you for keeping quiet,’ she said seriously. ‘Bratchet did go back to Cambodia, and he was arrested, but he couldn’t bribe his way out of it this time and his trial is in a few months’ time in America.’

‘That’s great.’ Rion’s eyes hardened for an instant. He already knew. By contacting the right, if not the most law-abiding, people he had made sure of it. Where bribery was concerned there was always a higher bidder. It was not something he ever did, but with Bratchet he had made an exception. But with Selina, the woman he loved, sprawled naked over his chest he wasn’t about to tell her and spoil the moment. ‘I dropped out of the deal when you dropped out of my life.’

And, wrapping a hand around the back of her head, he kissed her and showed her all over again how much he loved her.

A long time later she opened her eyes to see Rion staring down at her, a wary expression on his handsome face. ‘What?’ she asked languorously.

‘You have not said yes, you will marry me.’

Selina burst out laughing. ‘I don’t think you ever asked. You simply told me.’

‘So will you marry me—again?’

‘Yes.’

He kissed her brow, a decidedly smug smile on his face, and smoothed back the tangled mass of hair from her face.

‘But I am thinking I don’t want to get married—’

‘What?’ Rion exclaimed.

‘Let me finish.’ She grinned. ‘I was going to say in Greece—because I had no luck last time. I would like it to be just the two of us at a registry office in England.’

‘Fine.’ Rion heaved a deep breath, his moment of panic over. ‘I will arrange it as soon as we get back—and this time will be different, I promise. No more working sixteen-hour days.’

Suddenly Selina wasn’t so sure she was doing the right thing. It had all happened so fast. And Rion had swept her off her feet once before.

‘I’ll believe that when I see it—and what about the other women?’ she blurted, memories of the past coming back to haunt her.

Rion’s mouth tightened. He was not accustomed to explaining his behaviour to anyone, but he realised if he had talked or listened to Selina in the beginning he would never have lost her, and if he wanted to win Selina’s trust again he had to be one-hundred-percent honest with her.

‘From the moment I set eyes on you I never looked at another woman until long after the divorce.’

‘I find that hard to believe. The night we met, you didn’t have a conference call—you had a date with a woman called Chloe. Iris showed me the picture. Though I’m surprised Chloe only gave you four out of ten for performance,’ she couldn’t help teasing.

‘Iris showed you too damn much,’ he snorted. ‘I did have a date with Chloe and I intended taking her to bed. Is that what you want to hear? But after I met you I took her to a club, took her home and left her at the door. She was angry because I didn’t take her to bed—a woman scorned … As for the others—I didn’t even know them. And the reason I worked so much when we were married was because your grandfather was a crafty old villain. The deal was my father’s, but after it went through my father took off on his cruise and asked me to sort it out. Stakis Shipping was in a much worse state than had been presented to him and it took me three months to save the damn thing from going bust.’

‘Oh no! Though, knowing my grandfather, I can believe that,’ she said. And with a questioning look she added, ‘But you did know about the deal, because you married me.’

‘Why are we talking about this now? Yes, my father asked me, and I gave him an emphatic no. But to humour him I went to the dinner, and you know the rest.’

‘Yes, you thought you’d got me pregnant.’

‘I took one look at you and wanted you, and after we made love I thought you might be pregnant. It only took one look six years later for me to want you just as badly—more so. In fact I think I loved you all along. But finding a man in your bed so enraged me I blocked you from my mind. It was the only way I could deal with the fury I felt. And I have carried on working sixteen-hour days ever since, so that should tell you something.’ He tightened his arm around Selina. He wasn’t going to lose her now.

‘What about Lydia? Iris said you were still in love with her?’

Rion chuckled. ‘You’re jealous—that is what this is all about—and trust me you have no need to be. You remember the woman Lydia was with when I introduced you? That is her lover—has been for years.’ He told Selina the whole story.

‘But she is married,’ Selina said, round-eyed with amazement.

‘You are still so naive in some ways.’ He chuckled. ‘Lydia would have married any man. There had been the odd rumour about her sexual preferences, and her parents are the strict high-society types. She could never come out as a lesbian. That is why she married Bastias. He is old enough and flattered enough to have got her and Lydia can get away with anything. She is a nice woman. I have known her since I was about twelve and we’ve stayed friends. The reason I was arguing with the paparazzi guy was that he was asking Lydia awkward questions about her girlfriend, who was actually standing behind us at the time.’

Selina laughed, feeling mightily relieved. ‘My, what a colourful life you lead, Rion.’

‘Well, you have heard about mine, but I won’t ask you about yours. It is enough to know you are mine now,’ Rion declared huskily.

‘You know all there is to tell. I have only had one lover—you.’

Rion stared at her. ‘But you were taking the Pill.’

‘Yes, a low-dose one for cramps.’

Rion reached for her head and threaded his fingers through her hair, held her face firmly in his hands. ‘I think I am dreaming.’ The pupils of his eyes darkened, dilating with passion. ‘You are everything in the world to me, Selina, and I will treasure you to my dying day and beyond.’ And with a groan he covered her mouth with his, kissing her with a depth of passion and pure love.

Selina held her baby son in her arms unable to take her eyes off him. He was so gorgeous, with black hair just like his father.

‘Smile for the camera, Selina,’ Rion ordered, and she did tear her gaze away from her child—for her husband.

‘How many is that?’ She laughed.

Rion grinned. ‘A lot.’ He moved to the bedside and kissed her. ‘Have I told you today I love you?’ He kissed her again. ‘And I thank you with all my heart for our beautiful son.’ His dark eyes suspiciously moist, he gazed at the baby in her arms. ‘I never imagined in my wildest dreams such happiness existed, and it is all down to you, my love.’

‘My turn, Daddy. I want to see my brother,’ a little voice piped up.

Rion chuckled and picked up a little girl with red-gold hair and amber eyes—the image of her mother. ‘And so you shall, my heart.’ He kissed the child and sat down on the side of the bed, holding two-year-old Phoebe. ‘There—now you can kiss his cheek and say hello to Theodore.’

Phoebe pursed her lips and gave the baby a big kiss. ‘Hello, Theodore.’ She sat on her daddy’s knee, silently watching the baby for a while, then with a big sigh said, ‘He doesn’t talk, and he is too tiny to play with me.’ She looked at Selina and said, ‘Can we go home now, Mummy?’ Their live-wire daughter was already bored.

Rion looked at Selina and they both burst out laughing.

‘You and Daddy can, as it is nearly your bedtime, but your brother and I have to stay the night. We will be home in the morning,’ Selina replied to her beloved daughter, and after a few hugs and kisses—one passionate one for Selina from Rion—she watched them depart.

Alone with her son, she let a smile of pure happiness curve her full lips. Her free hand went as it so often did to the pendant around her neck. Rion had given it to her on their second wedding night and told her he had bought it for her nineteenth birthday. Their initials were entwined in diamonds on a platinum chain. He’d also told her he had planned a honeymoon to the Seychelles for the following week, when Iris would have been back at school. But as they’d never made it he was taking no chances and they were going to the Caribbean this time. She loved him more than ever, and was beginning to believe he might have loved her from the start.

Surprisingly Beth was convinced of it. Had been ever since Selina had arrived in Cambodia from her stay on Rion’s yacht. A large donation had arrived on the same day as Selina, and Beth had winkled the truth out of her. Beth had become a champion of Rion and now they were all great friends. So much so that Trevor and Beth were Phoebe’s godparents.

Contrary to what he had once said, Rion was a very jealous and possessive man. He had bought her another Mercedes a week after they’d got back together. She had tried to object, and laughed when he’d told her he didn’t like the idea that a friend had bought her a car any more than he’d liked a drunk being in her bed. He’d said if it was him even blind drunk he would still be aware she was in his bed …

She had told him she had bought the car herself, and the ‘friend’ with her had been the elderly gentleman who lived next door. Though he would never admit it, Rion had looked relieved.

The past four years had seen all her dreams come true, she thought happily. Their main home was a beautiful house in the hills high above Athens that Rion had had an architect design and build to his specifications. He had given his stepmother, Helen, the old home. They also had a house in London, and a holiday home in the Caribbean, and of course the villa on Letos, greatly renovated now, which Anna still looked after.

Rion rarely worked long hours, and had cut his trips abroad to the minimum. If it was possible Selina and Phoebe went with him. Rion adored Phoebe and was a very hands-on father, playing with her, bathing her. But then again he was a very hands-on husband, she thought. Rarely a day passed when he didn’t make love to her, and she knew with absolute certainty that he loved her.

A nurse walked in and took her son to put him in the crib by her bed, telling her to get some sleep.

With a smile on her face Selina curled up on her side and watched her sleeping baby until her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

A slight noise woke her up, and immediately she glanced at the baby. But it wasn’t the baby, it was Rion. He sat down on the bed.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered. ‘What time is it?’

‘After ten. Don’t worry. Phoebe is asleep and Aunt Peggy is watching over her.’ Leaning forward, he put a hand either side of Selina on the bed. ‘It is her father that needs you,’ he said huskily. He brushed her lips lightly, then kissed her deeply. ‘I couldn’t go to bed without saying goodnight.’ He nuzzled her throat and the baby whimpered.

The nurse walked in, smiled, but told Rion to leave. With another kiss for Selina, for once Rion did as he was told and left.

‘You are a lucky woman. That man worships the ground you walk on,’ said the nurse.

‘I know.’ Selina smiled and, totally secure in his love, she did know.

Return of the Moralis Wife

To James and Peter—without whose love and support I probably would never have written a book

CHAPTER ONE

LISA raised her hands above her head, stretched, and yawned. With only a fine cotton sheet covering her body she felt decadent and deliciously languorous, due entirely to the expert administrations of her very new husband last night.

The door to the ensuite bathroom opened and Lisa’s gaze automatically turned to the man walking into the bedroom. Six feet plus of pure masculine perfection, he was naked except for navy silk boxer shorts hugging his lean hips. He was also strikingly handsome, his strong dark features cast in the classic mould of the Greek male of legend, and he was hers, Lisa thought on a swift, involuntary breath. His thick black hair was still damp from the shower, a stray droplet of water easing its way down his strong throat and lower, to be captured by the curling black body hair that dusted his broad chest.

A lazy smile curved her full lips. ‘Alex,’ she said softly. Just saying his name was a pleasure. Sometimes she felt like pinching herself to make sure the last few weeks had not been a dream.

In the process of pulling on a crisp white shirt, he turned his dark head and his eyes clashed with hers. ‘I know that tone of voice, wench, but forget it. I have to be in London by eight-thirty.’ He grinned and continued dressing, stepping into grey tailored trousers.

‘Spoilsport.’ She pouted, and moved across the bed, allowing the sheet to slip to her waist. ‘Do you have to leave so early?’ she queried huskily, and was rewarded by Alex’s renewed attention. He walked over to the bed and, bending down, brushed his mouth over hers; her lips parted, hoping to prolong the kiss, but abruptly he straightened up.

‘Not this morning, Lisa, I have no time.’ And, turning, he crossed the room, picked up his jacket and eased himself into it. ‘I told you that yesterday, when we drove up here. Today I have meetings lined up in London, morning, afternoon and late into the evening,’ he flung over his shoulder, as he picked up his wallet and keys from the dressing table. ‘And from what your stepfather said last night, you have a busy day ahead of you.’

Lisa sighed; Alex was right. They had arrived back in England last night and travelled straight to her home in Stratford-upon-Avon. On the death of her mother nine months ago, Lisa had inherited the major share in the family company, Lawson Designer Glass and her mother’s job as managing director. Her stepfather, Harold Watson, was the marketing director.

‘You’re right; I know,’ Lisa grudgingly conceded, and, sitting up, she swung her long legs over the side of the bed. She grasped the sheet and wrapped it around under her arms, sarong-style and stood up, flicking a glance at Alex as she did so.

‘Amazing! You hide yourself in a sheet.’ A dark brow rose quizzically. ‘I have seen everything many times, no?’ he drawled, and, turning his back on her, he picked up a silk tie, and slipped it under his shirt collar.

Lisa hesitated and, realising how ridiculous it was to cover herself in front of him, she let the sheet fall to the floor. A month ago she would have died if any man had seen her naked, but Alex had cured her of almost all her inhibitions. Her gaze lingered on his broad back; the exquisitely tailored jacket hung perfectly off his wide shoulders, the few tendrils of black hair curling over the collar an endearing dent in a picture of sartorial elegance, she thought with a grin. At that moment Alex turned back round and caught her staring.

His deep brown eyes flared for an instant, as his glance swept her from head to toe. Lisa was a tall girl, five feet nine inches, but perfectly proportioned, with high, firm breasts, a narrow waist, slim hips and legs that went on for ever. The three weeks of their honeymoon, which they had spent sailing around the Mediterranean on Alex’s yacht had given her skin a golden glow, the sun adding natural streaks of platinum to her long blonde hair.

‘I guess the honeymoon is over and work beckons for both of us,’ she said huskily, hiding a smile. She could tell he was rethinking the need for an early departure. From the moment she had met Alex he had awakened a sensuality in her twenty-three-year-old soul that she had not known she possessed. She had taken one look at him in the lounge bar of a local hotel and had fallen in love on the spot. It had been the same for Alex; they’d spent the next day together and by the evening he had proposed marriage. She would have slept with him there and then, so overwhelming was the passion she felt for him. But Alex, with iron self-control, had insisted they wait until they were married. Four weeks later they had been. Her wedding night had been a revelation: Alex was the perfect lover—he had fulfilled all her wildest dreams, and then some!

‘I have a feeling our honeymoon will never be over,’ Alex declared throatily, and, stepping towards her, he lifted his hand to stroke the soft curve of her cheek. The simple touch was enough to make her pulse race and her stomach clench with excitement. His dark eyes holding hers, his hand trailed tantalisingly down to her shoulder and traced over her breast and waist before hauling her hard against his long length, his head sweeping down to capture her mouth with his own. The kiss was deep and devouring, and when it ended Lisa stared up at him, totally enslaved, her heart bursting with love for him.

‘But for today it is,’ he added, letting her go. ‘We don’t have time to discuss it now, but you are going to have to sort something out about Lawson’s. I want you with me, Lisa, not tied to a desk.’ He paused. ‘Well, not unless it is my desk,’ he qualified, his dark eyes dancing with wicked amusement.

‘Naughty man!’

‘It is not me who is stark naked!’ he drawled mockingly and, with a swift pat on her derriere, he added, ‘Go shower, and I’ll go make the coffee.’

Ten minutes later, having showered and wearing a long blue towelling robe, Lisa strolled into the kitchen of the elegant ten-roomed house that had been her home for as long as she could remember. Alex was leaning casually against the worktop, a coffee cup in one hand, a mobile phone in the other, talking in rapid-fire Greek. He glanced across at her as she walked in and indicated the coffeepot with a wave of his cup, but didn’t stop talking.

Lisa poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the breakfast table, her blue eyes lingering on his rugged profile. His black hair was swept back from his broad forehead; thick black eyebrows arched over deep-set brown eyes; his nose was a straight classic line and his mouth a sensual invitation—perfectly sculptured lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. But at the moment, they were tight with anger.

The honeymoon was certainly over. Alex Solomos the entrepreneur was back. Lisa knew he was the owner of a large company, Solomos International, which his father had started as a small construction firm in Athens. But since Alex had assumed control the company had expanded into a variety of different interests worldwide, all successfully.

Taking a sip of her coffee, it struck Lisa quite forcibly that although he was her husband she did not really know a lot about the man she had married. He was Greek, an only child. Alex had told her that his parents had divorced when he was seven and his father had married again and again, almost wrecking his business in the process. Until Alex had stepped in and taken control after the third divorce, insisting his father must make a prenuptial agreement in any future marriage. Two more marriages had ensued, which was why, Alex had explained, they must have a prenuptial agreement. He could not have insisted on his father doing so and then refuse to do so himself. Lisa had agreed, and had quite happily signed on the dotted line.

Lisa had met his mother on her honeymoon, when Alex had berthed the yacht in the harbour at Kos and they had spent the night in a luxurious villa overlooking the sea with the elegant silver-haired woman. In her halting English she had told Lisa Alex was named after Alexander the Great. The old lady had explained her family was partly of Macedonian descent, the same as his namesake, a man who had conquered the whole of the known world centuries ago, including the island of Kos.

A vivid mental image of Alex, his naked body entwined with hers on the large bed in the villa, flooded her mind. She had teased him about Alexander the Great. ‘I hope you don’t take after the man in every respect, because, according to most historians, although the man was married he was gay.’

Alex had responded with, ‘Then I must prove otherwise, wife,’ and had proceeded to make love to her until they were both satiated by passion. Afterwards she’d quite happily conceded he was great, in at least one department…

Thinking about it now brought a dreamy smile to her lovely face. She lifted the coffee cup to her mouth and drained it, her glance straying once again to Alex’s long body. She could easily see the connection. He was a stunningly attractive man, and with the same type of ruthless energy and drive that conquered worlds. Which, when she thought about it, made it all the more amazing that he had fallen in love with her and married her… In the last three weeks Alex had introduced her to the world of the senses, as well as to the sophisticated lifestyle of some of his wealthy friends.

Suddenly he clashed the phone down, and Lisa’s eyes widened at his thunderous expression. ‘Bad news?’ she asked.

‘My father.’ He strolled towards her, running a hand through his thick black hair. ‘But nothing for you to worry about.’ He dismissed her enquiry with a shake of his dark head. ‘I must leave. It is a two-hour drive to London, providing the traffic is not snarled up. I don’t have time to waste.’

Lisa stood up and slipped her arms around his waist, the familiar warmth of his body, the husky male scent of him making her heart flutter in her breast. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

He glanced down at her upturned face, a wry smile curving his firm lips. ‘No. My last meeting is scheduled for seven-thirty this evening, and tomorrow morning I have an eight o’clock breakfast meeting. You stay here, pack what you need, and have it sent to the London apartment. We will make that our base for now. But we will have to discuss something more permanent. Get your own work up to date and then I suggest you consider employing someone to take your place. Talk it over with Harold. You seem to be fond of your stepfamily. Something I’ve never managed to achieve,’ he concluded dryly.

‘Yes, yes, I am. Harold worshipped my mother, and he has always been brilliant with me. But…’ She got no further.

‘Good,’ Alex cut in. ‘Spend the evening with him; he will be glad of your company.’ His dark head bent and he brushed the top of her head with his lips, before curving his hands around her upper arms and putting her away from him.

Lisa was not sure she liked the arrangement. The thought of even one night without Alex was hard to bear. Although she knew it made sense. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me already?’ she tried to tease. But she realised Alex was already gone, if not in body then certainly in spirit.

‘No. But I have neglected business long enough. As long as you work, we are going to have to get used to spending time apart. Not desirable, but in the present circumstances inevitable.’ And, slipping his hand into his pocket, he withdrew a bunch of keys and removed one. ‘Here is a key to the penthouse. I will inform Security to expect you.’ He handed her the key. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Yes.’ Lisa had only been to his apartment once, on their wedding night, when Alex had introduced her to the joys of love for the very first time. She would have reminded him but he didn’t give her the chance.

He glanced at his gold Rolex. ‘I must go. Make sure you are in London by six tomorrow night, Lisa. We are dining with my father at seven thirty.’ And, with a brief kiss on her open mouth, he spun on his heel and walked out. Lisa followed him into the hall, in time to see him open the front door and disappear through it without a backward glance.

‘Was that the door?’ a gruff voice queried from the top of the stairs.

Lisa turned around ‘Yes, Harold.’ She smiled up at the elderly man descending the staircase. ‘Alex has just left. Give me ten minutes to get dressed and then I’ll get breakfast.’ Running lightly up the stairs, she gave her stepfather a little peck on the cheek as she passed him.

Later, when the two of them sat side by side at the breakfast table, the bacon and egg Lisa had cooked long since eaten, they lingered over their coffee, talking about work.

‘Mary, your PA, has been wonderful,’ Harold said firmly. ‘In fact, no disrespect to you, dear, but I think the woman could almost handle your job.’

‘Thanks very much. Glad to know I was missed,’ Lisa drawled mockingly.

‘I didn’t mean it like that, Lisa, but you are very much a new bride, and your husband has to come first. You should be at Alex’s side, not sitting here with me.’

‘Yes, I know. Alex said pretty much the same. As it is, I won’t see him until tomorrow—pressure of work…’ She shrugged her shoulders and, with a rueful smile at Harold, she pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. ‘Tonight I’ll be dining with you but right now we’d better get to the office.’

They took Harold’s car, a blue Jaguar, and after pulling up in the courtyard of Lawson Designer Glass, Lisa slipped out and viewed her surroundings with a contemplative air. The firm had been the brainchild of her parents. She remembered her mother describing to her how she had met Peter Lawson at a dance in Oxford, and had fallen in love on the spot. He had been the only child of the main partner of the Lawson Lee Glass Factory in Stratford-upon-Avon, a long rambling place that sat alongside the river. Her mother had been an accountant. They had married, and by the time they were thirty, and Lisa had arrived, her grandfather and the silent partner Lee, had died.

Her parents had transformed the factory into one of the leading producers of Tiffany lamps and designer glass in Europe. The Lee heirs had had no interest, other than the twice-yearly dividend, and had made no objection to the change of name to Lawson Designer Glass. Her mother had looked after the financial side, and her father, the more artistic, had simply loved designing. Unfortunately he had died in a car crash when Lisa was nine. Two years later her mother had married Harold Watson, a man who had worked for the firm as sales manager for several years and was a true friend.

Lisa had worked here in the school holidays, and then after graduating from university full time. She loved the place; it had been her whole life so far, but now she had Alex. Juggling a husband and a business would be no easy matter. There were going to have to be some changes.

In fact the changes had already started with the death of her mother last year from stomach cancer. Three short months after the diagnosis her mother had been gone. But when she was dying she’d confided in Lisa; she had loved Peter completely, they had been soul mates, and she had thought it her duty to carry on with his work after he died. Her marriage to Harold, she’d admitted, had not been built on the same kind of love.

Harold had been alone ever since his first wife had left him with a small son to look after years before. That small son had been a twenty-seven-year-old man, with his own commercial estate agent business in London, by the time Lisa’s mum had married Harold. As her mum had later confessed, it had been more for companionship than love on her part, but she had hoped Harold would be a good father figure for Lisa.

In that respect her mother had been right. Lisa adored Harold, and the brief visits of his son Nigel had not really impinged on her life. Except for the year when she was sixteen and Nigel had made a pass at her. But, as she’d already been a big girl, she had quickly disabled him with a hard knee to the groin, and it had not been a problem. On the subsequent rare occasions they had met they’d managed to uphold a polite façade.

Smoothing the fine linen of her short skirt down over her hips and adjusting the collar of her jacket, Lisa entered the building, a worried frown pleating her brow.

Her mother had died in Saint Mary’s Hospice, and her dying wish had been that five per cent of Lawson’s be gifted to the hospice. She’d had no time to change her will to encompass this, so Lisa had received fifty-two per cent of the company, and Harold had got the house. He also owned thirteen per cent of the company—shares he had accrued in bonus payments over the years in a scheme her father had set up. The will had passed probate the week before Lisa had married and against her better judgement, she had done as her mother requested the Friday preceding her wedding. The trouble was, she had yet to tell Harold, because she knew he would have insisted on making the donation himself. But realistically she could not see it being a problem as between them they still controlled the company. Now, Lisa had no more time to dwell on the subject, as various members of the staff greeted her return with huge smiles and a few suggestive remarks.

Mary was already in the office when Lisa walked in. A widow of forty with two teenage children, she had worked for the firm for seven years, and as Lisa’s PA for the last year.

‘Welcome back,’ Mary said, looking up from behind her computer terminal. ‘I won’t ask if you had a good honeymoon; I can see it in your face.’ She grinned.

Lisa had invited all the workforce to her wedding. It had been a traditional service in her local church on a Monday afternoon. The reception afterwards at Stratford’s leading hotel, apart from the fact that the best man had taken off immediately after his speech, had been a great party. Lisa and Alex had finally left late in the evening to spend the night in Alex’s London apartment, before flying out to Athens the next morning to board his yacht at the port of Piraeus. Thinking about it now brought warmth to her cheeks.

‘Yes, it was very nice,’ Lisa responded primly, and then winked. ‘My husband is all that, and more!’ Crossing the room, she lingered for a moment at the picture window, glancing at the view of the River Avon and fields beyond. It was a clear, blue-skied June day. A day for lovers to take a picnic and explore the countryside hand in hand. ‘And why I am here working when Alex is in London, I do not know,’ Lisa said out loud, before sitting down on the chair behind her desk and glancing up at Mary. ‘I must be mad.’

‘Madly in love,’ Mary quipped, placing a sheaf of papers on Lisa’s desk. ‘Priority messages, okay?’

Two hours later, musing over a cup of coffee, Lisa realised that Harold was right, all the work was up to date except for a few items that demanded her personal attention.

‘Congratulations, Mary, you’ve done a great job in my absence,’ she surprised the other woman by remarking.

Mary beamed back at her from her desk. ‘Thank you. It’s good to know I’m appreciated, but can I ask you something?’

‘Sure, ask away.’

‘Well, there have been rumours, now you’re married…’ Mary hesitated. ‘Well, rumours you might sell up.’

‘I promise you, Mary, the rumours are completely without foundation. In fact, I was about to ask you if you would like to take on more responsibility. A promotion; doing what you have been doing the past three and a half weeks. Obviously we’ll hire someone else to take over a lot of your existing work. And it would mean a substantial increase in your salary.’ Lisa mentioned a sum more than double Mary’s present salary. ‘Does the notion appeal?’ Lisa asked, grinning at the stunned look on Mary’s face.

‘Appeal? I would love it.’

‘Then get on to the agency and see if you can set up some interviews for Monday, for someone to replace you.’

‘But what about you?’ Mary asked. ‘I mean, you love your work.’

‘Oh I’m not giving up all together. But, let’s face it, most of the work I have left to do today could as easily be done from my laptop at home, or wherever Alex and I happen to be.’

‘Which reminds me,’ Mary chuckled. ‘Have you checked your E-mail since your wedding? I’ve had a couple of messages from a Jed Gallagher in Montana on the office computer which were obviously meant for you.’

Lisa grinned from ear to ear. ‘Jed! I must get back to him.’

‘Don’t forget you’re a married woman now,’ Mary reminded her. ‘Alex Solomos might be drop-dead gorgeous, but you know what they say about Latin types. Jealous to the bone. What would he have to say about your on-line romance?’

‘You don’t understand.’ Lisa grinned at her assistant. ‘Jed is nothing like that. He’s almost like a brother to me. I can remember the first time we linked up. Mum had bought me a new computer for my eighteenth birthday, and I got on-line. One day, whilst flicking through a list of subscribers to one of the chat rooms, I came across Jed. His profile said he was tall, blond, nineteen, and lived on a farm in Montana. I sent him an E-mail and he replied the next day, and that was it. We’ve been mates ever since. I can confide my deepest thoughts to him and he responds in kind. But it’s completely platonic, and as for Alex minding—the man hasn’t a jealous bone in his body.’

Something Lisa had been made very aware of the second week of their honeymoon.

They had berthed in Monte Carlo for the night and Alex had taken her to a glittering party on the yacht of a friend of his father’s. They had been dancing on the deck to the music of a well-known quartet when a man had cut in and, much to Lisa’s chagrin, Alex had agreed with alacrity. Seconds later she’d been in the arms of an overweight man, who had to be sixty if he was a day. And, looking over his shoulder, she had watched Alex talking apparently very seriously to a sultry eyed, black-haired woman, whom Lisa had thought vaguely familiar, until her partner had enlightened her: Fiona Fife, a model, who’d been staying on his yacht till the weekend.

No, if anyone suffered from jealousy, it was herself, Lisa thought moodily.

‘Cheer up, girl, it might never happen.’ Harold’s voice cut into her thoughts as he walked into her office. ‘I’m taking you out to lunch.’

‘There’s no need. I’m having dinner with you tonight, remember?’

‘No you’re not! I’ve been thinking about it all morning. You staying here tonight while Alex is in London. It’s not natural for a newly married couple.’

‘It’s pressure of work, Harold.’ Realistically Lisa knew she would have to get used to spending days at a time without her husband. His business took him all over the world. He had offices in New York, London, Athens and Singapore. And they had not really discussed yet where they would eventually settle down.

Lisa chewed on her bottom lip, her blue eyes troubled. For three weeks they had done nothing but make love, eat, sleep, and occasionally party, in the few ports where Alex had bumped into friends. Today they were back in the real world, and look what had happened: they were apart.

‘Rubbish, Lisa!’ Harold remonstrated. ‘Mary can manage.’ And, turning to Mary, he commanded. ‘Get on the telephone and book a seat on the five-thirty train to London.’ Then, turning back to Lisa, he added, ‘Food first, and then we’ll discuss your future working arrangements.’

‘Actually, I already have—with Mary. I’ve offered her a promotion,’ Lisa informed him with a smile.

‘There you are, then. Give that husband of yours a nice surprise.’

The idea was tempting. Alex had made all the running in their relationship. Only this morning he had teased her about still being shy because she’d had the sheet wrapped around her. Perhaps it was time she showed him she could match him for sophistication. She could let herself into the apartment, slip on her sexiest negligé and seduce him when he got back from his meeting. Just the thought made her stomach tremble, an impulsive action, but why not?

‘I’ll do it,’ she declared firmly, and felt her colour rise at the knowing looks Mary and Harold gave her. Leaping to her feet, she added, ‘Book the seat, Mary, and come on, Harold. If you’re taking me to lunch let’s go.’

After lunch, Lisa did some shopping, and then went back home and packed her bags. Finally, before leaving for the station, she spent half an hour on her laptop, E-mailing Jed. He told her he was back home for the summer after completing his fourth year at college. She was glad for him, because she knew he’d had quite a fight with his brothers to even get to college; they had not approved and had wanted him to stay on the farm. She told him all about the wedding and the honeymoon, and grinned at his last reply.

‘Your marriage sounds as if it’s made in heaven, as does your husband. I’m only sorry it wasn’t me! Only joking. Hey, I’m destined for an even better relationship, I’m sure.’

Lisa sincerely hoped he was.

What was that? Lisa shot off the bed. The sound of a door closing somewhere had awakened her from a light doze. Alex must be back, she thought happily, and, smoothing the white negligé down over her slim hips, she cast a quick glance at her reflection in the mirrored wall and grinned. The astute businesswoman in the smart suit had been transformed into a sexy siren. Lisa hardly recognised herself. Alex was in for a surprise! Barefoot, she left the bedroom and padded along the hall.

‘What do you wish to discuss so urgently?’ The deep velvet voice was instantly recognisable to Lisa as she approached the living room door, and sent a delicious quiver along her nerve-endings.

Then the content registered, and she swore under her breath. Damn! He had someone with him. Served her right for falling asleep, she thought ruefully. But what with getting up at the crack of dawn, working all morning, packing several suitcases, and then travelling down to London, by the time she had unpacked, showered, and had anointed her body in aromatic oil, she had lain on the bed for only five minutes before drifting off to sleep. So now what?

Well, he was her husband. She had to stop being so shy. The sitting room door was very slightly ajar and Lisa reached for its handle to push it open. But she stopped her hand in mid-air. She glanced down at herself and grimaced. She had left her long blonde hair loose, to fall in soft curls past her shoulderblades. As Alex liked it… But she doubted he would appreciate the surprise of her presence if she strolled into the living room in her diaphanous white nightgown, the lacy bodice barely covering her breasts, when he had someone with him. Then she heard the other voice and froze.

‘Just a friendly chat, old boy. I thought you could give me an update on the riverside project, and a drink wouldn’t go amiss.’

Unfortunately, Lisa recognised that other voice, and her heart missed a beat. The nasal tones of Nigel, her stepbrother, were unmistakable.

‘Scotch on the rocks?’ Alex prompted, and she heard the rattle of ice on glass before Alex added. ‘How did you know I was in town?’

‘Simple. I rang the old man this morning, and he told me Lisa was back at work and you were spending the night in London. Can’t say I blame you. Three weeks with only the ice amazon for company would have tried the patience of a saint—and you’re no saint, as we all know!’ A nasty chuckle completed Nigel’s speech.

Lisa stiffened in anger at her stepbrother’s insult, but was slightly reassured when Alex defended her.

‘The lady you are referring to, happens to be my wife, and her name is Lisa. When you insult her, you insult me. You would do well to remember that.’

Lisa grinned. That’s telling him, she thought, and she almost walked in on the two men at that moment. But still she hesitated. What she could not understand was how Alex knew Nigel so well. To her knowledge they had only met twice. Once at the hotel when she herself had met Alex for the first time, and again at their wedding. Yet Nigel was a visitor in Alex’s penthouse, and seemingly was quite at home.

‘Hey, no offence, but we’re both men of the world. Which reminds me. Does the delectable Margot know you’re in town for the night, alone?’ Nigel’s now slightly slurred tones cut into Lisa’s troubled thoughts like a knife. Who was Margot?

‘No, and get to the point of this visit. I must ring Lisa soon.’

‘Got you on a short rein has she? Don’t worry; stick her in front of a computer and she won’t notice where you are. The term “computer nerd” was invented for the likes of Lisa. I bet she took her laptop on your honeymoon.’

Why, the insulting little toad! Lisa fumed. As it happened, she had brought her laptop with her this evening, to use tomorrow, but that did not make her a nerd. Nigel was only jealous because she was computer literate and he couldn’t tell the difference between the Internet and a hairnet! Once more she reached out for the door, and stopped again as Alex responded.

‘The only lap she was on top of was mine,’ he drawled. Lisa felt the colour flood her cheeks and as quickly vanish as her new husband added, ‘and that is how it is going to stay. Her working days are numbered, I can assure you.’

Deciding herself to cut back on her working life was one thing, but to have Alex arrogantly say she had to, was quite another! She loved Alex to bits, but she had no intention of letting him walk all over her. As she listened, her anger turned to horror.

‘Well, that is really what I wanted to ask. I’m having a bit of a cash-flow problem, and I need your confirmation that the sale of Lawson’s will go through as soon as possible. The river frontage is a goldmine, as you and I know; Shakespeare’s birthplace is the ultimate tourist trap. The quicker you have the land, and I have my finder’s fee and a share of the selling price, the quicker I can invest in your development plans for the site.’

Lisa leant back against the wall, her face grey beneath her golden tan, her legs trembling. She could not believe what she was hearing. Could not bear to believe it. Alex, the man she had fallen head over heels in love with, the man she had married, the man she had thought loved her, was in league with her no-good stepbrother to try and buy Lawson’s and redevelop the site. She stifled the groan that rose in her throat and listened, praying it was all a mistake.

‘I don’t think so. I don’t need any investors.’ Alex’s clipped tone gave her hope. Now he would denounce the whole plan. But she was wrong.

‘But your man promised I could have stake in it.’

‘I’ll need to check, and if that is so, then of course you can. But could you afford to? Even with your father’s share of the sale? It will be your father’s share I take it?’

‘Yes. The old man doesn’t need the money. He has a fat pension to look forward to. As I’m his only son and heir, it’s immaterial whether he gives me the cash now or when he dies.’

‘Has Harold agreed?’

‘I haven’t asked him yet. But he will, he never refuses me anything.’

‘Lucky you. But, as I understand it, Lisa owns fifty two per cent and your father thirteen per cent; the other thirty five per cent is held by the heirs of the original partner in the firm. You’re hardly going to get a fortune. In fact…’ The deep, slightly accented voice dropped lower and paused tantalisingly. ‘My wife is madly in love with me. She may simply give me the company without any necessity on my part to acquire the other forty-eight per cent.’

Lisa bit hard on her bottom lip to stop the cry of outrage bursting forth.

‘Why you sneaky devil.’ Nigel burst out.

‘Enough. I would not dream of accepting a gift of that size from a lady, not even my wife. I don’t believe in being beholden to anyone, man or woman,’

‘Sorry. No, of course not. But are you sure Lisa will go along with your plan for Lawson’s? Her mother flatly refused to sell a year ago.’

‘A year ago Lisa had not met me. Now she is my wife, and soon, hopefully, the mother of my children. I can safely say she will not have the time or the inclination to continue at work. She will do as I say. You have nothing to worry about Nigel. You will get yours; I promise you that.’

Lisa closed her eyes, her whole body shivering with pain and anger. The shocking discovery that her husband was about to betray her, not with another woman but with her stepbrother, had cut to the very centre of her being. It had razored her nerves and turned her into a seething mass of conflicting emotions.

Alex’s love, the wedding, everything had been one big sham. Alex and Nigel were plotting between them to take over Lawson’s. To redevelop the site! Over her dead body, Lisa vowed.

The week her mother had been diagnosed as having cancer, an approach had been made to buy Lawson’s. Lisa racked her brains but she could not remember the name of the company. It certainly had not been Solomos International and there had been no mention of redeveloping the site; developing a partnership had been the impression given. Her mother, Harold and herself had briefly discussed it at the time. Her mother had decided against it; Lawson’s Designer Glass was to stay a family firm as a memorial to Peter, and, as it happened a few months later, also to herself.

Lisa shuddered. The pain was waiting for her, she knew, but with brutal determination she blocked it out and allowed rage, fierce and primeval, to consume her mind. For a second she was tempted to burst into the living room and confront the two rats who were plotting against her…

Instead, ice-cold reasoning prevailed. She did not need to hear any more, and silently she returned to the master bedroom.

CHAPTER TWO

LISA started towards the dressing room, her first thought to get dressed and go. Then she realised the futility of such a gesture. In order to leave she would have to confront Alex, and she was not ready to do that. She doubted she ever would be.

She shivered anew, not with pain but remembered pleasure. Alex, her husband, her lover! He only had to look at her and she went weak at the knees. She and a few million other women, she tried to tell herself. And how many of the other, faceless women had known the wonder of his lovemaking, the seductive power of his caress, his kiss, the magnificent strength of his sleek, hard, toned body?

Lisa groaned in disgust at her own weak will and, swinging around, glanced at the bed. Very soon now, Alex would ring the house at Stratford-upon-Avon and discover from Harold that she had left to join him in London. Panicking, she crossed to the large patio window that opened out on to the balcony and slid it open. Stepping out, she took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm down. Tomorrow was Mid-summer’s Day and tonight was clear and light, although it was ten o’clock. A panoramic view of London stretched out before her, tinged with gold as the evening sun slid towards the distant horizon. Much the same as her confidence in her marriage was sliding into oblivion, she thought bitterly.

She squared her shoulders; self-pity was an emotion she despised. She had to think, to do something, but what? It was still warm; she could spend the night outside. Fool! Alex was bound to look for her.

Slowly she turned and reluctantly entered the bedroom again; her eyes slid back to the huge bed, the imprint of where she had catnapped on the coverlet clearly visible. Her head jerked up at the sound of a door closing. Nigel departing, maybe? Any minute now, Alex would make the phone call and discover her whereabouts. Lisa did the only thing she could. She lay back down on the bed. Perhaps if she pretended to be asleep Alex would not wake her. She prayed he would be fooled, because, if not, she had no confidence in her ability to resist the magnetic pull of his virile sensuality. Even knowing Alex had only married her for a business deal, knowing what a wicked, callous swine he was, was still no protection against the force of his potent personality.

Closing her eyes, Lisa feigned sleep, but her mind spun with images of the past. It had seemed so simple not two months ago, when she had fallen in love with Alex at first sight. Fate, Kismet…

It had been Harold’s birthday and Nigel had arrived at their Stratford-upon-Avon home unannounced. He had insisted his father and Lisa had mourned long enough for her mother and that he was taking them both out for a meal at the top hotel in the area.

With hindsight Lisa realised she should have guessed there was something funny going on, because experience had taught her that Nigel only ever visited his father if he wanted something, usually money. His appearance in Statford-upon-Avon on his father’s birthday had been the first time she had seen him since her mother’s funeral. For Harold’s sake, she had agreed to the dinner date, and at nine in the evening the three of them had been sitting in the hotel’s cocktail bar, enjoying after-dinner coffee and Cognacs, when Alex had strolled into the bar.

Lisa would never forget the moment when she had looked up and seen Alex Solomos for the first time. Her body had reacted as if in shock. She’d forgotten to breathe! He was an attractive man, but it had been more than that. Something about him had called out to her innermost being; her stomach had churned and her heart had raced out of control. She’d felt as if she had been struck by lightning.

Wearing a black dinner suit and a brilliant white dress shirt—a perfect foil for his olive-skinned complexion—and standing head and shoulders above every other male in the room, he’d crossed to the bar in a few lithe strides. She’d watched as he’d ordered a drink, before turning around and resting his superbly muscled long-limbed body against the bar. His dark gaze had casually scanned the room his eyes bored.

Lisa, wide eyed and wondrous, had found she could do nothing but stare. Then she’d blushed to the roots of her hair when his deep-set eyes had met hers, and then travelled on down over her body, widening in obvious appreciation on the length of her long legs. She’d been wearing a short black sheath dress and reclining on a low sofa, inadvertently exposing rather more leg than she’d realised. His head had lifted, making eye contact again, before swerving to take in her two male companions. A cynical dismissive smile had twisted his firm lips, and he’d continued his perusal of the room.

Gorgeous, but arrogant with it, Lisa had thought, and, nervously tugging at the hem of her dress, she’d forced herself to look away, taking a swift swallow of her coffee to hide her scarlet face. She had experienced sexual chemistry before, but this was ridiculous.

‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Nigel had said softly. ‘The great man himself, Alex Solomos.’ Turning to Lisa, he had added. ‘Do you know who he is?’

‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ she replied coolly, fighting down an urge to ask Nigel to tell her all about the stranger. Along with the urge to mentally strip the man naked!

‘You must have heard of Leo Solomos, his father?’

‘No, should I have done?’ she queried.

Nigel’s pale eyes narrowed rather warily on her face. ‘Probably not, unless you read the gossip pages in the gutter press. Leo Solomos is a Greek tycoon. But he’s rather better known for the number of ladies he has married. The man at the bar is his son. He keeps a much lower profile, but it’s well known in financial circles that he’s the power behind the throne. The old man would have gone bust years ago, simply because of alimony payments, if it wasn’t for Alex Solomos taking control of the company.’

Lisa sneaked a furtive glance back at the man from beneath the mask of her long lashes; she could well believe Nigel. Alex Solomos, with his impressive height and magnificent build, looked every inch the dynamic, powerful businessman.

‘Wait here you two, I’m going to introduce myself. This is too good an opportunity to miss.’ And, to Lisa’s horror, her stepbrother approached the man at the bar, and started to talk.

‘Harold, does Nigel know that man?’ she asked after a few minutes, only too well aware of her stepbrother’s penchant for pushing in where he was not wanted.

‘Well, he does now, Lisa.’ Harold quipped, with a nod in the direction of the bar.

Lisa looked up, and her stomach lurched. Nigel was returning, with the stunning man in tow. Helplessly, she stared at his face. He was incredibly attractive, with classically sculptured features, a mobile, sensual mouth that was twitching in the beginnings of a smile.

‘Nigel suggested I join you for a drink. I hope you don’t mind?’ He turned all the force of his megawatt smile on Lisa, no trace of his earlier cynicism present.

‘You are a friend of his?’ she managed to ask, trying not to stare, and wondering how such a superior example of the male species could possibly like Nigel.

‘Not really. Apparently he recognised me and took pity on a man drinking alone. But seemingly we do have a mutual business acquaintance.’ His voice was low and a little husky, with just the slightest trace of an accent. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. Alex Solomos.’

The hand he held out to Lisa was large and tanned, and when his fingers curled around hers, the heat and strength he generated seemed to sizzle right through her whole body. Lisa looked up into a pair of heavy lidded dark brown eyes, and the intensity of his gaze held her mesmerised.

‘Lisa—Lisa Lawson,’ she stammered, and she did not breathe again until he let go of her hand.

Turning to shake Harold’s hand, he said, ‘And you are Nigel’s father, I believe. There is no mistaking the likeness.’

The three men talked and ordered another round of drinks while Lisa tried hard not to stare at Alex. She was a businesswoman, not some lovestruck teenager, but it was no good. A heady excitement made her blood fizz like champagne in her veins. His hard handsome face, his eyes, drew her gaze like a magnet, and his voice sounded like a caress to her over-sensitive nerves.

Apparently he was in Stratford for the weekend. He had been to see a performance of Richard III.

‘I confess I left at the first interval. My English is good, but not so good I can understand the language of Shakespeare.’

Somehow his confession that he had walked out on the play rather than pretend he understood it endeared him to Lisa even more, and from that moment on she was a goner…

Alex left half an hour later for a dinner engagement, and Lisa found herself giving him her address. He arranged to pick her up at ten the next morning, in the pretence that she would act as his guide around Stratford for the day.

When he called for her the next morning, casually dressed in blue denim jeans and a black cashmere sweater, she had simply stared.

‘You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.’ His brown eyes darkened with an unmistakable message in their depths, leaving her more flustered than she had ever been in her life. He helped her into the passenger seat of a lethal-looking red sports car and then slid into the driver’s seat. But before starting the car, he turned to her with dark, serious eyes.

‘There is something I have to tell you, Lisa.’ For one heart-chilling moment she thought he was going to tell her he was married. ‘I am the boss of Solomos International. Is that going to be a problem for you?’

The relief was so great, Lisa beamed. She was a confident, intelligent young woman, she dressed in designer clothes or snappy casuals, and she could mix in any strata of society. She never gave it much thought, but actually, on paper, she was also wealthy. He had no need to worry; she wouldn’t be intimidated by his money. It was in the sexual stakes she was a novice, nowhere else. ‘No, of course not. I am the boss of Lawson’s, but I never mix business with pleasure,’ she said, daringly for her. And she was rewarded by a reciprocal brilliant smile.

‘Good. Beautiful and sensible. A winning combination.’

It was the best day of Lisa’s life. They walked hand in hand by the river and around the streets of Stratford-upon-Avon and talked about everything and nothing. He insisted on driving out of town for lunch. They shared a ploughman’s lunch in the garden of a small country pub, Alex teasingly feeding her a small cherry tomato with his fingers. As Lisa opened her mouth his glance fixed on her face, his eyes dark and hot, and when his fingers touched her lips, she felt a surge of desire so strong she trembled and could not hide it from him.

‘It is the same for me, Lisa,’ he had told her in a deep, husky voice, and when she blushed, he added with a tender smile, ‘The sexual chemistry between us is electric, but have no fear, Lisa, I will not take advantage of you; it’s not my style.’

For the rest of the day they enjoyed themselves like a couple of children. By Sunday evening, she was so captivated by him that when he took her into his arms and kissed her, and told her he was going to marry her, her answer was a joyous yes. The following weekend he stayed at her home in Stratford, and formally asked Harold for her hand in marriage. Three weeks later they were married.

Thinking about it now, Lisa cringed in shame at her own naivety. She should have guessed Nigel had had a hidden agenda when he’d introduced her to Alex. But she’d had little experience of men. As a teenager she’d been taller than most of the girls at her school, and had been tormented about being gawky. So when other girls had been dating, Lisa had concentrated on her studies. Later, she had never seemed to have the time for socialising. In fact her best friend, if she was honest, was Jed, whom she’d never met in person.

‘Lisa, Lisa, darling.’ Lost in her own troubled thoughts, she hadn’t been conscious of Alex entering the room. She heard his deep voice and closed her eyes. How she was going to get through the night, she had no idea, and for a fleeting instant she wished she could turn the clock back to this morning. If she had stayed in Stratford, she would have been perfectly happy, but by coming to London she had discovered more than she’d ever wanted to know.

‘Lisa.’ Alex’s deep, husky drawl feathered across her cheek. She felt the mattress depress and knew she had no chance of pretending to sleep.

‘Alex,’ she murmured, turning over on to her back and blinking her bright blue eyes, as though she had just woken up.

‘This is a surprise.’ He gave her a narrow-eyed look. ‘Unexpected, but very flattering. When did you arrive?’

Was it her imagination or was there more to the seemingly innocuous question? Did he suspect she might have overheard his conversation with Nigel?

‘What time is it?’ She answered his question with one of her own. Her stomach was churning with a mixture of distress and desire.

‘Ten-thirty.’

‘Oh, I got here at eight, bathed and changed, and I must have fallen asleep an hour or so ago.’ She tried to smile, badly shaken by his close proximity and the proprietorial hand he curved around her naked shoulder.

Slowly his lips parted over brilliant white teeth, in a broad smile with just a tinge of smugness. ‘Couldn’t stay away from me, hmm?’ His gaze lingered on her mouth.

‘Something like that,’ Lisa whispered, when in reality she felt like lifting her hand and decking him! She felt furious, and sickened at having been taken in by him so easily. His head lowered and his mouth moved closer and it took all her will-power not to take a bite out of the sensuous lips that closed over hers.

‘I need a shower. Come and join me,’ Alex husked some moments later.

‘What, and waste all the obscenely expensive body oil I have applied for your benefit?’ she tried to tease.

‘There is something very satisfying about a woman who will go to so much trouble for her man,’ Alex drawled, his dark eyes gleaming with an equally teasing light. ‘Give me five minutes to shower, and then I am at your mercy. I expect to be thoroughly seduced.’

‘Of course. Why else would I be here?’ Watching the arrogant set of his broad shoulders as he walked across to the bathroom, she wished she had the courage to tell him to go to hell. Far from seducing him, she felt like strangling him. She was wild with anger, but deep down she knew his lightest touch could send her senses reeling, and his kiss made her ache for more.

As soon as she heard the shower running, Lisa leapt off the bed. No way was she going to be lying there waiting for him like some harem slave! Restlessly she crossed to the patio window and gazed blindly out. How had she got herself in such a mess? She had been fooled by Alex’s sophistication, his stunning good looks and the kind of blatant sexuality that had set up an answering need in her own untried body. It hurt so much to discover Alex had not been honest with her. She had given him her trust, completely and unconditionally, and all the time he’d been in league with Nigel.

In one way she thought it might have hurt less if there had been another woman. At least Alex could have claimed to be overtaken by passion. But to have married her in cold blood to pursue a business deal showed a degree of ruthlessness, a contempt for her as a person that she could not come to terms with.

‘I’m all yours, darling.’ Alex’s deep voice broke into her musings and turning around, she gave a strangled gasp. He was totally naked and completely unconcerned as he strode across the room and lay down on the bed, and patted the space beside him. ‘Don’t keep me waiting, or I might just fall asleep. I’ve had a hell of a day. But the night is certainly looking better.’ He grinned. ‘Be gentle with me, won’t you?’

It was the grin that did it… Her blue eyes flashed to his, and she saw the gleam of amusement in the deep, dark depths of his brown eyes, along with a glitter of sexual anticipation. The bastard! she thought. I’ll show him. Crossing to the bed, she stripped her nightgown over her head and standing proud and naked, she asked, ‘Where would you like me to start first darling, top or bottom?’

Without waiting for his answer she draped herself over him, catching his head between her hands. Her mouth fastened on his and she kissed him with all the rage and passion of a woman cheated by love. Heav’n has no rage, like love to hate turn’d, Nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorn’d. The quotation leapt into Lisa’s mind, and in that moment she knew it was true.

She did not want his tenderness; it was false anyway. Deliberately she nipped his full lower lip between her white teeth, and then dropped lower to bite at his strong neck. She was like a woman possessed in her rage, and Alex’s deep, throaty chuckle only incensed her further. She felt his arm close around her waist. His other hand slid between their two bodies to capture one full breast, and rolled her aching nipple between his finger and thumb. She groaned out loud and retaliated by tonguing on his male nipple in a passion of her own, straddling him with her long legs trapping his. She felt his burgeoning arousal and delighted in it.

‘So you want to play rough, my lovely Lisa?’ Alex husked.

She lifted her head and her blue eyes blazed down into his eyes, which were dark with sexual need. ‘You have no idea how rough,’ she whispered, the breath exiting her body in a rush as he raised his head and sucked one of her taut nipples into his mouth. Lisa raked his chest with her nails and strained back. Alex laughed, and twisted his hand in her long hair, his lips meeting hers, his tongue delving deep into the hot, moist depths of her mouth while he moved his body against hers. His other arm wrapped around her like a steel band.

Lisa wriggled against him. She was so hot, so furious, and perspiration beaded her skin, but even in her anger, when Alex swung her beneath him, she opened her mouth to give a helpless moan. In a tangle of arms and legs they rolled around the bed, Lisa determined to be the dominant one, but Alex not about to let her.

They battled for supremacy as they kissed, bit and caressed in a storm of unbridled passion, each seeing who could give the other the most pleasure, and finally they came together in a wild, hungry mating that took them both to the heights of ecstasy. Lisa cried out at the intensity of it, and her cries mingled with Alex’s as his body shuddered in spasm after spasm of prolonged pleasure.

Afterwards, when Alex lay by her side in total exhaustion, Lisa knew this had been the best ever, and also the worst. The worst because it had revealed her deepest fear: she could not resist Alex; even in her rage and anger she felt love.

Alex stirred, and, putting a possessive arm around her shoulder, he said, ‘If I didn’t know I am your only lover, I might be suspicious of your new-found aggressive sexuality.’ And with the pounding of his heart almost back to normal, he added, ‘But I knew the moment I saw you that you had a deeply sensuous nature and it only needed the right man to reveal it.’

Lisa glanced sideways at him. ‘And you’re the right man?’ She’d meant to sound sarcastic but instead the breathless tone of her voice sounded as if she agreed with him. Filled with shame at her own behaviour, she quickly looked away.

Alex chuckled. ‘Of course.’ Tucking her firmly under his arm, he yawned widely. ‘Remind me to leave you alone more often, if tonight’s episode is to be the result, hmm?’ He yawned again.

She stared at him. He looked like some great slumbering lion lying on the bed, his eyes half closed, his broad chest rising and falling in rhythm to the deep beat of his heart, his mouth curved in a satisfied smile, content and assured of his masculine virility.

In that moment Lisa did not know whether she wanted to hit him, or hug him. Instead, to her horror, she heard herself ask the one question that had tormented her for the past few hours. ‘Do you really love me, Alex?’

‘After what we have just done, need you ask?’ he murmured, already half asleep.

But sleep did not come so easily for Lisa. She was tormented by the thought that Alex and Nigel were plotting together. But, seduced by the warmth of his body and the protective arm around her shoulder, slowly Lisa felt her anger began to drain away. Maybe she had been too hasty in her conclusion. It was perfectly possible her first meeting with Alex had been a set-up, but that did not necessarily mean that what had happened next had been a lie.

Lisa turned on her side and examined her sleeping husband. In repose he looked younger than his thirty-five years, his black hair tumbling in disarray across his broad forehead. She reached out and brushed the offending lock of hair back, but Alex did not stir. Sleeping the sleep of the innocent. But was he?

Sighing, Lisa turned on to her back and gazed at the ceiling. Perhaps she had overreacted. She loved Alex, and up until tonight she had been sure he loved her. He hadn’t been able to wait to marry her. Thinking about it now, Lisa decided his haste to marry her could not have been solely for business reasons. He could easily have waited a few more weeks, so it had to have been because he had wanted her. In fact, she probably had nothing to worry about. The solution was in her own hands. If, or when, she was approached to sell her company and asked to agree to flatten it—which was worse—she would simply refuse. If Alex made any comment then, and only then, would she discover the absolute truth.

Her decision made, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. If she was being honest with herself, she knew she was taking a coward’s way out by deciding to wait, rather than confront Alex with what she had overheard straight away. But she was giving herself time. Time to share his life and his love. If tonight had taught her anything at all, it was that she was hopelessly in love with him and could not resist him even when she thought she hated him.

Oh, my God! Suddenly Lisa was wide awake, because she had overlooked one very important fact. From the conversation she had overheard, Alex did not know yet that she had donated five per cent of her shares in Lawson Designer Glass to the hospice! It had never entered Lisa’s head that the charity, at some future date, might sell the shares. But with a ruthless operator like Alex on the prowl she had to see it as a possibility.

If the hospice and the Lee estate sold to Alex, that would leave Harold with the deciding vote in the company. Much as she loved her stepfather, she hadn’t a lot of faith in his ability to resist the demands of his son. Nigel was his one blind spot. As she actually owned only forty seven percent of the company, she would lose overall control! How could she have been so stupid?

Finally, with a brief glance at her sleeping husband, she slipped out of bed. A hot drink might cure her insomnia. Pulling on Alex’s discarded shirt, she buttoned it up and padded barefoot from the bedroom, along the hall and into the living area. It was a huge room, with a raised dining area, and seating at its opposite end arranged to take full advantage of the view through a wall of glass, with doors that opened out on to a roof garden. Architecturally, it was a magnificent room, but the plain black leather seating, the clean lines of the elm wood furniture and the polished hardwood floor had an oddly sterile look in the bright silver light of the moon. There was nothing personal or homely about it; in fact it looked exactly what it was: a company penthouse.

Lisa walked the length of the room to where double doors opened into a wide hall. At one side of it was the door leading to the kitchen and on the other side another two doors, one of the cloakroom and the other of Alex’s study. At the end of the hallway stood a half screen in marble and glass and, beyond that the actual entrance door to the apartment.

Lisa entered the kitchen and switched on the light, pushing the door almost shut behind her. In a matter of minutes she’d made a cup of hot chocolate and, sitting down at the breakfast table, she cupped the mug in her hands and sipped it slowly, her brain spinning with confusion. Alex and Nigel! If she hadn’t heard them with her own ears, she would never have believed it, and yet it seemed they were planning on being business partners, at the expense of her business! The mind boggled…

If she felt more secure in her marriage, the sensible thing to do would be to confront Alex and demand an explanation. But it was too late now; she could hardly admit it tomorrow without looking a fool. No, her earlier decision was the best. Wait and see, and hopefully Alex would prove her wrong.

Suddenly an odd noise made Lisa straighten up in her chair. It sounded like a key turning in a lock.

Hardly daring to breathe, Lisa very quietly put the mug down on the table, her back stiffening with tension. Someone had let himself into the apartment. She heard footsteps on the polished wood of the entrance foyer floor. It had to be a burglar! She thought of screaming for Alex, but he was sound asleep at the other end of the apartment.

Glancing frantically around the kitchen, Lisa looked for something with which to defend herself from the intruder. A shelf of bright orange pans caught her eye. They were a well-known French make, and heavy. Silently she got to her feet and, picking up the largest saucepan from the shelf with the utmost stealth crossed to the slightly open kitchen door.

A very feminine giggle stopped Lisa in her tracks. Her blue eyes widened in amazement. A red-headed woman was bent over, and rather unsteadily removing a pair of high-heeled shoes at the entrance to the living room. As Lisa watched the woman straightened, her red lace stole falling to the floor behind her to reveal a strapless, backless, red sheath dress. Then she spoke, before walking into the living room. ‘Alex, darling. Sorry I’m late, and you’re all on your ownsome.’

This was no burglar, Lisa thought bitterly, and for a long moment shock held her rigid. The woman had a key for the apartment; the woman knew Alex was alone tonight, or was supposed to be. No! her heart screamed. The colour drained from her face. Was it only a few hours ago when she had thought Alex’s betrayal with her stepbrother was the worst that could happen to her? Her soft mouth twisted with savage irony. She had even thought then that it would be less painful if Alex had been overcome with passion for another woman. She had been wrong…

She dared not move, convinced she would splinter like glass into a million pieces, feeling as if each shard would pierce straight in her heart. How long she stood there she had no idea.

Finally Lisa became aware of the saucepan in her hand, and automatically crossed the floor to put it back where she had found it. Then, zombie-like, she left the kitchen and followed the woman as she saw her disappearing into the corridor that housed the four bedrooms.

She was in time to see the woman enter the bedroom Lisa herself had only recently vacated. The door was wide open and bright moonlight flooded the scene. The other woman was totally unaware of Lisa, all her attention fixed on Alex, lying sprawled across the bed, the sheet covering the essentials and nothing much else of him. As Lisa watched in horrified fascination, the woman stepped out of her dress. She was not wearing a bra, only a pair of thong briefs, and as one small hand reached out to lift the sheet, at the same time one elegant leg was raised.

Lisa could take no more. The frozen horror that had held her immobile snapped, and she was toweringly, furiously mad. She switched on the central light.

Three things happened at once. The woman in the act of climbing into bed fell back, as Alex opened his eyes and shot bolt upright in bed. ‘Margot? What the hell—’

Lisa’s face was white, a frozen mask of rage, and the glance she threw at Alex should have burned him to a crisp. But with a glance at the woman leaning against the bed, he returned her look with one of puzzled fury.

‘How did she get in here?’ he demanded of Lisa.

They said attack was the best line of defence, and obviously that was Alex’s strategy, Lisa thought contemptuously. ‘The lady has a key. You appear to hand them out like candy bars at Hallowe’en. But don’t let me interrupt. I’ll just get my things and go.’

Marching into the room, she headed for the dressing room, but Alex stopped her. He had leapt out of bed stark naked, and now grabbed her by the shoulders.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lisa, this is all a terrible mistake. Surely you can see that?’

‘I can see everything,’ she snorted with a derisive scan of his body, ‘and so can your lady-friend. But then there’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.’

Suddenly made aware of his naked state, between the avid eyes of the woman standing by the bed and the icy cold eyes of his wife, Alex let fly with a string of what could only be curses in Greek, while grabbing the sheet from the bed and wrapping it around himself. Free of his hold, Lisa headed for the door.

‘Not so fast,’ he growled, and caught her arm. ‘You must have seen Margot come in here. Why didn’t you stop her? You’re my wife for heaven’s sake.’

Lisa could not believe the audacity of the man. His girlfriend had walked into his apartment, stripped almost naked and had been about to slip into his bed. Yet somehow Alex was making it her fault! Not one word of censure to the girlfriend!

‘Was,’ she said trenchantly, and tried to shrug off his restraining hand. When pulling free didn’t work Lisa changed tactics and elbowed him violently in his stomach. It had the desired result as the air whooshed out of him and he let go of her arm. But only for a second. She had barely time to turn round before he had caught her by the wrist again.

‘Enough, Lisa,’ he growled, spinning her around to face him. Lisa stared at him. He was seethingly angry; she could sense it in the tautness of his features and the cold black depths of his eyes. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

‘You know the saying—two’s company, three’s a crowd,’ she shot back furiously. ‘I’m leaving.’

He shook her arm, his mouth a tight, menacing line. ‘You are not going anywhere.’ His black eyes held Lisa’s in a fierce challenge, daring her to disagree.

‘Oops, I seem to have made a mistake.’ Margot’s voice cut through the electric tension in the air.

Both Lisa and Alex turned to look at the woman with equal degrees of anger.

‘Sorry, I must have got the day wrong. I could have sworn it was tonight.’

Lisa took a really good look at the other woman. She had small breasts and a tiny waist, but she was not a natural redhead. On seeing the woman’s face for the first time, Lisa’s eyes widened in stunned recognition. Her picture had been on posters around Stratford-upon-Avon a couple of months ago. It was Margot Delfont, an up-and-coming Shakespearean actress.

‘Margot, get dressed and get out,’ Alex commanded. ‘I’ve told you it’s over.’

‘But after two years I didn’t think you meant it, Alex, darling.’ Margot replied lightly, though Lisa saw the naked pleading in the other woman’s eyes and had to look away. ‘I mean, that was weeks ago, and we’ve had tiffs before, and got over them.’

‘How many weeks ago? Seven?’ Lisa asked, but she already knew the answer.

‘Not now, Lisa,’ Alex snapped at her. Then, picking the red dress off the floor, he walked across to Margot and threw it at her. ‘Out.’

But Lisa saw it all now. The first time she had met Alex he had said he was in Stratford for the theatre, but had left early. He hadn’t been there for the play but obviously to see his girlfriend. Lisa’s lips twisted in the travesty of a smile. Alex had had a drink with Harold, Nigel and herself, before pleading a late dinner engagement and leaving, but only after having made quite sure he could see Lisa the next day. The phrase ‘killing two birds with one stone’ sprang to mind…

A night with his lover and a bid for the property Lisa owned. What a naive fool she had been! Lisa clenched her teeth to stop herself crying out in pain.

‘Look, I’m awfully sorry, darling, but really it is no big deal. In fact, it might be rather fun with a threesome,’ Margot suggested, smiling up at Alex as she shimmied into her dress. And then, turning her attention to Lisa, she added, ‘I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced, but you must be the new wife. So what do you say?’

Lisa shook her head in complete disgust. It was like a black comedy, and she would not demean herself with a response.

‘Margot, shut up and get out.’ Not by a flicker of an eyelash did Alex betray his feelings. He simply gave the woman standing by the bed a cold, impersonal inspection. ‘And leave the key behind this time.’

Lisa didn’t know which one she hated more. Margot, or her arrogant husband. She almost felt sorry for Margot; it was obvious she loved Alex, and would do anything, anything at all for him! But it was equally obvious he cared little or nothing for her; she had been a convenient body in his bed when he had needed a woman.

Alex turned back to Lisa, sliding a proprietoral arm around her waist. ‘This is all an unfortunate mistake.’

Lisa glanced up at him. A mistake, he’d said, but it was Lisa who had made one. Alex didn’t feel any more for her than he did for Margot. His handsome face was expressionless; he was not at all embarrassed by the ludicrous situation he found himself in. Because he didn’t really care for either woman…

The realisation galvanised Lisa into action. With an almighty jerk and a hefty kick to Alex’s shin, she broke away, and was out of the door and straight into the guest room across the hall, slamming the door behind her. Luckily it had a lock, and swiftly she turned the key. She flung back her head and took deep, shaky breaths, trying to force the air into her lungs. She saw the light switch and pressed it on. The sudden glare hurt her eyes and she doubled over. Her stomach churned and she knew she was going to be sick. Stumbling into the adjoining bathroom, she bent over the toilet bowl.

CHAPTER THREE

HOW had she never realised what kind of man she was marrying? Lisa asked herself over and over again. She tore off the shirt she was wearing, she didn’t want anything of Alex’s near her. Then she crossed to the wash-basin and splashed her face with cold water and cleaned her teeth, trying to take the taste of nausea from her mouth. She filled a glass with water and drank it. She was shivering, more with shock than cold, and, glancing around the bathroom, she saw a robe provided for guests on top of a pile of fresh towels by the bath.

Picking up the thick white towelling robe, she slipped it on, tying the belt firmly around her waist. Yet still she was shaking. She had half expected Alex to follow her. She walked into the bedroom and glanced around; it was pleasant, if a bit like a hotel room. A double bed in the centre of one wall. At one side a soft-cushioned sofa and an occasional table, a cabinet that housed a television, video and CD players. Against the wall to the left of the door was a desk and office centre. The three guest bedrooms of the apartment, Lisa knew, were all equipped in the same fashion. Alex had told her this was his base in the UK, so it also doubled as a company apartment. The master suite and his study remained locked when he was not in residence, but the place was occasionally used by visiting executives and for corporate entertainment. A bitter smile twisted her soft lips. Alex had failed to add he also used it for strictly personal, sexual entertainment.

In the distance she heard a door slam. Had the luscious Margot left? She didn’t know and she no longer cared, she told herself. She had no illusions left. She had made a horrendous mistake, marrying a man she hardly knew, but she would get over it—she had to. She closed her eyes for a second and immediately saw in her mind’s eye the face of Margot, and the expression in the woman’s eyes came back to haunt her. Margot had looked at Alex with slavish, sick desire, and how had Alex reacted? By ordering her out. Yet, for two years, if Margot was to be believed, he had used the woman quite shamelessly.

Lisa opened her eyes, and in that moment she vowed she would never become so enslaved to any man again, especially not her husband. Alex had betrayed her trust, and it hurt. How it hurt. But he would never get the chance to do it again… She raised her hands and swept the tangled mass of her hair back from her face and straightened her shoulders. The shivering had stopped and she began to think logically about the night’s events.

Dear heaven! She shook her head, appalled at her own stupidity. She could see clearly now. Alex, Margot and Nigel were all alike: immoral, money-hungry, selfish. What sort of fool did they take her for? The only way Margot could have known Alex was going to be alone tonight was if Alex had told her. A harsh laugh escaped her. Her over-sexed husband had made one mistake. In his hurry to let Lisa seduce him he had forgotten to ring his girlfriend and tell her their date was off. Thinking about it now, Lisa supposed she should be flattered his desire for her had overcome his usual controlled efficient self. But she wasn’t.

‘Lisa, open the door.’ Alex’s deep voice broke the silence of the night. She saw the handle turn and then he knocked. ‘Open the door, Lisa, we have to talk.’

Not in this lifetime, she thought bitterly. She had nothing to say to him.

The banging got louder.

‘Please, Lisa, open the door. I really need to talk to you.’ The husky, sensual tone of his voice enraged Lisa; it was all an act.

‘Get lost,’ she yelled back.

‘Open the damned door Lisa.’ The doorhandle rattled ferociously.

‘No.’

‘I will count to three and then I will break the thing down,’ Alex declared.

It was too much to hope that he would leave her alone. Wiping her damp palms down the soft towelling covering her thighs, she reluctantly turned the key in the lock. She had to jump back as the door swung in and Alex burst into the room.

‘Lisa!’ His hands grabbed her shoulders and he pulled her towards him. ‘What do you think you’re playing at, locking me out?’ His eyes flared angrily; his fingers gripped her shoulders.

She planted her hands on his chest and shoved hard. ‘Let go of me,’ she cried, and lifted her knee, her intention plain. He jerked back, but did not release her.

‘Lisa, Lisa, calm down and let me explain.’ He tried to appease her, but she was having none of it.

‘There is nothing to explain. I saw it all. And as for calming down,’ she said angrily, her blue eyes like chips of ice, ‘I’ll calm down when you get out of my sight.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ he growled, pulling her hard against him once more. His mouth swooped on hers with savage anger. She twisted her head—anything to avoid his kiss. But one hand tangled in her hair, as his arm curved around her waist, clamping her firmly to his long body. She tried to wriggle free as he took her mouth with a ruthless passion that would not be denied.

But, even as she felt insidious warmth building inside her she recognised his strategy and was sickened by it. He was blatantly using his sexual prowess to overcome her. Her eyes clashed with his and she saw the implacable intent in their black depths, and she froze in his arms.

‘No,’ she said flatly, and at her withdrawal Alex lifted his head; what he saw in her face, gave him pause.

‘Your response was a bit lacking in enthusiasm. Does this mean the honeymoon is over?’ he queried cynically.

‘Not just the honeymoon. The marriage as well.’ She ignored the burning pain around her heart. Alex had only been able to deceive her so easily because she had wanted to believe in the myth of love at first sight. She felt him tense, and as his hands fell away from her she was free.

‘Now you’re being ridiculous, Lisa.’ he told her curtly. ‘The little scene with Margot was embarrassing for all concerned, but there is no reason to be so melodramatic. We will probably laugh about it later.’

She looked at him in the harsh glare of the overhead light. He was standing a foot away. His tall body was covered in a burgundy velvet robe, with satin lapels that fell open to reveal his curling chest hair. The belt was tied firmly around his waist but the garment ended a few inches above his knee, exposing a long length of strong tanned leg.

‘You might. I won’t,’ she bit out, refusing to be intimidated by his towering presence. ‘Somehow, finding a woman crawling into my husband’s bed not fifteen minutes after I vacated it does not strike me as a cause for amusement.’ Turning her back on him, she walked across the room towards the sofa. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

‘Wait just a minute.’ A strong hand wrapped around her arm and stopped her in her tracks. She glanced up at him. He looked dark and dangerous and for a second a shiver of apprehension slithered down her spine. ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting? It was hardly my fault the woman called here.’

‘Hardly your fault?’ Lisa almost choked at the gall of the man. She was bitterly angry, angrier than she had been when she had overheard his conversation with Nigel. To be betrayed once was bad enough, but twice in one night! ‘Oh, please! Spare me the excuses.’

Alex was silent for a long moment, watching her with narrowed eyes. ‘I do not make excuses to anyone.’ She saw his face harden ‘And certainly not to my wife who, only a few short hours ago, could not keep her hands off me.’

Trust him to remind her. ‘But then I didn’t expect a few hours later to see another woman crawling into your bed,’ she returned with icy sarcasm.

‘If you had stayed in our bed, it would never have happened. I’d like an explanation.’

‘You want an explanation? That’s rich,’ Lisa said hotly, backing away a few paces, but Alex followed, until her back came into contact with the wall. ‘Especially coming from a man like you.’

‘So, humour me, wife,’ he drawled tightly, his eyes burning on her. ‘Because I have had just about enough for one night.’

She debated telling him to drop dead, but quickly dismissed the notion. He was standing looking down on her, his hands placed on the wall behind her, his body effectively trapping her. His black eyes leapt with anger, and she realised he was in a towering rage. Probably at being caught out, but she had no intention of testing him. She was hanging on to her sanity by a thread. She simply wanted him to leave her alone.

‘I got up to make a cup of hot chocolate. I was in the kitchen; I heard the sound of the door, and thought it was a burglar. I picked up a pan to challenge the intruder with, and crept to the hall door.’ Her eyes flashed with renewed rage as she added, ‘But lo and behold, it was a lady.’

‘Why didn’t you yell for me, or stop her?’ Alex demanded. ‘Surely those were the obvious things to do.’

‘Because I heard her speak.’ And in an exaggerated voice Lisa continued, “‘Alex, darling. Sorry I’m so late, and you’re all on your ownsome.”’ Her eyes hated him as she rashly held his gaze. ‘The lady could not have known you were going to be alone tonight unless you’d told her. My surprise arrival really upset your plan, didn’t it?’ She snorted her disgust. ‘Now get out of my way.’

‘For a girl who avowed her undying love not a month ago, you certainly have a fine opinion of me,’ Alex drawled sardonically. ‘Do you really think I asked Margot to come here?’

‘Who else?’ She raised one perfectly arched brow in query.

‘I don’t usually explain my actions to anyone, but in this case I will make an exception.’ She looked at him, and for the briefest of moments he looked away as he hesitated. Lisa did not need to hear any more. She knew him for the liar he was.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Bone weary and sick at heart, she had neither the will nor the energy to fight with him.

‘But it does.’ He lifted his hand and cupped her chin before she could turn away, his breath warm against her skin, his dark eyes holding hers in fierce purpose. ‘Margot was at a nightclub and spoke to a man I’d had a meeting with today. I had mentioned I was staying in town tonight and that he could call me here with some information I required. Obviously in the course of his conversation with Margot he must have let slip the fact. As for her having the key to the apartment—it is true we did have an affair, but I broke it off before I met you.’

‘Your poor girlfriend didn’t seem to think so,’ Lisa said scathingly.

‘Don’t waste your pity on Margot; she was under no illusion about our relationship. It was never going anywhere; it simply mutually benefited both parties.’

‘If you say so,’ she responded grimly. ‘But, actually, I don’t really care.’ And at that moment she didn’t; she had taken too many shocks for one night, and simply wanted to be left alone.

‘That’s the whole trouble, you don’t care,’ Alex suddenly erupted, swinging away from her and marching across the room, and then turning back to face her. ‘That’s what this is all about. Any wife worth her salt would never have allowed another woman to climb into her husband’s bed in the middle of the night.’ A feral smile curved his lips. ‘I am damned sure I would not stand by and let a man walk into your bed.’

She didn’t doubt him for a moment. ‘But then, as you and I both know, unlike you, I have never invited any man into my bed,’ Lisa shot back.

‘I’m thirty-five. Few men my age have led a celibate life,’ Alex opined with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Margot meant nothing to me, though I will admit she should never have got in here tonight. I have spoken to Security, but unfortunately the man on duty this evening has just returned from a rather long absence from work because of ill health. The man knew Margot, and was not aware I had since married. A mistake he will not make again,’ he declared. ‘I will not tolerate anyone who harms you, directly or indirectly.’

His dark-lashed eyes glittered brilliantly on hers, and he lifted his hand to brush a stray tendril of hair gently back behind her ear. Lisa believed he meant what he said, but sadly she recognised it was not from love, but from his inbuilt male possessiveness. She was his wife, ergo, his property.

‘You are my wife,’ Alex continued huskily, ‘and I can safely say from the minute I met you there has been no one else.’

Her blonde head flew back and she shook off his hand. ‘Are you sure about that, Alex?’

‘Of course. I do not lie.’ If she hadn’t known better, Lisa might almost have believed he was offended. He lifted his hand towards her again, and she stepped back a pace. His black eyes flared with some indefinable emotion which he then quickly masked, and his hand fell to his side. ‘But perhaps now is not the time for this conversation. We are both tired and may say things we will regret. ‘Suddenly he had gone all formal on her, his anger held in check. Only the tight line of his mouth betrayed his strict control.

‘The only thing I regret is marrying you,’ Lisa said bluntly. ‘And by the way, Alex, I recognised your girlfriend. She was appearing at the theatre in Stratford on the evening we met. You must have spent that night with her and then called for me the next day.’ She watched as a swift tide of colour swept up his face, turning his complexion a dark red. ‘I’m not a fool, Alex, even if I have let you almost make one out of me. But not any more. Next you’ll be telling me you forgot to ask for the key back,’ she continued scathingly. ‘You are certainly your father’s son. Five times married, isn’t it? Well, you can mark me down as your first. And start looking for the second. It is over. Finished.’

Alex stared at her in bitter, hostile silence for long moments. Then he stepped back. ‘It is finished when I say so,’ he informed her arrogantly ‘I am not prepared to argue with you any longer. You can stay in here for what is left of the night. We will continue this discussion in the morning, when you have got over your sulk and are prepared to act like an adult.’ Turning on his heel, he crossed to the door and opened it.

‘As far as I am concerned, the discussion is over. I will be leaving in the morning,’ she flung at his departing back.

Alex paused, then turned round and glanced at her, something dark leaping to life in his eyes. Lisa involuntarily stepped back, although he was nowhere near her. ‘You are not leaving tomorrow, or any other day. Understood?’ And before she could retaliate he walked out, banging the door behind him.

Shock and anger had kept her upright, but with Alex’s departure she sank down on the bed and buried her head in the pillow. She wanted to scream and yell out her pain, but the lesson she had learned as a teenager, when her height had made her an outcast from her peer group, gave her the strength to control her emotions. She would not allow herself to show her pain or humiliation to Alex. But anyone glancing at her lying on the bed would have seen her slender body shaking as she wept silently.

All cried out, Lisa turned over on to her back, her throat dry and sore. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe, breathed deeply and tried to tell herself she would get over it. But she knew she would never recover from the hurt Alex had inflicted on her. She would never trust another man as long as she lived.

Sighing, she rolled off the bed and stood up. There was no point in trying to sleep; the scent of Alex lingered on her skin from their earlier lovemaking—no, not love, sex, she amended. Glancing out of the window, she saw it was dawn. She headed for the bathroom, and, slipping the robe off her shoulders, she stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water.

She shivered as the first drops hit her flesh. It was cold. Adjusting the temperature, she flung her head back and let the warm water flow over her. How long she stood like that she had no idea, but slowly a sense of purpose seeped into her tired mind. She shampooed and conditioned her long hair and then, picking up the shower gel, she scrubbed every single inch of her body in frenzied effort to remove every trace of Alex from her. She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, collecting a large towel from the pile provided and rubbing herself dry.

Dropping the towel, she picked up the hairdryer and, standing in front of the vanity mirror, began blow-drying her hair. She studied her reflection, a grim travesty of a smile twisting her mouth; her skin was red from her efforts in the shower. It was a pity she could not wash Alex out of her mind as easily. But, given time, she would, Lisa vowed.

Grabbing another towel she wrapped it around herself. Her mind was made up: she was going back to Stratford and she was not waiting for another confrontation with Alex. She knew her own weakness too well. Alex was clever; he would talk her into staying and use sex to convince her. She had little faith in her power to resist him and she wasn’t hanging around long enough to find out.

All her clothes were in the dressing room of the master suite, but luckily the dressing room could be entered via the hall as well as the master bedroom. Slipping into the dressing room, she stopped and listened, but everywhere was silent. It took her no more than a minute to withdraw blue briefs and matching lace bra from a drawer and slip them on. Another minute, and she had silently opened the closet where she had hung her clothes and quickly stepped into light blue linen pants. Her head was lost in the folds of a navy cotton knit sweater when disaster struck.

‘Lisa, your’re not usually an early riser; that is my prerogative.’ A deep, husky voice broke the silence, and two arms curved around her waist.

With her arms up in the air, stuck halfway into her sweater, Lisa was in a hopeless position. She felt his hands slide up over her midriff to cup her breasts over the flimsy lace of her bra. She drew in a shuddering breath and managed to wriggle her arms and head free of the restraining garment. ‘Let go of me,’ she snapped.

A throaty chuckle simmered along her throat as he nuzzled her neck, ‘You don’t mean that, Lisa. You smell so sweet, so delicious,’ he husked, holding her firmly back against his hard thighs.

‘And you are an oversexed jerk,’ She spat, suddenly aware the beast was aroused, and, twisting around to face him, she splayed her hands over his broad chest and pushed with all her might. But it was like trying to fell an oak tree with her bare hands. Alex simply folded his arms around her taut body and held her pressed tightly to him.

‘Now, is that any way to greet your husband?’ he drawled mockingly.

‘Soon to be ex-husband,’ She replied pithily, her eyes skimming over him. He was wearing a white silk shirt, unbuttoned to the waist, and pleated beige pants. Obviously he had not been lying in bed, as Lisa had hoped. She was uncomfortably aware he was fresh from the shower, his black hair damp, the clean, masculine scent of him filling her nostrils and, to her chagrin, she could feel her breasts swelling against the soft lace of her bra.

He studied her tousled appearance, her long blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders, her hands curled into fists on his broad chest. He took his time looking her over, a glint of devilment in his dark eyes. He knew perfectly well how he affected her. A broad grin curved his mouth, making her vitally aware of the sensuality lurking within his hard body. ‘Come on, Lisa, where is your sense of humour? You don’t want to leave,’ he contradicted softly. His dark head lowered, his lips feathering across hers, and she shivered as the pressure of his kiss deepened, the hard heat of his mouth burning on her own.

Lisa groaned, caught in the trap of sensation much stronger than she was. How could it be? she thought helplessly, while every part of her burned in a fever of need.

‘That is better.’ Alex eased her away from him with a husky laugh. ‘You look more like the girl I married. No more sulks, hmm?’ He stepped back, his smile tinged with a glint of triumph.

It was his satisfaction that really got Lisa. Still reeling from the power of his kiss, she was jerked back to reality with a thump. ‘I do not sulk, and I meant what I said, Alex. I want a divorce,’

He absorbed her flushed and angry face with arrogant detachment. ‘No, you don’t. You simply want to punish me for that unfortunate occurrence last night.’

‘Unfortunate? I don’t think so! Quite the reverse. It was fortunate for me.’ Lisa flared. ‘It showed me what a lowlife I had married. And I want out.’

‘Lowlife. Out,’ Alex repeated, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. ‘No one talks to me like that. Not even you, my beautiful wife.’ He told her icily.

‘I mean it, Alex.’ She defied him.

‘Then, if that is so, I will be forced to do something about it.’ The illusion of icy control was abruptly cast aside as strong hands curved around her forearms. ‘No way are you walking out on our marriage after less than a month.’

‘You can’t stop me,’ she said bluntly, but even so it took all her courage to stare bravely up into Alex’s face.

‘Oh, but I can.’ A hard-boned savagery contorted his handsome features. ‘You are mine, and mine you will stay until I decide otherwise.’

‘Caveman tactics went out with the Dark Ages, Alex. Or hadn’t you heard?’ she hit back sarcastically, but inside she was quaking at the force of his rage.

‘No.’ His fingers held her tight. ‘I am not letting you go until I get to the bottom of your outrageous behaviour. What do you take me for?’

He set her free and backed off a few steps, but his angry gaze held hers with narrow-eyed intensity. ‘The truth is Lisa, this sudden desire to be single again is not just because of last night. The girl with whom I spent the last few weeks would have laughed off the episode, without a murmur. No. There is a hidden agenda here.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But she knew she sounded less than convincing. The thought of Alex’s betrayal with Nigel lay heavily on her mind.

A black brow lifted sardonically. ‘Oh, I think you do. But if you imagine I am parting with half a million pounds for barely a month in your bed, then forget it. You’re good, but not that good.’ And, turning around, he collected a jacket from the wardrobe and slipped it on.

Hectic colour tinged her cheeks; she had forgotten about the prenuptial agreement. ‘That’s a filthy thing to say, and utterly ridiculous.’

Slowly he turned back to face her. ‘No more ridiculous than your demand for a divorce,’ he whipped back derisively. ‘I want the truth, Lisa, and I intend to get it.’ With an angry glance around the small room, he added, ‘But the dressing room is no place for a serious talk.’ Taking her arm, he herded her through into the living area. Lisa was too surprised to object.

He’d had the audacity to suggest she was a gold-digger, when the reverse was true! But then, with her common sense returning, she recognised his ploy for what it was. A way of putting her on the defensive. Well, it was not going to work. When he pushed her down on to the leather sofa, she glared up at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Think what you like, but it does not alter my position. I am leaving here today.’

Alex glanced at the watch on his wrist, and then at her flushed face. His dark eyes were calculatingly hard. ‘I have a breakfast meeting, and not much time.’

‘As soon as you leave, so shall I,’ she asserted.

‘You love your stepfamily. This I know.’ A ruthless smile slanted his sensuous mouth. ‘You stay here, or I will ruin them.’

She stared at him, her mind whirling. ‘Why would you do that?’ From what she had overheard, Nigel was in league with him, and personally Lisa didn’t care if creepy Nigel fell flat on his face. But she did love Harold, and it might hurt him. Alex could certainly ruin Lawson’s if he discovered she had given away her majority.

‘Because, my sweet—’ he glanced again at the slim gold watch on his wrist ‘—I have no more time to argue.’

Lisa couldn’t take it in at first. He had no time. His simple reason for threatening to destroy Nigel and Harold was all the more believable when he used that casual endearment. Even after last night, believing Alex had deceived her, she still had not quite believed the man she had married was so utterly and completely ruthless. But, looking up into his hard eyes, she realised he was not only serious but he was perfectly capable of doing what he said without a qualm of conscience. But then the man had no conscience.

‘Have I made myself clear?’ Alex drawled hardily.

‘But what you’re suggesting is despicable; it’s nothing short of blackmail.’

‘No worse than what you are trying to do. Our prenuptial gives you half a million for a month. No woman is worth that.’

‘But I’m not. I didn’t…’ Lisa could not believe what was happening. He had turned the tables on her. She felt that she was in some nightmare, and that any second she would wake up and discover last night had never happened, or, better still, she amended, the last seven weeks had never happened.

‘I have to return to Stratford today, to work,’ she lied. Anything to get away.

‘You do not. I had a long conversation with Harold last night. I know your second in command has taken over. There is no hurry for your return, and you have your laptop with you. Use the room you used last night as a study.’ And, with another glance at his watch, he bent down and curved a large hand around her chin, and tilted her face up. His dark eyes lit with savage amusement. ‘Try not to miss me too much, lover.’

Her furious blue eyes widened to their fullest extent. ‘Why, you…you…’ She could not think of a word bad enough to describe his sheer arrogance.

‘Hush.’ A finger was placed firmly across her lips. ‘Do not incite my temper any further. You will not like the consequences.’ he assured her, and then, as she watched, a wicked smile curved his hard mouth. ‘But then again, you might enjoy it, if last night’s seduction was a taste of what you are capable of.’ With a husky laugh he released her chin.

Lisa blushed to the roots of her hair at his sensual reminder. She leapt to her feet. ‘You can’t order me around…’

‘I can do anything, and don’t you forget it,’ he drawled his black eyes flashing a warning. ‘Be here when I return, or it will be harder for you.’

‘Wait.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘You can’t make a statement like that and walk away.’

‘Why not? It is no worse than you declaring you want a divorce and walking away.’

‘But… But…’ she stammered.

Lean fingers enclosed the hand she had laid on his arm. ‘Not so nice, is it, Lisa? When the shoe is on the other foot? No?’ And he actually laughed.

‘You don’t mean it,’ she said uncertainly, as he slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her inexorably closer into the heat of his hard body. She was not sure if he was teasing or torturing her.

‘Neither do you.’ Folding both arms around her, his dark gaze steady on her troubled face, he added, ‘Think about it from my point of view Lisa. Last night I fell asleep with my wife in my arms. You get up in the middle of the night, and another woman attempts to climb into our bed. Do you really think I am stupid enough to go to bed with one woman while waiting for another?’

She had trouble holding his gaze. His dark eyes bored into hers, and her own innate honesty forced her to admit that, if it had not been for the knowledge she had gained earlier about Nigel’s involvement with Alex she probably would have stopped Margot at the door. ‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled.

‘Of course I am suspicious of the circumstances. But is your scenario any more valid? I think not,’ he declared firmly.

‘No,’ Lisa conceded in defeat; she had to, unless she told him she knew about his plan to take over her company, and she was not ready to do that. She needed to make some investigations of her own first.

‘Good, then let us make a pact, you and I. We will forget last night ever happened.’

‘Very convenient for you,’ Lisa could not help sniping.

‘Come on, Lisa. Do you really want to go back and face your family and friends after a few short weeks, declaring your marriage to be over? Our wedding was reported in the press. Do you want to look a failure in the eyes of the world? More importantly, do you think for one minute I would allow you to make a failure out of me?’ he demanded, with silken emphasis on the last question.

Lisa tensed, her slender frame taut as a bowstring, as she searched his darkly handsome face for any sign of weakness. There was none. Did she dare take a chance and defy him? More importantly, did she really want to?

‘You are wise not to argue. This was our first fight, probably the first of many; you are a very feisty lady, which is why I adore you. But enough is enough, Lisa. Forget last night, and we start again from today,’ he urged softly.

‘Just like that?’ Lisa shook her head at his arrogant conceit.

His dark head bent and he brought his mouth gently down on hers. ‘No, just like this.’ He mouthed the words against her lips and then parted her lips to the seductive invasion of his tongue.

Heat coursed through her, and even as she knew she should resist a muffled whimper escaped her, and the familiar ache of longing arrowed through her body.

Alex only broke the kiss when she was utterly relaxed in his arms. ‘If only I had time,’ he murmured throatily, and raised his head to study her lovely face. His hand slid down to her buttocks and pressed her hard against his thighs, leaving her in no doubt about the potency of his masculine arousal.

Lisa was completely mesmerised by the desire in his dark eyes. She dragged in a ragged breath, fighting the pull of his attraction, but she did not need to. He flung his arms wide and stepped back.

‘No more foolish talk of leaving, Lisa. You want me. I could have you now on the floor, and we both know it.’ His dark eyes met and held hers, mutinously blue. ‘And before you take off in another tantrum, know it is the same for me, Lisa.’ His huskily voiced confession stopped the expletive she had been about to throw at him.

‘It’s just sex,’ she muttered instead.

‘Sex, love—call it what you will. But consider you may already be carrying our child.’

‘I am not,’ she shot back curtly. She had discovered the fact after her shower. ‘I found that out as well.’ To her utter astonishment Alex burst out laughing, his dark head thrown back, the morning sun streaming through the window glinting in the blue-black of his hair.

‘Ah Lisa, now I understand. The wrong time of the month,’ he chuckled, straightening his shoulders, his firm lips curving back over brilliant white teeth in a broad grin. ‘Forget the foolishness of last night, sweetheart; I have. You were not thinking logically; it is perfectly understandable in your condition.’

‘My condition?’ She spluttered, almost incandescent with rage. He actually thought her outburst was all down to PMT, the chauvinist. She could see it in his tender, patronising smile.

‘Come, I can hear Mrs Blaydon arriving. She and her husband look after this place for me. I will introduce you, and then you go back to bed, rest. Leave everything to me.’ With his hand at her elbow he urged her along towards the kitchen, and she was so speechless at his high-handed arrogance she let him!

CHAPTER FOUR

‘IT IS a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Solomos.’ The smiling, plump woman extended her hand to Lisa. ‘I am so happy for you both, and if there is anything you want me to do for you, you only have to ask.’ Smiling at Alex, she added, ‘The coffee is fresh; what would you like to eat?’

‘Just coffee, Mrs B; I have to dash. But I trust you to look after Lisa for me, and make sure she eats. She is feeling a bit tired today.’ After downing the cup of coffee Mrs Blaydon had handed him he settled his dark gaze on Lisa. ‘Come, walk me to the door. Mrs B understands. We are newlyweds,’ he invited, his voice laced with a cynicism that only Lisa recognised as Mrs Blaydon chuckled with delight.

Alex’s hand on the small of her back created a disturbing sensation that held a hidden warning; it also succeeded in fuelling her anger. ‘I can walk,’ she breathed in an undertone as they exited to the hall.

‘So long as you know that you cannot walk out on me.’ Alex’s lazy reply only served to infuriate her further.

‘You’ve made your point. I wouldn’t dare.’ Her head tilted fractionally and she met his dark gaze with clear control. ‘Can I go and eat now?’

He lifted a hand and caught hold of her chin. ‘Eat, yes. Go, no.’ He stressed silkily, and his thumb traced a semicircle up her chin, over her full lips and back down to slide to where the pulse beat heavily in her throat. ‘Forget last night. Forget our fight. And remember only this appetite.’ Alex tapped the pulse-beat in her throat, his head lowered and his lips brushed her cheek and the edge of her mouth. ‘This appetite you and I will always share, Lisa.’ She looked at him, the tug of sexual awareness impossible to deny. ‘But do not underestimate me, Lisa. If I find you have betrayed my trust I can be a ruthless enemy, your worst nightmare.’ It was the very softness of his tone that was enough to convince Lisa he was speaking the truth.

‘And what of your betrayal?’ she managed to retaliate.

Alex’s eyes hardened fractionally. ‘The question will not arise; you can trust me absolutely.’ He caught hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘With this ring I thee wed’ he repeated softly, and kissed the ring on her finger. ‘I keep my promises. Be sure to keep yours, and we will have no more problems.’ Dropping her hand, he also dropped a swift kiss on the top of her head. ‘Rest. You look tired.’

‘Thanks for the compliment.’

‘Sarcasm does not become you, Lisa,’ Alex opined dryly. ‘See you tonight, and remember we are dining with my father.’ Turning he opened the door and left.

Deprived of any chance to retaliate, she stood for a moment staring at the closed door. Alex was right in one respect. She did not relish the idea of returning home a failure, her marriage over after only a few weeks. Then there was still the problem of Nigel. It went against her nature to give in to blackmail, but it occurred to her that if Alex actually meant to destroy her stepfamily, that meant Harold. She could not keep Lawson’s without Harold, so common sense told her she was better to stay where she was until she discovered exactly what was going on.

Lisa made her way back to the kitchen. Mrs Blaydon was putting toast in the electric toaster, and her smile was warm as she watched Lisa walk over to the breakfast table and sit down. Lisa filled a cup with coffee and took a much needed drink of the reviving brew.

‘Scrambled eggs on toast all right for you, Mrs Solomos.’

Lisa replaced the cup on the table. ‘Just toast, thanks.’

‘Like my Bert; that’s all he ever has.’

‘Bert is your husband, then?’ Lisa asked making idle conversation, as the older woman placed a plate of toast in front of her.

‘Yes, married thirty-five years, and for the last fifteen we have worked for Mr Alex. He was twenty-one and still a student at university when he moved in here. He gave Bert and I the apartment below, and we’ve looked after the penthouse for him. He hasn’t been around as much the last few years, but he still keeps us on to take care of all his visitors, and Bert acts as the official Solomos chauffeur when he’s needed. Mr Alex usually drives himself, but then the man does everything himself; he’s a real workaholic. Of course, that father of his is no help. Always in the newspapers for all the wrong reasons.’

‘I haven’t actually met Alex’s father yet. Apparently I am to have that honour tonight,’ Lisa cut in having finished her food.

‘Some honour! The man hasn’t done a hand’s turn in years, and yet to hear the old fool going on in the media, he’s a brilliant businessman. Brilliant is as brilliant does, I say,’ the housekeeper ended bluntly.

Lisa drained her coffee cup and stood up. ‘Well, no doubt I shall discover for myself tonight, but right now I’d better get down to work.’

‘Oh, no, you can’t do any housework. That’s my job.’

‘Not housework.’ Lisa corrected the housekeeper with a smile. ‘But I do run a business in Stratford-upon-Avon. I’ve brought my computer with me, and I’m going to commandeer the first guest room for my office, if that’s all right with you. Don’t worry, Mrs Blaydon, I won’t interfere with your work. Why don’t you finish up here? It’s a beautiful sunny day; you and Bert can have the day off.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Mrs Blaydon’s pleasure was evident.

‘Yes.’ Lisa smiled, getting to her feet. ‘But if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get to work.’

In a matter of minutes she was seated at the desk in the room where she had spent the night, her laptop on, planning her defence. Buying the Lee shares was her safest option, but it didn’t take Lisa long to realise she was paper rich but cash poor. Next, she checked everywhere she could think of to find the name of the company that had made the offer to buy Lawson’s before her mother died. If she needed a white knight to help her fight off Alex’s takeover attempt, that bidder seemed a good bet. At least that company hadn’t wanted to flatten the place. After an hour she gave up in disgust. Perhaps the letter of refusal had never been filed on the computer; given the shock of her mother’s illness at the time, it wasn’t surprising. It would have to wait until she got back to the office on Monday, it might be in her mother’s private papers, and Lisa was the only one with access to them.

As the morning progressed, Lisa fought against recalling last night’s events, but she failed. She was mulling over her own ambivalence about the situation when Mrs Blaydon burst into the room, closely followed by two men.

‘I was on my way out when these two men arrived. It’s for you, from Mr Alex.’

‘That’s fine, Mrs Blaydon.’ She watched the old woman scurry off with a smile on her face. To say Lisa was astonished was an understatement. Alex had sent her a state-of-the-art computer, and the accompanying card read. ‘I hope this will keep you at home.’

Lisa shared a smile with the two young delivery men, and watched with close attention as they installed the new computer. Later, she set about E-mailing Mary, and then Jed. Then she broke off for a coffee. Returning half an hour later, she got the shock of her life when she clicked on and a disembodied female voice declared, ‘You have mail.’ Her old computer hadn’t got a voice facility and she was fascinated by it.

The E-mail was a reply from Mary. ‘Congrats: but I still think diamonds are a girl’s best friend.’ Chuckling to herself, Lisa spent the rest of the morning thoroughly absorbed in her work. It was only when her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the time in the corner of the screen that she realised the morning had gone.

She couldn’t resist one more visit to the Internet, and was rewarded with ‘You have mail’. As it was the afternoon in the UK, it had to be early morning in Montana, from where Jed was replying.

‘You lucky lady. The computer sounds great, but do I detect a trace of coolness in your attitude to the giver, and so soon??? Correct me if I am wrong. I’ll get back to you later. I have to go milk the cows.’

Something in the tone of her message must have given him an insight into her confused state of mind. That was just so Jed. For a man she had never actually met, he had an amazing sensitivity where she was concerned. She sent a brief reply: ‘Stick to analysing the cows, farm boy. I’m fine. A glimmer of a genuine smile brightened her face as she closed down the computer and wandered back through the apartment to the kitchen.

Lisa made herself a cheese sandwich and, filling a glass with milk, she placed it and the plate on a tray and took her late lunch out to the rooftop garden. It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, and, placing the tray on a Victorian wrought-iron table, she sat down on one of the matching chairs and picked up one half of her sandwich.

She munched her food without really tasting it, her mind awash with conflicting thoughts. She glanced at the gold watch on her wrist; it read slightly after three o’clock. Alex wouldn’t be back before five-thirty at the earliest. There was still time for her to leave. But did she really want to? she asked herself. And, much as she hated to admit her weakness, the answer was no. The trouble was, she realised Alex the man she had married, was not the man she’d thought he was. She had never really known him…

She had always recognised Alex had a ruthless streak in him. He wouldn’t be a success in the business world without a certain killer instinct to succeed. But, naively perhaps, she had never expected that side of his nature to be turned on her.

Even now she was not convinced he had meant his threat. He had said they would make a pact to start again, and by her silence she had given her agreement.

She could almost forgive him Margot’s amazing intrusion last night. Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. Alex’s face had been a picture of outraged horror when she had clicked the light on and he had realised it was Margot climbing into their bed! He could not have faked his expression in a million years. He was usually so self-possessed—even in the throes of passion he never totally lost control.

Passion. That was another problem. Lisa had decided to stay, but was she prepared to crawl back into bed with Alex? The next week was taken care of; he wouldn’t bother her knowing she had her period.

A deep sigh escaped her and, arching her back to get the tension out of her shoulders, she picked up the glass of milk and drained it, before replacing it on the tray. Then she stood up and carried the lot back to the kitchen. Lounging around the roof garden solved nothing, she told herself firmly. Action was what was needed.

Half an hour later Lisa was standing in the hall, a pile of clothes topped with lacy underwear in her arms, as she tried to push open the guest bedroom door with her rear.

‘What the devil….?’ Alex was walking towards her discarding his tie in the process, and looking distinctly puzzled.

‘You’re back early,’ she said inanely, and met his dark gaze with a frown, her eyes lingering on the chiselled features and settling briefly on his mouth. Which was a mistake. He was tight-mouthed with anger.

‘No, just in time, it would seem. Care to explain what you are doing? Or shall I guess,’ he drawled cynically, moving to stand inches from her. His hand plucked a pair of crimson lace briefs off the top of the pile of clothes she was carrying, and swung the offending garment back and forth on one long finger.

He had caught her at a disadvantage, with her back to the door and her hands full. She had nowhere to go. ‘Put them back,’ she muttered, the colour rising in her cheeks, and she knew her face must almost match the briefs.

‘I think that is my line, Lisa.’ A faint smile tugged the edges of his mouth, but the expression in his eyes was still totally cynical. ‘That room is your study, nothing more. So try acting like an adult instead of a spoilt child and return these.’ He dropped the red briefs back on to the pile of clothes. ‘Back to where they belong, in the master suite. I thought we had settled our differences this morning. I hope I was not wrong?’ Shrugging out of his jacket, he hooked it over one shoulder and with his free hand began unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

He was too close, his height and wide shouldered frame intimidating. Her gaze slipped to the broad expanse of his tanned chest, and Lisa felt the familiar flood of warmth weaken her defences. She fought against it and, glancing up, her eyes met his. He knew how he affected her, at least on a sexual level, but to her surprise a tender smile curled his mouth.

‘Sometimes I forget how innocent you are,’ Alex murmured, and trailed a long finger over her burning cheek.

She felt about two inches tall, and totally foolish. She had decided to stay with Alex, but no way was she climbing meekly back into bed with him. ‘Not any more,’ she said bitterly, ‘you saw to that.’

‘Hush.’ He pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Allow me to apologise. You should never have been subjected to what happened last night. The lady had no right to intrude on our privacy, and it was unkind of me to even hint that you were in any way at fault. As your husband, it is my duty to protect you from any embarrassment, and I singularly failed to do so.’ With the pad of his finger he flicked her bottom lip before dropping his hand to his side. ‘Please forgive me.’

Lisa’s mouth fell open and her blue eyes widened to their fullest extent on his serious face. Alex apologising and begging forgiveness? She could hardly believe it.

‘Forgive you?’ she parroted.

‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I should have realised you, with your lack of experience of predatory females who are all too common in the world, were in no position to argue with a woman like Margot. The golden purity that drew me to you in the first place should have reminded me of the fact. So, once again, am I forgiven?’

His deep velvet voice flowed like honey over her raw nerves, and in a voice she hardly recognised as her own, Lisa said, ‘Yes, apology accepted.’ In that moment she would have forgiven him murder. His body moved in close against her own, his dark head bent and he angled a kiss across her open lips, a kiss of tenderness and gentle possession.

Lisa stared up into his sexy, slumberous eyes as he raised his head and moved back a pace. ‘Thank you, Lisa.’ he husked.

Fighting down the urge to fling her arms around him—an impossible action given she was still holding a pile of garments, she realised, glancing down at her overloaded arms—she was suddenly aware of where she was and what she had been doing, and she stumbled into speech. ‘Actually, it is I who should thank you. The computer is brilliant; it was good of you to buy it for me, but no need.’ She was babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop.

‘Enough, sweetheart.’ Alex grinned, and with a toss of his dark head he indicated the door opposite. ‘After you.’

Her nervous tension dissolved and, taking a deep breath, she slipped past him and into the dressing room. Alex confounded and confused her, and retreat seemed the best option, but that did not mean she was going to crawl back into bed with him. Moving swiftly, she quickly placed the lingerie and clothes in the requisite drawers and the closet. His apology, she knew, was genuine, but it did not alter the fact he was about to betray her, by dealing with Nigel. Perhaps that was the difference between men and women, Lisa thought sadly. Men could separate business completely from their emotional life.

Lisa, unfortunately, could not. By the same token, she knew she would never agree to Lawson’s being flattened to make way for something else. It was her parents’ memorial. Maybe that made her a poor businesswoman, but she did not care. There had to be more to life than simply the pursuit of riches. But she had a growing conviction her husband did not share her view.

Reluctantly she walked back into the bedroom; she heard the sound of the shower from the ensuite bathroom and heaved a sigh of relief. She didn’t have to face Alex again just yet; a glance at her watch told her it was five. Time to have a cup of tea and restore her equilibrium before she got ready for the evening ahead.

‘Pour me a cup,’ Alex commanded, and Lisa almost dropped the teapot. He had showered and shaved and was sporting a pair of well-washed jeans and nothing else.

‘I didn’t think you drank tea?’ she murmured.

Pulling out a chair opposite her he sat down. ‘If you do, I do. It is part of marriage, the sharing.’ Alex’s faintly accented statement had a mocking edge as he reached out and accepted the cup she had automatically filled for him.

‘Yes, yes, I suppose so,’ she acknowledged.

‘Which is why I thought, tomorrow, you and I could spend the day in the countryside. I had my people get on to some real estate agents while we were away, and they have come up with a couple of quite decent looking properties.’

‘Properties? You mean houses?’

‘But of course.’ And with a brief glance around the kitchen Alex returned his attention to her puzzled face. ‘This place is adequate in the short term, but obviously we will need a family home. Knowing you as I do the country is the answer, I think.’

Lisa sipped her tea, unsure of how to respond. She had always lived in a large house on the outskirts of Stratford-upon-Avon; she had only to walk out of her garden to take a stroll along country lanes. Alex was right; she did prefer the country. But what of Alex? While not notorious as an international jet-setter like his father, she wasn’t sure she could see him as a country squire. ‘Do you actually have a proper home?’ she surprised herself by asking. ‘I mean, apart from here?’

His black eyes twinkled with laughter. ‘I hate to spoil my image, but in fact I actually still live with my mother. Officially my residence is the villa on Kos. The yacht is berthed in the harbour there, and whenever I have time I go back home. Otherwise I tend to stay in an apartment the company owns, or a hotel.’

‘Of course!’ Lisa exclaimed. ‘I should have guessed the villa we stayed in when we visited your mother was yours.’ She remembered thinking at the time that the sitting room and bedroom of their suite had had a very lived-in feel about them; the pictures on the walls had been mostly of boats—a hobby of Alex’s—and there had been a couple of trophies for yacht racing that had borne Alex’s name. For a few timeless seconds her eyes locked with his and they shared a mutual memory of a night spent in sheer bliss.

‘Yes,’ Alex confirmed, his eyes sweeping over her shoulders and the curve of her breast before returning to study the surprised and faintly embarrassed expression on her delicately etched features. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. ‘But now I think I am old enough to own my home,’ he teased. ‘Don’t you agree?’

Lisa couldn’t disagree without getting into a morass of lies. The truth was not an option. She was waiting to see if Alex was going to betray her, along with her stepbrother. She gave the only answer she could think of. ‘Yes, well,’ she qualified, ‘we will see.’ And, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet, she added, ‘But right now I’d better get dressed. What time did you say we were meeting your father?’

Only the slight narrowing of his dark eyes gave away the fact her evasion had been noted and disliked, but, rising to his feet, he said, ‘Seven or seven-thirty. I have a few calls to make in my study. I won’t be long.’

The bathroom off the master bedroom was almost as big as the bedroom itself. Elegantly designed and constructed in pale pink streaked marble, it held a large double shower and a circular spa bath. Plus all the usual facilities. The lingering scent of Alex hung on the air, making her catch her breath.

She did not linger in the shower and, as she had washed her hair that morning, five minutes later she entered the dressing room, a towel wrapped around her slender curves, and selected fresh briefs and quickly slipped them on.

Seated at the dressing table, she twisted the long length of her hair into a high pleat on the back of her head. With the deft use of a few pins, she quickly had a very fashionable hairstyle. She pulled a few tendrils of hair loose around her face and the back of her neck and surveyed the finished result. Sophisticated, but not too contrived, she thought, and then began applying her make-up.

Rising to her feet, she crossed to the cupboards that ran the full length of two walls.

Sliding open one of the doors, she withdrew the gown she had hung there the night before, ready for this evening’s dinner party. She eyed the dress with dismay. When she had bought it in a boutique in Stratford she had thought it was perfect, with stiletto-heeled evening shoes and a purse dyed to match. The whole ensemble was suitable for a sophisticated lady wanting to seduce her husband. Now she was not so sure. But realistically she had nothing else; the clothes she had packed were day and casual wear. So, unless she wanted to meet Alex’s father in trousers or a business suit, she had no choice.

She stepped into the blue gown and pulled the zip up its side. It was a simple sheath; the bodice had a bra built in and was cut straight across her breasts in a band of delicately beaded embroidery, revealing the soft swell of her breasts. The rest stuck to her like a second skin, to end some six inches above her knees in another band of beading. She slipped her feet into the shoes, then quickly slipped pearl studs into her ear lobes, and fastened the matching string of pearls around her throat. She dabbed some of her favourite perfume behind her ears and the back of her knees. Straightening, she turned towards the mirror to cast her reflection a brief glance.

‘Wow, that is some dress.’

Lisa turned at the sound of Alex’s voice, and felt her breath catch at the image he presented. He was still only wearing jeans, and his hand had obviously been ruffling his hair, but there was something about his stance, a sense of predatory strength as his dark eyes swept down over her curvaceous body and lingered for an instant on the long length of her legs before returning to her face. The deepening gleam of sexual desire turned his eyes to black as they clashed with hers.

‘Maybe we should forget dinner,’ Alex murmured, stepping towards her, his intention obvious.

‘You’d better hurry up and get dressed, or we’ll be late,’ she retaliated, as she deftly sidestepped around him. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

‘Your’re right; I got trapped on the telephone. Be a sweetheart and mix me a whisky and soda. I have a feeling I am going to need it tonight.’

‘What about driving?’ she murmured.

‘Bert is driving us there, and we will grab a taxi back; no need for the old boy to have a late night.’

A few minutes later, she walked back into the bedroom, a glass of whisky and soda in her hand. She stopped inside the door. Alex was slipping on the jacket of his dinner suit, and he turned at her entrance.

‘Thanks, Lisa.’ He moved to her side and took the glass from her hand; his fingers brushed hers and sent a swift jolt of electricity up her arm. He was devastatingly attractive at any time, but wearing a superbly cut dinner suit, with his black hair slicked back from his broad forehead, he exuded an aura of powerful male magnetism that few men possessed. She watched as he raised the glass to his mouth and drained it. She was fascinated by the way his strong tanned throat moved when he swallowed, and only realised she was staring when he spoke.

‘Come on, Lisa, we’re cutting it fine as it is.’

At the hotel the doorman opened the car door almost before it had stopped. Taking a deep breath, Lisa alighted with some elegance, and before she could even take a step Alex was at her side, his hand under her elbow to guide her inside…

CHAPTER FIVE

WALKING from the brightness of the fine June evening into the darkened interior of the hotel Lisa was blinded for a second, and she stumbled slightly. Alex tightened his grip on her arm.

‘You did not hit the whisky as well, I hope,’ he quipped, his dark eyes laughing down at her in easy intimacy.

The charm of his smile squeezed her heart. ‘No,’ she snapped, scared by the emotion he could so easily arouse in her. ‘Though being blackmailed by one’s husband is reason enough for anyone to hit the bottle,’ she informed him with sweet sarcasm.

‘Blackmailed?’ His brows drew together in a frown. ‘Ah, you mean your beloved stepfamily. I was in a hurry this morning and I said the first thing that came into my head.’

‘So you say,’ she murmured. ‘But it worked. I’m here at your side instead of at home in Stratford.’ She didn’t know why she was needling him, and as for her stepfamily, Nigel was certainly not her beloved anything…

‘Your home is with me,’ Alex said, his grip on her arm tightening. ‘Now drop this stupid conversation. This evening—’ He stopped in mid-sentence. Lisa followed the direction of his gaze and felt her heart sink in her chest.

Some thirty feet away but moving towards them was a tall, overweight, grey-haired man. The family likeness was unmistakable; it had to be Alex’s father. By his side was a young woman, dark-haired and beautiful, thirty-something, and moreover someone Lisa had met before.

‘Damn, I thought I had frightened the woman off,’ Alex swore, his dark eyes narrowing intently on the approaching couple.

Lisa straightened her shoulders and shrugged off Alex’s supporting hand. ‘Obviously not. Fiona Fife, I believe, another one of your lady-friends.’ She was determined to act the sophisticate tonight in front of Alex and his father, but she had a horrible feeling it was not going to be so easy, especially if she was going to keep bumping into her husband’s mistresses at every turn!

Alex glanced at her, his dark eyes clashing with her angry blue. ‘I do believe you’re jealous,’ he prompted softly.

Lisa gave a slight shrug, pretending indifference. ‘Should I be?’ she asked lightly, and held his gaze with difficulty.

‘No. You are the only girl for me, darling, plus I am not old enough for that particular lady,’ he drawled mockingly, with a brief glance at the other couple. Tilting his head towards Lisa, he added, sotto voce, ‘It is my father she has designs on. She is hopeful of becoming wife number six. Our Italian friend informed me of that at that party we attended in Monte Carlo. I did try to warn her off, with tales of his weak heart and nowhere near as much money as she imagines, but it looks like I failed.’ His firm mouth twisted in a wry grimace. ‘Not for the first time, unfortunately.’

Inexplicably, Lisa’s spirits lifted considerably at his words. Now she knew why he had danced with the woman when they were on their honeymoon, and somehow it made her feel a whole lot better.

‘Brace yourself, here they come.’ Alex slid his arm around her waist and urged her forward. ‘Father,’ he greeted the older man warmly. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Indeed it has,’ the older man agreed. ‘You’ve met Fiona?’ He indicated the woman at his side, and both Alex and Lisa gave a social smile and said hello to the black-haired beauty.

‘And this must be your wife.’ Mr Solomos senior’s dark eyes were so like his sons as he scrutinised Lisa from head to toe, and then he broke out into a broad grin. ‘Charming, absolutely beautiful. Though you could have told me, Alex. I thought I was the only one who married quickly in our family. Obviously you have inherited some of my traits after all.’

She felt Alex stiffen at her side but, ignoring his father’s comment he simply said, ‘Lisa, allow me to introduce you to my father, Leo, and don’t be taken in by his charm; it is his stock-in-trade.’

Lisa held out her hand and the old man engulfed it in his. He looked like Alex, though he was a few inches shorter, but he did not have the same aura of compelling dynamism that Alex possessed in such abundance.

‘How do you do?’ she said formally, and felt the colour rise in her face when Leo laughed out loud.

‘So formal, so very English. I hope you are a match for my son’s fiery Greek temperament.’

‘Lisa is a perfect match in every way,’ Alex informed him, subjecting Lisa to a slow, sensual appraisal that left no one in any doubt of exactly what he meant.

His father chuckled again. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Turning to Fiona with a smile, he demanded, ‘Shall we tell them?’

Fiona’s eyes lifted to Alex, the smile on her perfectly made-up face one of triumph. ‘Oh, yes, I think your son and his wife—’ she glanced briefly at Lisa, but immediately turned her attention back to Alex ‘—should be the first to know.’

‘Fiona and I are flying to Las Vegas tomorrow afternoon to get married.’

Was the old man aware of the effect he had on his son? Lisa wondered. She felt Alex’s fingers dig into her side, and the increased tension in his body, but not by a flicker of an eyelash did he display his concern.

‘Congratulations appear to be in order all round,’ Alex offered, his eyes narrowing fractionally on his father. ‘I trust everything else is in order also.’

Watching him, Lisa actually felt some pity for her husband in that moment. Having met his mother, and seen the love and affection between them, she realised how hard it must be for him when he was about to gain stepmother number five!

‘Yes, Alex, I visited Mr Niarchos this morning. He will be in touch tomorrow.’

Lisa felt the tension drain out of Alex, and his hand at her waist relaxed slightly.

‘Good,’ he agreed urbanely. ‘Shall we forgo drinks and go into dinner?’

A slight frown of puzzlement creased Lisa’s smooth brow. There was obviously more being said between the two men than the words they spoke revealed. Then it hit her—the mention of the lawyer. Alex was checking his father had made a prenuptial agreement. How sad… But it was nothing to do with her, she told herself, as she walked towards the dining room at her husband’s side. She couldn’t help being aware of the intense interest their foursome aroused in the hotel’s clientele. Mostly down to Alex; she had no illusions on that score. He was an exceptionally impressive man.

The restaurant was filled with customers, but Leo had booked ahead, and the maître d’ greeted him with the familiarity of an old friend. They were directed to a table and a waiter appeared at Leo’s side in a second, quickly followed by the wine waiter.

The best champagne was requested, and Leo ordered for Fiona without bothering to ask. Alex ordered a Waldorf salad for starters, followed by steak and fresh fruit, but at least he had the manners to ask Lisa what she preferred. She selected the pâté and opted for the fillet of trout garnished with prawns and melted butter. Hiding a smile, she recognized Alex had inherited his chauvinistic traits from his father…

‘You’re not watching your figure, then, Lisa?’ Fiona queried, in the first sentence she had addressed to Lisa. ‘But then of course you have never been a model. I have to be so body-conscious; everything must be perfect.’ And with a simpering glance at Leo and a hand on his arm she concluded, ‘But that is how Leo likes me.’

From the lecherous look on the old man’s face as he stared at Fiona’s cleavage—she was wearing a white slip dress that plunged to her waist back and front—Leo would have preferred her like Lisa’s trout: naked but for a covering of butter, Lisa thought dryly, before responding, ‘I’m sure he does.’ She paused for a second, stumped for something else to say. She knew she had just been insulted, but she was too polite to retaliate.

The arrival of the waiter with the bottle of champagne was a timely interuption. The waiter filled all four glasses, and Leo raised his first.

‘A toast to the newlyweds, Alex and Lisa. And the soon to be wed, Fiona and myself.’

Lisa lifted her glass and sipped the sparkling champagne; she touched glasses with the couple sitting opposite.

‘And your husband,’ Alex murmured.

It was a rectangular table, with Leo next to Fiona and Alex at her side. She turned her head slightly towards him and touched her glass to his. ‘Of course, my husband,’ she conceded with a smile, opting for a casual response. There were enough undercurrents of tension in the atmosphere without her adding to it by arguing with Alex.

‘To my darling wife.’ Alex held her gaze for a few heart-stopping seconds, his eyes darkening sensually with muted desire. She knew he was doing it deliberately, but she still had to fight to control the sudden upsurge in her pulse rate, and hastily took a deep drink of the wine and looked away.

Surprisingly, Leo Solomos turned out to be a witty, convivial host. He asked Lisa about her work and family, and congratulated her on her business acumen. The food was cooked to perfection and Lisa slowly began to relax. In fact she discovered she quite enjoyed the company. Though when Leo tried to fill her glass for the fourth time, she refused.

Three bottles of champagne were consumed, and Lisa couldn’t help thinking that for a woman who was so bothered about her appearance, Fiona could certainly down her drink. The only time the conversation flagged was when Fiona spoke. She seemed to have a perfect memory for every modelling assignment she had ever been on, and complete recall of every gown she’d worn. Thankfully, Leo had the happy knack of distracting her by placing a finger on her lips or with a kiss.

Alex on the other hand, played the part of the perfect husband, with reassuring smiles for Lisa or a quick aside to enquire if she was okay. By the time dessert arrived Lisa was happy to concede that Leo was a charming man. His only fault appeared to be his penchant for young women.

She had just stopped laughing at Leo’s tall tale about a donkey that snored, on the island of Kos, and was about to resume eating her fruit salad, when a disturbing realisation hit her like a blow to the stomach. She replaced her spoon in the dish and pushed it away; she could not eat another thing.

‘What is the matter?’ Alex demanded, turning slightly in his seat, his dark head angled towards her. ‘The fruit is not to your liking?’ His thoughtful gaze searched her suddenly pale face, and she realised her husband was a very astute man; he saw far too much.

She forced a smile to her lips. ‘No, it’s fine, but, really, I’ve had enough.’ More than enough, she thought with a heavy heart. It had suddenly occurred to her the friendly smiling Leo opposite was not just Alex’s father, he was also his business partner. If Alex was trying to take over her company, then obviously his father was aware of the situation. The older man’s good humour and friendly interest about Lisa’s work were as false as the marriage vows he kept repeating…

‘Are you sure?’ Alex insisted, placing a finger under her chin and turning her head to face him. She was unaware of the pain shadowing her blue eyes, but it was apparent to Alex. ‘You’re tired and not quite yourself; I forgot,’ he murmured huskily, as he smoothed his finger down her throat. Her pulse leapt at his touch and he noted the fact with a slight twist to his sensual mouth.

‘We can leave now, if you like,’ he prompted softly. ‘An early night would suit both of us.’

‘No, no I’m fine.’ Lisa confirmed, forcing a smile.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived at that moment, and Leo demanded quite loudly, ‘We will have coffee in the lounge. I don’t enjoy a meal without a good cigar afterwards.’

Seated next to Alex on a low leather sofa, his arm casually placed around her shoulders, his fingers on her flesh playing havoc with her nervous system, Lisa chewed on her bottom lip, torn between wanting the evening to end and anxiety about being alone with Alex again. When the waiter deposited the coffee tray on the low table in front of them Lisa leant forward, displacing Alex’s arm, and took a cup of coffee from the tray before the waiter had a chance to hand it to her. Lounging on the sofa to the left of her was Leo, a huge cigar clamped between his teeth, and the stomach-curling smell as he blew smoke out was making her feel sick. At least that was what she told herself as she quickly drained her coffee cup and leapt to her feet, excusing her departure with the need to visit the rest room.

In the cool confines of the marble-walled room, she heaved a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived, as Fiona walked in. With a brief smile at the other woman, Lisa opened her purse and withdrew a lipgloss. She eyed her reflection in the mirror; there was nothing in her expression, she thought gratefully, that revealed the fraught state of her emotions. The social mask was still in place, and carefully she outlined her full mouth with the rose gloss.

‘Funny to think after this weekend I will be your stepmother-in-law,’ Fiona remarked, standing beside Lisa at the mirror, primping her dark hair. Her brown eyes clashed with Lisa’s in the mirror. ‘And I’m only a year or so older than you.’

More like ten, Lisa thought, but didn’t say so. ‘Yes, well, I don’t suppose you’ll want me to call you Mum.’ She responded with a tinge of sarcasm. She found it very hard to believe Fiona was marrying Leo for any other reason but money.

‘Good God! No! But there’s no reason why we can’t be friends, you and I, after all, we have a lot in common,’ Fiona said with a smug grin. ‘The way you hooked Alex was absolutely brilliant.’

‘The way I hooked Alex?’ Lisa prompted, her blue eyes puzzled. She had not ‘hooked Alex’; it had been the other way round.

Oblivious to Lisa’s surprise, Fiona carried on, ‘So quickly. I couldn’t have done better myself. Well, I didn’t, did I?’ She grimaced. ‘But I’ve got Leo. Though I don’t mind admitting when I met the pair of them in March, at Leo’s sixtieth birthday in Nice, I had every intention of going after Alex. It was obvious to me—feminine intuition, if you like—that he was fast losing interest in that Margot creature. He was distinctly cool towards her. No, if I hadn’t had to go to the Caribbean on a modelling assignment, I would have given you a run for your money over Alex. Still, Leo’s not too bad—and, let’s face it, they’re both as rich as Croesus.’

‘But surely you must love Leo,’ Lisa prompted. To think a woman was marrying for money was one thing; to be told she was seemed quite extraordinary to Lisa.

‘Oh, I do. I love his money, and he’s not a bad old stick.’ With a last casual flick at her hair she turned to leave. ‘Come on, we’d better get back. You can’t leave a couple of wealthy men like those two on their own for too long, there are a lot of predatory women out there.’

Lisa chuckled; she couldn’t help herself. Anyone more predatory than Fiona would be hard to find. She followed the other woman back to the lounge and her blue-eyed gaze instinctively settled on Alex.

He was the epitome of male sophistication, lounging back on the deep leather sofa, his long legs stretched out before him in casual ease. The man was sinfully attractive. A tiny shiver of excitement quivered deep inside. And, as she knew only too well, he was a deeply passionate and wickedly sensual lover. Fiona was wrong about the pulling power of the Solomos wealth, she thought, a wry smile curving her mouth as Alex stood up at her approach. He could be a pauper and he would still have women falling at his feet.

‘You’re smiling; you must be feeling better.’ Dark eyes scrutinised her slightly flushed face. ‘But I think it is time we left.’ He lifted a large tanned hand and let his fingertip trace the purple shadows under her eyes in a fleeting gesture that made her whole body tense. ‘Okay?’

Lisa looked up into his eyes, the smile fading from her face. It wasn’t okay, but she really had no alternative. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, and managed not to flinch when his dark head lowered and he pressed the lightest of kisses on her soft lips.

After reiterating their congratulations on Leo’s forthcoming nuptials, they said goodnight and left.

Lisa stepped outside into the mild night air, and took a deep breath to clear her head and to steady her wildly fluctuating emotions. She loved Alex; he only had to look at her and she ached for him. To deny him was to deny herself the wonder of his lovemaking, the pleasure she found in his arms. Yet she no longer trusted him.

The doorman was holding open the door of a black cab and Alex, with a hand in the small of her back, was urging her forward. She slid along the seat and Alex followed, casually placing a long arm around her slender shoulders. She immediately shuffled further along the seat. Alex cast her a sidelong glance, one brow arched quizzically, but he made no comment as he simply hauled her back against him. Leaning forward, he instructed the driver on their destination.

The warmth of his large male body, the subtle scent of his cologne all conspired to break down her reservations about their relationship. As Alex sat back, his glance lingered for a moment on the long length of her legs. She attempted to pull the hem of her dress lower and he chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat.

‘You did that the very first time I set eyes on you. Not still shy, Lisa?’ he teased.

‘Not at all,’ she denied, but felt foolish. But then most women were foolish where love was concerned, she thought sadly, unless one happened to be like the Fionas of this world; unfortunately for Lisa, she wasn’t. Sighing, she let her head fall back; she was tired, and with Alex’s warm hand cupping her bare shoulder, his thumb gently kneading the back of her neck, she gradually felt the tension ease from her body. Why fight it? she asked herself. If Alex had married her to get Lawson’s, she would find out soon enough. Meanwhile, why not enjoy her marriage while it lasted? After Alex she knew she would never marry any another man. A soft sigh escaped her and she allowed her head to rest on his broad shoulder, and he held her in a comfortable silence as the cab navigated the London streets.

It was only when they entered the private elevator which would take them to the penthouse that Lisa felt the tension returning. She glanced at Alex as he pressed the requisite button and the metal doors slid shut, closing them into the luxuriously carpeted box. ‘How do you feel about your father’s up-coming marriage?’ she asked, more to break the silence than out of any real curiosity, as the elevator whisked them ever nearer the apartment, and the bedroom…

Alex flicked her a glance. ‘Don’t be concerned; I am not,’ he drawled in a dry, mocking tone. ‘I gave up worrying about my father years ago.’

‘You don’t mind he’s marrying a woman younger than you.’

‘Why should I? We will hardly ever see them,’ Alex responded dismissively.

The elevator doors swung open and she flinched as Alex reached for her arm and guided her across the hallway to the apartment. ‘But he is your father…’ she insisted.

‘Drop it,’ he snapped as he opened the door and ushered her into the apartment.

‘Aren’t you worried about him? You must care for him.’

Closing the door behind him, Alex said bluntly, ‘It is really not your concern, Lisa. Now, do you want a nightcap, or shall we go straight to bed?’

His response simply confirmed her judgement of the man. Alex did not even care for his father, so what hope had she of him genuinely caring for her? None! She didn’t want a drink, but neither did she want to go to bed—at least not with Alex. Or so she told herself. ‘I’ll have a very small cognac.’

Dropping her purse on the hall table, she kicked off her shoes before following him into the living room. She watched as he crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured a small amount of cognac into a crystal glass, and then twice as much of the liquor into another glass. Turning around, he closed the distance between them, a glass in each hand. He held out the smaller measure to her. As she took it, her fingers brushed against his.

She resented the way a simple touch set her pulse racing, and, glancing up at him, she resented even more the way he knew exactly how she felt. She wanted to rage at him, demand to know about his deal with Nigel. She needed to know the truth. But she could not bring herself to ask.

‘You look angry,’ he observed with narrowed eyes. ‘And there is no need. My father is perfectly able to look after himself.’ Lifting his glass to his mouth, he drained it, then placed it on the table. ‘But perhaps it is not my father’s wedding that has angered you. Perhaps something else,’ he mused. ‘You’re not still thinking of last night’s farce? I thought we had settled that,’ he declared, eyeing her speculatively.

‘No,’ she swiftly denied, and in truth Nigel, not Margot, was behind her simmering anger. ‘I’m simply amazed you can dismiss your father’s marriage so lightly.’ Tossing back her head, she swallowed the cognac in one go.’ Leaning forward, she deposited her glass on the table. Straightening up, she realised he had moved closer. But he made no attempt to touch her.

‘Somehow, I don’t think my father is the real reason for all the latent anger that shimmers in your expressive eyes, nor do I think it is because of Margot’s untimely intrusion into our life. So, I have to ask myself, what exactly is it that you are hiding?’ he queried silkily.

He was too close, in more ways than one. The ease with which he had seen through her attempts to hide the real reason for her anger was worrying. ‘I’m not hiding anything.’ Lisa paused, then added with a flash of inspiration, ‘Unless you consider a conversation with your future stepmother in the rest room a secret.’

He tipped his arrogant head back, a dangerous gleam lighting his dark eyes. ‘Fiona? Explain,’ he commanded hardly.

‘Well, according to Fiona, she and I are very alike, and if she hadn’t had to go on a modelling assignment after your father’s sixtieth birthday party she would now be your girlfriend. Fiona congratulated me on how quickly I nipped in and…’ She hesitated delicately, the beginnings of a smile twitching her lips. She could see Alex detested the idea of women discussing him in the ladies’ room, and she began to enjoy herself.

‘Now, let me think. I believe “hooked” was the term she used. Apparently Fiona sensed you were growing tired of Margot and looking for a replacement.’

His snort of disgust was music to Lisa’s ears. ‘And you’ll be glad to know Fiona wants us to be chums. In fact, she said I was almost as good as she at snagging a man, and she bears me no ill will. Mainly because she has hooked your father, and the money is all in the family.’

‘It’s no more than I expected from her,’ Alex declared.

‘Yes, well, I have often been mistaken for a bimbo, but if she were blonde Fiona would certainly take first prize. She quite happily admitted she doesn’t love Leo, but his money.’ Saying it out loud, Lisa couldn’t keep her own personal sense of outrage out of her voice.

‘Lisa.’ He caught her wrist, his thumb idly stroking up her palm. She gave him a stormy look, and tried to pull her hand free. He smiled wryly and let go of her hand, but slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against his length. ‘Forget Fiona. I will make sure she never bothers you. Now let’s go to bed.’

Lisa’s teeth ground together in frustration; her blue eyes flashed with temper. She did not want to go to bed, in fact she hated the idea, but she really had no choice. She supposed she should be thankful he had swallowed the reason for her anger without digging deeper, but she didn’t feel grateful, just trapped. ‘I suppose so,’ she muttered.

Gleaming black eyes held hers and he laughed softly as though he knew exactly what was going through her mind. ‘You’re very young, Lisa. You still see everything in black and white. Unfortunately, life teaches one there are a dozen shades of grey in between. Don’t worry about Leo; he knows exactly what he is paying for,’ he assured her with cynical amusement.

She shrugged out of his embrace. ‘I’m not that young, and I don’t find it in the least amusing, and I bet your mother didn’t either, the first time it happened.’

Alex winced. Her barb had hit home. ‘All right.’ He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘I will say no more. Run along to bed. You’ve just reminded me, I have a call to make. My mother has to be told before Leo’s latest escapade appears in the press.’

Lisa did not hesitate; she spun on her heel and headed for the dressing room.

Quickly selecting a plain white cotton tee shirt, she shot into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. She completed her bedtime ritual in five minutes flat and walked into the adjoining bedroom. She stopped and stared at the huge bed and a vivid image of Margot standing in the exact same spot last night filled her mind.

It was no good; she could not get into bed with Alex and pretend nothing had happened. She simply could not do it. Turning, she headed for the door.

‘I need a shower and shave, but I won’t be long.’ Alex strolled in from the dressing room, casually rubbing his jaw with his hand.

Lisa stopped at the sound of his voice and glanced at him, her eyes widening on his virtually naked body. Hot colour flooded her cheeks and she was helpless to look away. He was all tanned satin skin, sheathing rippling, hard-packed muscle and sinew, with a smattering of curling black body hair arrowing down over his flat belly to disappear beneath the band of a pair of black briefs that enhanced his masculine attributes rather than concealed them. She breathed in deeply and looked up, her wide blue eyes meeting deep brown.

In one lithe stride he was at her side. ‘Why the blush? I am covered, and you have seen me naked before,’ he teased.

‘Yes, me and countless other women, I’m sure,’ she snapped, brushing past him.

‘Not so fast.’ Alex’s hand curved around her arm in a grip of steel. ‘Now what is eating you?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowing angrily on her furious face.

‘Nothing, nothing at all. But I am not sleeping in that bed with you,’ she told him bluntly. ‘I suddenly realised there is not room on your bedpost for another notch, and I have no intention of being one of the multitude again,’ she said with biting sarcasm.

‘For heaven’s sake, Lisa, it is only a bed.’

‘Yes, I can see that, but somehow I had this weird idea the marital bed was something special. You, on the other hand, have shared that one with so many women I doubt you even know the score.’ To her intense satisfaction she saw a dull tide of red darken his chiselled features. She realised she had actually managed to get through his arrogant exterior and embarrass him.

‘You are far too sensitive for your own good,’ Alex snapped, and, dropping her hand, he continued, ‘But I take your point. Though for your information I can keep count, and it is nowhere near as many as you imagine.’

‘That’s the problem, I don’t have to imagine,’ Lisa responded, her eyes blazing up at him in hurt and anger. ‘It’s one thing to know your husband has had lovers in the past, but it’s quite another to be presented with one of them naked, and by your bed.

‘Our bed, Lisa,’ he replied with silken emphasis. ‘Margot and her ilk belong in the past. Accept it.’

His arrogant command made her blood boil. ‘As Margot had to,’ she sneered. Why she was defending the other woman, she had no idea, but he made her so mad. ‘That woman loved you; I could see it in her eyes.’

‘Love.’ Alex lifted a shoulder in an infinitesimal shrug. ‘Whatever that means, it was not something Margot was ever afflicted with.’ His dark eyes mocked her. ‘Now money, yes.’

A chill ran over Lisa’s flesh and extinguished her anger at a stroke. She felt curiously calm. ‘You don’t believe in love,’ she said softly, the effect of his ‘Whatever that means’ slicing at the very heart of her.

Alex snorted in disgust. ‘With a father like mine, what do you think?’ he drawled. ‘The man falls in love at the drop of a hat, or maybe the drop of a dress would be more appropriate.’ His harsh laugh sounded the death knell of Lisa’s hope. ‘He compounds his stupidity by marrying them. Substitute sex for love, then you’ll be nearer the truth.’

Appalled, she stood glued to the spot. Alex meant what he said; he really did not believe in love. It was several seconds before she could speak. ‘Why did you marry me, Alex?’ she asked quietly, her blue eyes holding his.

Apparently surprised, he raised his eyebrows sharply above his dark eyes, and, catching her by the shoulders, he drew her against him. ‘I married you, Lisa, because I wanted you on sight.’ He lifted a strong brown hand and let his fingertip trace the bow of her top lip in a fleeting gesture that made her body tense. ‘After spending only one day with you I knew I had to have you. You are all I ever wanted in a wife,’ he said softly, his dark eyes smiling into hers. ‘Believe me.’

If his words were meant to reassure her, they failed miserably. Something deep down in Lisa shrivelled up under his charming smile. He didn’t even realise his answer was an insult, she recognised sadly. Shrugging her shoulder free of his hand, she stepped back. ‘Why me, and not Margot?’ she asked quietly.

‘Really, Lisa.’ His dark gaze scanned over her stiff figure, a frown pleating his brow. ‘You are not that naive. Margot is an actress.’ He said it as if he was talking to a child, the exasperation in his tone clearly evident.

She shook her head in disbelief. The arrogant conceit of the man was absolutely unbelievable, and, raising her eyes to his, she prompted. ‘Well, I’m a working girl.’ She could not let it go. She was so vulnerable where he was concerned, loving him as she did. She had to know the worst, then maybe she could begin to get over him.

‘Don’t be so obtuse.’ His deep brown eyes clashed with her brilliant blue ones. ‘There is a world of difference between a thirty-something ambitious actress, and an intelligent, pure young woman who works and is protected by her family.’ Alex’s sensual mouth slanted sardonically. ‘The first is strictly mistress material, and you, my darling Lisa, are the type men marry.’

‘I see,’ Lisa murmured, and closed her eyes for a second, fighting back the tears. She had fallen in love with a man who did not believe in the emotion.

‘No, you don’t see.’ His voice tickled her ear and her eyes flew open. Alex had moved, and she stiffened as he slid a large hand around her waist and pulled her in to the hard heat of him. ‘I married you because I was desperate with wanting you. No woman has ever affected me the way you do. And, much to my delight, I have discovered you have an endless capacity for enjoyment that perfectly matches my own,’ he opined huskily. Lisa shivered as he pressed his lips to the pulse beating frantically in her throat. ‘Now, let’s go to bed, hmm.’

Afterwards, she would decide it was the softly drawled ‘hmm’ that had finally caused her to flip her lid…

Lisa curled her fingers into a fist, and swung with all her might, catching Alex a glancing blow on the side of his head. His arm fell from her waist and she turned on him like a mad thing. ‘You have the most enormous ego of any man in the world, and you are deaf to boot,’ she snarled.

Alex’s hand came down on her slender shoulders and held her slightly away from him. ‘What the hell was that for?’ he demanded harshly.

‘I am not sleeping with you in that bed. Got it?’ she yelled. How he had dared to suggest it after what he had just revealed beggared belief.

‘Enough!’ Alex held up his hands, setting her free. ‘Sleep in the guest room tonight, if you must. I will have the bed replaced tomorrow.’ And with a last grim look at her red, furious face, he strode across the room into the bathroom.

Lisa slipped into the room she had occupied the night before and climbed into bed. She was exhausted, but the thoughts crowding her mind would not let her sleep. For a deliriously happy bride returning from her honeymoon only a few short days ago, confident in herself and the love of her husband, the past two days seemed like a horror story. But they were all too real and she had to face up to reality. Alex had his own reason for marrying her and it was not love.

Alex had taught her a hard lesson. To show one’s innermost feelings with total honesty was damaging to one’s health. Her marriage was over before it had really begun, though it broke her heart to have to admit it. She remembered all the times they had made love and she had spilled her heart out to him, declaring her undying love; it had never once occurred to her that Alex did not feel the same. More fool her…

She turned restlessly on the bed. Being brutally honest with herself, she admitted, it seemed huge and empty without Alex to share it with her. But she was not going to give in, she vowed. Alex had blackmailed her into staying with him. He had said his earlier threat to keep her with him had been a joke, but she was not so sure. She didn’t know what to believe any more. All she knew for certain was she must keep Alex sweet until she found out exactly what he was up to with regard to Lawson’s.

With her mind made up, she tried to sleep, but it was no good, she was wide awake. Slipping out of bed, she crossed over to her computer and switched it on. She had never felt so alone in her whole life, but blinking back the tears, she refused to cry. She E-mailed Jed. She needed to talk to someone, and the lonely hours before dawn in England were late evening in Montana; he might be on-line.

To her relief he was there. Within a very short space of time, Lisa was confiding to Jed the whole sorry story of her hasty marriage.

Jed listened and consoled, and his advice was optimistic. He pointed out she had not given the marriage much of a chance. Alex probably did love her, but was not capable of saying the words. She did not know for sure that he meant to take over her company. Why didn’t she ask him? There might be a simple explanation. Anyway, she was his wife and was entitled to half of everything he owned. So was she being totally reasonable?

She replied. Was he simply sticking up for his own sex? Jed denied the accusation and reminded her she had been married in church, before God, and her vows were not something to dismiss lightly. They chatted for over an hour and Lisa, completely absorbed in what she was doing, didn’t see the bedroom door open, or the tall dark figure of the man watching her. Nor did she see the tenderness in the gleaming black eyes that lingered on her slender body crouched over the machine…

CHAPTER SIX

ALEX manoeuvred his red Ferrari between two massive stone pillars crowned by Lions, past open gates, and gunned the car up a long winding drive.

‘Are you sure this is the right house?’ Lisa queried irritably. She had overslept this morning, mainly because it had been five in the morning before she had got to sleep. Alex had awakened her with a cup of coffee, looking disgustingly fit in blue jeans and a blue knit polo shirt, ready to go. She had forgotten all about their house-hunting and, glancing at him now, in the close confines of the sports car, she wished he had done the same. But no such luck. Alex pursued everything with a ruthless determination that was impossible to ignore.

Within half an hour of waking up Lisa had washed and dressed in white pleated trousers with a white and blue cropped top to match. She’d grabbed a piece of toast and had only taken one bite before Alex had marched into the kitchen. ‘Mrs Blaydon, I have ordered a new bed for the master bedroom. Someone will ring and tell you what time it is arriving. Be here.’ And, grasping Lisa’s free hand, he had hurried her out of the apartment and into the car.

Alex’s voice broke into her troubled thoughts. ‘Of course I am sure. I am a brilliant navigator.’ His dark eyes flicked her a smiling glance.

The car had breasted the top of a hill, and fifty yards on was the most impressive Georgian mansion Lisa had ever seen.

Alex stopped the car at the foot of stone steps that led to the entrance door, and turned to Lisa. ‘You, my darling, should have eaten some breakfast, it might have improved your disposition,’ he opined mockingly.

‘And whose fault was that?’ she prompted. ‘You dragged me out of the apartment like you were taking a dog for a walk.’

Alex burst out laughing, his white teeth flashing ‘You’re certainly no dog!’ His gleaming gaze slid over her mutinous face with genuine amusement, dropping to the proud thrust of her breasts against the soft cotton of her top, the slight glimpse of tanned midriff, and came back to her face. ‘Though you have been acting like a dog in the manger for the past couple of days.’ His dark eyes studied her intently for a long moment. ‘I presume it is simply the effect of your period?’ he asked quietly.

Lisa felt his intimate glance like a caress, and she trembled inside, but it was what he was not saying that worried her. A cynical angry Alex she could handle, but a questioning, analytical Alex was far too dangerous. She was trying to discover what deviousness he was up to, not the other way around. So she responded carefully, ‘Yes, probably.’ She managed a rueful smile. ‘Sorry.’ She had to get her act together and try to behave normally around him.

He leaned forward, his lips hovering within inches of hers. ‘You’re forgiven.’ And he kissed her softly. The warmth of his breath brushed her cheek as he straightened up. She inhaled his clean, masculine scent and knew she would remember it to her dying day. Whatever happened between them.

‘Come on, Lisa,’ Alex commanded as he climbed out of the car. ‘I want your opinion on Stoneborough Manor.’

Lisa slid out of the low seat and followed Alex to the stone steps, squinting her eyes slightly to look up at the house. At the same time she smoothed her pants down over her hips, then tugged at her cotton top. ‘It’s a bit big.’

‘The house, maybe. But that top is a bit small.’ Alex grunted, eyeing the band of bare flesh between her top and pants, and the tantalising indent of her belly button.

‘It’s perfect for summer. You must be getting old,’ she quipped with a grin. ‘And you have to admit, it is a glorious summer day.’ Weather-wise, at least, she thought privately. In every other respect she wished she was anywhere else than looking over prospective houses with Alex. Jed had tried to convince her to give her marriage a chance, but she was not so sure…

She had not changed her mind an hour later, after wandering around the magnificent Georgian mansion. It was the ideal family home. The interior had been tastefully restored and decorated quite recently. A large elegant hall, with a polished hardwood floor and a magnificent staircase as its centre point, made an immediate impression. The study and five reception rooms were equally as impressive, from the formal dining room to the drawing room, library, and the cosier sitting room at the rear, that opened out into a marvellous conservatory.

Six bedrooms, all with ensuite bathrooms took up the first floor. The attic had been converted into an apartment for staff. The master suite was a triumph in interior design. The huge bedroom was dominated by an elegant but massive four-poster bed. A door on one side of the room led to a small sitting room. On the other side, there were his and her bathrooms, and a dressing room. Whoever owned the house had spared no expense; that much was obvious to Lisa’s admiring gaze as she walked across the deep-pile carpet and stood at the tall window, staring out at the view. It was breathtaking, like a secret valley, she thought fancifully.

Suddenly Alex’s arms slipped around her waist, and the shock of his touch made her jump. She was keenly aware of his casual embrace, of his hands locked across her bare midriff, of his long legs pressing against her thighs, the way their bodies fitted together so naturally. His dark head bent forward, his cheek brushed against her hair, and she could not prevent the trembling in her limbs.

‘What do you think?’ he prompted softly.

‘I think it must cost a fortune. And even more to furnish,’ Lisa said jerkily, intensely aware of his powerful body enfolding her and reminding her they were alone in the house. Alex evoked a mixture of hate and love inside her in equal measures, but in the intimacy of a bedroom designed for lovers it was the latter that was threatening her self-control.

Alex’s hands tightened on the side of her waist and he spun her round. ‘Never mind the price; and as it happens the furniture is included—a lot of it was made for the house.’ Cool dark eyes scanned her wary face. ‘Do you like it?’

The thought crossed Lisa’s mind that he seemed to know a lot about the place. Personally she loved the house. It was perfect, from the magnificent swimming pool and hot tub at the rear of the building, to the more practical kitchen and utilities, and the five acres of beautifully sculptured garden that surrounded the house, with a paddock beyond. But she was not about to admit as much to Alex. Two days ago she would have flung her arms around his neck and begged him to buy it. Not now…

Her blue eyes guarded, she held his gaze. The betrayal of trust in a relationship, she realised sadly, was probably the worst crime, and she formed her answer accordingly. ‘Yes, it is a nice house, but it is the first one we have viewed. I don’t think we should rush into anything. It is rather a long way from my work, plus it’s rather isolated.’

‘Hardly isolated,’ Alex drawled sarcastically, his hands dropping from her waist, much to her relief. ‘Oxford is a mere fifteen minutes away, and it is barely an hour to Stratford-upon-Avon. I would have said it was in a great position, being almost mid-way between London and Lawson’s. But—’ he gave a slight shrug of his broad shoulders ‘—if it does not appeal to you, so be it.’

‘I just feel we should wait,’ she insisted, glancing cautiously from beneath lowered lashes, wondering how he would take her less than enthusiastic response.

‘In that case, shall we go?’ he slanted mockingly.

‘Yes,’ Lisa agreed, and preceded him down the stairs and out of the house. She glanced over the building as he locked the huge doors. It would make some lucky family a wonderful home.

During the drive back to London Alex revealed that he had to go to New York on Monday, for a few days, and asked her if she wished to accompany him. Lisa swallowed back a sigh of relief as she refused, with the genuine excuse that she had to go to the office on Monday to begin interviewing prospective candidates for Mary’s job.

On their return to the apartment, Mrs Blaydon met them with the information that the new bed had been delivered, and she had left a meal prepared in the kitchen.

Alex glanced at Lisa, a devilish gleam in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Mrs B. You can leave now. Lisa and I want to check out the new bed.’

Lisa blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘What did you have to say that for?’ she demanded as the housekeeper left in a rush. ‘You embarrassed the poor woman.’

‘Mrs B was not the one who was embarrassed,’ Alex came back in amusement as he studied her scarlet cheeks.

‘Oh you’re impossible!’ she burst out. She had spent all day in his company and she felt as if she had been walking on eggshells. ‘And I am not sharing the new bed. I want my own room,’ she demanded furiously.

Brilliant dark eyes rested on her defiant face. ‘No way, Lisa. This foolishness has gone on long enough. Now, get into the kitchen and see what Mrs B has left for dinner. I am starving.’

Flinching from his blunt statement, and furious at his ordering her into the kitchen, she wanted to slap him. Instead she marched off and set about warming the chicken, mushroom and herb casserole the housekeeper had left.

The meal was a silent affair; Lisa had not the heart to talk, and, picking up on her mood, Alex ate in brooding silence too. When she occasionally caught his eye, she quickly looked away.

Lisa felt the swirling currents of tension building, and finally she could stand it no longer. Pushing back her chair, she stood up. ‘I have some work to do on my computer. If you will excuse me.’ She spoke to somewhere over his left shoulder.

‘So polite, Lisa,’ Alex observed indolently, leaning back in his chair and studying her with half-closed eyes. ‘Why now, I wonder? When we know each other so intimately.’

As if compelled, she glanced at his reclining form, and the tempo of her heartbeat increased. She met his narrowed gaze with reluctance, her eyes lingering on his high cheekbones and dropping to settle briefly on his mouth, which was a mistake. It wasn’t fair; she only had to look at him and the tug of sexual awareness was instant.

‘Yes, well, I tend to be that way,’ she finally answered. More than anything she wanted to lash out at him, and demand to know why he was plotting against her with Nigel. But she didn’t dare. Not yet. If what she suspected was true, she needed to form a plan to defeat him. The fact that she ached for him with every pore she was just going to have to learn to live with.

‘I know exactly what you are,’ Alex said softly, rising to his feet and moving around the table to stop in front of her. His hand reached forward and captured her chin, tilting it slightly so that he could examine her delicate features. ‘You’re a very passionate young woman who has suddenly realised the enormity of marriage after playing at it for a few weeks.’ His smile was stunningly sensual and she almost groaned. ‘And perhaps you are running a little scared. That I can understand. So, go to your computer agape mou.’ The endearment rolled off his tongue.

Lisa felt the effect to her toes, and his fingers on her chin tightened momentarily. She stared dumbly up at him, noting the glint of what looked almost like tenderness behind his grin. Her shoulders tensed against the potent spell of the fierce sexual chemistry he exuded without even trying. He reached out to brush a stray tendril of hair from her brow. She shivered, and his hard lips thinned. ‘Suddenly I frighten you, Lisa, and I don’t know why. Care to tell me?’ he queried silkily.

Lisa took a deep, steadying breath. ‘You’re imagining things, Alex.’

‘If you say so.’ His expression did not change, but she could sense his anger. ‘I have work to do myself,’ he said casually, but something hardened the depths of his eyes. ‘However, do not make the mistake of thinking you can avoid our bedroom tonight. You have no excuse.’

There was no mistaking the silent warning in his gaze, and it took all Lisa’s considerable control to reply lightly, ‘As if I would, Alex.’ and she even managed a chuckle. She was discovering she had quite a talent for acting, smiling on the outside when inside she wanted to rage at her arrogant husband.

‘Good girl.’ And before she knew what was happening his dark head swooped down and his mouth caught hers. Warmth coursed through her veins, and helplessly she opened her mouth to accept his kiss. When he finally raised his head she stared mutely up at him.

‘See you later, in our bed.’ Alex said, his chiselled mouth curving in a confident grin at her all-too-obvious surrender to his kiss.

As it happened, Lisa did not see him again that night. At midnight she crawled into bed, and the effect of the last forty-eight hours finally caught up with her. She went out like a light, and when she woke up in the morning the only hint that Alex had shared the bed was the indentation of his head on the empty pillow beside her.

Sunday was a repeat of Saturday; the only difference was that the house they viewed was on the outskirts of Banbury. Luckily for Lisa, this time she did not have to pretend uninterest in the property, because she hated it on sight. A huge, very new redbrick mansion, from the outside it reminded Lisa of a supermarket. It did have one saving grace: it was so horrific, Lisa found herself laughing with Alex over the various rooms. Consequently she managed to get through the evening without the tension that had marred the past two days. They watched a video of the latest blockbuster film, and when Lisa went to bed Alex simply said he would join her in a while; he had a few calls to make.

Lisa closed the bathroom door behind her and crossed to the bed. She pulled back the covers, and climbed into bed, tugging down the bottom of her crisp white cotton nightshift, and closed her eyes. She felt the light brush of warm lips against her own and sighed; she was in that hazy period before sleep, and lazily she opened her eyes. A naked Alex was bending over the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked stupidly.

‘Hush, Lisa,’ he murmured, lifting the coverlet and sliding in beside her. She edged back along the bed, but a long arm reached out and curled around her waist. ‘I simply want to hold you.’ Drawing her against his hard body, he covered her face with countless little kisses.

Her startled gaze met a pair of amused brown eyes. ‘But…’

‘Hush, I know,’ He whispered with mocking humour, continuing to press kisses to her cheek, the curve of her ear. His fingers brushed the pulse at the base of her throat and she sighed. Her lips parted and finally his mouth claimed hers.

The trouble was he knew her too well. She was helpless to resist the tenderness of his embrace, the curling of his tongue against hers, the delicious pleasure as his hand trailed down to cup the underside of her breast. He had a magic touch, Lisa thought dreamily.

A second later he lifted his head, ‘What on earth are you wearing?’ he demanded with a chuckle.

With the dim glow of the bedside light illuminating the room, Lisa stared up into his shadowed face. She had succumbed to him so easily she was ashamed. His dark eyes smiled down into her own, deep and lazily humorous, and his hand lifted to trace the soft contours of her breasts again, over the soft cotton of her nightshift. She felt a needle-sharp quiver of delight pierce her body, and she burst out, ‘Get off,’ and brushed his hand away. ‘This is a genuine Victorian antique I bought in Bath.’

His roar of laughter would have wakened the dead.

‘You can laugh, but it was very expensive. I had to search…’

‘Shh.’ He brushed his thumb over her lips. ‘I’m sure it is lovely.’ She could hear the lingering trace of laughter in his voice. ‘And I know you’re not well. But later, when you know me better and you are not quite so shy, I will teach you ways to make love that know no boundaries, ways you’ve never dreamed of.’

His deeply evocative words made the heat flood through her body, even as she reminded herself he did not love her, it was only sex on his part.

‘But not now,’ Alex husked, noting the flush of embarrassment on her lovely face. Replacing his hand with his mouth, he nipped at her lips, and she opened her mouth in ready acceptance of his tender, possessive kiss. ‘I simply want to kiss you goodnight,’ he whispered against her lips. ‘We have had our first argument as man and wife.’ His lips trailed to her throat and he laved the pulse that beat frantically in her neck. ‘It should not have happened.’ He raised his head and brushed her lips briefly with his own. ‘And we will never argue again.’

It was so Alex! So arrogant. We will never argue again. He said it as if it was a done deal, Lisa thought, a wry smile curving her mouth.

Alex’s dark eyes narrowed on her face. ‘What is so amusing?’

‘You… “We will never argue again.” Some hope,’ she jeered.

‘You don’t agree? But there is no reason to fight. To build a good marriage one must learn to compromise.’

‘You sound like you are quoting from a marriage guidance book. Some people like to fight.’ Alex being one of them, she privately thought.

‘Rubbish. It’s a ridiculous waste of energy.’

‘Alex, are you arguing with me?’ Lisa asked sweetly, and her smile broadened at the look of exasperation on his handsome face.

‘You’re a witch. Close your eyes and go to sleep before I change my mind and ravish you.’ And with one hard kiss on her laughing mouth, he rolled over on to his back and hauled her into his side. With his free hand he switched off the bedside light.

In the darkness, curved into Alex’s large body, the warmth and comfort of him enfolding her, Lisa closed her eyes, and within minutes was fast asleep.

It was déjà vu, she thought lazily, the brush of warm lips against her own. But the voice shouting, ‘Wake up, woman,’ was not. Her eyes flew open and rested on Alex. He was standing by the bed, shaved and dressed in an immaculate grey silk suit with a white shirt and conservative grey and blue striped tie, apparently ready to leave.

‘What time is it?’ she demanded, dragging herself up into a sitting position.

‘Coffee time.’ He indicated with a tilt of his dark head the bedside table, where a large cup of steaming coffee was standing. ‘Also time I left for the airport.’

‘Oh, well, thanks for the coffee. I have to get going myself. I said I would be in Stratford by ten.’ Lisa tried for a light tone. Which was no mean feat, considering for the first time since their marriage, she had just spent the night very comfortably in Alex’s arms without making love.

‘It is not too late for you to change your mind, Lisa, and come with me to New York,’ he offered casually. ‘I could, at a pinch, put off going until tomorrow.’

Lisa looked at him carefully. She could not believe he had said it, and for a second she was tempted, but quickly she squashed the idea. ‘No. No, really. I have far too much work to catch up on.’

‘As you like.’ He leant down and pressed a brief kiss on the top of her head. Lisa looked up in surprise.

‘Try not to miss me too much,’ he commanded, a gleam of mocking amusement glinting in the dark eyes above her own.

The trouble was, Lisa realised with a sinking heart, she would miss him. ‘I won’t have time,’ she returned brightly, ignoring her innermost feelings.

His dark gaze sharpened on her cool face. ‘Hopefully after this week your work will no longer be a problem. It is not that hard to hire a secretary. Or you could consider selling the company.’

Lisa glanced away from his penetrating gaze, the word selling echoing in her head, her worst suspicion confirmed. Her eyes fixed on the folds of the coverlet, an icy chill penetrating her heart. ‘I have no intention of ever selling, and finding a secretary for Mary will be no problem, I can assure you.’

‘I certainly hope so. I have no desire to have a part time wife,’ Alex countered with devastating frankness, and left.

So now she knew. He had suggested she sell the company. Her fingers curved convulsively in the coverlet. How long before he put himself forward as a buyer, or suggested razing the factory to the ground? she wondered on a shaky breath. And what could she do about it when he did?

Turning the key in the drawer which held her mother’s papers, Lisa found what she was looking for. The offer to buy had been made by Xela Properties with no mention of changing the business. She debated ringing them, but decided to display caution. She searched the Internet instead and found Xela Properties, only to discover to her horror that Solomos International was the parent company to it and a host of others. Starting in alphabetical order: Alexsol Cruises, Alomos Financial Services, and, of course, at the end, Xela Properties.

Switching off her computer, Lisa stared at the blank screen. In a way it was her own fault. She could have checked to see if Solomos International had a web page ages ago, but it had never occurred to her to do so. So much for her idea of a white knight helping her. It had been Alex who had tried to buy Lawson’s out a year ago…

The telephone rang, and Mary answered it. She listened for a second, then covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘It’s for you, Lisa. Your husband.’

Reluctantly Lisa reached out to take the call. ‘Alex. What are you calling for?’ she asked calmly, when she really felt like shouting every obscenity she could think of at him. He had been planning for over a year to get control of Lawson’s and destroy it!

‘I was not aware I needed a reason to speak to my wife,’ his deep voice echoed down the telephone.

Sarcastic, devious devil, Lisa thought furiously. ‘Yes, well, I am rather busy, so unless it was something important…’ She paused.

‘Not really. I thought you might like to know I have arrived in New York.’

‘Oh, yes, great. But I haven’t time to talk; ring again some time.’ And she clashed down the phone.

Lisa spent the rest of the day interviewing people for a job she was not sure was going to be available if Alex had his way…

Over dinner that evening with Harold, she was surprised when he had asked her quite seriously, ‘You do love Alex, don’t you, Lisa?’ His cherubic face was rather grim.

‘Of course I do.’ She forced a smile. ‘What makes you ask?’

‘Well, your mother expected me to take care of you, and I just wanted to make sure you were happy.’

For an instant Lisa was tempted to confide in him her fears for the company. As long as Harold voted his shares with hers, there would be nothing to worry about. He loved her like a daughter, and he loved the company and his job. But Lisa knew his one weakness was his son, Nigel. If Nigel asked him to sell, he might agree.

‘I miss her.’ Harold sighed wearily.

Looking at his sad face, she hadn’t the heart to trouble him. No! She had to solve the problem herself, and, rising to her feet, she walked around the table and pressed a swift kiss on the top of his head. ‘I know you do, Harold, we both do. But life must go on.’

‘Yes, yes, you’re right.’ he declared emphatically.

Lisa’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the determination in his tone, and what looked like relief on his round face. ‘Well, goodnight,’ she murmured, and went upstairs to her old bedroom. But it was hours before she slept, and when she did she dreamed of Alex.

Tuesday was even worse. Mary reminded her. ‘You’re taking Mr Brown from Beaver Pine to lunch today.’

Lawson Designer Glass sublet two work units, which provided extra income for the business.

Lisa looked up from scanning the references of the girl they were considering employing and smiled. ‘Yes, I know. Keep your fingers crossed he renews his lease.’

Two hours later when Lisa returned to the office, her face was set in a worried frown. ‘What happened to you?’ Mary asked. ‘You look like you lost a pound and found a penny.’

‘I have. Mr Brown was very polite, but he is not renewing his lease. He’s moving to bigger premises on the new industrial estate. He also let slip that Curly Cane is thinking of expanding elsewhere as well. I’m meeting Mr George, the boss, tomorrow for lunch. I can just see it now. Both leases run out at the end of July. Come August, the height of the tourist season, we’ll be the only firm operating; two boarded-up premises will not make a very good impression on our customers.’

‘No,’ Mary murmured. ‘But it shouldn’t be too hard to find other tenants.’

Lisa hoped she was right. Picking up the references she had been reading before lunch, Lisa scanned them one more time. At the interview, Miss Clement had come across as perfect for the job. The woman’s references were excellent, but Lisa was in a dilemma. Last week she had been all for leaving Mary in charge and looking forward to a long and happy life with her husband. Now she didn’t trust her husband and she had an uneasy feeling she might not be able to hang on to the company.

‘Mary, get in touch with Miss Clement.’ She had to think positively, and, standing up, Lisa crossed to Mary’s desk. ‘Offer her the job.’

Then she called Mr Wilkinson, her lawyer. She was going to ask him to put in an offer for the Lee shares. She would find the money from somewhere. Unfortunately he was on holiday until Thursday. Lisa explained to his secretary what she wanted, and the woman promised to inform Mr Wilkinson as soon as he returned. Lisa could do no more.

Thankfully, the next day, her lunch with Mr George went well. He had looked into moving but had decided against it. He took the new lease she offered.

Lisa returned to the office in a much happier mood than the day before, and it improved even further when Mary said Miss Clement had agreed to start on Monday.

By Thursday, Lisa came back from a visit to her bank manager, with a loan agreed and a genuine smile on her face, to find Mary standing by her desk. ‘Good, you’re back. Wilkinson and Morgan just called. Mr Wilkinson said, would you call him back?’

Lisa grinned. Her problems would soon be over. Five minutes later, she carefully placed the telephone receiver on its rest, her face pale beneath her tan. She didn’t see Mary’s concerned look. Her whole vision was centred internally. Mr Wilkinson had called to tell her the Lee estate had sold their thirty-five per cent holding in Lawson’s to Xela Properties. Apparently Mr Wilkinson had tried to get in touch with her to ask if she wanted to make an offer for the Lee shares, but she had been on her honeymoon and he hadn’t been able to contact her. So had Alex been honeymooning, she thought bitterly but that hadn’t stopped him buying them, the sneaky, conniving, lying bastard!

‘Are you okay?’ Mary’s voice cut through her rage.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’ But she wasn’t. She wanted to scream her fury out loud. Instead, when the telephone rang on her desk, she picked it up and yelled, ‘Yes, who is it?’ It was Alex. His timing could not have been worse. ‘What do you want?’ Apart from my company, she felt like adding.

‘Not a very lover-like greeting. I simply wondered if there had been any developments at your end. Have you managed to find a replacement for your PA yet?’

Developments! What a nerve. He knew damn well what had happened. She wanted to confront him with his duplicity, but instead she simply replied, ‘Yes everything is fine.’ Her mind was made up—she would fight him every inch of the way. She might have fallen into his arms like a ripe plum, but no way was she going to allow Lawson Designer Glass to do the same…

‘Good,’ Alex said. ‘I will be back in London tomorrow afternoon. Bert is meeting me at the airport, and I will see you at the apartment.’

‘Right, goodbye.’ She didn’t trust herself to say more, and she replaced the phone with rather more force than was necessary. She glanced at Mary. ‘I’m leaving now and I won’t be in tomorrow.’ She said, and walked out of the office, out of the building, and slid behind the wheel of her red BMW—her one indulgence—drove out of the car park and straight home.

On Friday afternoon, Lisa sat on the train to London, outwardly a beautiful, elegant young woman, but inside a mass of conflicting emotions. To say she felt mad was an understatement; she was blindingly furious! She had E-mailed Jed before she left home. But even his words of wisdom had not calmed the rage in her heart. He had advised to simply confront Alex and demand the truth. To explain to Alex that absolute honesty was a prerequisite for a good marriage. She had laughed out loud at Jed’s message. How come a young man almost the same age as herself had more insight into relationships than the older, arrogant swine she had married?

By the time the train was pulling into the station Lisa had calmed down somewhat. She had done a lot of soul-searching last night, and had analysed her behaviour, and reached a conclusion. She had allowed herself to be completely overwhelmed and overawed by her husband. Probably because it had all happened so quickly, and because Alex was her first and only lover. Or maybe because he was older and she had not considered herself an equal partner in the marriage. Obviously neither had he. He had bought shares in her company without even telling her. But he wasn’t getting away with it…

The train stopped and Lisa stood up. She had dressed carefully in a smart, double-breasted, button-through navy blue linen dress, its wide belt accentuating her narrow waist. She smoothed the skirt of her dress down over her hips and picked up her brief case and laptop before leaving the train. In minutes she was in the back of a black cab and heading for the penthouse. Alex Solomos had a lot of explaining to do. She was going to confront him, something she should have done a week ago.

Lisa fitted the key into the lock and pushed open the door, and walked into the apartment. She didn’t know what time Alex was due back, but it was now four p.m., so he couldn’t be much longer. She walked straight through to the inner hall and disposed of her briefcase and laptop in her so-called study and, turning, walked back out.

‘A bit late, Lisa.’ Alex’s deep voice held a mocking edge, and she spun around as he strolled out of the master bedroom.

‘You’re back.’ Her startled gaze focused on his tall, hard-muscled frame. He had obviously not long stepped out of the shower. Incongruously, on such a masculine man, a pink towel hung low on his hips; another was slung around his neck, and his black hair was ruffled and wet, as if he had just been rubbing it. Her mouth went dry. It had only been a week, but the familiar rush of awareness curled her stomach.

‘Not quite the response I hoped for,’ Alex revealed as he walked towards her.

‘You surprised me,’ Lisa got out. Her blue eyes clashed with his, and what she saw in their darkening depths sent a jolt of sexual excitement quivering along every nerve in her body. She couldn’t move, and she watched mesmerised as he closed the distance between them.

‘I surprise myself,’ he murmured enigmatically, and, raising his hands, he closed them over either side of her head, his long fingers raking through her hair, sending pins flying in every direction.

‘Don’t.’ She tried to shake her head but his dark head dipped and his mouth crushed down on hers, stopping the words in her throat as he ravished her mouth with deep, hungry passion that she was helpless to deny.

A tiny voice of reason told her she must stop him. Lisa reached out to push him away, but it had been so long. When her hands came into contact with his bare chest she felt him shudder, and that was her undoing…

CHAPTER SEVEN

FLAT on her back on the bed, the skirt of her dress bunched up around her hips, Lisa drew a shuddering breath and gazed up at Alex, looming over her. She glanced frantically round the room and wondered how on earth she had got there. A few minutes ago she had been in the hall. Her stunned gaze returned to Alex. His night-black eyes traced the long length of her bare legs to settle at the juncture of her thighs. ‘Alex,’ she gasped breathlessly, taken aback by the fierce sexual hunger in his burning gaze.

‘Yes, Lisa,’ he rasped harshly, casting aside the towel, magnificently uninhibited by his aroused state. Her heart began to pound, and, to her shame, her traitorous body responded instantly to his aggressive male virility. He leant over, his fingers fumbling with the buttons down the front of her dress. The belt frustrated him and he simply tore the front of her lace bra, freeing her breasts to his avid gaze, then he reached down, kneading the creamy softness of them with his hands. She could not disguise her need, and when one hand reached for her briefs, she instinctively raised her pelvis to help him whisk the scrap of lace from her body.

‘I want you,’ Alex admitted fiercely, coming down on the bed and curving strong hands around her hips. Nudging her legs apart, he eased his strong thighs into the feminine cradle of her hips, his awesome body trembling against her.

Lisa, reeling from the speed of his seduction, still might have made some effort to protest. But his firm lips fell upon her mouth and he kissed her with such ferocious need all thought of denying him was wiped from her mind.

‘I have to have you; I can’t wait,’ Alex declared in a deep growl, his dark head dropping to press his mouth to the slender curve of her throat, mouthing dark husky words in Greek against her tender skin with an eroticism that made her heart shake. He trailed one hand up over her thigh, expert fingers seeking the fold of tender flesh that masked her femininity. Lisa trembled, a fierce primeval heat racing like wild fire through her veins, consuming her mind and body.

‘You want me. You are so ready,’ Alex grated with satisfaction. His long fingers discovered the hot moist core of her, teasing and tormenting her ultra-sensitive flesh until she became a slave to the agonising pleasure his touch evoked.

‘So sweet, so hot…You’ve been aching for this all week,’ Alex murmured huskily, lowering his mouth to tease and lick her nipples with delicacy until they were hot, hard peaks. ‘I know I have,’ he mouthed against her silky skin.

Lisa twisted and squirmed against him, consumed by a desire so fierce it was almost painful. She clutched at his broad shoulder, her misty blue gaze clashing with his as he raised his head. She stared up into his handsome face and his dark eyes burned black with the effort he was making to control his passion, a question in their glittering depths.

‘Yes, yes!’ She pleaded for his possession, and relief from the primeval passion that consumed her. His mouth descended on hers, parting her lips with a hungry sensuality she more than matched. She cried out when he moved, his strong hands lifting her hips, and she felt him glide, hard and urgent, into the velvet heat of her body. Her whole being centred on Alex. She clung to his broad shoulders, her long legs wrapping around his waist as he forced himself deeper and deeper with each stroke. Her body met each thrust, the raw power of his possession filling her with spiralling desire, until the familiar fierce wild pleasure swamped her, and her whole body convulsed in frantic release. Alex reared back, the tanned skin pulled taut across his high cheekbones, his black eyes unfocused, as Lisa’s inner muscles contracted around him, and with one final thrust his great body followed hers into a shattering climax.

She felt his full weight relax on her, but she did not care, languorous in the aftermath of total physical satiation. She stroked her hands softly up his broad back with feline delight. He was hers. The thought registered, and with it reality. He was not hers, never had been. His reasons for marrying her were varied, but love was not part of the equation. She dropped her hands to the bed, suddenly chilled.

Alex rolled off her, breathing hard, then as his breathing steadied he turned towards her, his head propped on one elbow, and contemplated her rosy face with a lazy smile playing around his sensuous mouth.

‘Now that is what I call a homecoming,’ he drawled. ‘In every sense of the word.’

Immediately on the defensive, Lisa avoided his amused gaze and tugged at the bodice of her hopelessly crushed dress. ‘You could have waited until I was undressed,’ she said, smarting at the inelegant picture she must present and heaving a sigh of relief when she finally got the offending garment down over her hips.

‘Such modesty.’ He chuckled. ‘But totally unnecessary.’ And, skimming one hand down over her stomach, he followed the line of her hip and thigh, smoothing the fabric until he reached the hem. ‘Here, let me help you.’ On the pretext of straightening the top of her dress, his teasing fingers sneaked across her breast.

Lisa swallowed hard and hastily sat up. Flinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up. ‘I need a shower,’ she muttered, and dashed for the bathroom, Alex’s husky laughter ringing in her ears.

Lisa dragged the remains of her clothes off and stepped into the shower stall. ‘Damn you, Alex,’ she mouthed as she turned on the shower tap and lifted her head to the powerful spray. Alex was back, and she could not believe how easily she had fallen into his arms. Where was the cool, sophisticated image she had decided to adopt? The cutting questions she had for him regarding her company? Gone the same way as her dress, she thought bitterly, crushed to bits by her inability to resist the potent sexuality of her husband. Sighing, Lisa closed her eyes and, shaking her head, allowed the water to soothe her turbulent emotions.

‘Need any help?’

Lisa’s eyes flew open and she spun round on the wet tiles. Only Alex’s long tanned arm curling around her waist stopped her from slipping to the floor. ‘No, I can manage,’ she spluttered.

‘But it is much more fun my way,’ Alex pronounced. With the water cascading down over both of them, his eyes were dark, slumberous as they slowly traced over her slim curves. ‘You are so perfect,’ he whispered throatily, his hand lifting to cup the underside of one breast, his thumb delicately scraping over the pert tip. ‘So responsive.’

The slow ache deep within her began to spread, rekindling a flame of desire so potent she had to bite her lip to stifle the groan that threatened to sound her surrender once again. It wasn’t fair. No man should have this much power over her. Throwing back her head, her blue eyes clashed with brown. ‘I want…’ to talk, she had been going to say, but at that instant his other hand curved around her waist and, lifting her up, he swung her out of the shower.

She clasped his wide shoulders, his tanned skin wet and smooth as satin beneath her fingers. She trembled when her naked body brushed in intimate contact against his as he gently set her on her feet. She swallowed hard, shamed by her body’s swift response. She lifted angry eyes to his impossibly handsome face, humiliated by the strength of her passion for the man.

‘I know exactly what you want.’ Alex slanted a brilliant smile of masculine satisfaction over her warm cheeks. ‘The same thing I do,’ he declared throatily, flicking a glance over the proud thrust of her breasts and back to her face.

It was the smile that did it. Shame was submerged by sheer, ungovernable rage and she told him the truth as she saw it. ‘You have taken me for a fool long enough, Alex,’ she breathed.

‘I’ve taken you many times, but never as a fool.’ Alex surveyed her with the disturbing light of amusement in his eyes.

Without even thinking about it, Lisa swung her hand and tried to hit him. Instead, shocked by the speed of his reaction, she found her wrist caught and her naked body pressed hard against him. ‘No.’ Alex controlled her easily with his superior strength. ‘This has gone far enough. I explained about Margot, she is no longer an issue, but something else has been eating you since last Friday. I made allowances because of your condition, but you no longer have that excuse.’ His black brows drew together in a frown. ‘I want the truth. What supposed sin have I committed in your mixed-up female mind?’

His tall, muscular frame towered over her. She stared up into his black questioning eyes, her own wild with fury. ‘I know you own Xela Properties.’ Lisa planted her free hand on his chest to put space between them. This time she was not going to be seduced by his body, she vowed, adding scathingly, ‘Need I say more?’

‘So?’ One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘What’s new about that?’ He demanded, releasing her in a cool, almost careless manner. Catching a towelling robe from the back of the door, he slipped it on before handing her a matching one. ‘What is your point?’ he queried, his firm mouth quirking in amusement. ‘Presuming you have one, that is.’

Lisa almost choked on his patronising words. She felt like screaming in frustration. Instead, she pulled on the plain white robe and fastened the belt firmly around her waist. He thought it was a joke. She probably was a joke to him—the naive innocent, to be used when and how he wished. Lisa curled her fingers tightly into her palms, fighting to control the rage boiling inside her. But she needed all her wits about her to confront Alex, because he had the uncanny ability to turn off his emotions with the flick of a switch.

‘Well, I’m waiting. I suppose waiting in bed would be out of the question?’ he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

She swept her wet hair back from her face. ‘You’ve got that right,’ she snarled, and with a defiant toss of her head she glared at him. What the hell? she thought. He might as well have the whole truth; he couldn’t hurt her more than he already had. ‘I know you were behind the offer to buy Lawson’s long before we ever met.’

‘An oversight on my part. If I had known, the first and only time I visited the site, that the owner’s daughter was such a beauty, I would have insisted on meeting you,’ he informed her with a sexy grin.

She couldn’t believe the audacity of the man; he still thought it was funny. He really was a heartless beast and the anger drained out of her. ‘Don’t pretend, Alex. You know exactly what I mean. I do not appreciate being married for the property I own,’ she said bitterly.

The amusement vanished from his eyes; his mouth hardened in a thin, ominous line. ‘If that is what you really think, then perhaps it is time we talked.’ Turning, he walked back into the bedroom.

Lisa had no choice but to follow him. He had stopped in the middle of the floor and now moved around to face her. She glanced at him, a tall, dark giant of a man with cool, remote eyes, and then quickly looked away. She saw the rumpled bed, her mouth twisting in disgust at the evidence of her own weakness where Alex was concerned. What was the point of talking? Alex hadn’t denied marrying her in an attempt to gain control of the company. There was nothing more to say…

She half turned, but long tanned fingers closed over her shoulders and wheeled her back to face him.

‘You can’t throw out an accusation like that and walk away, Lisa.’ His dark eyes raked over her hostile face. ‘When I married you, the company you owned was the last thing on my mind.’ His deep husky drawl feathered along her taut nerves as smooth as silk. ‘And, if you remember, the first day I took you out I told you I was the owner of Solomos International and asked you if it would be a problem. You said no.’

‘But you never told me you were Xela Properties.’ Lisa snorted. ‘A very sneaky omission on your part.’

‘I naturally supposed you knew. It is all there on our web site, and with your love of computers I find it amazing you’re now telling me you never bothered to check it out. Any businessman worth his salt, when presented with a buy-out, would naturally investigate the company making the offer,’ he said with cool reasoning.

Lisa stared up at him, appalled. What he said was true, but at the time her mother had just been diagnosed as terminally ill. The offer had been refused and banished from their minds. But he was right, damn him! Yet she was still convinced that if he had really wanted her to know he would have come straight out and told her. ‘Very plausible, but I don’t believe you,’ she countered with a disdainful shake of her head. ‘I know everything.’

‘Not everything.’ His sensual mouth twisted in the shadow of a smile. ‘You are so young, so impulsive, Lisa, but life is rarely black and white, as I have told you before.’ His long fingers kneaded her shoulders.

But Lisa wasn’t fooled. He used his powerful masculine sensuality as a weapon to control her. Call me an idiot, why don’t you? she thought furiously, incensed anew by his superior, patronising air.

‘Please spare me your platitudes. I know you have already bought thirty five per cent of the company. But understand this: I will do my damnedest to make sure that that is all you get.’ Lisa let fly with all the pent-up fury of the last week. ‘You disgust me. You are the most devious, despicable man I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and my sincerest wish is that I never have to set eyes on you again.’ And with one great effort she pushed him away.

‘Believe me, Lisa. I would never hurt you,’ Alex said softly.

‘Trying to take over my company is not supposed to hurt?’ She eyed him bitterly. In his own way, Alex probably saw nothing wrong in what he had done. He was a businessman first, last and always.

‘I am not trying to take over anything. I have bought out the other shareholders, that is all,’ he asserted.

‘That is impossible.’ She knew he had bought the Lee shares, but Harold’s? Never! ‘I don’t believe you.’ Her stormy blue eyes clashed with his. ‘You’re lying. Harold would never sell without consulting me.’ She saw a flash of what looked like pity in his dark gaze, and a peculiar sense of foreboding rose up inside her.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lisa. Andrew Scott, my London manager, completed the deal last Tuesday. But it was for your own good.’

Nothing was more calculated to stiffen Lisa’s backbone than her most hated phrase in the English language: For your own good. Invariably, it meant the exact opposite. ‘And how did you persuade Harold to betray me?’ she asked flatly.

‘I didn’t have to; he loves you. Apparently you convinced him it was time to move on.’

With a rising sense of inevitability, she cleared her throat, determined to go down fighting. ‘Now you’re going to tell me it’s for my own good that Lawson Designer Glass will be razed to the ground to make way for some poxy redevelopment,’ she prompted sarcastically. ‘Well, it won’t work; I still have overall control.’ She was lying, but she was banking on Alex not knowing that.

His firm mouth quirked at the corners. ‘Actually you do not have a majority; the Hospice sold their shares yesterday.’

Shock held her rigid. Her anguished eyes roamed over his arrogant dark head. ‘Oh, God!’ Lisa exclaimed. Alex now owned fifty-three percent of Lawson’s. He had done it. Bought her company from under her. ‘You really are the devil! You used sex to blind me, while robbing me blind.’ How could she have fallen in love with a man so lacking in any moral fibre? A man who had played on her innocence of the male sex to manipulate her into marriage and, cruellest of all, to rob her of her birthright. Easily, she thought sadly. She had recognised the dark power of his personality the moment she had met him. But love had blinded her to the ruthlessness inherent in the man.

‘I seem to recall, not so long ago, your body welcoming mine with an eagerness you could not hide. Far from being the devil, I am your guardian angel,’ Alex offered tautly, his narrowed eyes colliding with hers. ‘I bought the shares so you could keep your company.’

A harsh laugh escaped her. ‘Excuse me, but it was already mine,’ she reminded him bitterly, ignoring his crack about sex.

‘If I had not bought the shares, somebody else would have done.’ Alex shrugged. ‘Solomos International is an incredibly wealthy company, Lisa. We invest in many and varied projects all over the world. Do you really think it matters to me if we have one more site?’ he said, exasperation lacing his tone. ‘In fact, I have decided to cut back on my workload since meeting you.’ He glanced at her lovely proud face, and something very like compassion moved in his dark eyes. ‘I know it’s not your fault you ended up in the position you have, Lisa. Grief can do funny things and make fools of us all. It was an admirable gesture in memory of your mother to donate those shares, but it did put your business in a vulnerable position. You’re an intelligent woman, but you are very young and lack experience. Have you any idea how quickly you would have been out on your ear if any other firm had bought into your company?’ Not waiting for an answer, he added, ‘You were a sitting duck when you made that gift to the hospice.’

‘And you shot me down.’ But it was slowly dawning on her that there was an awful lot of truth in what Alex said. Had she made a terrible mistake?

‘The hell I did,’ he said savagely, reaching out and grabbing her shoulders. ‘I saved it for you.’

‘Oh, so how do you work that out, pray?’ she enquired sarcastically.

Alex’s hands tightened for a moment on her shoulders, and then he released her, the expression on his handsome face bleak. ‘Trust me, Lisa; you don’t need to know.’

‘But I don’t trust you,’ she said bluntly. ‘Not any more.’

He stared hard at her for long, tense seconds, the line of his jaw taut. She thought she saw a flicker of something like pain in his black eyes, but she must have imagined it, because he turned and walked away, to stand looking out of the window. He came back round to face her. ‘You’d better sit down; you are not going to like this,’ he said curtly, and indicated the small satin-covered sofa that rested against the wall with a wave of his hand.

Her first thought was to refuse, but something in his expression made her hesitate to defy him. With a nervous tug on the belt of her robe, she crossed to the sofa and sat down. She tilted her chin, her eyes cold as they met his. ‘So fire away. But try for the truth this time.’

His dark eyes flared briefly with anger at her slur on his honesty, and then he sighed. ‘A year ago Xela Properties—one of my companies as you so rightly said—was approached by a broker with an investment opportunity. Lawson’s Designer Glass was ripe to be taken over and the site developed more profitably.’ He glanced down at Lisa. ‘But then you know all this.’

‘There was no mention of redevelopment in the offer my mother received,’ Lisa snapped.

Alex simply arched one dark brow sardonically. ‘No one shows all his cards to his opponent.’

Lisa frowned. Her mother had been dying at the time, and that made it somehow worse. She looked back at Alex; was he the sort of man to prey on a dying woman?

He read her mind. ‘No. I did not know.’ He began pacing the floor in front of her. ‘Andy Scott investigated the feasibility of the deal, and approached me for permission to proceed, which, after visiting the site, I gave. The offer was turned down. The whole project was shelved and would have stayed that way.’

‘And that was when you decided to use more devious means, like marrying the owner,’ she cut in, hurting from the way he had tricked her.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lisa, I did not even know you then,’ Alex snapped. ‘And I could buy and sell your company a million times over. I certainly did not marry you to persuade you into parting with it.’

Put like that, it did make her fears seem a bit groundless, but it did not alter the fact she had overheard him plotting with Nigel. ‘So you say,’ she mumbled, still not prepared to believe him.

He stared down at her for a moment, his dark eyes cold and angry. Then he renewed his pacing. ‘I walked into the bar of a hotel in Statford-upon-Avon and I saw a beautiful elegant blonde with legs to die for. Then I saw her two companions—older, shorter, fatter and dark—nothing like the girl. I concluded they must be her sugar daddies.’

Lisa gasped in outrage. ‘You’ve got a nerve, especially with your record with women.’ Then she remembered his dismissive glance at the time and realised why.

‘Yes, cynical of me, I know, but true. Then Nigel, your stepbrother, introduced himself to me, claiming Andy Scott as mutual acquaintance. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Lisa,’ he said with unaccustomed gentleness, ‘but Nigel was the commercial property broker who first brought Andy Scott’s attention to Lawson Designer Glass.’

‘How could he?’ Lisa whispered to herself. But, knowing Nigel, she believed it.

Alex heard her. ‘Quite easily, I’m afraid. I know you consider him family. But he couldn’t wait to inform me I was missing out on a great deal. He suggested I raise the offer and it would be second time lucky. He could guarantee delivering Harold Watson’s thirteen per cent—and if I wasn’t interested, he told me, he had another company lined up that was. I wasn’t particularly keen. The Lawson family was still left with fifty-two per cent—not a very viable proposition for Xela Properties.’

‘But if that’s true, if you really did think like that, why did you go behind my back and buy the shares?’ Lisa asked quietly.

He stopped pacing and stood in front of her, a deep tide of colour darkening his handsome face. ‘Because Nigel pointed you out on that night in Stratford as the owner and was quite effusive about your…’ he hesitated. ‘…character, shall we say, and the relationship between you. He suggested a man of my experience should have no trouble talking you round.’ He had the grace to look ashamed for a second. ‘I would like to think my intentions were noble at the time. It was immediately apparent to me that Nigel was a rogue. I could barely remember the deal he was talking about. I had to ring Andy later that night to refresh my memory. But, to be honest, at the time I simply saw a beautiful girl, who was not the freeloader I had first thought, and jumped at the chance of an introduction.’

Flattering though it was to be called beautiful, Lisa wasn’t fooled, and, leaping to her feet, she cried, ‘I was right all along. You and Nigel are in it together!’ Spinning on her heel, she stormed past him.

‘Stop.’ His hand caught her arm and pulled her around. ‘Don’t you dare walk away from me.’ His hard, angry eyes roamed over her face. ‘You are going to hear me out, even if I have to pin you to the bed to do it. So make your choice.’ Suddenly she was very conscious of his large tanned body. His robe hung open to the waist, revealing his broad hairy chest, and when she glanced up at his angry face he met her look with hard, mocking eyes.

‘All right,’ she muttered, and sat down on the sofa. But this time Alex sat down beside her.

He caught her hands in his. ‘To prevent you lashing out,’ he said grimly, ‘I have had enough of your histrionics.’

He continued as if he had never stopped. ‘When you agreed to marry me, your company was the last thing on my mind. But I did tell Andy Scott to keep a wary eye out for any developments, and also to watch Nigel Watson. I did not trust the man. You were shortly to be my wife, and I naturally wanted to protect your interests.’

‘Don’t you mean your own?’ she sneered.

‘No, damn it, I don’t! The third day of our honeymoon I received a fax from Andy Scott. He had some disturbing news. Nigel had approached another property company with the proposed deal, and they were interested enough to put in a bid for the Lee shares. I instructed Andy to string Nigel along with the promise of a finder’s fee, and put in a counter-bid for Lee’s shares, whatever it cost. That only left Harold’s. Then, last Thursday, Andy made the amazing discovery you had given some shares to the hospice. I had no choice but to buy them.’

‘You could have told me straight away,’ Lisa said fiercely. ‘I could have bought the shares myself. But, no, you had to be in control. I am telling you now, I will fight you every inch of the way if you try to close Lawson’s down.’

Alex shook his head, frustrated as well as angry. ‘For heaven sake, Lisa, we were on our honeymoon. I would have to have been the most insensitive man on the planet to have worried you with business at such a time. And I do not want to close Lawson’s down. I might wish it had never existed, the trouble it has caused,’ he opined dryly, ‘but in fact you should be thanking me for saving it.’

‘You don’t want to demolish the place?’ she queried, lifting wary blue eyes to his.

‘I still think in the long term redevelopment is the best way forward, but I am perfectly happy for you to run the business as you like. I bought the majority share simply to protect you. You’re my wife, and if it suits you to work I won’t deprive you of the privilege. I meant to tell you last weekend, after checking the state of affairs with Andy on Thursday. But with the fiascos that night and the rest of the weekend turned into somehow I never got round to it. Perhaps because whenever I look at you I forget everything but this.’ Alex wrapped an arm around her shoulders and his dark head bent towards her.

‘No!’ Lisa put a restraining hand on his bare chest. ‘I am not going to be diverted by sex. Not again,’ she said, quickly appalled at her own weakness. ‘You see, Alex, I know you are lying. I overheard you and Nigel last Thursday in this very apartment. I heard you telling him he could invest in your development.’ She still burned at the memory, and the tone of her voice reflected her feelings. ‘The slimy rat. And you’re no better.’

‘I thought you loved your stepbrother. You told me you did.’ Alex jerked back, his arm falling from her shoulder, his voice hard and accusing.

‘You’ve got to be joking.’ Lisa stared at him in genuine astonishment. ‘I can’t stand the man. I wouldn’t give him the time of day if it weren’t for Harold, and the feeling is mutual. Ever since he made a pass at me when I was sixteen and I made my feelings plain.’

Alex sucked in a deep breath, his black eyes glittering with some fierce emotion. ‘I wish I had known that last week; I would have flattened the bastard.’ He shook his dark head in a gesture of utter disgust with himself, and, grasping her hands in his hands, he asked, ‘Why did you not tell me last Thursday what you had overheard? Am I such an ogre you could not talk to me?’

She shrugged wearily. ‘What difference does it make? I heard enough to know my husband and stepbrother were plotting behind my back.’

‘Exactly what did you hear, Lisa? I need to know.’ His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, only the tightening of his hands on hers told her he was nowhere near as calm as he appeared.

She stared unwaveringly for a moment into his taut face. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip. She remembered every word, they were carved on her brain but she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him.

‘Tell me, Lisa,’ he prompted curtly.

‘All right.’ And with complete honesty she told him. ‘I heard Nigel say that after three weeks with the ice amazon he didn’t blame you spending a night on your own. Then he asked you if the delectable Margot knew you were in town.’

‘It was Nigel who told Margot I was in town. She confessed as much before she left,’ Alex said flatly, and Lisa winced. She had misjudged him badly. ‘But I did not want to disillusion you about Nigel.’ He laced his fingers with hers, as if to give her some of his strength. ‘Go on.’

‘There was a comment about a computer nerd.’ It was Alex’s turn to wince. ‘Then he asked for your confirmation that the sale of Lawson’s would go through. You teased him about getting my shares for nothing. And finally you said Nigel would get what he wanted.’

‘What I actually said, Lisa, was that he would get his… And I did not mean it in a friendly way. But I was labouring under the impression you loved him like a brother, so I had to put up with him, while making sure he did not harm you. I was stringing him along that night because, thinking ahead, I realised if anything happened to Harold, Nigel would end up with a share in your business. There was no way I wanted Nigel to have anything to do with you, so I had to keep him sweet until I had done a deal with Harold.’

‘You still could have told me. I never thought Harold would ever sell without consulting me first. Until you came along.’ She glared at him, but her heart wasn’t in it. What Alex said made sense.

‘Blood is thicker than water, Lisa. Harold is always going to be weak where his son is concerned, and I realised it that night when I spoke to Nigel. Suffice to say, after Nigel left the apartment I had a long talk to Harold.’

‘Yes, you said so at the time.’ Lisa knew that was true. Was it possible Alex was telling the truth and he really was not the villain she had painted him?

‘I believe I did. Just before you seduced me.’ He stopped, an arrested expression on his handsome face. ‘Now I understand,’ he declared, a sensual, reminiscent smile lighting his brown eyes. ‘Your sudden aggression in bed last week was more fury than a fever of passion?’ he queried softly, lifting their joined hands to his mouth and kissing her fingers.

‘Never mind that.’ She wasn’t going there for anything! ‘What did you say to Harold to get him to sell his shares?’

‘I promised to pay off Nigel’s debts.’

‘What!’ Lisa exclaimed. ‘Are you mad?’ She pulled her hands free and eyed her husband with stunned disbelief.

‘I am now,’ Alex said with wry amusement. ‘When I learn he laid a hand on you. But it is too late. It is done. Harold loves his son, and would do anything for him, though he is not entirely blind to Nigel’s faults. Harold and I agreed that the money I paid him for his shares would go into a trust to give Nigel an income from the interest. But Nigel can’t get his hands on the capital.’

‘And you did this for me?’ Lisa said, feeling her way through what felt like a minefield. ‘You bought the Lee shares first, to protect the company from a hostile bid set up by Nigel?’

Alex gave her a considering look. ‘No,’ he said and, rising to his feet, he stared fixedly down at her.

‘No? But—’ She raised confused blue eyes to his, and suddenly she felt the strong grip of Alex’s hands on her arms, pulling her up against his body.

‘I bought the shares for you, and only you. I don’t give a damn about Lawson’s, except as it affects you. You’re my wife, my partner, and if you had shown a little more trust in me, talked to me, you could have spared us both a lot of unpleasantness,’ Alex declared, with a disturbing intensity in his voice that left Lisa in no doubt he was telling the truth.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s not that easy to trust a husband when you think he’s plotting behind your back, and then you’re confronted in the apartment you share by an almost naked ex-mistress all in the same night,’ Lisa retorted dryly. She believed his explanation; she had to. Alex was the majority stockholder now, whether she liked it or not, and did that matter if he was prepared to let her run the company as she wished? More than that, she loved him, and eventually she might persuade her cynical husband to fall in love with her.

‘Okay, so there were mistakes on both sides,’ Alex conceded. ‘Mine being I should not have brought you back to this apartment in the first place. I know you don’t like it.’

Lisa had to smile. ‘Oh I don’t know.’ Placing a hand in the open vee of his robe, she felt his hot satin skin beneath her fingers. ‘I seem to remember our wedding night was not that bad.’ Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his; his arms tightened around her and he took over the kiss with a passionate thoroughness that had her melting in his arms.

Suddenly Alex pulled back, his hands falling from her waist. ‘No, Lisa, I am not going to give you the chance again to accuse me of manipulating you with sex.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ she teased, suddenly feeling lighthearted.

‘Good, then get dressed. We are leaving. We have to learn to communicate better and here is not the place to do it. Too many bad memories,’ Alex insisted.

‘I’ll send you an E-mail from my laptop. Is that communication enough for you? Though I do remember overhearing you tell Nigel something about your lap.’

Alex stiffened, and she watched with laughter in her eyes as his brow furrowed and he tried to remember, then he disconcerted her completely by roaring with laughter. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed.

‘You’re right. Who needs to talk when we have this?’ And, with a wolfish smile, he dropped her on the bed. Falling down beside her, he deftly eased her out of her robe, shed his own, and drew her in to the hard heat of him. Lisa trembled violently, and wondered how she had ever been dumb enough to even consider forgoing such pleasure.

A long time later she lay with her head resting on his broad chest.

‘Are you okay?’ Alex queried softly. She felt the vibration of his words against the wall of his chest.

‘I’m speechless,’ she sighed.

‘I’m surprised,’ Alex murmured. ‘You are usually such a verbal lover.’

‘Yes, well, for once I am struck dumb.’ But she knew what he was getting at.

Before she would have cried out in the throes of passion and declared her love in gushing terms. Not any more… She had accepted his reason for buying the shares in her company the same way she had accepted the fact that Alex did not believe in love. She told herself she didn’t care, that the pleasure she found in his arms was enough…

‘Good.’ He rolled her on to her back and, propping his head on one elbow, he grinned down at her. ‘How about a long weekend in Kos? Or perhaps you would prefer house-hunting again?’ he ended less than enthusiastically.

Lisa pretended to consider. ‘Well, a house is important…’ She saw the flash of disappointment in his dark eyes. It was time to take a chance, and her lips parted in a purely feminine smile. ‘But I doubt we’d find anything better than the first one we saw last week. So Kos it is.’

‘You little witch.’ Alex surveyed her with a disturbing light of understanding in his dark. ‘You wanted the house, but you had so little trust in me you could not admit it, hmm.’

‘Something like that,’ she agreed.

‘Hardly flattering, but understandable, I suppose.’ Slipping off the bed, Alex picked up his robe and put it on. ‘I have a few calls to make, so why not get up and get packed?’ He glanced down at where she lay on the bed, her blonde hair spread in a tangled mass over the pillow, her body relaxed in the aftermath of passion, and his firm lips curved back over his brilliant white teeth in a blatantly sexy grin. ‘And hurry, wife, or I might just change my mind!’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE flight from London took a little over three hours and, allowing for the time difference, it was midnight when the jet touched down at Kos airport. They had travelled in the Solomos company jet, Alex explaining his father had been using it at the time of their wedding.

‘Are you sure your mother won’t mind our arriving in the middle of the night?’ Lisa asked Alex, as he helped her onto the Tarmac.

Alex gave her a surprised glance and tucked her hand under his arm. ‘You don’t know much about Greek custom if you think midnight is late. In my mother’s house we do not dine before ten, and quite often later.’

Two cars drew alongside them. In minutes, passport and customs details were accomplished, and Alex was ushering Lisa into the back seat of the second car, a chauffeur-driven limousine, and sliding in beside her.

‘You must be famous?’ She prompted. ‘Not for you the queue at Customs!’ She slanted him a sidelong glance. Dressed casually in jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt, he looked totally relaxed.

‘Famous no, but local, yes. The population of the island is only twenty-five thousand, and most people here know each other. Actually, I had forgotten the first weekend in July is one of the busiest of the year. For the next two months the island will be heaving with tourists and the population swells to more like a million. For which I should be grateful.’

‘Why?’ Lisa tipped her head back to look up at him, intrigued.

‘Because my father came here on holiday, met and married my mother, an island girl, and for the next few years built many of the hotels and apartments. In fact—’ he looked down at her warily ‘—we are in the process of constructing a large holiday complex at the other end of the island, beside Paradise Beach. I thought I might take a look at it while we are here, see how it is going.’

‘I might have guessed, you con-man,’ she mocked. ‘This is no holiday, but a business trip.’

‘And who slipped their laptop in the side pocket of their holdall?’ He asked drolly.

‘Force of habit.’ Lisa grinned at being caught out.

His dark eyes gleamed appreciatively down at her. She was a vision of loveliness, her blonde hair loose and curling around her bare shoulders. Her dress was a simple pale cream sheath in knitted cotton, the strapless bodice moulding her high, full breasts like the hands of a lover, the skirt ending a few inches above her knees. She had no idea how desirable she looked. Alex bent and placed a swift, hard kiss on her parted lips. ‘So was that,’ he said huskily.

At one in the morning, sitting on the terrace of the villa, sharing a soft-cushioned sofa with Alex and content in the curve of his arm, Lisa sighed blissfully. With the warm night air caressing her skin, the blue-black sky showered with sparkling stars above, and below, in the distance, the brilliantly lit shoreline and the sea beyond, she had rarely felt so relaxed.

‘If you two young ones don’t mind, I will say goodnight. I am so glad you are here, but at my age I need my beauty sleep.’

‘So do we, Mamma.’ Alex grinned and, rising to his feet, took Lisa with him. Without releasing her he bent and kissed his mother’s cheek. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Your mother is a lovely lady; I’m surprised Leo ever left her,’ Lisa murmured as they watched the older woman enter the house.

‘He didn’t; she threw him out,’ Alex said bluntly.

‘Well, I can’t say I blame her from what I’ve heard and seen of Leo. He can’t keep his hands off women.’

‘Life is never that cut and dried, Lisa,’ Alex remarked, and, placing his other arm around her, he linked his hands lightly at her back. ‘Women have a tendency to jump to conclusions, as you know,’ he mocked her lightly, but the expression in his brown eyes was strangely reflective. ‘I suppose nowadays medical science would have solved my parents’ problem, but on an island like this thirty-five years ago, postnatal depression wasn’t always recognised.’

‘All the more reason for your father to stand by her, if she was ill,’ Lisa argued.

Alex sighed. ‘That is how I thought until a few years ago, when I had a fight with my father about his third divorce, and what it was costing, and he told me his side of the story. I don’t condone his behaviour, but I do feel sorry for him.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Lisa murmured.

‘No, but then you are not a man, thank God!’ He gave her a quick squeeze that set her heart beating a little faster before continuing. ‘Apparently, for two years after I was born, my mother would not let him anywhere near her. He loved her quite desperately and he was nearly out of his mind. He went to Athens on a construction project and while he was there my mother finally got over her depression. For the first time in her life she travelled to Athens by herself. Unfortunately, when she got to my father’s hotel, he wasn’t in. She waited in the foyer and saw him return, drunk and with a lady in tow. He swears it was the first time he had ever picked up a girl. I am inclined to believe him. My mother wasn’t. She confronted him, threw her wedding ring at him, and got the next boat back to Kos. She has never left this island since.’ Alex let go of her and, turning abruptly, caught her hand in his. ‘End of story. Time for bed.’

She cast a sidelong glance at his harsh face as they walked into the house. ‘And she never forgave him?’ Lisa asked.

‘No. One betrayal was one too many in her book.’

Lisa wondered if the same applied to Alex. In character was he like his mother or his father? She didn’t know. But for her own sake she hoped it was the former.

Walking upstairs with her hand in his, Lisa wondered how Alex had felt as a small boy about the break-up of his parents’ marriage.

They had reached the door of his bedroom suite, and, opening the door, Alex curved an arm around her shoulders and drew her inside, closing the door behind them.

She looked around the comfortable sitting room, and, suddenly nervous, she slipped from under his arms and walked out on to the balcony that ran the length of the building. ‘It’s hot.’

She felt Alex’s hands close around her waist and his breath stir her hair. ‘And it’s going to get a lot hotter,’ he husked. Awareness flared as his hands moved up to cup her breasts. ‘This dress has tormented me all night.’

The breath caught in the back of her throat as he reached for the zip fastening and freed it. Lisa let her head fall back against him and made no protest as with deceptive ease he turned her to face him, the dress falling at her feet. Something vital leapt in his eyes and Lisa responded. Willingly she moved into his arms, and the kiss they shared was like no other. It was passionate, but tender, saying without words promises of hope, happiness, and need. Was it love? Lisa didn’t know about Alex, but on her part it was, so why fight it?

‘Bed, I think,’ Alex opined huskily. His dark eyes gleamed down into hers. ‘And I can guarantee no other woman but you has ever shared this bed.’ Swinging her up in his arms, he carried her the short distance to the bedroom.

With an arm around his neck, her eyes level with his, Lisa’s lips curved in a sympathetic smile. ‘Poor Alex,’ she mocked, ‘would your mummy not let you?’

‘Cheeky! But true.’ And, sliding her slowly down the long length of his hard body, he let his hands drop to her hips, his fingers curling round the top of her briefs, her last remaining garment. He dropped to his knees on the floor, and with slow, delicate deliberation he slid her briefs down over her hips, at the same time covering her navel with his mouth. Lisa jerked and tried to pull back, but his hands would not let her. He pressed a kiss into the hollow of her hipbone She looked down and the trembling started in the pit of her stomach. Never had she seen anything so erotic as Alex’s dark head against her thighs. He flicked a brief upward glance from beneath his thick lashes.

‘I used to think I was a breast man,’ he husked as he trailed his hands down the back of her thighs and followed with his mouth, pressing tiny kisses on her heated flesh. His hands continued their downward journey, curving her calves. ‘But since meeting you, my sweet wife, I’ve decided I am a leg man.’

Lisa almost tumbled over when his hand lifted one foot, the trembling in her limbs was so great.

‘Steady.’ Alex chuckled as he helped her step out of her briefs. Slowly straightening up, a primitive glitter in his dark eyes, he let his hands sweep up her thighs and hips adding throatily, ‘But then again…’ his hands stroked up to her breasts ‘…your breasts are perfection.’ His long fingers teased the sensitive peaks. ‘I am spoilt for choice.’

Lisa groaned deep in her throat and focused on his darkly handsome face. She was shivering with excitement and involuntarily swayed towards him. He stopped her with the flat of his hand across her collarbone.

‘No, Lisa, now it is your turn to undress me,’ Alex declared roughly, but the fire in his dark eyes belied his apparent control.

Her heart thudding in her chest, Lisa raised her hands and slowly unfastened his shirt. She put both hands on his flat stomach and stroked up over his chest, her fingers tangling in his crisp curling body hair and grazing his taut male nipples. She eased the shirt off his broad shoulders, leaning forward to do so, deliberately brushing her breasts against his muscular chest. A secret smile curved her lips as she felt him shiver. It was an empowering feeling, knowing Alex was as susceptible as she was.

She let one hand drop to the fastening of his pants, and unclasped the top. Slipping her hand beneath the material, she was instantly aware of the strength of his arousal. Lisa glanced up at him through lowered lashes; his eyes were half closed, his lips pulled back across his teeth, and she had a daring idea. ‘I’m not very good at this,’ she said quietly, and turned guileless eyes up to his.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Alex almost groaned. ‘Go on.’

Her fingers finding the zipper, Lisa very slowly began to free it, pressing against his aroused flesh with her knuckles. ‘I don’t want to damage you,’ she said breathlessly, and with both hands she slid his pants and briefs halfway over his hips and stopped. ‘You’re so powerful.’ She edged one hand across his belly, her blue eyes gleaming with devilment and desire as they met his. Her fingers curved around him and gently squeezed, her thumb stroking the velvet tip.

Alex groaned for real. ‘You little tease, Lisa.’ And, pushing her hands away, he stripped off his pants in a second and tumbled her on to the bed. He caught her wrists above her head and, his lips, gentle as wild silk against her skin, trailed kisses over her eyelids, the soft curve of her cheek and finally her lips.

His tongue stroked the roof of her mouth, and then her own tongue curled around his in a welcome caress. Lisa ached to put her arms around him but he wouldn’t let her.

‘No, Lisa.’ Alex raised his head; his night-black eyes met hers, a glint of mockery in their depths. ‘Take turns—it’s only fair.’

She arched against the hard heat of him as his lips blazed a trail of fire down her throat, lingering where the pulse beat wildly in her neck. Then he went lower, until his mouth closed over the tip of her breast.

‘Alex.’ She groaned his name as he suckled hungrily at her aching breasts, first one and then the other. Her skin tingled as if a million nerve-ends had suddenly come alive at his caress. ‘Alex, please!’

He released her wrists and immediately she reached for him, her slender arms moving around his broad back. He captured her mouth again, and kissed her with an ever deepening hunger, and she kissed him back, one hand slipping around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him to her, a fierce hunger, a need so great, exploding inside her. But Alex was not about to be rushed. With incredible control he led her to the brink of fulfilment over and over again. Soothing and enflaming her pliant body even as he fought to withstand her feverish intimate tactile exploration of his magnificent form. His strong features were taut and intent in passion, his black eyes flaring triumphant at her husky plea for release, and when she thought she could take no more he tipped her over the edge, and with a deep, rasping growl of release he followed her there.

Locked in his arms, his skin hot and damp against her own, Lisa stroked her hands lovingly over his shoulders and down his broad back. What did it matter if Alex didn’t believe in love as long as they had this? He had shown her he wanted and needed her with a fierce and tender passion that touched her soul. Turning her head slightly, she pressed a soft kiss against the hard line of his jaw.

He eased his large frame to one side, and, leaning over her, he gently stroked a few strands of hair from her wet brow. ‘All right?’

Her lips parted in a slow, wide smile. ‘Never better.’ She sighed, her brilliant blue eyes lingering on his darkly flushed face.

‘Lisa, I…’ Alex hesitated, his eyes widening on her delicate features almost in surprise. ‘Meeting you was the luckiest day of my life,’ he said huskily, and she had the distinct impression he had meant to say something else.

Midday Saturday, Lisa, hot and tired, gratefully took the hard hat off her head and handed it to Alex. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing the minimum of clothing—brief white shorts and a sleeveless shirt knotted under her breasts—but still she had to wipe the perspiration from her brow. ‘Do you visit all the construction sites your company is involved in?’ she asked. ‘It must take an awful lot of your time.’

‘No.’ Alex handed the hats to his site manager and said something in Greek, then, catching Lisa’s hand in his, he added, as they walked off the building site, ‘I employ a very efficient staff to do it for me. But as I was born here I do take a particular interest.’ They had reached where he had parked the car and after opening the passenger door for her he walked around to the driver’s side, and stopped when he saw she had not got in the car. ‘Something wrong?’ Not waiting for her answer, he tagged on, ‘Sorry if you were bored.’

‘Not bored. The view alone is incredible; the complex is bound to be a success.’ She glanced at Alex. The blue cotton shirt fitted tautly across his broad shoulders, the first few buttons open to mid-chest. His black hair shone sleek as a raven’s wing in the brilliant sun, and somehow, over the past few hours, he’d seemed more Greek to her than before. Looking at him, so cool while she was melting, she decided to get her own back.

‘But you did promise we could go for a swim, Alex.’ The maid had woken them that morning with a breakfast tray. She had set it on the table on the balcony and quickly withdrawn. They had made love for the fourth time. Then, when Lisa had been trying to get dressed, with a lot of interference from Alex, he had suggested she put her bikini on under her clothes and they could go for a swim later.

‘So I did,’ Alex drawled, a reminiscent smile curving his firm lips. ‘But do you really want to join the tourists on the beach?’ She eyed the wide sweep of Paradise Beach and the sparkling sea, a smile curving her generous mouth, her eyes gleaming with mischief as they met his over the top of the car. Sophisticated, arrogant Alex on Paradise Beach with hordes of tourists held great appeal. ‘Yes, why not? It’s so hot I’ll melt.’

They spent the next half-hour playing like children in the warm clear waters, and then they dried off in the sun. Later still they returned to the villa and went to bed for a siesta, at Alex’s instigation, insisting it was the Greek thing to do!

A sigh of pure pleasure left Lisa’s lips as she sat down on a comfortable padded chair, one of two, set either side of a small table on the balcony of their suite and looked around her. Alex was downstairs talking with his mother. Apparently his mother had arranged a party for them tonight—a delayed wedding reception and a chance for Lisa to meet friends from his boyhood, she had said.

Lisa had left them talking and now, having showered and changed into a plain blue satin slip dress, she opened her laptop on the table in front of her and began composing an E-mail to send to Jed later. Enthusiastically she described the island, the history and the beauty of the place, and she smiled to herself when she thought of how green with envy Jed would be when he received it. Poor Jed had never been outside his state, let alone his country.

That was how Alex found her, smiling to herself, her fingers racing over the keys.

‘Now who is working?’ Alex prompted as he sat down opposite her, placing two glasses and a bottle of champagne on the table. ‘And I was hoping to seduce you with champagne.’

‘I wasn’t working; I was writing to a friend,’ she said simply, raising humorous eyes to his.

‘A friend?’ One dark brow arched quizzically.

‘Yes, Jed.’ She returned her attention to the keyboard. ‘Usually I write down all the things I’ve been doing of interest. I compose my E-mail off-line and send it later, which is much more economical.’ She didn’t see the dark frown that creased his brow, or the slight narrowing of his deep brown eyes.

‘Forget the economics.’ Alex reached out a hand and brushed the back of her hand. ‘Close that, and join me in a glass of champagne before the rabble arrive.’

‘The rabble?’ She grinned, closing her laptop. ‘Not a very nice way to describe your friends, Alex.’ She glanced across at him, struck by how vibrantly attractive he looked, wearing a cream open necked polo shirt and matching chinos, his handsome face tanned a deeper brown from a day spent in the sun.

‘You haven’t met them yet.’ One brow lifted and his mouth twisted in an amused smile. ‘Unlike your cerebral friends, mine are all too physical.’ And, deftly popping the champagne cork, he filled two glasses and handed one to Lisa.

‘That sounds ominous,’ she replied, sipping the champagne.

His intense gaze caught and held hers, and for a second something hardened the depths of his eyes and she had the ridiculous notion she had angered him.

‘Well, I will have to watch you like a hawk. No hardship in that dress,’ he teased, allowing his dark gaze to skim across the soft curve of her breasts, revealed by the low neckline of her dress. ‘Given half a chance they will throw you in the swimming pool, a favourite initiation rite, left over from boyhood.’

Alex was right about the party. It was a riotous affair. Yet Lisa couldn’t help thinking that her arrogant, autocratic husband appeared much younger and much more open with his Greek friends than he had with the business friends they had met on their honeymoon. And she said so, when they finally got to bed at three in the morning. Alex’s response was to laugh and to make love to her.

On Monday they left Kos. It had been a wonderful weekend, and Lisa watched through the aeroplane window as the island disappeared from view with a tinge of sadness.

‘When do you think we’ll come back?’ she asked turning in her seat. Beside her Alex, immaculately dressed in a light suit and snowy white shirt, once more the consummate Greek tycoon, didn’t hear her. His briefcase was open on his lap, his whole attention on the document he was reading. With a slight sigh Lisa returned to looking out of the window. Their dream weekend was well and truly over…

CHAPTER NINE

LISA signed off her computer and, with a contented sigh, sat up straight and stretched her slender arms above her head, easing the kinks out of her shoulders. That was her last job completed.

She glanced around the room, a soft smile playing around her full lips. It was hard to believe, but in the five weeks since they had returned from Kos Alex had bought the house at Stoneborough and three weeks ago they had moved in. Bert and Mrs Blaydon had accompanied them. A girl from the village had been hired to come in daily to help with the cleaning, and last Saturday they had had their first dinner guests.

Jake, who had been Alex’s best man at their wedding, but who had vanished immediately after his speech, and his wife Tina had joined them for dinner. Apparently they lived a mere five miles away. Lisa had also discovered the reason Jake had exited the wedding reception so quickly. Tina had gone into labour that morning, but had insisted Jake could not let Alex down. Luckily Tina hadn’t given birth until late in the evening, to a little girl, their second child.

Now, it seemed, they had a near perfect marriage, a beautiful home, a fantastic sex life. Alex made love to her until she didn’t know if she was on her head or her heels. She drove to Stratford-upon-Avon and Lawson’s one or two days a week, and the rest of the time she worked from home.

They could spend hours talking about books and music, politics, even business. But for all that, Lisa felt beneath the surface of the relationship a certain tension, and she was incapable of doing anything about it. If she was honest she knew it was her own fault. But she could not forget Alex didn’t believe in love. The fact that he seemed perfectly happy with their marriage simply added to her confusion, because she wanted it all.

Sighing at her own stupidity, she glanced at her watch. Almost nine; about time she thought about eating. Mrs Blaydon and Bert had gone to visit friends in London and were staying overnight, so she was alone in the house. Alex was in Singapore on business, and was due back tomorrow, Friday. Lisa couldn’t wait to see him; she had missed him dreadfully.

She placed the cover on the computer’s keyboard and reached to the printer, picking up the E-mail she had printed from Jed. It gave the address of the hotel he was staying in the following weekend. He was actually coming to London with a group of students from his college; they were on a guided tour of Europe: London, Paris, Madrid and Rome. Lisa had arranged to meet him at his hotel on the Saturday afternoon, the only time he was free. She was really looking forward to seeing the man who had been her confidant for so long. But she had never heard of his hotel, so she had taken the precaution of printing out the address. A taxi driver would have no problem.

‘I thought I’d find you here.’ Alex’s deep melodious voice feathered along her nerves.

Lisa spun around on the swivel chair, the sheet of paper falling from her hand to the desk. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.’ She smiled, her blue eyes drinking in the sight of him. He was leaning against the doorframe, his tie pulled loose, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top three buttons of his shirt unfastened. He had discarded his jacket and his black hair was rumpled. He looked rakishly handsome and infinitely sexy…

‘Yes…’ He moved towards her and Lisa got to her feet, wishing she was wearing something more glamorous than an old pair of white Lycra shorts and a blue vest. ‘I missed you, so I cut my visit short.’ Alex’s dark eyes swept over her slender body with a blatant sexuality that made her pulse beat heavily. His hands reached out to close over her shoulders. ‘Dare I hope you missed me?’ And he studied her face with a narrow-eyed intensity that for a moment arrested the smile on Lisa’s lips.

‘Of course I did,’ she freely admitted. If only he knew how much! She wanted to fling her arms around him, but it wasn’t necessary, as his dark head bent and his mouth captured hers. His strong arms encircling her, he kissed her with all the pent up passion of what seemed like years.

‘I needed that,’ Alex husked some minutes later, holding her loosely in his arms. ‘I have had one hell of a trip. I need a shower.’

Aware of him with every nerve in her body, she let her luminous blue eyes roam over his darkly handsome face. He did look tired, and she ached with love for him. She linked her hands behind his head and pressed her face into the curve of his throat, nuzzling him with her mouth.

‘Hmm, you do seem a bit ripe,’ She commented, and with an exaggerated sniff lifted mischievous eyes to his.

‘You will pay for that, woman.’ Alex grinned, and, swinging her up in his arms, he carried her out of the study.

Later, after they had showered, they didn’t bother to dress, but simply slipped on towelling robes. Lisa made a quick meal of scrambled eggs and tossed salad, and they washed it down with a glass of Chablis.

Seated next to Alex on one of the two comfortable sofas in the conservatory, she looked out over the garden, and the trees beyond, and leant her head back against his shoulder, completely relaxed.

‘You do like this house?’ Alex asked idly, his breath stirring her hair.

She chuckled. ‘Yes, Alex, I love it, and I also know you had every intention of buying it anyway because Tina told me you had viewed it the week before we were married.’ Lisa had met Tina for lunch in the village pub on Monday, and had discovered quite a lot about her husband.

‘For a tiny woman, Tina has a big mouth,’ Alex said dryly.

‘She also told me you play golf on a Saturday afternoon with Jake, whenever you are in England, and, surprise, surprise, the golf club you both patronise is two miles down the road.’

‘All right. So you found me out. I am suitably chastised and, to show you the depth of my regret, I will take you shopping tomorrow.’

‘Can’t, I’m afraid.’ Lisa turned her head and looked at him. I have a meeting tomorrow with a Mr Bob Burnett. Apparently he’s a potter, and he wants to expand from selling to a few private galleries into leasing Lawson’s unit and selling direct to the public.’

‘What do you know about the man?’ Alex asked, his hand slipping over her shoulder, his long fingers edging open her robe and then, seemingly idly, stroking the curve of her breast.

Lisa swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. ‘Not a lot really, only the information Mary faxed me today: a copy of his application and a brief outline of his intentions. The fax is on my desk. I’ll go and get it, and you see what you think.’

A gentle restraining arm tugged her back against the sofa. ‘No, I’ll go.’ Alex stood up, his lips brushing the top of her head. ‘You work too hard and I want you completely rested for later.’ His dark eyes sparkled with amusement and a sensual promise that told her he knew exactly how he affected her.

A wide smile curved her generous mouth and she watched as he strolled out of the conservatory, her husband, her lover. With a deep sigh of contentment Lisa snuggled back against the soft cushions. Life could not be better. She was now totally convinced Alex had told her the truth about buying the shares for her protection. He had proved it in the last few weeks. Although he was the major shareholder, he took no active part in Lawson Designer Glass. He was quite happy for her to remain the boss. But he was perfectly prepared to listen and discuss any problems that arose. For Lisa, that was a pleasure which had been missing from her life since the death of her mother. To be able to discuss and debate her work with Alex was an added bonus to the intimate relationship they enjoyed.

She was a very lucky girl, and, curling her feet beneath her, she brushed her long hair, now almost dry, behind her ears. She couldn’t believe she had actually thought of divorce a few weeks ago. She shivered. She had so nearly made a huge mistake, but then, didn’t the cliché say that the first six months were the worst in a marriage? Lisa’s eyes filled with latent laughter. In her case, it had been the first six weeks!

‘Something amusing you, Lisa?’ Alex’s deep, melodious voice echoed in the silence.

She turned her head, her eyes unerringly finding his. He filled the conservatory with his presence and her heart did its familiar leap in her breast. ‘No, I was just thinking. What took you so long?’

He lifted the fax in his hand. ‘This. I read it.’ He waved the paper in the air. Whether he thought it was good or bad, Lisa couldn’t be sure. His dark face was curiously expressionless. Restlessly he prowled around the room, while Lisa watched him with lazy, loving eyes.

‘And?’ she prompted.

‘I think your man appears to have been pottering at pottery, excuse the pun, using his garage as a studio. He needs that unit more than you need him,’ Alex drawled cynically. He glanced down at her, his brown eyes assessing her sun-kissed features. ‘Don’t make a decision tomorrow. Have the man investigated first.’

‘You have no faith in human nature,’ Lisa teased.

Something bleak moved in the depths of his eyes, and then it was gone. ‘I’ve lived a lot longer than you, Lisa. People are rarely what they seem.’

Her eyes held by his, Lisa shivered, suddenly chilled. ‘Sorry, I forgot you’re heading for your dotage,’ she quipped, dismissing the shiver in her mind.

‘Dotage, indeed! I’ll have you know I am in my prime,’ Alex informed her. He reached down and tilted her head back with one hand. His brown eyes darkened and she trembled in anticipation; she knew that look so well. ‘Come to bed now, and I will show you,’ he purred as he bent over her and his lips took hers in a long, lingering kiss.

The following afternoon, Lisa let herself into the house and dropped her briefcase on the hall table. The weather was scorching hot, and the drive back from Stratford-upon-Avon had been horrendous. She walked wearily upstairs to the bedroom, and kicking off her shoes, slipped out of her clothes. A shower or a swim in the pool? She couldn’t decide. Grimacing, she walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Maybe her determination to keep on running Lawson’s was not such a great idea. At the height of an exceptionally hot summer there was a lot to be said for being a lady of leisure. Especially with a husband like Alex.

Five minutes later, when Alex joined her in the shower, she almost told him as much. Except he diverted her very effectively from all normal thought by a gentle but thorough assault on her senses until she could only stare into his deep dark eyes, her own hazed with mindless desire. She hadn’t even realised he was home…

Jake arrived midday Saturday, and whisked Alex off to play golf. Lisa spent a lazy couple of hours at the poolside before retiring to her study, and her E-mail, and that was where Alex found her on his return from golf.

‘Talking to friends again?’ he growled. ‘I might have guessed.’

‘You don’t look very cheerful,’ Lisa commented, swinging around to face him. ‘Bad golf day? She arched one delicate brow enquiringly. He had a face like thunder.

‘You could say that,’ he muttered. ‘I need a drink.’ And walked out.

Lisa chuckled to herself. Tina had told her that Alex and Jake were fiercely competitive on the golf course, although they were the best of friends. Personally she couldn’t see the fascination in knocking a little white ball around all afternoon. But it gave her some satisfaction to know her arrogant husband didn’t win at everything.

The following Saturday Lisa glanced at the bedside clock and, pushing Alex’s arm from around her waist rolled off the bed. ‘Jake will be here in an hour for you, and I’m going up to Town.’ She glanced back at his reclining form and caught a look of such terrifying anger in his eyes that she stopped. ‘Alex?’ she queried uncertainly. Surely he wasn’t upset because she had got out of bed? They had made love already this morning, and last night. In fact for the past week Alex had made love to her every night and morning with a hungry intensity, a driven passion, that if she had not loved him so much she might have found disturbing.

‘Lisa?’ he mocked, one dark brow arching sardonically. ‘I understand; less than three months and our honeymoon is definitely over.’ And rolling off the other side of the bed, he stood up. ‘I am collecting Jake today. So I’d better get a move on.’

Reassured, Lisa blew him a kiss from her open palm, and, turning with a deliberate wiggle of her hips, she sauntered into her bathroom.

A quick shower was followed by a laborious twenty minutes drying and styling her long hair. She walked back into the bedroom, but there was no sign of Alex. Hardly surprising, she thought, with a tiny smile playing around her mouth. The only occupation her husband lingered over was lovemaking, much to her delight. Everything else in his life he achieved with a speed and efficiency that left lesser mortals standing.

Lisa took her time. She slipped on a pair of cream lace briefs, and then, seated at the dressing table, she applied the minimum of make-up. She selected a cream soft cotton dress from the wardrobe, and slid her arms into its tiny cap sleeves. Pulling the edges together, she deftly fastened the tiny buttons down the front, from the low scooped neckline to the hem that flared out jauntily a few inches above her knees. Slipping her feet into a comfortable pair of cream canvas sandals and picking up a matching canvas shoulder bag, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror, flicking a long curl back over her shoulder.

‘Very nice.’ Alex appeared behind her.

Spinning around, a broad smile lighting her face, she bobbed a curtsey. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ Her eyes roamed over him; dressed in black trousers and a black knit polo shirt he looked so vibrantly masculine she wanted to reach out and touch him, and he knew it.

His brown eyes darkened. ‘I could give golf a miss and we could, perhaps, find something more interesting to do. Does the notion appeal?’

Any other day Lisa would have said yes, but not today. She was meeting Jed in London and they only had three hours together—not much for five years of friendship.

‘Jake would never forgive you standing him up, and I have to meet my friend in London,’ she said with a rueful smile.

‘Forget I asked,’ Alex drawled lightly. But his eyes glittered hard as they flicked over her. ‘How are you getting there? I don’t want you driving into London on your own. Get Bert to take you.’

‘There’s no need. I’m driving to the station and taking the train.’

‘So be it,’ he said curtly, and left.

What had rattled his cage? she wondered with a frown as she followed him downstairs a few moments later. Alex had been angry last week when he’d returned from golf. This week he was mad before he started! For a sport that was supposed to be relaxing it didn’t seem to do much for Alex. Still, it was not her problem, though she winced as she heard the screech of tyres on the gravel drive…

The taxi stopped outside a large building, left over from the era of the grand London townhouses. This one had been converted into a modest hotel. Paying the driver, Lisa leapt out of the cab and ran up the steps. She walked between the two massive columns that supported the portico and into the hotel’s foyer, and glanced around with interest. To one side was the reception desk, and in front a grand staircase, a couple of sofas and a table with a few magazines on display, across the wide hall an arch opened into a lounge bar. She still couldn’t quite believe she was going to meet Jed in the flesh. She had his photo, and all his confidences, but meeting him after so long was a thrill.

Excited anticipation put a spring in her step as she walked into the lounge bar and glanced around. Apart from the barman, it was empty.

‘Lisa, is that you?’ a deep voice enquired, with a noticeable American drawl.

She turned, and a broad grin split her face. ‘Jed!’ She recognised him immediately—looking older than in his photo, and totally out of place next to the shabby but comfortable very English décor. He was tall, long-legged and narrow-hipped, his faded blue jeans fitting him like a second skin and his half-unbuttoned shirt seemed to be straining the remaining buttons over his massive muscular chest. His attractive face was tanned a deep golden brown, and was in sharp contrast to his sun-streaked blond hair. But it was his eyes that really captured Lisa’s attention. Deep sapphire-blue, with a light of such piercing brilliance in their depths, they reflected a tenderness that could not be disguised.

For long moments they simply stared at each other.

‘Damn, but you’re beautiful enough to make a man change his mind, Lisa.’ A deep tide of red surged up Jed’s face. ‘Sorry for the language.’

Lisa chuckled. Though a year older than her, it was good to know Jed could still blush. ‘No apology needed,’ she said, with a broad smile that illuminated her whole face. ‘And you look like a cowboy,’ she added, having noticed his boots.

Two great arms curved around her and swung her off her feet, and a deep chuckle rumbled from the bottom of his chest.

She clasped his neck and he gave her a great bear hug, before setting her back on her feet. ‘A part-time cowboy, as you know.’ He grinned down into her face, still holding her. Staring into each other’s eyes, a look of complete understanding passed between the two of them.

‘You have no idea how much your friendship means to me,’ Lisa said, suddenly serious, her blue eyes filling with tears of joy.

His blond head bent and he pressed the lightest of kisses on the curve of her cheek. ‘It works both ways. Without your support and understanding, I would never have got this far.’

Neither of them saw the tall, dark man standing in the archway observing the tender scene, but suddenly all hell broke loose.

Lisa stood rooted to the spot as Jed’s arms fell from her waist and he went flying backwards in a blur of movement, to land flat on his back a few feet away. Caught off balance, he’d had no chance. Lisa stared in horror, at Jed’s assailant: Alex! His dark eyes gleamed like the coals of Hades in the blank mask of his face as he stood over the floored Jed.

Galvanised into action, Lisa dropped to her knees beside her friend and tenderly brushed the hair from his brow. ‘Are you okay? I’m sorry, so sorry.’

‘Hush.’ Jed managed a grin, and, leaning up on his elbows he added ‘I’m fine.’

‘How touching,’ Alex grated, his lips drawn back against his teeth in a malevolent sneer. ‘My wife and her boyfriend in a seedy hotel for a seedy affair.’ He took a step forward, towards Jed.

Lisa, shaking with fury, leapt to her feet and grabbed Alex’s arm, terrified he was going to grab Jed again. ‘You great brute!’ She didn’t know how Alex had got here, or why. And she didn’t care. ‘Are you mad?’ she demanded, her blue eyes flashing fire.

‘Look, buddy you’ve got it all wrong. Let me explain,’ Jed said, trying to cool the situation.

Alex turned to look down at the younger man, his black eyes pitiless. ‘You want her, you’re welcome to her.’ And, turning on his heel, he walked out.

The colour drained from Lisa’s face. She could not believe what had just happened. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

She felt the warmth of a protective arm around her shoulders and sagged against Jed, who was now back on his feet. ‘Are you okay, Lisa?’ Jed’s husky tones got through to her.

Lisa turned her head to look up into his face and gasped, lifting her hand to stroke along his cheekbone, where the swelling was already evident. ‘I should be asking you that. I can’t begin to apologise.’ She shuddered again at the image of Alex grabbing hold of Jed.

‘Shh. It’s okay. It takes more than that to anger me. My brothers have tried for years to get me going and failed.’

Lisa’s lips quirked in a tiny smile; she knew what Jed meant.

‘I guess that was your husband. Pity you didn’t have time to introduce me; he seems quite a man,’ Jed observed laconically.

‘More beast,’ Lisa answered, a desolation in her voice that she could not hide as the full horror of what had happened sank into her mind.

‘Don’t be too harsh on the guy. He loves you; that much is obvious,’ Jed sighed. ‘I guess this is the end of our meeting. You better go after him.’

‘Go after him? Never,’ Lisa said adamantly, her shock giving way to righteous anger. ‘He had no right to follow me, and no right to call me names, and he most definitely had no right to grab you, the savage swine that he is.’

‘He was jealous, Lisa, give the guy a break. It’s not all his fault. Did you tell him you were meeting me?’ Jed asked quietly.

‘I told him I was meeting a friend in London.’ The more Lisa thought about it, the angrier she got.

‘Anger is a waste of emotion, Lisa. And, be honest, did you actually tell him you were meeting a man?’

‘Since when did you become my conscience, Jed?’ she queried with a wry grin.

He grinned back, but didn’t answer the question. ‘He’s your husband. Go after him and explain.’

She looked up into Jed’s handsome face, so open and honest. ‘No, Jed, this afternoon is for us. I don’t know why or how Alex appeared like he did. But he is not going to spoil our afternoon together.’ And, clasping his hand in hers, she added, ‘It’s a glorious day. We are going to have our walk in Hyde Park, sit in the Italian Gardens and take a boat on the Serpentine; everything I promised you.’

‘If you’re sure, Lisa.’ The expression on Jed’s young face was incredibly grave. ‘But promise me when you get home you will explain to your husband the truth—that we’re friends, nothing more.’

Lisa felt overwhelmingly protective of this man she had met for the first time today. She knew Jed had not a cynical or nasty thought in his head, money didn’t interest him, only people, and he would never understand a ruthless predator of a man like Alex.

‘Of course I will, Jed, and don’t worry. Alex and I will be laughing about this by dinnertime.’ Forcing a brilliant smile to her lips, she tightened her fingers around his calloused palm. ‘Now, come on, cowboy, you can watch the horse riders on Rotten Row and tell me how they compare to Montana.’

At six in the evening, Jed helped her onto the train. She turned and leant out of the window, and brushed a gentle kiss on his tanned brow. ‘Till the next time, Jed.’

His brilliant blue eyes glistened with something remarkably like tears. ‘I’ve had a wonderful afternoon, Lisa. Never mind the rocky start. Know that I will always be there for you.’ The guard sounded his whistle and the train moved off… Lisa waved until the platform was out of sight.

CHAPTER TEN

LISA stepped reluctantly out of her BMW just as the heavens opened. She walked up the stone steps to the front door to her home and got thoroughly soaked in the process. Great! Just great… That was all she needed.

It was only her promise to Jed to explain their relationship to Alex that had brought her back to Stoneborough tonight. Was she destined to be a fool all her life where Alex was concerned? She had forgiven his escapades with Margot and Nigel. She had even convinced herself he loved her. But his behaviour with Jed had finally shown her the truth. Alex did not love her.

How and why he had followed her today, she had no idea. But he was not talking his way out of this latest episode, she vowed silently. Much as she loved him, she had no intention of being a doormat for any man. Her pride would not let her. With her dress plastered to her body by the rain, she pushed open the front door and walked into the hall. She didn’t see Alex until he spoke.

‘I’m amazed you had the nerve to come back. Like living dangerously, do you?’

Her head lifted, he was striding towards her, wearing the same black pants and shirt he had donned for golf that morning. He looked incredibly sexy, and a wayward leap of her pulse told her she was not immune to him. But whatever game Alex had been playing today it certainly had not been golf…

Dropping her purse on the hall table, she shrugged. ‘I live here, and I need to change.’ A confrontation with Alex was inevitable, but not yet. Because she knew if she did confront him now, her anger would get the better of her and she would say something she might regret. Brushing past him, she headed for the stairs, but he was faster than her and blocked her way.

‘Don’t you walk away from me!’ he bit.

That was the last straw for Lisa. No way was any man going to talk to her like that, especially not an arrogant devil like Alex. She flung her head back, her blue eyes spitting fury. ‘Get out of my way, you great brute, you Neanderthal numbskull,’ she raged, swiping at him but missing, as he caught her flailing hand.

‘A Neanderthal? A brute, am I? You dare to call me names?’ An expression of cold derision tautened his handsome face. ‘This from a woman who has spent the afternoon in the arms of her toyboy.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! Jed is not a toyboy; he’s a year older than me,’ she snapped.

‘And that makes your betrayal all right?’ Alex enquired silkily.

‘Betrayal?’ she threw back, her eyes warring angrily with his. ‘That’s rich, coming from you. I went to meet an old friend, and what happens? You appear like some demented dervish, knock him flat, and whirl off. And I am in the wrong? Oh please…’

‘What kind of fool do you take me for?’ Alex rasped.

‘The kind of sneaky, devious fool who spies on his wife because he thinks everyone’s morals are as low as his own,’ Lisa shot back hotly. ‘The kind who conveniently forgets to retrieve the key of his apartment from his mistress.’ She was on a roll and could not stop; she was so incensed by the injustice of Alex’s attitude. ‘The kind of man who thinks the only relationship between a man and a woman must be carnal.’

His hand released hers to snake around her waist and bend her back over his arm before she had a chance to move. He captured her mouth in a ravishing kiss. His mouth searched, teased and tormented with a devastating thoroughness, until she whimpered in despair at her own frailty and lifted her hands to cling to his broad shoulders.

‘What happened Lisa?’ he demanded softly, his mouth close to her lips and brushing sensuously over their swollen fullness. ‘Tell me?’ He kissed her eyelids and the small curve of her ear, and her hands with a will of their own slid from his shoulders to his nape, twining in his silky black hair. His kiss, his caresses plunged her into a sensual sea of need, which overrode all her good intentions.

His dark head lifted. ‘No answer?’ Lisa stared up at him in frustrated desire, not able to trust herself to respond.

‘After cyber sex with your boyfriend, the physical reality a bit of a letdown was it?’ Alex demanded mockingly. ‘The young man not quite as experienced in the flesh, as you would have liked?’

The import of his words hit her like blows to the heart. She could not believe he could be so cruel. She stared at him. His dark eyes were as cold and hard as a block of ice. Her hands fell from his shoulders, her fingers curling into her palms, her nails digging into her flesh as she fought to control the agony of frustrated desire. What was it about him that made him irresistible to her? While she was tormented by aching passion, he was as contained and remote as Antarctica. A frozen waste—a very apt description of their marriage.

‘You’re disgusting,’ Lisa said in a raw voice, but, worse, she disgusted herself.

His arm fell from her waist and he stepped back. ‘Liar.’ His smile mocked her, his narrow-eyed gaze triumphant. ‘I could take you now…’

Lisa went red, then white. It was one insult too many. She stared at him with bitter, hostile eyes. Tall, dark and strikingly handsome, but she must have been mad to imagine she had loved him. He didn’t deserve to be loved.

‘You’re a stunningly sexy woman, Lisa, but I have never taken another man’s leavings and I am not going to start now. I may have married you, but that is easily remedied.’ He cast her one long, derisory glance. ‘Pack your bags. I want you out of here within the hour. Anything you leave can be sent on to Stratford. My lawyer will be in touch next week. Personally, I never want to set eyes on you again.’ Spinning on his heel, he crossed the hall into his study, slamming the door behind him.

Shock held her rigid. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Alex was throwing her out. The arrogance, the sheer hypocrisy of the man took the breath from her body. For a second rage engulfed her. She took a step towards the study, and then stopped. Alex was not about to listen to anything she had to say, and, in all honesty, she no longer had any desire to explain about Jed.

Alex did not love her, and never would. He was not capable of the emotion. Let him think she had betrayed him with Jed. He would anyway. This way at least she kept her pride. He would never know how much she loved him.

Several weeks later Lisa sat at her desk, fingering the pile of mail the office junior had just delivered. The recent past had taken its toll on her fresh-faced beauty: Her golden tan had faded, and deep purple shadows framed her large blue eyes.

Lisa picked up the first letter, a bill, and dropped it in her in tray. Opening the next letter, she scanned it, her eyes widening in horror. As a major shareholder in Lawson Designer Glass she was requested to attend an extraordinary board meeting called by Xela Properties—in the other words, Alex—on Friday the twenty-third of September. The subject for discussion was the future direction the company should take. The meeting was scheduled for twelve noon in a private suite at a local hotel.

Lisa read the name and blanched. The same hotel in which her wedding reception had been held. She dropped the document on the desk and let her head fall back on the slender column of her neck, closing her eyes. Why was she surprised? She had been waiting for the axe to fall for weeks. Though she would not have believed one man could be so unrelentingly vindictive.

Moisture glazed her eyes, and she blinked hard. She was not shedding another tear for Alex Solomos. When he had thrown her out she had returned to live with Harold. The first night her anger had kept her going—but by the next she had cried herself to sleep. On the following Tuesday she had swallowed her pride and telephoned Alex at Stoneborough, only to be told by Mrs Blaydon he did not wish to speak to her, and all further communication between them must be conducted through his lawyer, Mr Niarchos.

Lisa had heard nothing more until a week later, when she had received divorce papers in the post. But once she’d read the divorce petition, she’d seen red… Any last lingering hope of reconciliation had vanished from her mind. All her old feisty spirit had returned… No way was she letting Alex get away with naming Jed Gallagher as the co-respondent in their divorce. If he wanted to play dirty, Lisa vowed she would do the same. She had instructed Mr Wilkinson to cross-petition, citing Margot. There had been an ominous silence ever since.

Wearily, Lisa brushed a few stray strands of hair from her brow, and looked once more at the document in front of her. Even knowing it was only a matter of time before Alex would make a move to dismiss her and put his own plan into action, it had still come as a shock. Alex had won. But then she had been naive to think she’d had a chance against the man. He was an arrogant, merciless adversary, a powerful man who always got what he wanted, and she should have recognised it the night she met him.

She recalled that first Sunday when she had gone out with him and when he had asked her to marry him. Then she had thought his proposal the most romantic thing in the world. But he hadn’t asked, he had told her. She could hear his voice now. ‘I am going to marry you, Lisa. You are going to be my love, the mother of my children.’ She had thought he was telling her he loved her. What a joke! He had recognised the overdue sexual awakening in her eyes and had used it for his own ends. He had secured a very lucrative business deal, and an innocent girl as his wife and mother of his children.

Alex was a throwback to the Dark Ages, a pure male chauvinist. His reaction when she had met Jed was understandable, given his flint-hearted nature. Like Caesar’s wife, Lisa had to be above reproach, and the slightest hint that she was not, had been enough to cast her out.

The door opening broke into her bitter musing. ‘Lisa?’ Harold walked into the office and frowned. ‘What’s up? You look dreadful.’

Silently she handed him the letter and watched while he read it.

‘Good, good.’ He visibly relaxed. ‘I’m delighted you’re going to meet Alex. I know he loves you. It’s obvious this meeting is a ploy so you can get back together again.’

‘You think so?’ Lisa responded dryly. Harold didn’t know about the divorce; she hadn’t the heart to tell him. He thought they had just had a fight.

‘Of course. It couldn’t be anything else. He knows you hold the majority of shares in the company anyway.’

‘Yes,’ she lied. And watched Harold leave happily. She still hadn’t told him about her donation to the hospice, and obviously neither had Alex when he’d convinced Harold to sell. Poor Harold would be devastated if he knew that by selling to Alex, he had destroyed any chance Lisa had of keeping Lawson’s. Let him be happy for a few more days; he would know soon enough after Friday.

The scales had fallen from her eyes and she could see it all clearly. Alex had manipulated and deceived from day one. It wasn’t enough for him that he had broken her heart; now he was intent on grinding her into the dust beneath his feet, along with Lawson Designer Glass.

But not necessarily… Lisa mused, the light of battle sparkling in her blue eyes. She spent the next half hour on the telephone to her lawyer. The following day she spent walking around Stratford-upon-Avon until she had found what she was looking for…

At five minutes to twelve, Lisa parked her car in the hotel car park and slid out. With trembling hands she smoothed the short black skirt of her fine wool suit down over her hips and adjusted the bright red collar of her blouse over the lapels of her tailored jacket. She had taken special care with her make-up, and had swept her long hair back off her face and into a knot on the top of her head. On her feet she wore black stiletto shoes coupled with sheer black silk stockings that accentuated the length of her legs. Tightening her grasp on her briefcase, she walked into the hotel.

Lisa crossed to Reception, and enquired of the male receptionist directions to the Oberon Suite. He responded with a broad, admiring smile, and told her it was on the first floor.

Her stomach churning with nervous tension, she glided across the lobby, a tall, stunningly attractive and elegant woman, totally unaware of the admiring glances of every man in view.

Ignoring the lift, she ascended the stairs to the first floor. The Oberon Suite. Wasn’t Oberon the king of the fairies in A Midsummer Night’s Dream? she mused, as she walked along the wide hall reading the door signs. It hardly suited Alex’s macho image, but she needed a touch of magic if she hoped to survive the next hour with her pride intact. She had to face Alex one last time and let him see she didn’t give a damn!

Her eyes flicked over a name-plate and she stopped. Taking a few deep breaths, she lifted her hand and knocked firmly on the door; straightening her shoulders, she composed her face into a cool, polite smile and opened the door.

Two sofas covered in blue velvet were set either side of an elegant fireplace, at the other end of the room was a large rectangular table set with the accoutrements for a business meeting. But the model building placed in the centre of the table confirmed her worst fear: the proposed redevelopment, no doubt. Lisa moved into the centre of the room. She glanced again at the table, and as she did so a large black leather high-backed chair that had been facing the window suddenly spun around.

‘You came. Brave of you. I had a bet with myself you wouldn’t.’ With the sun behind him she was not able to see his face clearly, but it made no difference; she knew that slightly accented voice as well as her own. It was Alex…

‘And on time as well. Would you like to take a seat and we can begin?’

Her legs trembled, and it took an enormous effort of will to walk to the table and sit down on the nearest chair. ‘Good morning.’ She gave the conventional greeting without looking at him, and, placing her briefcase on the table in front of her, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap and waited.

‘As the only two shareholders, in what is really a family business…’

Alex began to speak, and at his mention of ‘family business’ Lisa’s head jerked up, her eyes narrowing angrily on his dark face.

His black hair was longer than when she had last seen him, but the tanned handsome face still wore the mask of derision she remembered so well. He was enjoying this, she realised bitterly. Not content with discarding her like so much garbage, he wanted to watch her be destroyed. Why else would he mention that Lawson’s was a family firm, other than to rub in her failure to retain it? Well, he was not going to get away with it if she had her way.

His black eyes caught hers and she immediately looked away, unable to stand the intensity of his gaze. ‘I have had my architect prepare a model to show you how we envisage the finished complex.’

Lisa’s glance skimmed over the model, but she didn’t see it. She wasn’t interested.

‘What do you think, Lisa?’ The strident question had her glancing at Alex once more. He was watching her, a wary anticipation in his dark eyes. Why, she had no idea. Alex knew damned well that she couldn’t oppose him. In fact, she had decided she was not going to try. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

‘I think you’ve said it all. Do you want to go through the charade of taking a vote?’ She could almost taste the tension in the air. The hairs on her neck were standing on end; it was sheer bravado that enabled her to hold his gaze. ‘All in favour say aye,’ she announced facetiously, and lifted her hand.

‘Lisa, you haven’t even looked at the model.’

‘What’s the point? You own Lawson’s, have done for months. It’s yours to flatten to the ground. I wish you luck with it.’ Her gaze roamed over his perfectly chiselled features and she felt the beat of her heart quicken, knowing it was time to have her say and get out.

‘The only reason I am here is to tell you I am prepared to sell you my forty-seven per cent stake at the same rate as you paid Harold. But, in return, I want the right to retain the name Lawson Designer Glass. So, do we have a deal?’ she asked firmly.

His dark brows rose and she could see she had surprised him. ‘Why?’ Alex settled back in his chair, his narrowed eyes fixed on her face.

‘Does it matter? You’ve got what you want—the land, the river frontage…that was all you were ever interested in.’ She made no attempt to hide the edge of bitterness in her tone.

‘You malign me, Lisa. Not a good idea when you are asking for a favour.’

‘I don’t want a favour from you. I want what is mine: my name.’

‘I thought your name was Solomos.’ The taunting softness of his comment made her anger rise. But she refused to give in to it.

‘Not for much longer, and you know perfectly well what I mean.’

‘Humour me. Tell me why.’

‘I have found alternative premises for the glass foundry. I intend relocating and starting again. That way none of my employees need to suffer because I believed all your lies. They will all keep their jobs.’

‘I might have guessed.’ Alex’s sensuous mouth quirked in a smile of reluctant appreciation. ‘Very noble. But then you always were far too noble for your own good.’

‘Not something you have ever suffered from,’ she snorted, suddenly fed up with the whole mess. Pushing back her chair, she stood up. ‘If you have no objections, I’ll expect your lawyer to be in touch about the financial details as soon as possible.’ And, picking up her briefcase, she walked round the table and headed for the door.

But she didn’t get far. Suddenly she was stopped from behind and held against Alex’s muscled length. The air whooshed out of her and she dropped her briefcase. ‘Let go of me!’ She was sick of playing the sophisticated businesswoman; she just wanted to get away.

To her surprise, Alex released her immediately. She bent down to pick up her briefcase, and before she had time to straighten up he had crossed the room and locked the door.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she cried. Locked in a hotel suite with Alex was the last place she wanted to be.

‘You will soon see,’ was his enigmatic reply as pocketing the key card he walked towards her.

Lisa swallowed nervously. Suddenly what had appeared to be a large, elegant room at first sight now took on the proportions of a bird-cage as far as she was concerned. Her blue eyes skated warily over Alex. He was wearing a black pin-striped three piece suit, the jacket fitting perfectly over his wide shoulders; with a grey silk shirt and matching tie, he looked devastatingly attractive and infinitely dangerous.

He stopped a foot away from her, but he made no effort to touch her. There was a curious stillness in his stance. But his dark eyes strayed restlessly over her, from the top of her head to her toes, and back to her face. ‘You’re looking very beautiful, Lisa.’

‘Thanks. But your opinion means nothing to me,’ she said curtly. ‘Open the door and let me out of here.’

‘You really don’t like me, do you?’

Like him? Her heart lurched. Not so long ago she had loved him more than life itself. ‘No,’ she snapped, banishing the unwanted memory from her mind. But just looking at him was having a disastrous effect on her senses.

‘Are you afraid of me, Lisa?’

‘No. I am simply surprised you asked me here at all. I distinctly remember you saying you never wanted to set eyes on me again.’

‘I lied.’ He smiled tightly, and his hand reached out, but she quickly took a step back, not wanting him touching her. She remembered the last time all too vividly. His hand fell to his side. ‘How is Jed, by the way?’ he queried softly.

‘The last I heard, he was in Rome.’ Alex had a nerve asking, but she refused to be riled, and answered him conversationally. ‘He managed to E-mail me from an Internet café. He’s due back in Montana this weekend.’ But she could not resist adding, ‘I might go and stay with him for a week or so while our lawyers work out the finer points of our deal.’ Let Alex think she was going to her lover…

‘I think not, Lisa.’ He moved a step closer, and Lisa took another step back, and another until she bumped into the table. ‘Because there is not going to be any deal. I am not buying you out, and I am keeping the trade name.’

Her face went ashen. For sheer malevolence Alex had no equal. ‘You bastard!’ she swore. ‘Why did I ever marry you?’ She shook her head. ‘Our divorce can’t come quickly enough for me.’ Lisa had been functioning on adrenaline for the past half-hour, but suddenly the enormity of what had happened finally hit her. This man had taken her company, and now he was holding her captive. What more did he want? Her life’s blood? She felt her knees weaken, and with Alex towering over her she was glad of the table to support her.

‘No, we are not.’ A black brow lifted and a ruthless smile slanted his sensuous mouth. ‘Because I have decided to take you back. So stop playing games.’

Lisa’s mouth fell open in shock. She was powerless to utter a word. He wanted her back! It didn’t make sense.

‘No more pretending Jed is your lover.’ He lifted a hand and tilted her chin with his finger, his dark eyes intent on her face. ‘I had Jed investigated. He is in his final year at the seminary and will very shortly become a priest. According to all accounts, he is only one step away from an angel, and according to his brothers he has never had sex in his life.’

Fierce colour flooded her cheeks, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the warmth of his hand on her face, or her sheer anger at his daring to investigate Jed. ‘You didn’t tell his brothers your disgraceful assumption?’ she demanded, finding her voice. ‘Jed had enough trouble convincing his family to allow him to study for the priesthood. The last thing he needs is you accusing him of adultery.’

‘No, I didn’t, but no thanks to you. You could have told me he was a priest.’

‘I seem to remember you never gave me a chance,’ she bit out.

‘I’m sorry, Lisa. Forgive me.’ Alex’s hand dropped from her chin and he stood with his arms hanging loosely by his sides, an air of vulnerability about him that Lisa had never seen before. ‘You can’t begin to imagine how deeply I regret the way I behaved, but if you would just let me explain.’

‘Why should I? You never afforded me that courtesy.’

‘Because I love you, damn it! He forced the words out between gritted teeth, and for a second her heart stopped. Then she remembered.

‘Now who is playing games?’ Lisa prompted, willing her voice to remain steady. At one time she would have given anything to hear him say he loved her. But not now; it was too late. ‘You married me for a bit of real estate, remember?’ She declared, but it was more to remind herself. She was not falling into Alex’s clutches again. Her marriage had been a rollercoaster ride to hell, and she wasn’t paying twice. ‘In fact, I seem to recall you telling me you did not believe in love. So what are you after, Alex?’

She was on the defensive. She couldn’t help it. Her awareness of Alex was such that it was agony for her to be in the same room with him, and to compensate she lashed out, ‘You already have my property.’ She waved her hand in the direction of the model.

Alex visibly flinched. ‘I deserved that,’ he said with unnatural humility. ‘But if you would only look at it!’ He forced her to turn and face the model complex. His humility hadn’t lasted long, she thought dryly.

The building was long and low, only four floors, with gardens leading down to the river and to one side more buildings forming a courtyard. ‘Lawson’s.’ She read the tiny blue lettering on the front of the model and fury enveloped her. ‘You’ve called your hotel Lawson’s?’ she cried, spinning around and glaring up defiantly at his face, only inches from her own. ‘Why did you do it, Alex? A sop to your conscience? But then we both know you haven’t got one.’

‘Even now, you really don’t see, do you?’ Alex asked flatly, slipping his arm around her shoulder and turning her back to face the table. ‘If you look closely—’ he stretched his other hand across in front of her, one finger pointing to the courtyard and the low buildings ‘—you are not going to lose Lawson’s Designer Glass. The architect has incorporated the glass house, with a viewing area for the general public, into the overall design. So you see, you have nothing to worry about. It is quite common to have a few selected attractions in the grounds of a hotel.’

Stunned, Lisa stared down again at the model, her blue eyes widening in wonder, and then she lifted her puzzled gaze to Alex. ‘But…but… Why…? I mean…’ She stammered to a halt, completely gobsmacked.

Tentatively, he slid his hand to her waist and turned her fully to face him, locking his hands loosely behind her back. Lisa was too shocked to offer any resistance. ‘I never thought I would see the day when I would bare my soul over a conference table.’ His lips twisted in a self-mocking smile. ‘But you deserve no less after the way I treated you.’

Baring his soul. A minute ago Lisa would have argued that the man did not possess a soul. She couldn’t take it in. Lawson Designer Glass was saved. Alex was confusing her yet again.

‘I know I have hurt you in the past, Lisa.’ He’d got that right. The ache in her heart was a constant companion. ‘But it was never my intention.’

Lisa swallowed nervously, unsure where Alex was leading. But deep down inside a tiny flicker of hope unfurled. ‘No?’ she queried.

‘No. Believe that if you believe anything, Lisa. From the second I set eyes on you I wanted you,’ Alex began in a deceptively quiet tone. ‘But you were right; the night I met you in Stratford I was there to see Margot. Though only to tell her it was over. And I didn’t spend the night with her. We had separate rooms.’ His voice became cynical. ‘But it did not stop Margot trying to persuade me into her bed. Which is why I never got the key back. I left in rather a hurry in the end.’

‘I see,’ Lisa said shakily.

‘I hope you do.’ Alex’s eyes bored into hers, dark and oddly pleading. ‘I could hardly wait till ten the next morning to see you. Then when we spent the day together, and I discovered you were feisty, and fun and yet innocent, I decided your credentials were perfect for a wife, and that I was going to marry you. I deliberately rushed you into it.’

That wasn’t strictly true, Lisa silently acknowledged. She had been no slouch herself. She had wanted him and found it hard when he’d insisted they wait until their wedding night.

‘I would like to say that business had nothing to do with it, but I want to be totally honest with you. I don’t know.’ His hands tightened behind her back, pulling her slightly nearer, as though he was frightened she would try to break away. ‘When Nigel approached me at the bar, it might have crossed my mind that I could have the woman I wanted and a lucrative business opportunity. But within a day of knowing you all I was interested in was you.’

She didn’t know what to believe. He need not have admitted he hadn’t been sure of his own motive that first night. Warily, Lisa tilted her head back and looked up at him. What she saw in the depths of his deep brown eyes made her heart skip a beat as warmth flooded though her veins, and she was tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt. His arms tightened a fraction more and her legs brushed against his, making her vitally aware of the electric tension between them. In a last-ditch attempt to control her crumbling defences, she murmured, ‘But I did overhear you talking to Nigel.’

‘Ah, yes, Nigel. When I came back from New York, and you knew I had bought the shares, everything I told you was the truth, Lisa. I did it to protect you.’

She had believed him at the time, but after Jed she’d been willing to discredit his every move. Now, after seeing his plan for the complex, she had to believe him again. ‘I believe you,’ she conceded, but she was still not sure where he was leading.

‘Thank you for that.’ He eased her into the hard heat of his body and pressed his mouth to her brow.

Lisa raised her hands and palmed them on his broad chest, whether in resistance or simply because she ached to touch him she did not know. She was powerless to utter a word. She felt as though she was on the brink of some great discovery.

‘It is more than I deserve.’ Alex’s eyes caught and held hers. ‘Because what I have to say now shows me in a very unfavourable light.’ His sensual mouth turned down in a grimace. Lisa held her breath, the hope that was slowly growing in her frozen.

Alex kept an arm around her waist, and as though in a gesture of comfort he lifted his other hand and caressed the soft curve of her cheek, his dark eyes kindling as he registered the slight dilation of her pupils. ‘I had it all, and in my conceit, my arrogance, I did not know it. Of all the lovers I have ever known…’

Lisa stiffened imperceptibly. The last thing she needed was a rundown on his women. ‘No, there were not that many, Lisa.’ He read her mind with ease. ‘But you were the most passionate, the most generous, giving… And I took everything you had to give and took it for granted.’ His eyes clouded with what looked suspiciously like remorse. ‘I could make excuses. I did not believe in love because of my parents. My mother loved my father, still does, but would not forgive what she saw as a betrayal.’

Lisa suddenly saw the parallel in their relationship. Alex had caught her in the foyer of a hotel and had thrown her out of their home. He was more like his mother than she had thought, and she listened with mounting hope as he continued.

‘But that is the easy way out. In reality I had reached the age of thirty-five without experiencing the emotion, and was cynically convinced it did not exist. Until I met you. But even then I refused to recognise it.’

Her blue eyes widened to their fullest extent on his serious face. Was he implying again that he loved her?

‘Even after the fiascos with Margot and Nigel were sorted out and we went to Kos…’ Their eyes met and clung for a long moment with memories shared. ‘Even then I could not admit to myself that I loved you. In my conceit I didn’t think it mattered, because I knew you loved me. On our honeymoon, you delighted me with your unabashed enthusiasm, both physically and verbally. But after I returned from New York it slowly dawned on me you no longer said the words. You became a silent lover. I told myself it did not matter, but it did,’ he admitted with a self-mocking smile.

Alex was right; she had withdrawn slightly, out of insecurity, but she hadn’t thought he’d noticed. The hope expanded to every part of her as he went on.

‘I found myself growing more and more suspicious. I was jealous of the time you spent E-mailing your friends. Then, on the night I got back from Singapore, I went into your study to get the fax from the pottery chap.’ Pain clouded his expression, and involuntarily Lisa’s hands stroked comfortingly up over his chest.

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘I found a printout of an E-mail with the address of a hotel in London and it was like a knife in my gut.’ He paused. ‘I have absolutely no excuse for following you, or grabbing your friend Jed. It was sheer rage, primitive male jealousy; the man was touching my woman.’ He said it with such possessive arrogance Lisa had to mask a smile. It was so Alex… He could not remain humble if he tried.

‘In that moment I knew the sheer agony of love and betrayal.’

‘Not betrayal,’ Lisa interjected swiftly.

‘You were close to Jed mentally. Is a betrayal in the mind any less harmful than a physical betrayal, Lisa?’ he asked, and she did not know how to answer him. His eyes never left her face as he bent his head, and brushed her lips gently with his own. ‘Forget I said that. Just know I love you, Lisa. I think I always have, but I was too arrogant to admit it,’ he murmured against her mouth.

‘But you still insisted it was over…’

‘Hush, Lisa.’ Alex lifted a finger and placed it over her lips, and she marvelled at the slight tremor in his touch. ‘I will regret to my dying day the way I behaved. You are my wife, and I will love and treasure you in this world and the next, if you will let me.’ His dark eyes gleamed with the fierce burning light of love. There was no mistaking it, and Lisa’s lips parted in a brilliant smile of pure joy, her shimmering blue eyes reflecting the love she found in his. ‘Will you?’ He repeated huskily.

Lisa had a million questions to ask, but they could wait. Swaying towards him, she moved her hands up to his wide shoulders, and then trailed her fingers through his hair, bringing his head down to hers. ‘Yes, I will. In fact, I will insist,’ she teased, and placed her lips on his. Delicately probing with her tongue, she initiated a kiss that was tender and passionate, loving and giving, a kiss like no other they had shared. Finally, so he would be in no doubt, she looked up at him through her thick lashes and murmured, ‘I believe there is a bedroom next door. It would be a shame to waste it. After all, you have paid for it, partner.’

Alex’s husky laugh contained an element of relief, and he bent and curved an arm beneath her knees and lifted her high against his chest. ‘Your wish is my command,’ he groaned, as her hands slid around the nape of his neck and she nuzzled his neck.

They fell on the bed, clothes discarded haphazardly, and finally, when they were both naked, Alex reared up over her, his eyes dark and feverish as they roamed over her slim curves and the luscious fullness of her breasts. ‘I do love you, Lisa.’ She felt her breasts grow heavy beneath his gaze.

‘Then love me,’ she whispered, and he did…

Mediterranean Tycoons Untamed & Unleashed

Picture of Innocence

Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent

The Italian’s Blackmailed Mistress

Jacqueline Baird

Picture of Innocence

CHAPTER ONE

LORENZO ZANELLI, owner of the centuries-old Zanelli Merchant Bank, originally bankers to Italian principalities and now a global concern, exited the elevator at his office suite on the top floor of the magnificent old building in the heart of Verona, a frown marring his broad brow.

His business lunch with Manuel Cervantes, the head of an Argentinean conglomerate whose family had been valued clients for years, had gone well, but Lorenzo was not a happy man … His secretary had called to warn him he was going to be late for his next appointment as his lunch had severely overrun—despite the fact that they had completed their business quite quickly.

As soon as work was out of the way Manuel had turned to a more personal topic: the necessity of giving up his career as a mountaineer and keen photographer to take over the running of the company after the death of his father five years ago and his subsequent marriage and two children. Then finally he had shown Lorenzo some shots he had belatedly got around to printing from his last trip to the Alps.

They were pictures taken at the main base camp on Manuel’s final expedition to Mont Blanc, and included by sheer chance a few shots of Lorenzo’s brother, Antonio, and Damien Steadman his friend, wearing bright red jackets and even brighter grins, just arriving as Manuel’s team were about to start their ascent.

The next morning Manuel’s team had been on the last stage of the climb to the summit when he had received news that his father had suffered a heart attack. He’d been airlifted off the mountain by helicopter, and his last shot was a view of the mountain as he was flown down to base camp for the dash back to Argentina to be at his father’s bedside. He had heard much later of Antonio’s tragic death, and had thought Lorenzo would like to have what were probably the last pictures of his brother. Lorenzo was grateful, but it brought back memories he had spent years trying to forget.

Lorenzo had been looking through the photos as he’d walked back to his offices, taking in the implications of the detail in the landscape shot Manuel had pointed out to him, when he’d literally bumped into an old friend, Olivia Paglia, which had delayed him even further.

His frown deepened as he saw the fair head of a woman seated in the reception area, obviously waiting for him. He had almost forgotten about Miss Steadman, and now was not the best time to deal with her …

‘Lucy Steadman?’ he queried, casting a dark glance her way. He remembered seeing her years ago when, on a business trip to London, he had called briefly at Antonio’s apartment to check in on his little brother. She had been a plump, plain-faced little schoolgirl in a baggy sweater, with long fair pigtails, who had been visiting her brother and was leaving as Lorenzo arrived. Her brother Damien had met Antonio at university in London, and they’d become firm friends and flatmates. A friendship that had ended tragically, and one he certainly did not need reminding of for a second time today.

‘Sorry for the delay, but it was unavoidable.’ She rose to her feet and he noted she had scarcely changed at all. Small—she barely reached his shoulder—with her hair scraped back in a knot on top of her head, her face free of make-up. The baggy sweater had been replaced with an equally voluminous black suit, with a long skirt that did her no favours at all. Slender ankles, he noted, and tiny feet, but the flat shoes she wore had definitely seen better days. She obviously cared little for her appearance—not a trait he admired in a woman.

Lucy Steadman looked up and up at the man standing in front of her. Antonio had told her once his brother was a lot older than him, and a staid, boring banker who did not know how to enjoy life, amongst other similarly harsh comments, and now she could see what he had meant …

Tall—well over six feet—he was dressed conservatively in a dark suit, a white shirt and plain dark tie. And expensively, she guessed. His broad shoulders were outlined superbly by the well-cut jacket, and she hastily lifted her gaze from where it had drifted down to his hips and thighs to fix on his face. The man was hard and unsmiling, but Antonio had missed one attribute that was immediately obvious to Lucy, even with her limited experience of men.

Lorenzo Zanelli was a truly arresting male, with a subtle aura of animal magnetism about him that any women past puberty could not fail to recognise. Given the severity of his clothes, surprisingly his thick black hair was longer than the current fashion and brushed the white collar of his shirt. The planes of his face were firmly etched, his heavy lidded eyes were brown, almost black, and deep-set beneath thick arched brows his nose large and definitely Roman and his mouth wide and tightly controlled.

‘You must be Lorenzo Zanelli,’ she said, and held out her hand.

‘Correct, Miss Steadman,’ he responded, and took her hand.

His clasp was firm and brief, but the sudden ripple of sensation that shot up the length of her arm affected Lucy well after he had dropped her hand, and she simply stared at him. She had the oddest notion he was familiar to her, yet she had no memory of ever having met him before, and he in no way resembled his brother.

He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, but his face was fascinating. There was strength in his bold features—a powerful character that was undeniable—and the subtle hint of sensuality about his mouth intrigued her. Her gaze lingered on the perfectly chiselled lips, the bottom fuller than the top, and she found herself imagining what his kiss would taste like … sensuous and beguiling. A tiny shudder vibrated through her body and, shocked by her physical response to an uncharacteristic flight of fantasy, she swiftly raised her eyes and ignored her strange reaction to a man she had every reason to dislike.

Lucy excused her totally unprecedented lapse with the wry thought that Lorenzo Zanelli was the sort of man to make anyone look twice. In fact she would like to paint a portrait of him, she mused, slipping back in to her professional comfort zone.

‘Miss Steadman, I know why you are here.’

His deep, slightly accented voice cut into her reverie, and she blinked just in time to see his dark eyes flick disdainfully over her. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks with embarrassment at having been caught staring. ‘You do?’ she murmured inanely. Of course he did—she had written to him.

Her original reason for this trip to Italy was to personally deliver a portrait she had painted of an Italian countess’s recently departed husband. The lady had commissioned the painting after walking into Lucy’s art and craft gallery with the friend she’d been visiting in England. Lucy had received via the post dozens of photographs of the man, and she had been thrilled that her work was finally going to get some recognition beyond the local scene.

Not that she was seeking fame—realistically, in today’s world where a pickled sheep or an unmade-bed made millions—she knew she was never going to get it, but it was nice to feel appreciated for what she did excel at. She had a natural gift for catching the likeness and character of any subject, be it a stuffed dog—her first ever commission!—or a person. Her paintings in oils—full-figure or portrait, large canvas or miniature—were good, even if she did say so herself.

She had confirmed her trip to Verona with the Countess when she had finally managed to get an appointment with Signor Zanelli. After a phone call that had got her nowhere she had written to the Zanelli Bank, asking for its support in staving off the forced buy-out of Steadman Industrial Plastics by Richard Johnson, one of the largest shareholders in her family’s firm. She had received a short letter back from some manager, stating that the bank did not discuss its policy on individual investments.

She had very reluctantly, as a last resort, written another letter and marked it ‘Personal and Private', addressing it to Lorenzo Zanelli himself. From all she had heard about the man she had formed the opinion he was a typical super-rich alpha male, totally insensitive to other people and with the arrogant conviction that he was always right. He never changed his mind, not even when a formal inquest said otherwise, and she disliked him intensely.

Lorenzo Zanelli had been horrible to Damien after the inquest into the mountaineering accident that had caused Antonio’s death, accosting him outside the courthouse and telling him coldly that while legally he might have been found innocent of any fault as far as he was concerned Damien was as guilty as hell, and might as well have cut Antonio’s throat instead of the rope. Her brother, devastated by the loss of his friend, had felt badly enough as it was. Lorenzo Zanelli had made him feel a hundred times worse and he had never really recovered.

As far as Lucy was aware there had been no contact between the two families since, and it had come as a shock to her to discover after Damien’s death the Zanelli bank was a third silent partner in her family firm. Lorenzo Zanelli was the last man she wanted to ask for a favour but she had no choice. Trying to be positive, she’d told herself maybe she was wrong about Lorenzo—maybe it had been his grief at losing his brother that had made him say horrible things to Damien, and with the passage of time he would have a much more balanced view.

So Lucy had swallowed her pride and written to him, blatantly mentioning her family’s friendship with his brother Antonio. She had informed him she was visiting Verona for a day or two, and had almost begged for a few minutes of the man’s time before finally being granted an appointment today.

The continuation of Steadman Industrial Plastics as a family firm was dependent on Lucy persuading Zanelli to agree with her point of view. Not that she had any family left, but to the residents of the small town of Dessington in Norfolk, where she’d been born and had grown up, Steadman’s was the main employer, and even though she had not lived there since graduating from college she did still visit occasionally, and she did have a social conscience—which she knew Richard Johnson did not.

She was pinning her hopes on Signor Zanelli. But now, after what she had heard about him and being faced with the man in person, she was having serious doubts.

She had arrived in Verona at ten this morning—well, not exactly in Verona. The budget airline she had travelled with had landed at an a airport almost two hours away. She’d just had time to book into her hotel and get here on time, and her flight back was tomorrow evening at eight. On her arrival at his office the great man’s secretary had taken her name, made a phone call, and then told her in perfect English that Signor Zanelli was going to be delayed. She had asked her if she would like to reschedule the appointment and, flicking through a diary, had suggested three days’ time.

Lucy had countered with a request for the next morning, sacrificing her plan to explore the town and the famed arena. Her appointment with the Contessa was in the afternoon. The secretary had told her it was not possible, but she could wait if she liked. She had had no choice but to agree.

‘Miss Steadman?’

He repeated her name and, startled out of her wandering thoughts, she glanced up at him, green eyes clashing with brown. The arch look he gave her was all male arrogance.

‘You’re a determined little thing, I’ll give you that,’ he drawled and, turning to his secretary, said something in Italian that sounded like ‘ten minutes—then call’ before throwing over his shoulder, ‘Come, Miss Steadman. This will not take much time.’

Lucy bit back the response that sprang to mind. It had already taken a heck of a lot of her time. Pausing for a moment, she tried to smooth the creased black linen skirt she wore—a pointless exercise—and watched the broad back of the man as he disappeared into his inner sanctum, the door swinging closed behind him. He might be strikingly attractive, but he was certainly no gentleman, and her nerves tightened a notch.

‘You’d better go in now,’ the secretary said. ‘Signor Zanelli does not like to be kept waiting.’

Given how long she had been waiting—her appointment had been for two and it was now after three—Zanelli had some nerve, she thought, her temper rising. Dismissing the odd effect he had on her own nerve, she squared her shoulders and, taking a few deep breaths, walked across the room and into the man’s office.

He was standing behind a large antique desk, talking rapidly into a telephone which he put down when he saw her.

‘Take a seat.’ He indicated a chair in front of the desk as he sank into a big black leather one behind it. ‘Then say what you have to say, and make it quick—my time is valuable.’

He had not waited for her to sit down. In fact he was well on the way to being the rudest man she had ever met, and she had been right to dislike him sight unseen, Lucy decided, her green eyes sparking angrily.

She said without thinking, ‘I can’t believe you are Antonio’s brother.’

Antonio had been handsome and lovable, and her brother Damien’s best friend at university. Lucy had been fourteen when her brother had brought Antonio home the first time for the mid-term break, and she had developed a terrific crush on the young Italian—so besotted she had actually started taking Italian language lessons at school. Antonio, only four years older, but a decade older in experience, had not taken advantage—quite the opposite. He had treated her as a friend and had not made her feel foolish at all. Unlike this hard-faced man, looking at her across the wide expanse of the desk with cold eyes and without a tender bone in his body, she was sure.

‘You are nothing like him. You look nothing like him.’

Lorenzo was surprised. Lucy Steadman had spirit. Her face had flushed with colour, highlighting the delicate bone structure. She wasn’t plain as he had thought, but she was angry. His mouth tightened. He did not want to fight with her, he simply wanted her out of his sight as quickly as possible—before his anger got the better of him and he told her in return exactly what he thought of her brother …

‘You are right. My younger brother was the beautiful one, both inside and out, whereas I—so Antonio used to tell me—am a serious, hard-headed banker with ice in his veins who should lighten up and enjoy life. Not that it did Antonio much good,’ he said starkly.

For a moment Lucy thought she saw pain shadow his eyes as he spoke. She had been tactless, letting her dislike of the man show, and politely offered her sympathy. ‘I am sorry … so sorry,’ she murmured, as the memory of the tragic accident that had killed his brother and which she felt had been instrumental in the death of hers filled her mind. ‘I understand how you feel,’ she said, and began telling him about her brother.

‘Damien never really got over losing his best friend.’ She did not add thanks in part to you, but she thought it. ‘He was never well afterwards. I was finishing my second year at college and tried to help, but it was no good in the end,’ she admitted. ‘Though he did begin working with my father in the business his heart wasn’t in it. Then, when my father died the following year, it was another blow to him. With my father gone Damien could not manage everything, so he decided to hire a manager to oversee the running of the business and within a year everything seemed to be getting better. Then last year Damien went on holiday to Thailand and died there.’ He had recklessly stopped taking his medication, and it still hurt Lucy to think of him. ‘So I really do know how you feel.’

Lorenzo doubted that Lucy Steadman had an inkling of his real feelings, and he wasn’t about to tell her. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said coolly. ‘But now can we get down to business—the proposed sale of Steadman’s, I believe?’

Lucy had almost forgotten the reason she was there as images of the past and this man filled her mind. Suddenly it hit her that she had not made a very good start, and the speech she had prepared had gone clean out of her head.

‘Yes—no. Not a sale—I mean, let me explain … ‘

One devilish brow arched sardonically in her direction. ‘I will give you five minutes,’ he said, and looked pointedly at his wristwatch.

He had fine black hairs on his wrist, she noted, and shook her head. What was she thinking …? Concentrate, she told herself.

‘When my father died, in accordance with his will Damien inherited the family home in Dessington and seventy-five percent of the business. I had the other twenty-five and the holiday house in Cornwall. My father was not big on equality of the sexes.’

‘I don’t need your opinions—just facts.’ Though he knew most of them. The manager in charge of the bank’s small investments had kept him informed of any development at Steadman’s over the years, but common courtesy decreed he listen to her. But now he realised the reason for the woman’s unvarnished looks and clothes. Lorenzo was all for equality of the sexes, and made a point of employing and promoting intelligent women in his organisation, but he had no time for a latter-day women’s libber who thought the world owed her a living without her having the requisite skills to earn one, and his patience was fast running out.

Lucy took a deep breath. ‘After Damien died I inherited all that was left … Manufacturing plastics is not my thing, so I was quite happy to leave the running of the place to the manager while the lawyer dealt with probate. Unfortunately it was only when the lawyer finalised everything a couple of months ago, and called me in to explain my inheritance, that I discovered my father—with Damien’s agreement—had seven years earlier made Antonio a partner in the business by selling him forty percent of the firm. I was still at boarding school at the time, and knew nothing about it, but apparently it was agreed between them all that Damien and Antonio were going to be partners in the business and run it between them when my father retired. Unfortunately Antonio died, so it was never to be.’ She sighed, and then chewed nervously on her bottom lip. This was the hard part.

She raised a hand and counted off the fingers of the other hand to help her concentrate. ‘So, after my father died I did not actually inherit twenty-five percent of the business.’ She counted off a second finger. ‘It was twenty-five percent of what was only sixty percent.’ She counted a third finger. ‘So that was twenty … no, wait … fift—’

‘Basta! Enough.’

Lucy raised her head, her green eyes clashing with his ‘You’ve put me off now,’ she declared, waving her hands out wide.

‘I’m a banker—I can do the maths. A word of advice—never go into business.’ And she could have sworn she saw a hint of amusement in his dark eyes before the shutters came down and his hard, expressionless gaze fixed on her.

‘Your time has run out, so I will put you out of your misery. Your brother—who was obviously quite keen on partners,’ he said, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone, ‘took on another partner eighteen months ago, selling fifteen percent of his share to Richard Johnson, who as it turns out is a property developer. Now your brother has died he wants to buy out the other two partners, demolish the factory and build a block of apartments on the land. You are six percent short of a majority on your own, and you want my bank, which now controls Antonio’s investment, to side with you to stop the development.’

In that moment Lorenzo, who had been ambivalent over what action to take—a rare occurrence for him—made up his mind. He had toyed with the idea of supporting Miss Steadman—the monetary aspect was next to nothing to the bank, and it also meant he could avoid discussing with his mother a subject that would reignite the pain of her losing Antonio.

He was intensely protective of his mother—had been since his father’s death, and even more so since the death of Antonio. She was a tender-hearted, compassionate woman, who had accepted the inquest result as gospel, and he had taken immense care to ensure she never found out about his confrontation outside the courthouse with Damien. He had paid off the reporter who had caught the declaration of his true view on the case.

But Lucy Steadman was not a good investment. She had been quite happy to let her father and brother keep her in comfort while spouting off about equality of the sexes, and frankly, after what he had learnt earlier today, any thought of assisting a Steadman in any way was anathema to him.

‘Yes, that is exactly right—otherwise the factory will close and a lot of people will lose their jobs. That would be a devastating blow to Dessington, the town I grew up in, and I can’t let that happen.’

‘You have little choice. The factory just about breaks even, but makes very little profit for its partners and consequently is of no interest to this bank. We will be selling to Mr Johnson, who is offering a good return on our original investment.’ He could not resist turning the screw a little. ‘Bottom line—unless you can come up with a higher figure than that currently on offer to buy out my bank’s interest in the next couple of weeks the sale will go through.’

‘But I can’t—I only have my shares.’

‘And two houses, apparently. You could possibly raise money on those with your bank.’

‘No—just one and a half. Damien mortgaged his,’ Lucy murmured to herself. That was something else she had not known.

‘Somehow that does not surprise me,’ he drawled cynically and, rising to his feet, walked around the desk to stop in front of her. ‘Take my advice, Miss Steadman, and sell out. As you said yourself, you have no interest in plastics, and neither does this bank.’

She glanced up the long, lithe length of him, her green eyes clashing with hard black.

‘How old are you? Twenty—twenty-one?’ he asked.

‘Twenty-four,’ she snapped. At five feet two and with youthful appearance, it had been the bane of her life at college, when she’d continually been asked for proof of her age. Even now she still had to carry identification if she wanted to enter licensed premises.

‘Twenty-four is still young. Do as your brother did and have fun. Allow me to show you out.’

Throw her out, more like, Lucy thought, and panicked. ‘Is that it?’ She leapt to her feet and grasped his arm as he turned towards the door. ‘No discussion? At the very least give me more time to try and raise the money. I’ll do anything I can to save the factory.’

Lorenzo looked down into her eyes. They were an amazing green, he realised, big and pleading. He lost his train of thought for a moment.

He could do without Lucy Steadman and her persistence. He had known of her initial call to the bank, and that she had been sent the bank’s standard response. When he’d received her personal letter informing him she was visiting Verona he had told his secretary to arrange a meeting for two reasons. Firstly out of respect for his mother’s feelings, because she was the one who had given Antonio the money to buy his share in Steadman’s in the first place, without Lorenzo or the bank’s knowledge, and it seemed she had a sentimental attachment to the investment.

It had only been after Antonio’s death and the inquest, when Lorenzo had got around to dealing with his brother’s personal estate, that he’d actually discovered his brother was a partner in Steadman’s. He had queried his mother about the investment because the transaction had not been made through the Zanelli Bank but the Bank of Rome, and had suggested she sell. Her reply had astounded him.

Her own mother’s advice when she’d married had been to always keep a separate account that one’s husband knew nothing about, as it gave a wife a sense of independence. Obviously her account could not be at the Zanelli Bank, hence it was at the Bank of Rome. As for selling, she hadn’t been sure—because it still gave her great comfort to know that Antonio had not been the lightweight people had thought, but had made plans for the future and intended being a successful businessman in his own right.

Lorenzo didn’t agree. On finishing university Antonio and Damien had taken a gap year together, to travel around the world. That had spread into a second year, until their last mountaineering escapade that had seen Antonio dead at twenty-three. He doubted if either of them would have settled down to run a plastics factory … But he hadn’t argued with his mother, and she had agreed to his suggestion that he buy the investment from her and bring it under the control of the Zanelli Bank.

The other reason he had agreed to meet Lucy Steadman was in memory of his brother. Because if he was honest he felt guilty. He had been so involved with work and his own business affairs that he had not paid as much attention to Antonio as he should have done. He had loved his brother from the moment he was born, but Antonio had been only eight when Lorenzo had left home for university, and holidays aside he had never returned, going straight to America after graduating. When he did return on the death of his father, to take over the bank, Antonio had been a happy-go-lucky teenager with his own group of friends. At eighteen he’d gone to live in London, so they’d never spent much time together as adults. But he remembered Antonio had mentioned Lucy a few times and had thought her a delightful child. So, although he despised her brother, he had agreed to see her. But after what he had learned over lunch today any fleeting compassion for a member of the Steadman family was non-existent.

Suddenly the frustration that had simmered inside him since speaking with Manuel exploded inside him, and the woman hanging on to his arm was the last straw. Abruptly he hauled her against him, covered her softly pleading lips, and kissed her with all the angry frustrated feelings riding him.

Lucy did not know what had hit her. Suddenly she was held against a hard body, and his mouth slammed down on hers. For a moment she froze in shock. Then she became aware of the movement of his firm lips, the subtle male scent of him, and excitement sizzled though her heating her blood and melting her bones. She had been kissed before, but never like this. He fascinated, thrilled and overwhelmed her every sense. When he abruptly thrust her away she was stunned by the immediacy of her response, and stood in a daze simply staring at him.

Lorenzo never lost control and was shocked by what he had done—even more shocked by the sudden tightening in his groin. He looked down at the poorly dressed girl gazing at him and noticed the telltale darkening of the pupils in her big green eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the pulse that beat frantically in her throat. He realised she was his for the taking. He also realised he had definitely been too long without a woman to actually consider seducing this one.

‘No, there is nothing you can do to make me change my mind. You are not my type,’ he said, more harshly than was warranted.

Lucy blinked, snapping out of the sexual fog that held her immobile, and really looked at him. She saw the hard, cynical smile and realised he had actually thought she was offering him her body. Having kissed her, he wasn’t impressed, and humiliation laced with a rising anger flooded through her.

‘To be brutally frank, Miss Steadman, neither I nor the bank have any wish to continue doing business with a Steadman. You have wasted your time coming to Verona and I suggest you take the next flight out. Is that clear enough for you?’

Lucy saw the determination in his cold black eyes and knew he meant every word. She had the fleeting notion this was personal, and yet he didn’t know her. But then again she’d disliked him without knowing him. Antonio had told her his brother was known as a brilliant financier and ruthless at negotiating with a hint of pride in his tone.

He’d been absolutely right, but she doubted he would have been proud of his brother had he lived to see this day. Antonio had been a gentle soul, whereas the man before her did not have one.

‘Perfectly,’ she said flatly.

Lucy was an artist, but she was also a realist. Her mother had died when she was twelve, and her father had never recovered from the loss of the love of his life. And then her brother last November. Lucy had learnt the hard way there was no point fighting against fate.

She stepped back, straightened her shoulders and, willing her legs to support her, walked past Lorenzo to the door and opened it. She turned and let her gaze sweep over him from head to toe. Big, dark and as immovable as a rock, she thought, and had to accept that short of a miracle she had little to no chance of saving Steadman Industrial Plastics.

‘I can’t say it was a pleasure meeting you, but just so you know I am in town for another day. You never know—you might change your mind.’ She said it simply to goad the man—he was such a superior devil he needed someone to deflate his ego.

‘Not this particular part of town. Security will have strict instructions not to allow you access. I want nothing to do with your business or you. Plump, brainless, badly dressed and mousy women have no appeal to me.’

‘You really are the arrogant, opinionated, ruthless bastard Antonio said you were.’ She shook her head in disgust, and left.

CHAPTER TWO

SHOCKED rigid, Lorenzo stood for a moment, her words ringing in his ears. Her last comment had hit a nerve. Was that what Antonio had really thought of him? Not that it mattered now his brother was dead, but it was the way he had died that still rankled, and the photographs given to him today had not helped.

At the inquest Damien Steadman had been called to give evidence, along with the rescue service personnel who had found Antonio’s body too late to save him. Damien had been the lead climber, and had reached the top of a forty-foot cliff-face when Antonio had lost his footing and been left suspended in mid-air. Damien had tried to pull him up, but had finally cut the rope binding them together, letting Antonio fall.

A few years earlier, after a television documentary about a similar incident where both men had ultimately survived, the mountaineering community had concluded cutting the rope was the correct action to take, as it enabled the lead climber to try and seek help for his companion. The same conclusion had been reached at Antonio’s inquest. Damien Steadman had been exonerated of any fault—which had enraged Lorenzo. His mother, devastated by grief, had been too ill to attend, but he had sat through the entire proceedings and not been impressed by Damien’s vague account. When Damien had had the nerve to approach him after the inquest, to offer his sympathy on the death of his brother, Lorenzo had lost it. He had told the young man as far as he was concerned he was as guilty as hell, he hoped he rotted in hell, and a lot more besides before walking away.

Five years later, with the grief and rage dimmed, he could look at the tragedy with some perspective, but it still did not sit easy with Lorenzo. He doubted he would have cut a rope on his friend, but then he had never been in that position—and Damien Steadman had eventually raised the alarm.

It was the eventually that disturbed him more now—that and the lingering taste of Lucy Steadman’s lush mouth beneath his. Where the hell had that thought come from? he wondered. She was far too young, never mind the rest of her faults.

His decision to sell the Steadman’s shares was the right one. His last connection to the Steadman family would be finally cut. He’d explain it to his mother somehow, and thankfully would never see Lucy Steadman again.

Banishing her from his mind, he sat down at his desk, clicked on the computer and called his secretary.

The following afternoon, after a restless night in the strange hotel bed, during which a large dark man who looked suspiciously like Lorenzo Zanelli had seemed to slip in and out of her dreams with a surprisingly erotic frequency, and a morning spent exploring Verona, Lucy exited the taxi outside a magnificent old building, feeling excited, if a little hot. But then almost every building in Verona was fabulous and old, she thought wryly.

She carefully placed her leather satchel holding the portrait on the desk in the foyer of the most luxurious apartment building in the city, according to the taxi driver who had brought her here. Looking around, she believed him as she handed her passport to the concierge at his request for identification.

She reached a hand around to rub her lower back. Carrying the satchel around all morning had not been a great idea, but she had not wanted to waste time returning to the hotel.

‘The Contessa della Scala is at home, signorina. Number three—the third floor. But first I must call and tell her you have arrived.’ He handed her passport back and, placing it back in her satchel, she glanced around the elegant foyer towards the elevator.

The doors opened and a man walked out—and her mouth fell open in shock as what felt like a hundred butterflies took flight in her stomach.

Dark eyes clashed with green. ‘You!’ he exclaimed, and in two lithe strides Lorenzo Zanelli was at her side. ‘What do you think you are doing, following me around?’ he demanded and grabbed her arm.

‘Following you around? You must be joking,’ Lucy jeered, the butterflies dying a sudden death at his arrogant assumption. She tried to shake off his hand, but with no luck. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, get over yourself and let go of me.’

‘How did you get in here? This is a secure building.’

‘Through the door. How do you think?’ she snapped.

‘And that is the way you are going out, right now—after I have had words with the incompetent concierge who allowed you to enter.’

At that moment the concierge put down the telephone and turned back to smile at Lucy. But before he could speak Lorenzo Zanelli launched a torrent of Italian at the poor man.

Lucy’s Italian lessons had not been completely wasted, but she could only understand Italian rather than speak the language, so she didn’t try now. She watched with interest as Lorenzo’s voice slowly faded as the concierge responded. She noted the slow dark flush crawl up the tanned olive-toned face and almost laughed out loud. The superior devil was totally embarrassed, and suddenly she was free.

Lorenzo Zanelli looked down at Lucy and saw the amusement in her green eyes, and for the first time since he was a teenager he felt like a prize idiot. What on earth had possessed him to think she was following him? Probably the same irrational urge that had made him kiss her yesterday. He was acting totally out of character—usually he was the most controlled of men—and it had to stop. But she had told him she was going to be in town another day and suggested he might change his mind, so his assumption was not that ridiculous. Obviously he realised she had been winding him up, but however he tried to justify his behaviour he still felt like a fool.

‘I owe you an apology, Miss Steadman,’ he admitted curtly. ‘I am sorry; it seems you have every right to be here.’

‘Apology accepted—but I bet it nearly choked you,’ Lucy prompted with an irrepressible grin. There was something very satisfying in seeing the stiff-necked arrogant banker made to look a fool.

‘Not quite, but close,’ he said, his lips quirking at the corners in a self deprecating smile. ‘So how do you know the Countess della Scala? ‘ he asked.

His smile—the first she had seen from him—made her heart turn over. But, remembering their last meeting and what he was really like, she stiffened. ‘Mind your own business,’ she said bluntly. ‘As I recall you told me quite succinctly yesterday you wanted nothing to do with mine.’ And, brushing past him, she walked to the elevator and stepped inside.

The petite, elegant Countess was an absolute delight, Lucy thought ten minutes later, sitting in a comfortable chair and watching the elderly lady reclining on a sofa and examining the eighteen-by-twelve portrait of her husband that her manservant held a few feet away from her.

‘I love it—absolutely love it,’ she said, then instructed the manservant to place it on the table while she decided where to hang it. She turned back to Lucy. ‘You have captured my beloved husband perfectly. All my friends will be green with envy, and I can see a lot more commissions coming your way and a great future ahead of you.’

‘I hope so.’ Lucy grinned. ‘But thank you. I’m glad you like it, because it was a real pleasure to do—he was a very handsome man.’

‘Oh, he was—and so jolly. Nothing like Lorenzo Zanelli. The nerve of the man, trying to have you thrown out of the building. Are you sure you are all right.’

‘How on earth did you know about that?’ Lucy asked in surprise.

‘The concierge is a good friend of mine and keeps me informed of everything. Zanelli’s behaviour was disgraceful—I can’t imagine what he was thinking.’

‘I had a brief meeting with him yesterday over something his bank has an interest in, and he jumped to the conclusion I was following him,’ Lucy said with a grin. ‘He obviously has an overblown sense of his attraction to women, or he is just paranoid. I had no idea he lived here.’

‘Ah, my dear—Lorenzo Zanelli doesn’t live here, but friends of his, Fedrico and Olivia Paglia, have an apartment here. Unfortunately Federico was injured in a hunting accident in January and has been in a rehabilitation clinic ever since. There has been the occasional rumour circulating about Lorenzo Zanelli’s involvement with the poor man’s wife, because he has visited Olivia a few times, though I can’t see it myself. He is much more likely to be taking care of her husband’s business affairs than her.’ She chuckled. ‘Zanelli has the reputation of being a loner, a very private man and a workaholic. Olivia Paglia is a real social butterfly—which is why I can’t see the two of them together. They are like chalk and cheese.’

‘They say opposites attract,’ Lucy inserted, fascinated by the Contessa’s conversation.

‘Personally I don’t believe it. But enough gossip. When we first met I was struck by how bright you looked, wearing a brilliant blue top and white tailored trousers. Now, I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, my dear, but that black suit is ill fitting and absolutely dreadful.’

Lucy burst out laughing. ‘I know—it’s terrible. I borrowed it from a friend because turning up in jeans and a top or a colourful kaftan, which is pretty much all I own, didn’t seem very businesslike. Plus, even though I had the portrait packaged I did not want to put it in the cargo hold. It took up most of my hand luggage, and I just managed to squeeze in a spare blouse and underwear.’

An hour later, against all her attempts to refuse, Lucy left with a vintage designer dress courtesy of the Contessa, and shoes to match.

She boarded the plane back to England with a spring in her step. She might not be able to save the family firm, but at least she had a nice cheque in her purse that would help, and a dress to wear for her friend Samantha’s hen party this weekend. The following weekend was the wedding, and Lucy was to be the chief and only bridesmaid.

Lorenzo Zanelli viewed the procession down the aisle through cynical eyes. The bride, tall and attractive, looked virginal in white, with the extravagantly layered skirt of her gown cleverly concealing the fact she was pregnant. Another good man bites the dust! he thought, and wondered how James, an international lawyer and partner in his father’s London law firm, had allowed himself to be caught so easily.

He had known James for years. His father was English and his mother Italian—her family home was on the shores of Lake Garda, near the Zanelli family home. He had met James as a teenager in the summer holidays at a local sailing club, and they had been friends ever since.

Usually Lorenzo avoided weddings like the plague, but now he was grateful he had accepted James’s invitation—it could not have come at a better time. The past two weeks had seen his perfectly contented and well-ordered life severely disrupted.

First the photographs from Manuel had disturbed him so much he’d been angry on meeting Lucy Steadman, and behaved with less than his usual iron control. And then her expectation that he would agree to help her keep a business she had no interest in and that made little money had infuriated him still further. Kissing her had been a bad mistake, but how like a woman to expect a man to bail her out …

Then there was the complete and utter fool he had made of himself the next day. Instantly assuming the green-eyed little witch was following him. He still could not believe he had actually tried to have her thrown out of the building. For some reason her laughing eyes had featured in his dreams ever since, and why a plump little woman dressed not much better than a bag lady was disturbing his sleep he had no idea.

Maybe he was having a midlife crisis … His usual taste in women veered towards tall elegant brunettes, well groomed, immaculately dressed, and preferably with a brain.

The dinner party last Saturday with a few friends should have put him back on an even keel, but it had turned out to be a surprise birthday party arranged by Olivia Paglia—as if he needed reminding he was thirty-eight. His luck had continued its downward spiral when on Monday a photograph of him, with Olivia wrapped around him as they exited the supper club at two on Sunday morning, had appeared in the press, with an article full of innuendo.

The following day had brought a summons from his mother—the one woman in the world whose opinion actually mattered to him. His father had died when he was twenty-six, and he had been head of the family ever since—though he only occasionally stayed at the family home. He had various properties of his own that he used. Seeing the disappointment and anger in her eyes when she’d demanded an explanation for his behaviour with a married woman had bothered him.

Astonishingly, his mother had confided in him that she had always known her husband had kept a mistress. She had not liked it, but had accepted it. But even his father, for all his faults, would never have taken a married woman to his bed—and certainly not his best friend’s wife.

Lorenzo could have told her his father had not had one mistress but two when he died. He knew because he had paid them off—plus he had known since he was a teenager of others, which had caused a rift between him and his father and was the reason he had gone to America to make his own way in the world. On his return he had discovered three more were on the books—his father had actually pensioned them off! Instead he’d bitten his tongue and listened as she berated him.

A Zanelli had never before been the subject of the tabloid press—he had disgraced the name. And then she’d got on to her favourite subject: it was past time he found a wife and settled down to produce a grandchild—an heir to the Zanelli name. Then, with tears in her eyes, she reminded him he was the only son left.

He had consoled himself that with luck, by the time he returned to Italy, the gossip started by the newspaper report would have blown over, and hopefully his mother would have forgotten as well. On flying into Exeter airport he had rented a car, and had driven down to Cornwall last night. He had booked into a country house hotel for the weekend, and would be flying out of London on Monday to New York for a week or two.

Much as he loved his own country, given the traditional position he had to uphold in Verona, he preferred the vitality of New York, where he usually had a lover. The women tended to be career-orientated, smart and sexy, and while his business affairs often appeared in the financial press his private affairs rarely registered on the press radar there. Whereas, given the status of the Zanelli name, in Verona, his every move was scrutinised by the gossip columns.

The bride passed by, and he caught sight of the single bridesmaid. For a moment he thought he was hallucinating.

Lucy Steadman … It couldn’t be?

Her mousy hair was not mousy at all, but a kaleidoscope of colour, with hints of red and gold, swept up at the sides and held with a garland of rosebuds on the crown of her head, revealing her delicate features and then falling in soft silken waves down her back.

His dark eyes moved slowly in stunned amazement over her shapely body. The strapless sea-green dress she wore enhanced the creamy smoothness of her skin and clung lovingly to her full firm breasts, a handspan waist and slim hips. How had he ever imagined she was fat? he asked himself, and could not take his eyes off her.

She had the most supple, sexiest body he had ever seen, and he felt an instant stirring in his own as she glided down the aisle. The natural sway of her pert derrière forced him to adjust his pants. And this was the woman he had told he never wanted to see again.

Though on the plus side he suddenly realised his sexual antennae hadn’t been at fault after all, but working perfectly when he had kissed her—which put paid to his mid-life crisis theory.

He had parted with his last lover Madeleine, a New York accountant, at New Year, because unfortunately she had begun to hint at commitment … something he was averse to.

But he definitely did need a woman—and a weekend affair with the luscious Lucy would suit him perfectly on so many levels. She lived in England—he divided his time mostly between Italy and New York. He could sate himself in her sexy little body with no danger of ever having to see her again. Unworthy of him, he knew, but he couldn’t help thinking there would be a satisfying kind of justice in bedding Damien Steadman’s sister and walking away …

Seated on the bride’s side of the church, a misty-eyed Lucy watched as her friend Samantha and James Morgan, with eyes only for each other, took their wedding vows. No one could doubt the deep love they shared, and if ever a girl deserved happiness it was Sam, she thought.

Lucy had arrived at Samantha’s parents’ house, set on the cliffs above Looe, at eight that morning. They had all had breakfast together, and the rest of the time Lucy had spent in a kind of controlled chaos, getting dressed with the hairdresser and make-up artist fussing around her, while trying to keep Samantha calm and getting her ready for the service at two-thirty.

An hour ago Lucy had left for the church with the pageboy in a limousine, and—apart from having to take the little boy around the back of the old church for a pee—so far everything was going like a dream for her best friend.

Lucy had first met Samantha as a child, when she had spent every summer with her parents at their holiday home in Looe. They had both attended the children’s Holiday Club and become friends. But after her mother died her father had refused to holiday in Cornwall any more, and consequently Lucy had lost touch with Samantha. It had only been after she had finished art college and inherited the family holiday home in Looe, setting up house and her own business there, that they had renewed their friendship.

Samantha had been one of the first customers in her art and craft gallery, and they had instantly recognised each other. They had both had troubled teen years—Lucy had lost both her parents, and Samantha had been diagnosed with leukaemia at the age of thirteen and fought a five-year-long battle to full recovery. Lucy knew that was the reason Samantha had got pregnant within two months of meeting James. Convinced her leukaemia treatment had left her infertile, she had never considered contraception necessary.

Lucy sighed. She was a romantic at heart. After all, Samantha had suffered before meeting James and falling in love. Getting married with a baby on the way was the perfect happy ending.

‘Lucy, time to sign the register.’ The best man, Tom, took her arm.

Ten minutes later the church bells began to peal, and the bride and groom walked back down the aisle as man and wife.

Lucy followed behind with Tom. She had met him at the rehearsal on Thursday night—he was James’s best friend and a banker in the City. But nothing like the hateful, hard-faced banker she had met in Verona: Lorenzo Zanelli. Tom was fun.

The ceremony over, feeling totally relaxed, she glanced around the colourful congregation.

‘You look beautiful, Lucy,’ a deep, slightly accented voice drawled, and she almost dropped her posy of roses at the sight of the man sitting in the pew, his dark head tilted back, watching her.

She looked down into a pair of mocking eyes, her mouth hanging open in shock. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was invited.’

‘Move, Lucy—we are holding up the traffic.’ She shut her mouth and was grateful for Tom’s hand at her back, urging her on down the aisle.

Lorenzo Zanelli at Samantha’s wedding—it wasn’t possible.

Unfortunately it was, she realised as she spent the next half-hour at the bidding of the photographer as the wedding photos were taken. Somehow every time she looked up Zanelli seemed to be in her line of vision. Not surprising, she told herself. At over six feet, with broad shoulders and bold features, he had a presence about him that made him stand out in any crowd, and the superbly tailored silver-grey suit he wore with easy elegance simply enhanced his magnificent physique.

Seated at the top table at the wedding reception, Lucy tried to dismiss Zanelli’s presence from her mind and give all her attention to Tom. He was easy to talk to, and when the meal was over and the speeches began his was one of the best.

The bride and groom opened the dancing, and then everyone else joined in. Tom turned out to be a good dancer and he made her laugh. When the music ended he led her to the side of the dance floor and said, ‘Do you mind if I rescue my girlfriend now? She’s bound to be feeling lonely, seated with strangers. I’ll take you back to the table first.’

‘Not necessary.’ She smiled. ‘I am going to find the powder room.’

‘Okay!’

But Tom had barely been gone two seconds before Lorenzo Zanelli appeared at her side.

‘Lucy, this is a pleasant surprise—can I have this dance?’

She tilted her head back to look a long way up into his harshly attractive face. ‘I seem to recall you never wanted to see me again,’ she said bluntly. ‘So why bother?’

‘Ah! Because I have never really seen you until now … ‘ He stepped back and deliberately let his dark gaze roam over her, from head to toe and back up, to linger for a moment on the soft curve of her breasts revealed by the strapless dress, before his dark eyes lifted to capture hers with an unmistakable sensual gleam in their black depths.

Lucy fought down the blush that rose up her throat, but she could do nothing about the sudden hardening of her nipples against the soft silk of her gown.

‘What is your English saying, Lucy? To hide one’s light under a bushel?’ His deep, melodious voice made his accent more pronounced. ‘I never knew what a bushel was, but now thanks to you I do—a big, black shapeless garment.’ One black brow rose enquiringly. ‘I am right, yes?’

‘No.’ But she could not help her lips twitching. Even the Contessa had remarked on the ill-fitting suit.

‘So I ask again—dance with me?’ And before she knew it he had caught her hand in his.

The same tingling feeling affected her arm, and she burst into speech. ‘How do you know James Morgan?’ she demanded, slightly breathless, Lorenzo was not as staid as she had thought—he could turn on the charm like a tap—but she did not want to dance with him. She didn’t like the man, and he had made it plain what he thought of her: nothing … But her own innate honesty forced her to admit she didn’t trust herself up close to him. Tentatively she tried to ease her hand from his, but with no success. His long fingers tightened around hers.

‘His mother is Italian and her parents’ home is on the shores of Lake Garda. James and I met as teenagers when he visited with his family in the summer, and now whenever I need an international lawyer James is the man I call.’ Reaching out, he slid his arm around her waist and drew her towards him.

Suddenly Lucy was aware of the warmth of his long body, the slight scent of his cologne, the masculine strength of him, in a purely carnal way that stunned her. She could not tear her eyes away from the mobile mouth, suddenly recalling the heart-stopping feel of lips that had once kissed hers as he continued speaking.

‘I’ve never actually met the bride before, but that is not surprising. James has only known her eight months, and it is out of necessity a bit of a rushed affair, I believe?’

Charming, but definitely arrogant and opinionated, Lucy thought, no longer having any trouble raising her fascinated gaze from his mouth to look up into his dark eyes. Her own sparked with anger at his slur on Samantha.

‘That is an unkind comment to make on what is a very happy day. Samantha is my friend, and for your information I happen to know it was love at first sight for both of them. Plus, James asked her to marry him before she knew she was pregnant.’

‘You are a loyal little thing—and, I think, a hopeless romantic. But I bow to your superior knowledge and apologise for my thoughtless comment. Now, let’s dance,’ he ended with a grin.

His rueful grin and the proximity of his big body were having a disastrous effect on her thought process. Biting back the yes that sprang to her lips, she stiffened in his hold. ‘Why would I want to dance with a man who has sold my family business out from under me?’

The only place Lorenzo wanted the delectable Lucy was under him, and he saw his opportunity. ‘There you are mistaken. The deadline is next week and I have not given the final go-ahead yet. It has occurred to me that if the land is valuable in the middle of a recession it will be a lot more valuable in the future.’

Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise on his hard attractive face. Had he just said what she thought he had? ‘You mean you are actually reconsidering your decision?’ He lifted her hand and placed it against his chest, and she was instantly aware of the beat of his heart beneath her palm. Her own heart began to race. ‘The factory could stay open for a while longer?’ she prompted, a sudden huskiness affecting her vocal cords.

‘It is a possibility to consider,’ Lorenzo murmured, squeezing her hand and drawing her closer, well aware of how he affected her. ‘But, as you said, this is a wedding and a happy occasion, so let us forget about business for now and enjoy the party.’

Against her better judgment, surprisingly Lucy did. Lorenzo was a superb dancer, she realised as they moved around the floor in perfect harmony. His hand on her back was firm and controlling, guiding her effortlessly to the music, and a long leg slid between hers as he spun her around. The only problem was her rapid pulse and the growing warmth spreading from her belly to every sensory nerve in her body. She glanced up at him, and her breath caught at the slumbering passion in the dark eyes that met hers.

She amended her earlier assessment. He certainly wasn’t old. He was a superbly fit, incredibly attractive man, and her mouth went dry as another part of her anatomy shockingly did the opposite. Her lips parted slightly, the tip of her tongue circling them. She wasn’t aware the music had stopped until Lorenzo briefly squeezed the hand he held against his chest and let it go.

He had damn near kissed Lucy on the dance floor, Lorenzo realised with a sense of shock, but she had given him plenty of provocation. Her sexy little body had moved against his with a sensuality that instantly aroused him. The scent of her, fresh and light, had filled his nostrils, and the soft silken smoothness of her skin beneath his palm, the gentle brush of her glorious hair against his hand on her back as they danced, had been a constant caress. Then she’d licked her lips, and he had been in imminent danger of embarrassing himself and her in front of everyone. He needed to get her alone.

Taking a step back, but keeping an arm lightly around her waist, he quipped, ‘I think you deliberately hide your light under a bushel, Lucy—you have great rhythm.’ And he was supremely confident he could induce her into being even more rhythmic in bed. Her fabulous body was made for sex. Looking down into the slightly dazed eyes of the woman curved in the crook of his arm, he added, ‘But now I think a glass of champagne and some fresh air is needed.’

‘Lorenzo?’

He heard his name called, but ignoring it, he attempted to steer Lucy away.

She looked over his shoulder. ‘I think the man at the table behind you is trying to get your attention … ‘ she said, and he silently groaned.

‘Come have a drink with us, Lorenzo!’ the accented voice demanded.

CHAPTER THREE

LORENZO recognised the voice, and good manners dictated it was a request he could not ignore. With his hand on Lucy’s waist, he reluctantly turned.

A moment later Lucy, with Lorenzo’s arm still around her waist and a glass of champagne in her hand, was being introduced to Aldo Lanza, the bridegroom’s uncle from Italy, his wife Teresa, their two sons and their wives, and four grandchildren.

‘Trust Lorenzo to grab the beautiful bridesmaid before anyone else had a chance,’ Aldo said as he kissed Lucy’s hand. Casting a knowing glance at the man holding her, he added, ‘Don’t be fooled by his easy charm—he can be a hard devil when you get to know him.’ And he winked.

‘I already gathered that,’ Lucy said with a grin, enjoying Aldo’s easy banter and putting her glass down on the table. ‘We have met before.’

‘Ah—you have visited Verona, perhaps? A beautiful city, no?’

‘Yes, I have, and the architecture is stunning. The arena is amazing, too, but I did not have much time to look around as I was there on business.’

‘Beautiful and clever. What line of business are you in?’ he asked.

‘Enough questions, Aldo,’ Lorenzo interrupted. ‘I’m sure Lucy does not want to discuss business at a wedding.’ He had introduced Lucy without mentioning her surname, thinking the less Aldo knew the better—because his wife Teresa was the biggest gossip in Verona.

‘No, really—I don’t mind,’ Lucy said swiftly. The arrogance of Lorenzo speaking on her behalf had touched a nerve. Her father and brother, much as she had loved them, had had a habit of doing the same. Which was partly the reason she had decided to move to Cornwall after her father’s death, although Damien had been nothing but encouraging about her setting up her own business in Looe.

‘I own an art and craft gallery here in the town. But I specialise in painting portraits, and was in Verona to deliver a completed commission to my client—a charming Italian lady. You may know her—the Contessa della Scala? In fact, I met Lorenzo in the foyer of her apartment block,’ she said, giving Lorenzo a saccharine-sweet smile, reminding him he was not always as invincible as he thought.

Lorenzo’s dark eyes narrowed angrily on her mocking green. It was the worst thing she could have said, given his recent appearance in the gossip columns. The Lanzas knew Olivia Paglia had an apartment in the same building.

Suddenly Lucy was aware of a pause in the conversation, and she wondered if she had gone too far. Then Aldo said something in Italian to his wife, and Teresa frowned. Looking at Lorenzo, she spoke equally swiftly.

Lucy looked on in amazement as the conversation became animated between the three, with much waving of hands. She barely caught a sentence, but was enthralled by Lorenzo’s deep husky voice—and then she heard Aldo repeat the words ‘Contessa della Scala’ and all eyes turned on her.

‘You know the Contessa della Scala well? ‘ Teresa asked in English.

‘I wouldn’t say well, but I have met her couple of times and spoken to her on the phone. She is a lovely lady, and a delight to talk to.’

‘Oh, so clever and bella signorina … ‘ Teresa switched back into Italian, and the conversation went right over Lucy’s head again.

Lorenzo’s hand slowly tightened around Lucy’s waist. He thought he had covered well by telling them they had met a couple of times and he had known Lucy for a while—which wasn’t an outright lie. But then he’d had to field a dozen questions about his ‘artist friend’ and he’d realised he actually knew next to nothing about Lucy and had jumped to the assumption she did nothing. He also realised he had made an even bigger fool of himself than he had imagined, presuming Lucy had come to Verona specifically to see him about the Steadman deal when her main priority had obviously been her own business.

The chatter that had broken out at her comment and Lorenzo’s fingers biting into her waist surprised Lucy. His dark head was bent towards her, and he spoke softly against her ear.

‘You could have told me you are an artist, Lucy.’

His warm breath and the way he said her name did funny things to her tummy, and she wriggled out of his hold just as James appeared and saved her from answering.

‘I see you have met the Italian side of my family, Lucy—and now it is my turn to dance with the bridesmaid, according to my wife Samantha.’ He said wife with such pride Lucy smiled. And, glad of the reprieve from Lorenzo’s constant presence, she let James lead her on to the floor.

‘They can be a bit overwhelming en masse, and Sam thought you might need rescuing.’

‘Not really—they all seem charming, if a little intimidating.’

She danced with James, and then threw herself into circulating and lost count of the number of men she danced with. With relief she accepted when Samantha asked her to accompany her back to the house and help her get changed into her honeymoon outfit. Her wedding dress, though fabulous, was killing her, she said, and as Lucy had stitched her into it in the first place, when a seam had split, she knew just what she meant.

Half an hour later she lined up with most of the guests along the drive as Samantha and James drove away in his treasured vintage green e-type Jaguar sports car.

Waving with one hand, Lucy wiped a few tears of joy for her friend from her cheek with the other.

‘Proof positive of my suspicion that you are a hopeless romantic.’ A long arm wrapped around her waist and she was spun round against a hard male body. ‘Here—use this.’ Lorenzo handed her a pristine white handkerchief.

‘It’s not necessary.’ She placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself free of his hold. ‘But thank you,’ she said politely.

She had been carefully avoiding him for ages, and if their eyes had met accidentally she had quickly glanced away. But she hadn’t been able to help noticing he’d had no shortage of dance partners all night. Not that she had been looking! And now he had caught up with her.

Lorenzo slipped the hanky in his jacket pocket and, taking her hand in his, said, ‘Walk with me, Lucy. I don’t feel like returning to the party just yet, and as Samantha’s friend you must know these gardens well. You can lead me around.’

In more ways than one, Lorenzo acknowledged wryly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so physically attracted to a woman he’d had to make a determined effort to prevent his body betraying him every time he looked at her.

Lucy was about to refuse when suddenly she remembered he had held out some hope for Steadman Industrial Plastics and agreed. Maybe she could talk to him sensibly and get him to agree to keep the factory open. The only slight problem with that idea was she simply had to look at Lorenzo for every sensible thought in her head to vanish. And the warmth of his hand holding hers seemed so right, so natural, she had no desire or will to break free.

They strolled down to where the garden ended at the cliff-edge, and looked out over the sea. The sun was just beginning to set over the far side of the bay.

‘Do you realise the twenty-first of June is the longest and lightest day of the year in the northern hemisphere—the ideal day for a wedding? And at midnight there is going to be a magnificent fireworks display.’ She was babbling, but Lorenzo made her nervous—and a lot of other things she wasn’t ready to face just yet.

She didn’t like the man. He was arrogant and rude, and a staid, boring banker was not high on her checklist of what she looked for in a man. Then again, she had never found any man who ticked her boxes … In fact after her one attempt at sex she had decided she was probably frigid and could happily stay celibate. But somehow Lorenzo Zanelli had the power to drive her senseless with only a kiss. She had dated a few men, but none had turned her legs to jelly the way Lorenzo did by simply holding her, and it frightened her.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were an artist when we met?’

‘You never asked.’

‘I did ask why you were at the Contessa’s—you could have told me then.’

‘I could—but as you had just tried to have me thrown out of the building and called me a plump, brainless, badly dressed and mousy woman the day before, I didn’t think you deserved an answer.’

‘I’m sorry. I want to apologise for that day in my office. My comment was totally uncalled-for. I had a picture of you in my mind from the first time I saw you at my brother’s apartment in London. You were a schoolgirl in a baggy sweater and pigtails, and I didn’t really look past that.’

‘I thought there was something familiar about you!’ Lucy exclaimed, a long-forgotten memory surfacing of a big, dark frowning man in a dark suit once arriving at Antonio’s apartment as she was leaving.

‘Yes, well—now I know my view of you was totally false,’ he said, with a self-derisory smile. ‘But you caught me on a really bad day. My business lunch had gone on for far longer than it should have and I was badly delayed. I was running hopelessly late—unheard of for me. I’m not usually so.’

‘Insufferably arrogant? Opinionated? Superior?’ she offered cheekily. ‘I may not be a whiz with numbers, like you, but when it comes to physical figures I am really good.’

One look at her walking down the aisle of the church had told Lorenzo that, but he bit back the sexual innuendo that sprang to mind. ‘I really am sorry for my boorish behaviour.’ He gently squeezed her hand. ‘Please can we forget our first meeting and begin again?’

It was the please that did it. His apology sounded genuine, and Lucy glanced back up at him and was lost in the warmth of the sincerity in his deep brown eyes. ‘Yes, okay,’ she agreed, and suddenly shivered.

‘Here—take my jacket,’ Lorenzo offered, letting go of her hand to open his jacket.

‘No, really—I’m fine.’

His lips twisted in a slow smile and, catching her hand again, lacing his fingers through hers, he cradled her hand on his chest. His other arm encircled her waist to pull her pliant body into the warmth of his. ‘Then let me warm you.’

His dark head bent, and Lucy knew he was going to kiss her. When his lips brushed lightly against hers she felt her heart turn over. Never in her life had she experienced the dizzying sensations swirling around inside her that his kiss evoked. Her lips parted beneath his and the subtle invasion of his tongue into the moist heat of her mouth had her closing her eyes. Her free hand reached up to clasp his broad shoulders and cling as he folded her closer still. The blood bubbled in her veins and she was wildly, gloriously aware of sensations she had never experienced before. When she felt his hand stroking up her spine, finding her bare back under the tumbling mass of her hair, she trembled.

‘Ah, Lucy!’ He sighed, and broke the kiss, his dark eyes gleaming down into hers. He dropped soft kisses on her brow, her glowing cheeks, and then bent his dark head to say huskily against her ear, ‘This is the time, but not the place. I think—’

Lucy never did hear what he thought, as they were once more interrupted by the booming voice of Aldo Lanza, calling out his name.

‘I think I could kill that man,’ Lorenzo ground out, but straightening up, held her lightly against his side as he responded.

The rest of the evening took on a dream-like quality. At Aldo’s insistence they rejoined his party in the marquee. Lorenzo swirled her around the dance floor in his arms and she felt as if she was floating on air. Between dances he told her he had an apartment in Verona and one in New York, and he split his time between the two. His mother lived in the family home on Lake Garda, and he visited as often as work allowed. Apparently she suffered from angina and was quite frail. Lucy told him about art college in London and starting her business here in Looe, and how much she loved being her own boss.

For Lucy the night took on a magic all of its own as Lorenzo, holding her to his side, took her to gather with all the other guests in the garden to watch the fireworks display on the stroke of midnight.

How had she ever thought she disliked him without knowing him? So Lorenzo had lost his temper with Damien after the inquest? In fairness, it had to have been a traumatic time for him, and she could not really blame Lorenzo for Damien going off the rails afterwards. Lucy had sacrificed a lot for Damien, given him much more help than most sisters ever did, and yet his reckless behaviour had negated her help and ultimately led to his tragic death.

And how had she ever thought Lorenzo was boring? she wondered as he laughed and joked with the other guests as they said their goodbyes. She was totally captivated, her eyes shining like stars as she looked up at him as he turned back to her.

‘The party is almost over, Lucy. Can I take you home now?’ he asked, and the question in the glittering dark eyes said so much more.

‘I am staying here tonight—to help with the clearing up,’ she said reluctantly.

‘Do you have to?’ His long fingers curled about her wrist, his thumb carelessly caressing the soft underside, sending shivers of awareness through her body. ‘I could tell our hostess you are too tired and I’m taking you home for some much needed rest.’

Her eyes locked with his, and the sexual tension that had sparked between them all evening heightened almost to breaking point. They both knew it was not a rest he was suggesting. Lucy’s pounding heart wanted to say yes, but her head and her conscience was telling her to say no. She couldn’t—she had promised. And then Samantha’s mum interrupted them.

‘There you are, Lucy. I was looking for you.’

Ten minutes later Lucy was seated in the passenger seat of Lorenzo’s car on the way home, not sure how it had happened.

Lorenzo walked around the bonnet of the top-of-the-range BMW he’d rented and opened the passenger door. Reaching for her hand, he helped her out of the vehicle. He had sensed Lucy mentally pulling away from him as they had made the short journey to the outskirts of the town, and he needed to keep physical contact with her.

He wasn’t about to strike out now. It had occurred to him, as the evening wore on and he’d watched her dance, smile and flirt with a variety of men, that far from being too young and not possessing the traits he looked for in a lover—as he had thought when they’d met in Verona—the opposite was true. She was the perfect sexual partner for a weekend.

Lucy Steadman was no ordinary little small-town girl but an artist, accustomed to a bohemian lifestyle from her years at art college in London, and now living in Cornwall—the most popular county in England for artists and latter-day hippies. She was a free spirit and, judging by her response when he held and kissed her, and her body that oozed sex appeal, she had to be a woman well-versed in the pleasures of the flesh.

‘Here—let me take the key.’ He took the key she had taken from her purse and opened the door.

Lucy turned to close the door and found Lorenzo doing it for her. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked, glancing up at him.

Slowly he shook his head and reached out one long finger, stroking her cheek in an intimate gesture.

‘You know what I want—what we both want—and it isn’t coffee,’ he husked. ‘I’ve been aching to do this again for hours.’ And his arm wrapped around her waist, his mouth found hers, and she was lost in the wonder of his kiss.

Her mouth was warm and eager for his, and it never occurred to Lucy to resist. Her purse fell unnoticed to the floor as she reached for him, her hands clinging to his broad shoulders, her lips parting to the probing demand of his tongue, and she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the exciting sensations rioting around her body.

‘The bedroom,’ he groaned, and she indicated the stairs with her hand. He swept her up in his arms and with unerring accuracy found her bedroom.

He lowered her down onto the white coverlet of the queen-sized bed and straightened up, swiftly shrugging off his jacket and removing something from the pocket. He dropped it on the side table as his jacket fell to the floor, followed by the rest of his clothes.

Lucy’s eyes widened in awe as, lit by the light of the moon shining through the window, she saw his magnificent body naked.

She had seen naked men before, in life class at college, but the models had been mostly grey-haired elderly men, carefully posed. And she had made love once with a boy—Philip, who had shared an apartment with her and two other girls at college. It had been the same night that she’d seen a newsflash on the television about two climbers in an accident on Mont Blanc, giving Damien and Antonio’s names. One had been thought seriously injured but it hadn’t been stipulated which. She had been terrified for both of them. Philip had tried to find out more, without any success, and then taken her in his arms to soothe her fears. They had ended up making love. With hindsight it had been comfort sex, with both of them half clothed and he as inexperienced as her. She had been thoroughly ashamed afterwards, and wary of men ever since.

But nothing had prepared her for Lorenzo, standing boldly in the flesh … She could not take her eyes off him. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad, with a shadow of black body hair that tapered down to a narrow waist, flat stomach, lean hips and long legs. He was also mightily aroused, and she swallowed hard suddenly, slightly afraid.

‘Are you waiting for me to undress you or admiring the view?’ he asked, with the confident grin of a man totally at ease in his naked masculinity. Not waiting for an answer, he knelt on the bed and pressed fervent little kisses on her face, her throat, while his hands, with a deftness she could only wonder at, removed her dress.

Beneath, she was wearing only white lace briefs, and a thousand nerve-endings sprang to life as he hooked his fingers in the lace and slowly pulled them down her legs.

‘You are beautiful—so beautiful, Lucy.’ He dropped a kiss on her stomach and she trembled in helpless response as his hands palmed her breasts, his thumbs gently grazing the burgeoning nipples, bringing them to rigid points of aching pleasure.

Lucy’s response was a low moan as quivering arrows of sensation shot from her breasts to her pelvis.

‘Perfect,’ he murmured, and his mouth closed over a pert nipple, his tongue licking and suckling.

Her back arched involuntarily, and little whimpering sounds of pleasure escaped her as with frightening expertise Lorenzo delivered the same erotic torment to the other breast, before he found her mouth again and kissed her long and deep as his hands caressed her skin, shaping her waist, her hips, her thighs …

She reached for him, her small hands clasping his shoulders, stroking around his neck, holding him closer, her fingers raking through the thick black hair of his head, desperate for more.

Suddenly he reared back. ‘I want you, Lucy. Dio, how I want you.’ He groaned and nudged her legs apart, to settle between her thighs, and she could feel the hard pressure of his erection against her pelvis as he pinned her to the bed, kissing her with a deep, demanding passion that aroused an answering passion in her—a need, a longing that banished any faint doubt from her mind.

The rough hair of his chest rubbed against her swollen breasts, and her body felt electrified by the heat, the power of him. He kissed her throat, her shoulders, his mouth hard, and one hand curved under her hips to lift her slightly.

His mouth found the rigid tips of her breasts again, suckling first one and then the other, while his other hand dipped between her thighs, his long fingers exploring the hot moist centre of her with devastating skill.

She writhed achingly beneath him, her nails digging into the satin-smooth skin of his shoulders. She was white-hot with wanting, her need for him shuddering through her, the emotion so intense it was almost pain.

He lifted her hips higher, her legs involuntarily parted wider—and he was there, where she ached for him. She groaned as she felt him ease into her. There was the slightest twinge of pain as her moist sheath stretched to accommodate him, then exquisite hot, pulsating power as Lorenzo thrust slowly deeper and then withdrew.

Her body screamed with tension and she locked her legs around him, frantic for him to continue. He thrust again, deeper and faster, possessing her completely, and she cried out as her body convulsed in a million explosive sensations so intense her breath actually stopped with the sheer ecstasy of it all. She was aware of one last mighty thrust as her internal muscles still convulsed around him, and gloried in the great shudders that racked Lorenzo’s huge frame. She was filled with a sense of oneness, a completion she had never imagined existed.

Lorenzo rolled off Lucy, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding and his head spinning. She was everything he had expected and much more. She was so responsive … He couldn’t remember losing control so completely ever before in his life. Of course he had been without a woman for a while, he rationalised, and, turning, he looped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her pliant body against his side.

‘Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?’ he asked. She was so small, so tight, that for a fleeting moment he had wondered if she was a virgin, but had quickly dismissed the thought. Lucy was obviously a woman of the world.

‘No—quite the reverse,’ she murmured softly, in a voice full of emotion at the wonder of him. She laid her hand on his broad chest. ‘I am better than okay—sublime.’ Rising up on one elbow, she leant over him and pressed a kiss on his chin—the highest she could reach. ‘You, Lorenzo, are nothing like the staid banker I thought.’ She looked up at him, her green eyes dazed with love, and gave him a languorous smile. ‘You’re brilliant, the most perfect lover in the … ‘ She was about to say world, but a wide yawn stopped her.

‘Glad to be of service,’ he said softly. Running his hand through the tumbled mass of her hair, he smoothed it from her face and dropped a gentle kiss on her brow before folding his arms around her.

Lucy buried her head on his chest and, safe in the cradle of his arm, fell asleep.

Lucy slowly opened her eyes and blinked as the early-morning rays of the sun shining through the window dazzled her. For a moment she was disorientated and, yawning, stretched her slender body. She felt aches in places she had never felt before and, dreamlike, the events of the night fluttered through her mind.

She glanced across the bed and saw the indentation in the pillow and realised it wasn’t a dream but reality. She had made love with Lorenzo Zanelli not once but twice … The first time had been incredible, and she’d thought nothing in the world could be better, but Lorenzo had proved her mistaken.

She had fallen asleep, exhausted, and it might have been minutes or an hour later when she’d awoke to find the bedside light on—just as a naked Lorenzo had strolled out of her en suite bathroom. What had followed had been a revelation in eroticism.

With a skill and an expertise she could only marvel at he had kissed and caressed her, encouraging her to do the same to him, and she had in the process discovered a sensual side of her nature she had never known she possessed. Finally Lorenzo had made long, slow love to her, almost driving her out of her mind as he’d taken her to the brink of paradise over and over again, until in the end she’d been begging for the release that only he could give her.

She looked around the room. No sign of his clothes—he was gone.

She closed her eyes and groaned, blushing at the thought of how wantonly she had behaved. Lorenzo probably thought she behaved that way with any man and considered her nothing more than a one-night stand. Mortified, she pulled the coverlet up over her naked body.

‘A little late for modesty,’ a deep, dark voice drawled, and she opened her eyes to see Lorenzo walking towards her.

‘I thought you had gone,’ she blurted, pulling herself up into a sitting position and tucking the coverlet under her arms while her eyes drank in the sight of him. He was dressed in the same grey suit, slightly crumpled now, and his white shirt was open at the neck, revealing the slightest glimpse of his dark chest hair. In his hand he held a mug of coffee.

‘As if I would, after what we shared and I hope we can share again,’ he prompted and, crossing to the side of the bed, deposited the mug of coffee on the bedside table. ‘For you—I thought you might need the caffeine.’ And he gave her a wicked smile that made her blush.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and picked up the mug and took a long drink of coffee. Lorenzo hadn’t walked out on her, and he obviously did not think of her as a one-night stand. He wanted to see her again—he had said so—and his words warmed her heart and squashed all her doubts. ‘You are right—I did need that.’ She grinned up at him. ‘But you should have woken me. You’re the guest—I should have made it for you.’

He sat down on the bed and, leaning forward, lightly brushed her lips with his. ‘No, it was my pleasure, Lucy. You are one very sexy lady. And you had a long day yesterday and an even longer night.’

His dark gaze met hers and she could not look away. The latent sensuality in his eyes was mesmerising her. A heated blush coloured her cheeks, and other parts of her were equally warm. ‘Even so … ‘

‘No, don’t argue. I thought you needed to sleep, but then I remembered you told me Sunday was one of your busiest days in the tourist season, and you open at ten. So I decided to leave before anyone turns up.’

‘What time is it?’ Lucy demanded, panicking. Her head had cleared of the sensual haze Lorenzo’s presence seemed to cause.

‘Nine—you have plenty of time.’ And, standing up, he looked down at her, his expression suddenly serious. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I had a look around. It is a nice place you have here—living accommodation upstairs and the gallery on the ground floor. But I couldn’t help noticing you only have one lock on the front door. Your security is very poor—especially for a woman living on her own.’

Lucy drained her mug of coffee and placed it on the table. There was nothing wrong with her security, but she was thrilled by the thought that he was concerned for her safety. It had to mean he cared. She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with humour. ‘Lorenzo, you are beginning to sound like a stuffy banker again.’

‘If we had time I would show you I am not.’ He chuckled, and reached down to clasp her head between his strong hands and kiss her senseless. ‘Unfortunately we don’t have time.’ He straightened up. ‘But I’ll come back this evening and take you out to dinner. What time do you close?’

Breathless, Lucy said, ‘I close at four—but if we are going out.’

‘I’ll see you at seven,’ he husked and, planting a swift kiss on her head, he left.

Lucy watched him leave with a beaming smile on her face. Lorenzo didn’t just want sex. He was actually taking her on a date. That had to be a good sign.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE doorbell rang, and Lucy, with one last glance at her reflection in the mirror, adjusted the spaghetti straps of the bright blue summer dress she wore, picked up her purse and ran downstairs to open the door.

‘You look fabulous,’ Lorenzo said, and Lucy simply looked.

She had never seen him wear anything but a perfectly tailored suit—the uniform of choice for a seriously powerful conservative male. But now, casually dressed in pale trousers and a white shirt, with a cashmere sweater draped across his wide shoulders, his black hair dishevelled by the breeze and with a smile of wickedly masculine appreciation curving his lips, he could have been a latter-day pirate. She tilted back her head to look into his eyes and saw banked-down desire in the dark depths. Her own widened in instant response.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Lucy, or we will never get to dinner,’ he said ruefully and, slipping an arm around her waist, he lowered his mouth down to hers as though he could not help himself.

At the first gentle brush of his lips Lucy’s parted eagerly beneath his and she melted against him, her knees going weak as he kissed her with a subtle promise of passion.

‘We have to go now,’ he said huskily, and, keeping a hand on her back, took her key and urged her out of the house, locking the door behind them.

Right at that moment Lucy realised she would quite happily go to the end of the earth with Lorenzo, and suddenly the confusion, the butterflies in her stomach whenever she saw him, and the incredible joy she had felt when they made love all made sense. For the first time in her adult life she was experiencing the magic of overwhelming sexual attraction to a man. She had only ever read about it before, and never been able even to imagine it, but now she could—and maybe more!

Later, sitting opposite him at the table in dining room of the country house hotel where he was staying, she fell even deeper under his spell if that was possible.

Over the meal, with some prompting from him, she told him more about her business and the three fellow artists who displayed their wares in her gallery. Leon was a brilliant woodcarver, Sid was a potter, and his wife Elaine—who worked in the gallery on a permanent basis—had a talent for tapestry and quilting. She was also the owner of the big black linen suit.

Lorenzo seemed impressed, and told her a little more about himself. He was an amusing and informative conversationalist. She learnt he worked between Italy and New York and occasionally London, where the bank kept an office dedicated to the UK stock market. He owned a villa in Santa Margherita, and liked to spend his leisure time sailing his yacht around the Mediterranean.

‘I’m sorry, Lucy, I must be boring you. Would you like to go on somewhere else? A club or casino maybe?’ he said earnestly.

‘You could never bore me, and I don’t think there is either of those around here,’ she informed him wryly. And a casino wasn’t exactly where she had imagined their evening would end.

A vivid image of his naked body gloriously entwined with her own made a blush rise up her throat, and she glanced across at him. He read her mind, and a knowing sensual smile curved his firm lips. Their eyes met, and the air between them was suddenly heavy with sexual tension.

‘Let’s get out of here.’ Lorenzo abruptly stood up and, moving around the table, took her hand. He helped her to her feet and quickly out of the dining room, his hand gripping hers as he led her up the grand staircase to his first-floor suite.

She glanced around as he closed the door behind them. It was a sitting room with a fireplace—and she never saw the rest as Lorenzo swept her up in his arms.

Covering her mouth with his, kissing her with a hungry, driven passion, he carried her through to the bedroom. They fell on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, mouths and hands. Lorenzo quickly divested her of the blue sundress she wore, and Lucy was no slouch in tearing at his shirt buttons. Within seconds they were both naked. There was no foreplay, just a frantic coupling, and they came together in an explosion of raw passion.

‘I needed that,’ Lorenzo groaned, and curved her into the hard heat of his body.

What followed was a lazy love-fest as he kissed her gently and explored every inch of her. Between talking nonsense and laughing, he trailed tender kisses down the length of her spine, asking about the scar he found there. Lucy chuckled, telling him it was just a cut, and then, turning, explored equally thoroughly down the front of his great torso. The end result was ecstasy.

‘Wake up, Lucy.’

She opened her eyes and snuggled closer to his strong body. ‘You are insatiable,’ she murmured, wrapping her arm around his waist and lightly kissing his chest. They had made love twice already, but even so, pressed against him flesh on flesh, she felt the familiar quiver of desire snake through her body.

‘Sorry, Lucy, I hate to disappoint you, but it really is time I took you home. I have to leave at dawn to drive to London—I’m flying out to New York about noon.’ And, rolling off the bed, he shot her a brief smile and strolled across to the bathroom.

Lucy watched him go, admiring his bronzed body—the broad back, elegant spine, the firm buttocks and long legs—and feeling slightly disappointed. Silly, she knew, but she couldn’t help wondering if this was it.

She slid out of bed and, gathering up her underwear and dress from the floor, slipped them on. Her sandals were by the door, where they had fallen along with her purse, and after slipping her feet into the high heels she straightened up. She caught sight of her face in the dresser mirror and almost groaned. No make-up, and her hair all over the place. Taking a comb from her purse, she mechanically ran it through her hair, sweeping the long mass behind her ears. She didn’t want to think of Lorenzo’s departure.

He reappeared from the bathroom, wearing boxer shorts, and as she watched he slipped on trousers and pulled a sweater over his head. Then, glancing at her, he quipped, ‘You look ready for more … ‘ with a devilishly suggestive arch of a black eyebrow. ‘Come on—before I change my mind.’

Not sure if that was a compliment or not, she smiled and they left.

Sitting in the car five minutes later, as he drove in silence through the country lanes, Lucy cast him a sidelong glance. She tried to tell herself she was worrying over nothing—Lorenzo was a busy man and of course he had to leave—it didn’t mean she would not see him again. She looked at him. His attention was centred on the road ahead, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as he manoeuvred the car through the narrow roads with ease and speed. At this rate she would be home in a few minutes, she realised.

‘So, when will I see you again?’ she asked, and without thinking rested her hand on his leg.

Lorenzo tensed. Originally he’d had no intention of seeing Lucy again. But as he looked down at her hand, her small soft fingers, then lower to her shapely legs curved towards him, suddenly a picture of those same legs locked around him and her cries of pleasure as he thrust into her hot, tight little body filled his mind. Somehow the weekend affair he had planned didn’t seem such a great idea after all.

He had been without a woman for months, he was a free agent, and the two nights he had spent with Lucy had been incredible. He could not remember ever having such great sex or such fun with a woman, and he was reluctant to give her up. In fact, he mused, keeping Lucy as a lover, quietly tucked away in a corner of England, held a lot of appeal. He visited London occasionally, usually flying in and out in a day, but that could be altered.

He decided to leave his options open.

‘Soon, I hope. But, like you, I do have to work, I’ll try and get back next weekend—if not the week after. But I’ll give you a call.’

Lucy sighed with relief as Lorenzo stopped the car and after walking around the bonnet helped her out. The summer dress she wore was no protection against the cool night air and she shivered. Lorenzo looped an arm around her shoulders and walked her to the front door. Taking the key from her purse she looked up at him. ‘Would you like to come in for a nightcap? ‘ she asked hopefully, reluctant to see him go.

‘I won’t, if you don’t mind,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘Because if I do I’ll kiss you, and it won’t stop there.’

‘No … I don’t mind now I know you are coming back again,’ Lucy responded blithely.

‘Good.’ Dropping a brief kiss on the top of her head—he didn’t dare do anything more—he said, ‘Now, lock the door behind you.’

Lorenzo’s arm fell from her shoulders and she turned and put the key in the lock. Then she suddenly remembered why she had met him in the first place, and spun back.

‘Wait a minute, Lorenzo—we never got around to discussing Steadman’s, and we need to before Tuesday.’ Then she remembered something else. ‘You don’t have my number. I’ll give—’

‘No need. The bank will have it,’ Lorenzo stated.

Her words were a timely reminder. He had her number in more ways than one, he thought, his dark eyes narrowing cynically on her face. Her head was turned towards him, her green eyes incredibly large and luminous, the light of the moon making her pale skin almost translucent. Her long hair, swept back behind her small ears, seemed to fall in a shimmering mass down her back. Beautiful, and temptation personified, but not to him … not any more.

‘Oh, yes—of course.’ She turned completely around and smiled up at him. ‘But about the factory … Tuesday is the deadline, and I need to know before I speak to my lawyer if you are going to reject the offer to sell and keep the factory open. Maybe later, if we ever do decide to redevelop,’ she continued, warming to her theme, ‘perhaps it could be shops and a recreation centre—something that could provide other work in the community. Dessington is in a pretty part of Norfolk—not far from the coast—and it could bring in tourists much like here.’

Lorenzo listened to her with deepening distaste as she rambled on about what ‘they’ might do if the factory eventually did close. Enthralled by her lush body, he had almost forgotten her hated name, and the business that had brought them together. But—typical female—Lucy had not, and though she took the high moral ground, wanting to save the workers, basically she was out for every penny she could get. He had learned his lesson years ago, when he’d lived in America and found the girl he had been going to surprise with an engagement ring in bed with another man—a man she’d imagined was wealthier than him—and it was not one he would ever forget.

Women always had an agenda, and Lucy was no exception. There was no denying sex with her was incredible, though she was not as adventurous as some women he had known—sometimes even seeming shocked—and she did have a tendency to blush, which was amazing given her lifestyle. Or maybe it was just a ploy to give the impression of innocence. He didn’t care, because her last appeal had confirmed his original decision. The weekend affair was over, and he had no intention of seeing her again.

‘Your ideas sound admirable, Lucy, but totally misguided. There is no we,’ he said with brutal frankness. ‘I told you the first time you asked I had no intention of doing business with a Steadman again, and that has not changed.’

Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stared at him, tall, dark and remote, his eyes cold and hard, and felt as if she was looking at a stranger. ‘But you said … ‘ She stopped. It had been his suggestion they might keep the factory … She didn’t understand what was happening—didn’t want to. ‘I thought … ‘ What did she think? That they were friends? More than friends …? ‘We made love—’

‘We had sex,’ Lorenzo cut in, and she was silenced by his statement. ‘Something I consider more pleasure than business, but if you want to mix the two fair enough,’ he drawled with a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I will postpone selling for a month, to give you time to make other arrangements if you can.’ The light, conversational tone of his voice belied the cold black eyes looking down at her, devoid of any glimmer of light.

‘You will?’ she murmured, but inside her heart shrivelled as the import of his words sank in. To Lorenzo they’d had sex, nothing more. Whereas she, in her inexperience, had begun to imagine it was a whole lot more—something very special—and she was halfway to falling in love with him. How could she have been so wrong?

‘Yes. I don’t like weddings, and avoid them whenever possible, but thanks in the most part to you, Lucy, I have rather enjoyed the weekend. In fact I’ll delay the sale of Steadman’s for two months,’ he offered. ‘You were really good, and cheap at the price.’

Lucy stared at him with wide, wounded eyes and dragged in a deep, agonising breath. His words sliced at her heart. She had never been so insulted in her life, and she fought back the pain that threatened to double her over. That he could actually think she had made love to him simply to get him to agree a deal over Steadman’s horrified her—but then she recalled Lorenzo had thought the same the first time he had kissed her in his office. His mindset had never altered. He was still a power-wielding, cynical banker, to whom money was everything and everything had a price—including her. His insinuation that he might hang onto the factory had been nothing more than a ploy to soften her up and get her into bed, but if he thought she would be grateful that he was postponing the sale he had got the wrong girl.

When not blinded by love—no, not love, sex, Lucy amended, she was a bright, intelligent woman. Suddenly the pain gave way to fury, and she started to raise her hand, wanting to lash out at him, then stopped. Violence was never an answer, but his insinuation that he was paying for her services had cut her to the bone. Lorenzo had used her, but it was her own dumb fault for letting him. He actually was the ruthless devil his brother had said, and yet she still could not quite believe it.

‘Why?’ Lucy asked. ‘Why are you behaving like an immoral jerk?’

‘Oh, please—don’t pretend you are Miss Morality, Lucy. You enjoyed the sex as much as I did,’ he informed her, with an arrogantly inclined head, his glittering dark eyes looking down at her contemptuously. ‘You are exactly like your brother—up for anything at any cost. And your brother cost mine his life.’

‘But it was an accident,’ she said, confused by the change of subject.

‘So the coroner said—but I believe what your brother did was contemptible … tantamount to manslaughter,’ Lorenzo stated, but he saw no reason to prolong the conversation by getting into the details with Lucy. It was over and done with, and he was finished with her. ‘So now you know why I have no desire to do business with Steadman’s. I will never forgive and forget—is that plain enough for you?’

Lucy was stunned by the antagonism in his voice. She had not been mistaken when they’d met in his office and she had the thought his refusal was personal … it had been. Her face paled as the full weight of his contempt hit her, and anger almost choked her.

‘Yes,’ she said coldly. ‘I always knew, but I forgot for a while.’ Her slender hands clenched at her sides to prevent the urge to claw his devious eyes out. She’d had no chance from the start, she realised bitterly. If the only reason Lorenzo had had sex with her was some perverted form of revenge or payback for her brother’s perceived behaviour, she didn’t know—and cared less. All she did know was she was not taking it lying down.

‘Damien told me what you said to him after the inquest, blaming him for what happened, but foolishly—knowing how it feels to lose someone you love—when I met you I decided anger and grief had maybe made you act out of character. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but now I see how wrong I was. You really are a ruthless devil. But I am holding you to your promise of two months’ reprieve. As you so succinctly put it, I have paid for it—with sex.’ And, spinning on her heel, she walked into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Lorenzo was stunned for a moment. The fact she knew about his confrontation with her brother had shocked him—though it was not really so surprising when he thought about it. Not that it mattered any more. He was never going to see her again. He got in the car and left.

Quivering with rage and humiliation, Lucy threw her keys down on the table in the entrance hall and dashed up the stairs to her flat, trying to ignore Lorenzo’s hateful insults. But every time she thought of him—thought of what she had done with him—she felt cheap and dirty.

She ripped off her clothes and headed straight for the shower, ashamed and angry. Lorenzo had as good as called her a whore, and she wanted to wash every trace of him off her body. But perversely that same body remembered every touch, every caress.

Maybe she was fated to be ashamed every time she had sex, she thought hysterically, and finally she crawled into bed and let the tears fall, crying until she had no tears left.

Monday morning Lucy woke from a brief tormented sleep, hugging her pillow. For a second she inhaled the scent of Lorenzo, and smiled. Then reality hit, and she dragged herself out of bed, telling herself she must change the sheets. She staggered into the bathroom and groaned when she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen from the tears she had shed over Lorenzo Zanelli, and however much she tried to convince herself he wasn’t worth a second thought her body ached for him with every breath she took.

Showered, and dressed in cotton pants and a tee shirt, she stood in the gallery, a cup of coffee in her hand, and glanced around. Usually it gave her pleasure, looking over her little kingdom before anyone arrived. She was proud of what she had accomplished. But today she didn’t get the same thrill.

‘Hi, Lucy.’

Lucy drained her coffee cup and tried to smile as Elaine walked in with a spring in her step, ready to start the working week—before she took in her friend’s face.

‘My God, that must have been some night. I know you rarely drink, but you look like you have a one hell of a hangover.’

‘No, nothing like that,’ Lucy said. ‘Much worse.’

‘Do tell all.’ Elaine tilted Lucy’s head up with a finger and really stared at her. ‘You look different, and you have been crying. That can only mean one thing—man trouble. I thought yesterday you looked remarkably happy, but we were so busy I never got to ask you why. What happened last night? Discovered he was married, did you?’

‘Discovered he was only interested in a dirty weekend,’ Lucy said bitterly, but couldn’t bring herself to tell Elaine the whole story.

‘Lucy, you are far too naïve where men are concerned. Stop beating yourself up because you were finally tempted by sex—you’ve never had a lover as long as I’ve known you, and it was way past time you did. Put it down to experience and get over it. You are not the first and won’t be the last. Weddings are notorious for causing brief affairs. Too much champagne and the best man gets off with the bridesmaid, the guests get off with each other. One wedding Sid and I went to the bridegroom actually got off with the bridesmaid—needless to say the marriage only lasted the length of the honeymoon, when the happy couple returned home and the bride found out.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ Lucy actually managed a weak smile.

‘Ask Sid—the groom was an acquaintance of his. He told me the man was a serial womaniser and I didn’t believe him, but he was right.’

‘Okay, you’ve made your point. Actually, when I first met Lorenzo I didn’t like him, and my original impression was he was no gentleman. I should have trusted my instincts and steered clear. He certainly proved me right.’

‘Good—you are seeing him for the rat he obviously is, and that is the first step to recovery. Now, put the experience behind you and get on with your life. I’ll take over here and you can spend the day in your studio, creating your next great masterpiece or making a start on your latest commission. If you stay here you will scare the customers.’

Lucy agreed—not that she felt like painting. All she wanted to do was forget the weekend had ever happened. She took out her sketchbook and began to draw, but to her dismay found the small boy’s face she was copying had morphed into a remarkable likeness of Lorenzo.

She looked at it for a long time and then, turning the page of her sketchpad, began again. Art had always been her release valve from any pressure in life, and before long she was totally immersed in her work.

The next day her lawyer called and confirmed that the sale of Steadman’s had been postponed for two months. So Lorenzo had done what he promised. He was a cynical devil to pay for her favours in such a way, but at least it gave her some time to figure something out for the factory. On the sketch she had started yesterday she coloured the eyes red and added horns, whiskers and a tail.

Somehow it was cathartic, thinking of him that way. Whenever Lucy felt really down, her body hot and aching, her mind tormented by images of him making love to her, she would only have to look at the sketch to remind herself what a devil … a love-rat … he really was.

‘At last you look more like yourself,’ Elaine declared, walking into the gallery on Saturday morning three weeks later and eyeing Lucy up and down. ‘That turquoise dress Leon brought back from India is gorgeous—the colour really suits you, and the beading is perfect. But go upstairs and take that braid out of your hair and leave it loose. Remember you are a beautiful, highly talented artist, and when you try you can sell anything and everything. I have a feeling we are going to have a great day today.’

Lucy laughed. ‘I’m not sure that is a compliment to my paintings.’ But she did as Elaine said, and went upstairs and unbraided her hair. She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back from her brow and fastening it with a silver clip, then brushed the long length down to tumble over her shoulders in gentle waves. Slowly it dawned on her that Elaine was right. The pale, sad-eyed reflection of the last few weeks was gradually fading.

Last night she had taken a walk down into the centre of Looe, and as she’d strolled along the harbour through the crowd of happy holidaymakers she’d been reminded of how much she had loved the place from the very first time her parents had brought her here. How much she still loved the place. She’d felt her heart lift a little.

This morning, on a whim, she had put on the brightly coloured dress, and she looked more like her old self again. Picking up a lipstick, she applied it to her full lips and, smiling, added a touch of mascara to her long lashes and clipped on an earring. Business was going well, and she had enough commissions to keep her busy for a while. Life was good.

Even the trip two weeks ago she had been dreading, to clear out the family home in Dessington before putting the house on the market, had turned out to be inspirational.

Meeting old friends from school, visiting the factory and talking to the workers, being greeted by shopkeepers and reminded how much everyone had respected her grandfather, who had started the business, and her parents, who had been socially active in the town until her mum died, had all reminded Lucy what a happy childhood she had.

The memories had helped concentrate her mind on the problem of the factory, and standing looking around the huge garden of her family home she’d had a eureka moment … She had come up with a brilliant idea that could save the factory and help the community.

She had spoken to her lawyer, arranging to meet Richard Johnson—the third partner in Steadman’s—and had pitched her proposition to him. He was not the ogre she had imagined, and after a productive meeting with him and his architect, and subject to the approval of the town council, they had agreed on a very different deal. Lucy had made the necessary arrangements with her bank, and also a telephone call from her new partner yesterday it was virtually a done deal. What gave her the most satisfaction was the fact she had achieved everything without any help from the despicable Zanelli.

Deep down Lucy had always known Lorenzo was not for her. In every respect they were poles apart—in temperament and aspiration, and in culture … He was a billionaire banker, devoted to making more money, with centuries of tradition behind him making him the arrogant, cynical man he was. Her life was her art and her friends. Money didn’t bother her so long as the bills were paid and her conscience was clear.

Unlike Lorenzo, who didn’t have a conscience, she thought. And later she was to be proved absolutely right.

CHAPTER FIVE

LORENZO had extended his stay in New York to three weeks, and had on his return to Italy last night found, as expected, the Olivia Paglia rumours had faded away—problem solved. This morning he had agreed to his mother’s request to have dinner with her tonight, as he had not visited in over a month. And now he had an even bigger problem that was a hell of a lot harder to solve.

He glanced at his mother across the dining table. He hadn’t seen her so animated in years, but the reason for it exasperated him. He glanced down again at the handful of photographs spread on the table. Teresa Lanza had presented them to his mother, along with the information that the girl in the picture was none other than Lucy Steadman. How had he hoped to keep that quiet, with the Lanza family in attendance? He must have been out of his mind.

‘Why did you not tell me, Lorenzo? You let me scold you about that Paglia woman and all this time you had a lovely girlfriend—a talented artist, no less. Was it because you thought I might be upset because of her relationship to Damien? You need not have worried. I remember Antonio telling me about Damien’s sister—he thought she was a lovely girl. Antonio and Damien were such great friends, and I never blamed Damien for the tragic accident. As the coroner said, he did the right thing to try and save Antonio’s life.’ She sighed. ‘It was just a pity the rescue services were too late.’

Lorenzo stiffened in his chair, his lips twisting in a cynical smile. He didn’t agree, but there was no point arguing so he ignored her last comment. ‘I do not have girlfriends, Mother. I have female partners occasionally, and Lucy Steadman is neither. I barely know her, so drop the subject.’

‘Oh, dear!’ she said, and he caught a slightly guilty look on her face before she continued. ‘Well, that is not the impression Teresa got. She showed me all the photos they took of you and Lucy together at the wedding, and it was very good of her to make these copies for me. Teresa said you seemed very close, and you told her you had known Lucy for quite a while. She also told me that Lucy has no family left—her father died, and then her brother last year. She is all alone in the world. You could have told me, Lorenzo.’

He picked up his wine glass and drained it in one gulp. ‘I did not know myself until recently,’ he said, appalled at the way the conversation was going. ‘As for Teresa Lanza, she must have misunderstood me. I never said I had known Lucy for quite a while. I said I had known of her for a while. I have met her twice—once at the wedding, and once before that on business.’ Thinking fast, he saw an opportunity to rid himself of at least one problem and explain to his mother why it made sense to sell the shares in Steadman’s.

‘As you apparently know, Lucy Steadman is an artist. She has no interest in plastics whatsoever. She was in Verona recently, to deliver a painting, and at her request we had a meeting at the bank to discuss the sale of Steadman Industrial Plastics. I didn’t mention it to you in case it upset you. I know how pleased you were about Antonio investing in the firm, planning for the future, and you may have wanted the bank to hang on to Steadman’s for sentimental reasons that make no financial sense to the other partners.’

‘Oh! You’re right—I would have liked to keep the link to Antonio, so I can understand your reasoning. But I see now selling is the obvious thing to do. Tying an artist to a plastics factory is laughable. In fact I want you to ask her here for a visit.’

Lorenzo could not believe what he was hearing. ‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’ he asked, barely hiding his astonishment.

‘Why—to offer her my condolences on the loss of her brother and father, of course. I should have done it long ago. Besides which, if I met Lucy I could commission her to paint a portrait of Antonio. By all accounts the portrait she has done of the Contessa della Scala’s husband is wonderful. So you will ask her for me?’

It was more of a command than a request, but one he had no intention of fulfilling.

‘As I said, Mamma, I hardly know the girl. But what I do know is she is dedicated to her work and runs an art and craft gallery in Cornwall. The summer is her busiest period, so she could not get away even if she wanted. And I don’t know her well enough to ask.’

‘Lorenzo, I am not so old I can’t recognise a lover’s kiss—and if you don’t ask her I will. I’ll ring her. You must have her phone number.or the bank will.’

The hell of it was his mother would. She might be frail, but she had a stubborn streak. Suddenly Lorenzo realised his weekend affair was in danger of becoming a millstone around his neck, and he had no one to blame but himself … He had been so intent on getting Lucy into bed all his thinking had been concentrated below the belt. His innate control and common sense had flown out of the window.

Silently he cursed. It had never entered his head that the Lanzas would take pictures of the wedding guests. There was one of him with his arm lodged firmly around Lucy’s waist while they talked, and the most damning of all had to be Aldo’s work—it was him kissing Lucy in the garden, just before the man had interrupted them …

‘We were not lovers. It was too much champagne and a friendly kiss—that is all. But all right … I’ll call Lucy,’ he conceded, and left shortly after.

Back in his apartment, Lorenzo stood by the window, looking out over the city without actually seeing it, a glass of whisky in his hand. Antonio, as the baby of the family, had been his mother’s favourite, though she had tried not to show it, and with hindsight Lorenzo recognised Antonio had been indulged by all of them. He knew his mother was not likely to give up on the idea of meeting Lucy and commissioning a portrait of Antonio any time soon … He crossed the room and flopped down on the sofa, draining his glass and putting it on the table. Whisky was not the answer.

The hell of it was Lorenzo could not see a way out of the situation without involving Lucy Steadman.

Basically he had two options. He could do as his mother asked and mention commissioning a portrait of Antonio to Lucy, invite her to visit his mother. The big flaw in that scenario was that Lucy knew of his run-in with Damien, which he wished to keep from his mother. She had been hurt enough, and didn’t need bitterness added to her memories. The whole idea was a non-starter as far as he was concerned.

He had cut Lucy out of his life and wanted it to stay that way—and after the brutal way he had left her he was sure she would refuse any invitation from him pointblank. But if by some fluke Lucy did accept, he had no doubt as a woman scorned she would take great delight in telling his mother of his run-in with Damien just to spite him. A ruthless gleam sparked in his dark eyes. That was never going to happen—because Lucy wasn’t going to get the chance.

The second option—the one that appealed to his cynical mind and which, with his experience of women, he knew would succeed—was the only option. He would offer Lucy a big fat bribe. He would give her the bank’s shares in Steadman’s in return for her refusing any overtures his mother might make and for her silence on the accident if she did contact her.

Lucy had disturbed his peace of mind long enough. He had taken an old girlfriend out to dinner in New York and given her only a goodnight kiss when she had been expecting a whole lot more—as had he until he’d realised he felt no inclination to take the stunning brunette back to his apartment or anywhere else.

Lucy had wanted him to vote with her on the Steadman’s deal. Well, this way she could have the shares outright and do what the hell she liked with them. The money was nothing to him, and he had wasted far too much of his time dwelling on Lucy Steadman as it was. Finally all connection with the despised family would be severed for good.

He flicked on his cell phone to dial Lucy’s number, having got it from the bank and entered it in his speed dial, and then stopped. She would certainly hang up on him. Better to catch her by surprise, even though it meant he would have to see her again. Definitely for the last time, he told himself, and ignored the stirring in his body at the thought.

Instead he rang his lawyer, and told him what he needed by morning.

‘Lucy! ‘ Elaine cried, and dashed into the small kitchen at the back of the gallery, where Lucy was standing with the teapot in her hand, about to pour out a couple of much needed cups of tea, after a very successful day’s trading, to enjoy while they closed up.

‘What’s the panic? A late influx of customers?’ Lucy queried.

‘No—just one. A man asking for you. I can see now why you were so upset over the Lorenzo guy. Scumbag he may be, but he is here—and what a hunk. I bet he is great in bed. Not that I’m suggesting you should make the same mistake again.’

Lucy paled, then blushed, then paled again, her stomach churning at the thought of seeing Lorenzo again.

‘Go,’ Elaine said, taking the teapot from her hand and pushing her towards the hall. ‘Get rid of him—and if you need help call me.’

She didn’t need help—not any more, not on any level. She was over him. But that didn’t stop the painful details of the last time they’d been together flashing through her mind. Why he was back she didn’t know—and didn’t want to know. He could not have made it plainer: he’d used her, paid her, and despised her simply for who she was.

Straightening her shoulders and flicking her hair back from her face, Lucy walked down the hall, determination in every step she took. She would not allow any man to use her and walk over her ever again.

Lorenzo appeared in the open doorway of the gallery and her heart lurched at the sight of him. She hesitated. He was casually dressed, in a white linen shirt open at the throat and washed denim jeans that hung low on his hips and clung to his muscular thighs like a second skin—designer, no doubt, she thought, and glanced up. Her green eyes clashed with deep brown, and it took every ounce of will-power she possessed to hold his gaze as her traitorous heart pounded like a drum in her chest.

‘Lucy.’ He said her name, and smiled the same slightly rueful but sensual smile that had seduced her before. But she was wiser now, and wasn’t fooled.

‘Mr Zanelli,’ she responded, walking forward. He was so confident she would fall into his arms—she could see it in his eyes, in the arrogant tilt of his head, and felt anger stir deep within her … along with a more basic emotion which she battled to ignore. ‘This is a surprise. I never expected to see you again. Come to buy a painting? ‘ she suggested facetiously.

‘No, I’ve come to see you. We need to talk.’

‘No, we don’t. I have no interest in anything you say.’

‘Not even if it means saving Steadman’s?’ Lorenzo prompted, sure that would tempt her. But he was sorely tempted himself, and the sudden tightening in his groin was a reminder of how much.

He had flown into Newquay Airport, barely an hour’s drive away, and he had every intention of returning to Italy tonight. The sooner the better. He hadn’t slept with a woman since Lucy, and the strain was getting to him.

Every time he saw her she was different—from bag lady to gowned elegance to young and sexy in a skimpy summer dress. Today she was an exotic vision in a plunging necked shimmering turquoise silk eastern thing, with a beaded band beneath her high firm breasts and a skirt that swirled around her feet. Some of her glorious hair was swept back in a clip on top of her head, and the rest fell in a silken mass down over her shoulders. In one ear she was wearing the most amazing huge silver spiderweb earring, with long white feathers attached that floated down against the curve of a breast. As for her mouth—her lips were painted a vibrant pink, and so full and sensually promising he ached to taste them and a whole lot more. Never, even as a teenager with rampant hormones, had he ever felt such a need to kiss a woman.

‘No, thank you.’ Lucy said bluntly.

Dragging his gaze from her lips, Lorenzo saw the anger in her eyes and realised what she had said. ‘A polite refusal, but not a very sensible one—or businesslike,’ he prompted, and moved closer. He could see the pulse beating in her slender neck. She was not as cool as she would have him believe.

‘You once told me I should stay out of business and you were right. The way you do business is despicable and the cost far too high for any self-respecting person. Now, I must ask you to leave—we are about to close.’ Lucy walked to the front door and flipping the sign to ‘Closed', held the door open. ‘This is the way out.’

She glanced back at Lorenzo. He stood where she had left him, his dark eyes narrowed angrily on her face, then in two lithe strides he was beside her. His hand reached out to circle her throat and he tipped her head back. Shocked, she grasped his wrist with her free hand to pull his hand away.

‘You didn’t find me despicable when you were naked beneath me on the bed, moaning my name.’ He brushed his lips lightly against hers and laid his other hand over her breast. To her shame, her lips stung and her nipple tightened beneath his palm. ‘And it wouldn’t take me five minutes to get you that way again, Lucy,’ he taunted her softly.

Lorenzo was so damned arrogant—and yet possessed of a vibrant sexuality that could heat up a room and every woman in it, Lucy thought helplessly. He was almost irresistible, but resist him she did, her pulse-rate rising with her anger at the insult. She dug her nails hard into his wrist and he let go of her throat. She let go of the door and did what she should have done weeks ago. Bringing her hand up, she struck him as hard as she could across the face, catching him unawares. Her hand cracked against his cheek and rocked him back on his heels. The heavy door caught his shoulder.

Lucy, chest heaving in outrage, stepped back into the hall and spun round to face him. ‘You have a mind like a sewer. Sex and money is all you think about! ‘ she yelled, her green eyes spitting with rage. ‘That is exactly what I would expect from you and you got exactly what you deserved.’

‘Hey, Lucy?’ Elaine called out as she appeared in the hall. ‘Is everything okay?’

Appalled by her loss of temper, Lucy stared at Lorenzo’s cheek, with the imprint of her fingers clearly visible, and then at Elaine. ‘Yes, it’s fine,’ she said, and took a deep steadying breath, forcing a smile to her lips. She did not want to involve Elaine. ‘Mr Zanelli and I had a discussion, that is all.’

‘We still are, Lucy,’ Lorenzo inserted, reining in the furious impulse to shake her till she rattled. What was it about this witch of a woman that made him lose his legendary control? He was here for one reason only, he reminded himself. He could fob his mother off for a while, but he was taking no chances—and he needed Lucy to agree to have nothing to do with his mother if she did call. Especially if she tried to commission a painting that would keep Lucy Steadman on the periphery of his life for heaven knew how long.

But holding her by the throat was no way to go about it.

He turned to the other woman, slightly taller and a lot wider than Lucy. ‘Elaine, isn’t it?’ he said smoothly, his razor-sharp brain quickly recalling Lucy’s explanation that Elaine, who did tapestries, also helped out at the shop. ‘Don’t concern yourself. Lucy and I got our wires crossed—I believe that is the English expression—but it is nothing we cannot put right, I assure you.’

‘That does not look like a wire that crossed your face,’ Elaine quipped. ‘More like a hand—and it serves you right. A married man should know better than to mess around with a single woman.’

Elaine’s witty comment in rushing to her defence cooled Lucy’s anger—then she realised she had by omission misled her friend.

Lorenzo’s cheek was stinging, and he had probably bruised his shoulder, but he could have sworn his head was clear and he was in control. Yet these two women were intent on driving him crazy—and who the hell was the married man?

‘What married man?’ he asked, his dark gaze skimming from Elaine to settle on Lucy and catch the guilty look on her expressive face.

Surely she had not taken up with another man already? A married one at that? Not that he cared—he was here for the express purpose of getting Lucy Steadman out of his life for good, and was prepared to pay to do so. His one regret was that he hadn’t cut the Steadmans out of his family’s life years ago, before her brother had talked Antonio into the reckless lifestyle that had got him killed. As for Lucy—he knew exactly what type of woman she was and yet the thought of her with another man did nothing to help his self-control.

‘You, of course,’ Elaine answered. ‘Lucy told me all about you.’

‘Did she, now?’ Lorenzo said, never taking his eyes off Lucy. He saw her nervously chew her bottom lip and she would not look him in the eye. ‘I’m surprised at you, Lucy. You know perfectly well I am not married—never have been, and never likely to be. Which makes me wonder what other fairytales you have told your friend,’ he drawled, shaking his head mockingly. ‘We really do need to talk.’

‘He is not married? ‘ Elaine queried, and looked at Lucy.

Lucy finally met her friend’s puzzled gaze. ‘Not to my knowledge—and if you recall I never said he was, Elaine. I think you must have jumped to the wrong conclusion after giving me the benefit of your own dubious wedding experiences.’

Elaine looked from Lucy to Lorenzo and back again. ‘Ah, well, that is different.’ She chuckled, obviously amused. ‘Well, good luck, Lucy, in sorting out your problems. I’ll just get my bag and leave.’ And she disappeared down the hall, to reappear a minute later, with a cheery wave and a goodbye as she closed the door and left.

There was silence. Lucy glanced up and found Lorenzo’s gleaming dark eyes resting on her. Something in his look made her stomach curl and she flushed hotly.

‘Time for you to leave, Mr Zanelli,’ she said curtly. ‘We have nothing more to discuss and I need to lock up.’ She glanced back at him. ‘I don’t want any more customers or uninvited visitors.’

He did not respond—didn’t move. He was towering over her, intimidating her with his presence, and suddenly the hall seemed smaller. Lucy had had enough. ‘Goodnight, and good riddance. Is that plain enough for you?’ she mocked, parroting the words he had said to her the last time she had seen him, and she reached for the handle to open the door again.

But Lorenzo was quicker, and before she could react a strong hand had clamped around her waist and pulled her hard against his body, trapping her arm against her side while the other hand slid beneath the heavy fall of her hair to tug her head back. Deliberately he bent and pressed his mouth against the pulse that beat erratically in her throat, and she felt it like a flame.

‘Don’t,’ she gasped, and pushed against his chest with her hand while his mouth seared up her slender neck. ‘Let go of me, you great brute. I hate you,’ she flung at him savagely.

‘No, you don’t.’ His head came up. His eyes were black in his hard, masculine face, and Lucy could not control the slight tremor in her limbs. ‘You want me. But then women like you can’t help themselves,’ he said contemptuously.

She punched his chest with a curled fist, but it was like hitting a brick wall. She lifted her knee and suddenly he whirled her round, making her head spin. Before she could draw breath, let alone find her feet, his head lowered, and she moaned in protest as his mouth came down hard and ruthless against her lips, forcibly parting them, demanding her surrender.

For a moment she made herself stay rigid in his arms, but then her mouth trembled in helpless response and she succumbed to the powerful passion of his kiss. When he finally released her she stumbled back and deliberately wiped her hand across her mouth, but to her shame she could not wipe away so easily the warring sensations inside her.

‘You should not have done that, Mr Zanelli,’ she snapped.

Lorenzo stared down at her, his broad shoulders tense, his face expressionless. ‘Maybe not, but you provoked me—and if I have succeeded in shutting you up long enough to listen it was well worth it. And you can drop the “Mr Zanelli”—you know my name and you have used it too intimately to pretend otherwise. Now, we can go up to your apartment and I’ll tell you why I am here.’

Lucy looked at him warily, silently conceding it was a bit childish calling him Mr Zanelli. Her real problem was that she didn’t trust him, but short of throwing him out—which was a physical impossibility—she hadn’t much choice but to listen to what he had to say.

‘And it isn’t what you are thinking,’ he drawled, with a sardonic lift of one ebony brow. Though his body was telling him different …

‘I’ll listen, but not here,’ Lucy conceded. ‘I usually go into town on Saturday evening to eat. You can come with me.’ She wanted Lorenzo out of her home and among other people—simply because her own innate honesty forced her to admit she didn’t trust herself alone with him.

‘My car or yours?’ Lorenzo asked as, after locking up the gallery, they walked out into the front yard that doubled as a car park.

‘Neither.’ Lucy flicked a glance up at him. ‘We can walk down the hill—it is not far.’

Stepping onto the grass verge that ran down the side of the road and Lorenzo joined her, but didn’t look too comfortable when a Jeep whizzed past with a group of four young men on board.

‘Hi, Lucy!’ they all yelled, and waved. Lucy waved back.

‘Friends of yours?’ Lorenzo asked.

‘Yes—students in my weekly art class at the high school. Now, why don’t you start talking? I’m listening.’

Another car went by and tooted its horn, and Lucy waved again.

‘No. I’d prefer to wait until we reach the restaurant,’ Lorenzo said, adding, ‘Less interruptions.’ And more time for him to regain his self-control.

He’d had no idea she taught art—but then he did not really know her except in the biblical sense. And he didn’t want to. Lucy Steadman infuriated him, enraged him and aroused him, and he did not like it—did not like her. But he did need her silence, and in his experience the best way to get anything from a woman was to humour her for a while—let her think she was in control.

Lucy hid a smile. He was in for a rude awakening if he was expecting a restaurant.

Lorenzo looked around with interest when they reached the main road. Set in a narrow valley, Looe was very picturesque, with a stone bridge that spanned the tidal river to the other side of town. Lucy led him down the main street that wound its way alongside the harbour and the river to the beach. He couldn’t believe the number of tourists around, or the amount of people that Lucy knew. Every few yards someone stopped her to say hello.

He wasn’t really surprised. With her long hair flowing over her shoulders, the feather-laden earring fluttering in the breeze and her brilliant smile she looked like some rare exotic butterfly. But there was no mistaking she was a woman, and the pressure in his groin that had plagued him from the minute he set eyes on her was becoming a problem again.

Ten minutes later, sitting on the harbour wall, Lorenzo glanced warily down at the box Lucy handed him, and then at her.

‘I got you pizza because you’re Italian. The fish and chip shop sells all sorts,’ she said, opening the carton containing her fish and chips.

‘Thanks.’ Lorenzo opened the box. ‘I think … ‘ he drawled, eyeing what passed for a pizza in an English holiday town with some trepidation. He didn’t want to know what the assorted toppings and cheeses were, but it was nothing like any pizza he had ever seen.

‘I am ready to listen, so fire away,’ Lucy said, shooting Lorenzo a sidelong glance, secretly amused. He was eyeing the pizza as if it was going to jump up and bite him, not the other way around. How were the mighty fallen … He must want something from her pretty badly to lower himself to sitting on a harbour wall and eating a takeaway pizza.

‘We have a problem, Lucy.’

There is no we were the words that sprang to mind, but Lucy resisted the urge to taunt him with the words he had used the last time they were together. Let him hang himself, she thought. There was something immensely satisfying in knowing that whatever Lorenzo was after he was not going to get it. Instead she picked up a chip and ate it.

‘We do?’ she queried. Stringing the superior devil along was going to be fun. Breaking off a piece of battered cod, she popped it in her mouth and glanced up at him with fake concern, licking her lips.

‘Yes.’ Lorenzo tore his gaze away from the small pink tongue running along her top lip. ‘Remember the wedding?’ She arched a delicate brow in his direction. Stupid question—of course she did. ‘Unfortunately Teresa Lanza called in to my mother to fill her in about the wedding—including the fact that Lucy Steadman was the bridesmaid. Then she showed her the photographs she had taken—quite a few of you and I.’

‘Is this story going anywhere?’ Lucy cut in. She had finished her fish and chips, and she had finished with Lorenzo, but sitting close to him on the wall, with the brush of his thigh against her own, was testing her resolve to the limit. Stringing him along had lost its appeal.

‘The upshot is that my mother wants me to invite you to visit her in Italy. She also wants to commission a portrait of Antonio. Obviously I don’t want you anywhere near her. I can put her off for a while, but unfortunately she is determined lady. If I don’t ask you she says she will ask you herself. If she does, you are to refuse any offer she makes.’

‘Don’t worry—I will. I’m not a masochist. Listening to you denigrating my brother and I was more than enough,’ Lucy said and, standing up, walked along the harbour to the nearest littler bin and deposited the carton in it.

Lorenzo followed her. She noted he hadn’t eaten even half the pizza as he tipped it in the bin, and wasn’t surprised. But she was surprised he had come all this way to tell her not to speak to his mother. That hurt. As if she needed telling again how low he thought her.

She walked on.

‘Wait, Lucy.’ He grasped her upper arm. ‘I have not finished.’

‘I have,’ she said flatly, glancing up at him and doing her best to ignore the warmth of his hand around her arm. ‘I’ve got the message loud and clear. I am not usually impolite, but if by any remote chance your mother calls me I will make an exception and tell her to get lost. As you said, no contact of any kind ever again between a Steadman and a Zanelli can only be a good thing—and you can start by letting go of my arm and getting out of my life for good.’

His face darkened, and if she wasn’t mistaken he looked almost embarrassed, but he did let go of her arm and she carried on walking back the way they’d come.

‘I don’t want you to be rude to her,’ he said, walking along beside her. ‘My mother does not know what I know about Damien. She believes your brother did his best to try and save Antonio, and I don’t want her disillusioned and hurt again. You must make no reference whatsoever to my argument with Damien. Total silence on the subject—do you understand?’

He glanced down at her, and Lucy had the spiteful thought that he had had no problem disillusioning her when she had for a moment imagined herself falling in love with him, or hurting her feelings. Why should his mother be exempt?

‘Okay, I’ll let her down gently but firmly and keep silent about you,’ she said, with a hint of sarcasm in her tone that went straight over his arrogant head.

‘Good. I propose that you regretfully suggest any reminder of Damien and Antonio upsets you so much you could not possibly face the prospect of bringing it all back—something along those lines. I’ll leave the excuses up to you—women are good at dissembling—and in return I will give you the bank’s holding in Steadman’s. Naturally my lawyer has drawn up a confidentiality agreement that will be binding on both sides. I have it in the car. All I need is for you to sign and it is a done deal.’

Lorenzo obviously adored his mother, and wanted to protect her, but he was just as controlling with the frail little woman as he was with everything else, Lucy thought. For a second she had been sympathetic to his predicament of trying to save his mother from any hurt, even though she knew he was wrong about Damien, but his insulting comment that women were basically good at lying, and his offer to buy her off with his bank’s share of Steadman’s, had killed any sympathy she felt stone-dead.

‘I’ll think about your offer as we walk back,’ she said noncommittally. But inside she was seething. He had no qualms about deceiving his mother, albeit he believed it to be for her own good. But that he had the arrogance—the gall—to ask Lucy to do the same, and say that he would pay her for her trouble, was beyond belief. The man thought he could buy anyone and anything, from sex to silence. She almost said no. But a grain of caution—not something she was known for—told her that just in case anything went wrong with her plan to save the factory she should say yes …

Lucy didn’t speak to him or look at him again, but she could feel his eyes on her—could sense the growing tension in him with every step she took until they finally reached her home.

‘So, Lucy, do your agree?’ he asked, stopping by his car.

‘Yes. But with one proviso … no, two,’ she amended. ‘If your mother calls I will not lie to her—though I will remain silent about you and Damien and refuse any invitation she may make politely and finally.’

‘Excellent.’ Lorenzo smiled cynically. Money never failed. He opened the car door to get the briefcase containing the documents.

Lucy wasn’t finished. ‘But as far as the confidentiality agreement goes—forget it. You will have to take my word. And as for commissioning a painting … wait here a minute.’

And while Lorenzo was hastily extracting himself from the car, with a resounding bump on his proud forehead, Lucy ducked inside the house, locking the door behind her.

She made straight for her studio at the rear of the gallery, ignoring the hammering on the front door. When she found what she was looking for among the stack of paintings she looked at it for a long moment, a sad, reflective smile on her face, before picking it up. About to leave, she hesitated. Finding her sketch of Lorenzo, she took that as well.

If Lucy had learnt anything over the last twelve years it was not to dwell on the past and what might have been but to cut her losses and get on with living. Straightening her shoulders, the painting and the sketch under her arm, she retraced her steps. She opened the door to see Lorenzo bristling with anger, his fist raised and ready to knock again.

‘I had not finished,’ he snapped. ‘Let me make it perfectly clear it is my way or no way and your proviso is not acceptable. The confidentiality agreement is a must, and non-negotiable.’

‘Then forget it. I’m not interested in your seedy idea, and I am finished with you and your family.’ Anger taking over her common sense, Lucy shoved the painting and the sketch at him. ‘Here—take these and your mother won’t need to call.’ He was so surprised he took them. ‘I don’t need them or you any more. I have another partner—an honourable man.’ And she slipped back in the house, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Lorenzo barely registered what she’d said. He was transfixed by the painting. It was of his brother Antonio, and it was stunning. Lucy had captured the very essence of him—the black curling hair, the sparkling eyes and the smile playing around his mouth. He looked so alive, so happy with life. It was uncanny. Lorenzo realised something else. For Lucy—who could only have been a teenager at the time—to have painted this, she must have been half in love with her subject.

Then he turned the sketch over, and stilled. The painting was all light and warmth, but the sketch was the opposite—dark and red-eyed. There was no mistaking the facial likeness to him, and the little witch had added horns above the ears, and a tail. The tail was long and a given—because the sketch was a caricature of Lorenzo as a huge black rat.

Certainly not one for the family gallery or his mother … but under the circumstances it was amusing, he conceded wryly. Then her parting comment registered, and all trace of amusement faded as a cold dark fury consumed him.

Lorenzo glanced at the house, his eyes hard as jet, and debated trying again. No, next time he would be better prepared—and there would be a next time.

Never mind the fact he could not trust Lucy, or that she had slapped him, or that she had insulted him with the sketch. What really enraged him was that she actually had the colossal nerve to think for a second she could outsmart him in a business deal.

He needed to know the identity of this honourable man—the mystery benefactor who had obviously convinced Lucy he could help her save Steadman’s. So much so she had turned down his offer with a spectacularly original gesture. He would make damn sure she lived to regret it.

Lorenzo spent the Sunday at his villa at Santa Margherita and went sailing for a few hours, having assured his mother over the phone that he had spoken to Lucy but she was too busy to visit. He said he was sure he could persuade her to do the portrait if she left it with him.

Relaxed and feeling much more like his usual self, he flew out to New York on Monday, having set in motion his investigation into the Steadman’s deal, but no longer sure he was going to do anything about it.

He would sell the shares on the allotted date, as planned, and give his mother the painting in a few weeks. That would satisfy her and put an end to the whole affair.

He returned two weeks later. On entering the outer office he saw his secretary smiling widely. She presented him with the new edition of a monthly society magazine, opened at the centre page.

‘Nice wedding. I recognised the bridesmaid—your new girlfriend, apparently—but I never would have suspected what was under that black suit. What a body— lucky you!’ She grinned. ‘And the report you requested is on your desk.’

‘What the hell?’ He swore and grabbed the magazine, groaning at the headline: ‘English wedding for Signor Aldo Lanza’s nephew, James Morgan.’ Then there were two pages of pictures of the bridal party, including Lucy, smiling broadly, and all the Italian guests, with accompanying names and captions. In one, Lucy was pinned to his side. She looked stunning, smiling up at him with her small hand resting on his shirt-front, and he was grinning down at her. The intimacy of the shot was undeniable, and the caption read: ‘Lorenzo Zanelli with the bridesmaid, a long-time friend and companion.’

He read some more, then stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him.

He sat down behind his desk, fuming. The brief scandal of being linked to Olivia, a married woman, paled into nothing compared to this. Of course they had connected Lucy to her brother and resurrected the tragic accident in detail. As if he needed reminding of it.

It was all the fault of Teresa Lanza, but there was not a damn thing he could do about it. Now he knew why his mother had looked so guilty. She must have known this was coming out. The wedding had been too late in June to make the July edition, but it had certainly made the August one.

He threw it to one side and picked up the report on Steadman’s. By the time he’d read it he was so enraged he slammed down the document and leapt to his feet, the deadly light of battle in his eyes. This was no longer anything to do with business or family, but strictly personal.

If there was one thing Lorenzo revelled in it was a challenge—be it at sea, sailing his yacht, or in the world of high finance—and now Lucy had become a real challenge. Pacing the floor, he realised he had seriously underestimated her. Far from being not cut out for business, she had come up with a plan to save Steadman’s—and it was very imaginative and economically sound. Any bank—including his—would judge it a decent investment and back the venture.

To be beaten by a slip of a woman was unthinkable to him. Lucy had effectively sidelined him as a partner in Steadman’s, and the factory was to stay open. The housing development and much more was to be built at the opposite side of town, in seven acres taken from the eight-acre river frontage garden of the house Lucy owned, in a deal she had made with Richard Johnson the property developer and third partner in Steadman’s. Between them, they had the majority.

Whether she had slept with the man or not he didn’t know—and didn’t care. She was clever—he’d give her that—but better men and women than her had tried and failed to outsmart him, and there was no way she was getting away with it.

A few telephone calls later Lorenzo had left the bank and boarded his private Lear jet to Newquay Airport, a ruthless gleam of triumph in his dark eyes. A car and driver waited for him when his plane landed. He was back in his normal ruthless business mode, and about to make Lucy an offer she could not refuse.

CHAPTER SIX

LUCY put down the telephone and walked slowly back into the gallery, her mind in turmoil. The call had been from Mr Johnson, her partner in the development deal. He had pulled out. No real explanation had been given—just a terse comment that he was not interested in doing business with her any more and then he’d hung up. She’d tried to ring back but the cell had gone directly to messages.

Monday was usually a slow day, and she was on her own. Much as she wanted to go upstairs and scream at the devastating news she had received she couldn’t.

In between serving customers she racked her brains, trying to find a solution. She called her lawyer, who was as shocked at the news as she was, but told her he would make some enquiries and find out exactly what had happened and get back to her. She called her bank and they were no help—other than to remind her she now had to pay the mortgage on two properties.

By five-thirty Lucy had run out of ideas.

A little old lady was wandering around the pottery exhibits, and Lucy made herself walk across and ask if she could help. Five minutes later she had wrapped a hand-painted vase and taken the money, and watched as the lady left. Wearily she rubbed her back and, head spinning, sank down on the seat behind the till. Automatically she began to count the day’s takings.

Now what was she going to do? she asked herself, eying the cash. Ordinarily she would have considered it a good day, but as she had taken a mortgage out on the gallery, because the bank had insisted on her having capital available up-front before considering the development loan, she was now in serious trouble.

She heard the sound of footsteps on the polished wood floor and her head whipped up. When she saw who it was all the breath was sucked from her body, her pulse racing almost as much as her mind.

‘You!’ she exclaimed, rising to her feet, unable to tear her eyes away from the man walking towards her. Lorenzo. There was nothing casual about him today. He was wearing an expertly tailored navy suit, and she knew by his hard, expressionless face that there was nothing casual about his visit.

Inexplicably a shiver of fear snaked down her spine.

‘Lucy.’ He said her name and his eyes looked straight into hers. She saw the glint of triumph in the dark depths and she knew.

‘It was you,’ she said, her lips twisting bitterly, anger nearly choking her. ‘You got to Mr Johnson didn’t you? You bastard.’

‘Such language, Lucy. Really, that is no way to do business—your customers would be horrified. I told you once before business is not your thing, but I have to concede you gave it a damn good try. Your plan was excellent, but did you really think for one minute I would allow you to get the better of me? ‘ he demanded, with an arrogant arch of one dark eyebrow.

‘You admit it was you?’ she said, horrified and furious.

‘Yes. I made your new partner an offer he could not refuse,’ he said, and turned round to stroll to the front door. She thought he was leaving, but instead he locked the door and turned back, staring at her with narrowed eyes, his expression unreadable. ‘I’ve warned you before about security. You really should not sit counting money on your own. Any sneak thief could come in and rob you.’

‘Like you,’ she spat. ‘Robbing me of Steadman’s.’

Her anger drained away as the enormity of her predicament hit her. Lorenzo must have bought out Richard Johnson, so he was now the major shareholder in Steadman’s and he would certainly close the factory.

‘But why?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘We were still going to buy you out on the agreed date, at a profit you told me yourself was good. You’d have been finished with Steadman’s for ever—just what you always wanted.’ She didn’t understand …

‘Not quite.’ His eyes scanned provocatively down her shapely body, making her remember things she had fought hard to forget without much success. Colour rose in her cheeks as he walked towards her. ‘I want more, Lucy.’ His smile was chilling.

‘More money?’ she asked. ‘But that does not make any sense. Buying out Mr Johnson must have cost you money, and you wanted to sell to make more money—or so you told me to up the offer the first time we met.’ Lucy was no financial genius, as Lorenzo purportedly was, but even she could see the huge flaw in his deal.

‘No, not money,’ he said, his dark eyes fixed intently on her flushed face. ‘A drink will do for a start. But upstairs—in comfort.’ He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. ‘After you,’ he said, mocking her.

‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘I can find another partner … ‘ Even as she said the words she knew it was futile. Lorenzo now held all the cards.

‘You already have, Lucy—me. I told you once before it was my way or no way. You obviously didn’t listen.’

She didn’t bother to answer. There was no point.

She turned back to the till, suddenly bone-weary, all the fight draining out of her, and mechanically finished cashing up. She locked the till and with the money in her hand walked past Lorenzo and upstairs to her apartment. She went straight to the bookcase that held the safe and put the cash inside, aware that he had followed her but helpless to do anything about it.

‘Not much of a safe,’ Lorenzo said as she locked it and, straightening up, turned back towards him.

Lucy drove him crazy. He had felt his body react the moment he’d walked in the door and seen her wearing a pair of denim shorts and a red open-necked shirt. Try as he might to control himself, seeing Lucy bending over the damn safe had almost crippled him. She had caused him more trouble than any woman he had ever known, had got under his skin for far too long, and yet he still lusted after her. He could not leave her alone, and now he was no longer going to try.

‘It suits me,’ Lucy responded. The security or otherwise of her house was the least of her problems under the circumstances. The immediate threat to her safety being Lorenzo. ‘Take a seat. I’ll get you some tea or coffee—I have nothing stronger.’

‘Wait,’ Lorenzo snapped and, grasping her shoulders, yanked her hard against him.

She looked up at him, and her eyes widened when they met his. What she saw in the black depths made her shiver with fear—she hoped it was fear … She tried to struggle free, but with insulting ease a strong arm swept around her back and his hand grasped her waist, holding her tight as his long fingers threaded through her hair to grip the back of her head in the palm of his hand.

A shocked gasp escaped her as she caught a glimpse of the naked desire in his dark eyes, then his mouth crashed down on hers. She raised her hands to push him away, but it was a useless gesture. His chest was as hard as marble—but a lot warmer, she realised without wanting to. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All she could do was feel as he kissed her with a demanding passion that ignited a spark deep in her belly.

Suddenly it burst into flame and her traitorous body was suffused with heat. Involuntarily she parted her lips to the hungry demand of his, her hands stroking over his chest and her body swaying into his in willing surrender. It had been so long, too long, and she could deny it no longer. She wanted Lorenzo—wanted him totally.

He lifted his head and stepped back. His hands fell from her and she was free.

‘The chemistry is still there, as electric as ever, and that is all I needed to know.’ She heard his deep voice as if from a distance—heard the hint of mockery as he added, ‘I’ll have that coffee now.’

Shamed by her body’s betrayal, she closed her eyes for a moment as the heat drained out of her. When she opened them she looked at Lorenzo. His expression was hard and uncompromising. She was tempted to ask him why he was really here, but she didn’t really want to know the answer because she had a horrible suspicion she would not like it.

‘Okay,’ she murmured, too shaken to argue, and, turning on her heel, she headed for the kitchen.

Making the coffee gave her a chance to recover from the body shock that had made her melt in his arms. She tried to tell herself her resistance was low because she was tired and Lorenzo had caught her off guard, it would never happen again, but not with any great conviction.

She returned to the living room five minutes later, a mug of instant coffee in each hand. Lorenzo had removed his jacket and tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. He was lounging back on her one and only sofa, looking as if he owned the place.

He glanced at her as she walked towards him, and reached out to take the coffee mug in his hand without saying a word.

It occurred to Lucy that tipping it over his head might give her some satisfaction, but resisted the urge and handed it to him. Her impulsive ideas had got her into more than enough trouble over the years, but her leap into property development had to be the biggest doozy yet. If only the bank had not been quite so briskly efficient in giving her a mortgage on this place. If only she had not been so quick to transfer the cash to the partnership to secure the development deal. Then it wouldn’t be so bad.

If only were the saddest words in the world.

She crossed to sit down in a battered old Art Decostyle chair she had been going to re-cover for ages but never got round to, and, taking a sip of her coffee, glanced around her home. But for how much longer?

Lorenzo was right about the factory. It only just about broke even, and after the taxes were paid there was little or no profit. So basically the only income she had was from the gallery, which barely covered the two mortgages she’d have to pay until she sold the house in Dessington. Any delay in selling and she’d very quickly go bust, she knew.

A frustrated sigh escaped her.

‘That was a big sigh, Lucy. Something troubling you?’

She cast Lorenzo, her nemesis, a furious look. Lost in her troubled thoughts, she had not realised his heavy-lidded eyes were narrowed, assessing her much like a spider studied a fly caught in its web, she thought, as he smiled.

‘I suppose you find it amusing, trying to wreck my plans. Excuse me if I do not.’

‘Not trying—I have done,’ he said, draining his coffee and cup and placing it on the occasional table. He straightened up. ‘Fifty five percent of Steadman’s now belongs to me. I can keep it open or shut it down. The decision is mine. As for your aspirations to develop the land adjacent to your old home—that depends on me also. Apparently your friendly lawyer called a town meeting to reassure the people and the workers you and Johnson had agreed not to close the factory. He went on to explain how a new development had been proposed and it was going to be sited in some of the eight acres of garden at your family home, donated very generously by you. That was a big mistake, Lucy.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she muttered.

‘Ah, Lucy—you should stick to art. Trust me, finance is really not your thing,’ he said bluntly. ‘Have you heard the term “asset-rich but cash-poor"? That is now you—because you have two mortgaged properties and a factory that makes little money and you cannot sell. The land you own could have been sold or even leased, but instead you’ve given away your only asset,’ he drawled mockingly, casting a blatantly suggestive glance over her body before continuing. ‘The outlined plan is for luxury housing, shops, a swimming pool and sports centre, and some less expensive housing to be available only for locals to purchase. The development to be named the Delia Steadman Park in honour of your mother. The whole town was delighted, apparently.’

‘How on earth do you know all this?’ Lucy asked.

‘I made it my business to know,’ he said, rising to his feet and pacing the length of the room. He turned and stopped beside her chair, staring down at her.

Refusing to be cowed, she met his dark eyes head-on. They were unreadable, and she placed her coffee mug on the floor as an excuse to look away from his harshly attractive face.

‘I also know that—unlike when I asked you, Lucy—this time you did sign a legally drawn-up partnership agreement with your developer friend. But your smalltown lawyer—who is, by the way, really more interested in his position as town mayor than lawyer—omitted to make it non-negotiable, and Johnson sold out to me. I am now your partner in everything except the mortgaged house in Dessington and this gallery, which you have also foolishly mortgaged. By my reckoning you won’t have this much longer.’

It was worse than she’d thought, and she looked up at him again. A cruel, sardonic smile twisted his mouth.

‘I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out to a woman like you what that means. I own you—for as long as I want.’

A woman like her … Was there no end to his insults? Her shocked glance saw his eyes were no longer unreadable. She recognised all too well the emotion that now blazed in them: dark desire, barely leashed.

‘And I do want you, Lucy,’ he said, and she could not suppress the shiver of revulsion his comment caused. An imp of devilment in her head defied her to name it for what it really was—excitement, desire, anticipation.

He stared down into her face, reading her reaction, and his hands reached for her, sliding under her arms. He lifted her bodily out of the chair, holding her high, her feet not touching the ground, and involuntarily she clutched at his shoulders to steady herself.

His smile was cruel. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he said, putting her down and moving his hands around her back, drawing her closer.

The layer of fabric between them was no protection against the shower of electric sensations that tumbled through her at the feel of his warm muscular chest against her breasts, his flat stomach and muscular thighs as he slowly lowered her down his long body to her feet. Aware of his arousal, she gasped and tried to wriggle free. But his hands tightened on her hips in a grip of iron and hauled her hard against him.

‘Feel what you do to me and know what you are going to do for me.’ He deliberately ground his hips against her, enflaming her senses, but she made her hands fall to her sides rather than touch him as they ached to do, all her will-power going into fighting her own rising need.

His hands lifted from her hips to link lightly around her back, and she managed to draw away a little from the seductive warmth of his great body—but not free. She had a sinking sensation she might never be free of him.

He watched her. She could feel the intensity of his dark eyes even though she’d averted her face. And then he resumed speaking in a clipped tone, as though addressing some underling.

‘You, Lucy, will be my lover whenever I want you. And you will do exactly as I tell you on the single occasion you will visit my mother.’

‘Visit? Why? I gave you the painting—surely that is enough?’

‘I have not given it to her yet. I realised she would insist on thanking you personally. If you recall, before you shoved the painting in my hands I had offered you a very good deal to refuse all contact with her—which you turned down spectacularly.’

Lucy couldn’t believe her momentary loss of temper had led to this. ‘What if I change my mind and agree now?’ she asked.

‘Too late, Lucy. The circumstances have changed. Thanks to Teresa Lanza, the August edition of a popular Verona society magazine has a full-page spread of her nephew’s wedding—including pictures of you and I and an article about our tragically linked family histories. The so-called accident being once again in the press necessitates a change of plan. You and I will visit my mother as a couple, and you will present the painting to her as a personal gift. She will be delighted, and any speculation on the accident will fade away. Then, after a suitable period, when I tell my mother we are no longer an item she will understand the reason for no further contact and we need never meet again. In return Steadman’s will be yours, and as for the rest I’ll find you another partner.’

She looked up at him with horrified eyes. ‘You can’t possibly mean what I think you mean.’

‘To qualify—I mean a partner in the building development,’ he drawled sardonically, and she saw the way he was looking at her, his eyes running over her in an insolent masculine fashion that insulted rather than approved. ‘I am well aware you are more than capable of finding another sexual partner, but for as long as you are with me I insist on exclusivity. Don’t worry, it is not a long-term commitment. I have never kept a woman I liked for more than six months. With a woman like you it will probably be a lot less, and you will be free and clear.’

‘You really are a first-class despicable bastard.’ Her eyes flashed her contempt at him. ‘You must be out of your tiny mind to think for a second I’d agree to such a proposition.’

Lorenzo shrugged. ‘Take it or leave it,’ he said, his hands dropping from her waist. ‘I can stand the heat. I doubt if you can. But if you don’t mind going bankrupt and losing everything, do what you like.’ He glanced around the room. ‘This is a nice set-up you have here, and I doubt your artist friends will be happy to see it close.’

Lucy was free, but frozen to the spot. ‘You can’t possibly do that.’

‘Yes, I can. I can close the factory, for a start. I’m a wealthy man, and its monetary loss is negligible to me. And every attempt you make to move on with the housing development I can block for as long as I choose—certainly long enough to see you go broke. Lucky for you,’ he drawled mockingly, ‘I choose to have you in my bed.’

Colour ran up her neck and face, and her eyes sparked with frustrated rage. But he was right, damn him. Lorenzo was a powerful banker with contacts all over the world. He could pull any strings he liked and make strong men quake. What chance did she have against him? Virtually none …

She looked at him with hatred, and yet she knew deep down she was going to accept his offer. The factory, the development plan—all that she worked for—was out of her hands. He could wreck everything—even cause her to lose her home, her gallery and the friends that were her life … a life she loved.

‘So what’s it to be, Lucy? As if I need to ask.’ His sardonic eyes took in her small taut figure with mocking amusement. ‘You know you are going to agree.’

‘Yes, but first I want a binding contract with—’

‘Oh, no,’ he cut in. ‘This is strictly between you and I, and—as you once so memorably said—you will have to take me on trust. But we can shake on it in the English way.’ And he held out his hand.

She looked at his strong tanned hand, the long elegant fingers, and then up at his hard, expressionless face. She had the strangest notion he was not as sure of himself as he appeared. She lowered her eyes, her lashes sweeping her pale cheeks, and called herself a fool for trying to read more into his offer than what it was—sex for money, but on a large scale—and reluctantly placed her hand in his.

‘So polite, so prim, so British,’ he mocked as his hand tightened around hers, pulling her closer. She tried to pull away but he wrapped her hand behind her back, jerking her hard against him. ‘That’s better,’ he said, his free hand unfastening the buttons of her shirt.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked helplessly. The brush of his fingers in the valley of her breasts as he deftly opened her shirt aroused a pulsating sensation deep inside her that she fought to control. ‘I won’t enjoy it, and you will get no pleasure from me.’

‘Oh, I will, Lucy.’

He stared down at her, reading her reaction as he trailed long fingers over the curve of her breasts, dipping beneath the lace of her bra to graze a nipple. She gasped.

‘You see, sweetheart?’ He mocked her with the endearment as he teased a taut nipple between his long fingers. ‘Your pleasure is my pleasure.’ His mouth lowered to hers. The burning pressure of his kiss ignited her fiercely controlled feelings and she trembled helplessly. ‘I am so going to pleasure you, Lucy,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘What we had before will seem like a mere taste, and you will be begging me for more.’

‘Never!’ she cried, but her body seemed to have a will of its own, and she had a terrible desire to touch him, to surrender herself to the sweet agony of his kiss, his caress.

He slipped the shirt from her shoulder along with her bra strap, so he could bend his head to kiss the curve of her neck. She swayed, whimpering in protest, but as he lowered his head further, peeling down her bra to tongue her hardening nipples, the whimper changed to a moan of pleasure.

He lifted his head and she stared up at him, her eyes fixed on his hard, irresistible mouth.

‘Still think you won’t enjoy it?’ he prompted and, dropping his hand, he removed her shirt and bra completely. His black eyes flicked over her from her pink lips, swollen from his kisses, over her slender shoulders to her breasts and the pale rose nipples betraying her arousal. ‘Your body is telling me otherwise.’

Naked to the waist, and shamed by her own weakness, Lucy made an attempt to fold her arms in front of her. But he caught her hands and held them at her sides, bent his head, his mouth finding hers again.

The slow, seductive pressure of the kiss coaxing her lips apart was irresistible, and she could feel herself weakening, responding, wanting him—and suddenly she was transported back to the first time they’d made love … the heady excitement … the swirling senses … the exquisite delight of his touch.

Without removing his lips from hers, he swung her up in his arms. With a sense of déjà vu she grasped his shoulder, her hand curving around his neck to touch his hair. Her tongue was curling with his, and any lingering thought of resistance was swept away by the flood of desire raging through her.

He carried her into the bedroom and lowered her on to the bed, removing her shorts and briefs in one deft movement. He straightened up, staring down at her with hot hard eyes as he shed his clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor.

Lucy did not move. She was mesmerised at the sight of him. It was still daylight outside, and every muscle, every sinew of his great body was perfectly defined. But his facial muscles were tense, his strong jaw clenched as if to control some strong reaction. She had no time to wonder why as he joined her on the bed. The press of his hard body against her, the heat and the strength of him, made her tremble. Leaning over her, he brushed his lips against her brow, the curve of her cheek, and finally her mouth, to kiss her with an oddly gentle passion that was utterly beguiling.

He moved and laid his head against her breasts, turning his face to nuzzle their creamy fullness, suckling and licking the pouting tips as his hands stroked and caressed the quivering flesh down her hips, her thighs, and between her trembling legs. Every nerve in her body was screaming with tension almost to breaking point. Perspiration broke out on her brow, her body, and her small hands clutched at his biceps, his shoulders, roaming restlessly.

Suddenly Lorenzo rolled over onto his back, lifting her over him, his strong hands grasping the top of her legs. With one mighty thrust he impaled her on the rock-hard length of him, and stilled.

‘I want to watch you fall apart,’ he grated.

Eyes wild, she looked down and saw the molten passion in the black depths of his.

She splayed her hands on his chest and tried to move, his thickness filling her. She needed to move. But a finger slid between the velvet lips where their bodies joined and her head fell back, a long groan escaping her as he delicately massaged the swelling point of pleasure until she shattered into a million pieces. His grip tightened, holding her firm as she convulsed around him in a mind-blowing orgasm.

Only then did he move his hand to her waist and lift her. Rocking his pelvis, he plunged up deeper into her, over and over again, holding her fast until her shaking body trembled on the brink again. Then he spun her beneath him and his mouth covered hers, catching her desperate whimpering moans before he thrust into her with one fierce lunge that seemed to touch her womb and his great body joined hers in a shuddering climax that went on and on in mindless ecstasy.

Lucy fought for breath her internal muscles still quivering in the aftermath of release, her heart pounding. She was conscious of the heavy beat of Lorenzo’s heart against her chest as he lay sprawled across her, his head buried in the pillow over her shoulder. How long she lay in mindless awe at what had happened she had no idea, but finally she lifted an arm to wrap it around him, then stopped and let it fall back on the bed.

In contrast to her body, hot and wet with sweat, her heart was suddenly as cold as ice. This was lust, not love, and she must never forget that. Last time when they had made love—There she was, doing it again. When they had had sex, she amended, Lorenzo had disillusioned her so brutally she had felt ashamed, cheap and dirty.

Well, not any more … It was way past time she toughened up—forgot about love and marriage and being the hopeless romantic Lorenzo had called her at Samantha’s wedding. Equality of the sexes and all that—not that she had seen much of it so far in her life. But if Lorenzo could enjoy sex for sex’s sake then so could she. Her morals were still intact—just in abeyance for a while. The fact that he had none wasn’t her problem. And if it suited the swine to pay for the pleasure, then let him.

Ever the fatalist, she knew she’d have to be an idiot to turn down the deal he was offering. Anyway, she didn’t have a choice—unless she wrecked a host of other people’s lives, and that she could not do. On the plus side, she had no doubt he would soon tire of her, and then she could forget he’d ever existed and get on with her life the way she wanted to.

‘I’m too heavy for you, and I need the bathroom,’ Lorenzo said practically, and disappeared into the bathroom. Of course he never forgot protection—which was good in the circumstances. But then a man like Lorenzo—powerful and a control freak—had had plenty of practice.

He practised a lot more when he came back to join her on the bed, and when he finally slid off the bed and dressed he stared down at her for a moment. ‘Sort out tomorrow when you can take three days off—preferably within the coming month.’

‘I can’t possibly. I have a business to run … ‘

‘Yes, you can. Your friends will be out of work if you don’t.’

‘Only Elaine works for me, and she can’t run the place on her own. Sid and Leon just display their work here, and I get ten percent of their sales.’

‘Ten?’ He shook his head. ‘It should be much more than that.’ And, bending over her, he dropped a kiss on her nose, a sensual gleam in his dark eyes. ‘You have many good points, Lucy, that I am well acquainted with.’ He smiled. ‘But at the risk of sounding repetitive, trust me—business really isn’t one of them.’ He chuckled, and left.

Lucy lay where he’d left her. She knew she should be furious—and she would be later—but right at this moment all she felt was a languorous sense of physical satisfaction, and she fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE tourist trade fell off as children returned to school. The summer was virtually over and Lucy was in a plane flying to Italy, trying to come to grips with the course her life had taken. It wasn’t easy. She looked out of the window and below her could see the snow-covered peaks of the Alps, sparkling in the sun. Their beauty was lost on her. She was, for want of a better description, Lorenzo’s mistress. She had become accustomed to travelling in a chauffeured car and a private jet … how bizarre was that.?

Lorenzo, after that fatal night when he had given her no choice but to become his lover, had virtually taken over her life, and the following morning had charmed Elaine into believing he was genuinely interested in Lucy. Obviously she could not deny it, and it had left her playing the part of his girlfriend all day, every day. The strain was beginning to tell.

That first day Lorenzo had whisked her away for dinner at the luxury country house hotel he had stayed at before, and the pattern had been set. Sometimes he would arrive and take her to the hotel—other times he’d send a car to take her to Newquay or Exeter Airport and the short flight to London, where Lorenzo kept a hotel suite when he was working in the city—which he had been doing a lot lately. Though now she had not seen him for five days—the longest they had been apart. Maybe it was not coincidence. He had stipulated at the beginning that she was to visit Italy in a month. It was exactly a month today. She had a growing feeling this visit would be the conclusion of their relationship. He had got what he wanted. As for Lucy, she was not sure what she wanted any more.

Lorenzo was a highly-sexed man, and they rarely got further than the bed—though a desk and the shower and on one memorable occasion a chair outside on the balcony had all figured in their sex-life.

Yet Lucy knew him little better now than she had the first time they’d met. He was for the most part a reserved, emotionless man, who gave little away except in the bedroom, where sometimes, with his dry wit and humour, he made her laugh. Other times he could be incredibly tender, and kiss and caress her as though he adored her. He always called her to arrange their meetings, but occasionally he called just to talk, and she could almost believe they were a normal couple. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. Alone in her own bed at night, aching for him deep down, she knew for her it was more than just sex.

One thing she had learned about him and liked best was that he wore gold-rimmed glasses when working. Somehow they made him look younger and even more attractive, softening his hard face.

Well, maybe not best—because she could not deny the sex was fantastic. He had, with skill and eroticism, taught her more about the sensual side of her nature than she had imagined possible. She no longer made any attempt to resist, but welcomed him with open arms, and she knew when it was over between them there would be no other man for her. She could not imagine doing with any man what she did with Lorenzo … didn’t want to.

The flight attendant—a handsome young man about her age—appeared, and offered to fasten her seat belt as they were about to begin their descent to the airport. She refused and fastened it herself, because there was something about the way he looked at her she didn’t like. But then he was probably accustomed to ferrying women around the world to meet up with his boss, so she could hardly blame him for thinking the worst.

Lucy walked down the steps from the plane, blinking in the bright light, and smoothed the skirt of the red suit she wore down over her hips. A suit Lorenzo had bought for her the one day he had taken her out for lunch in London on what could pass for a date. Afterwards he had insisted on taking her shopping in Bond Street. She had tried to refuse, but he’d reminded her he was the boss and he wanted to see her in fine clothes and lingerie.

She looked up to see Lorenzo striding towards her, as immaculately dressed as ever in a grey suit, his hair as black as a raven’s wing gleaming in the midday sun. Her heart turned over. He stopped in front of her and she glanced up through the thick fringe of her lashes, suddenly feeling too warm.

‘Good—you made it,’ he said coolly and, taking her arm, added, ‘This is a private airfield and Customs are a mere formality.’ He led her across the tarmac.

No greeting or kiss, Lucy noted. But then sadly they did not have that kind of relationship.

Ten minutes later she was sitting in the back of another chauffeured car, her nerves jangling as Lorenzo slid in beside her, his muscular thigh lightly brushing hers. She could sense the tension mounting in the close confines of the car as the silence lengthened, and finally found her voice. ‘How long does it take to get to Lake Garda?’

He turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. ‘We are going to my apartment in Verona first.’

Lifting a hand, he swept a tendril of hair that had escaped from her severely styled chignon behind her ear, and she felt the touch of his fingers down to her toes, a flush of heat staining her cheeks.

‘I think you need to relax before travelling further. I know I do,’ he said with a predatory smile that left her in no doubt as to what he had in mind.

To her shame, she felt an immediate physical response. Hastily she looked away, and heard him chuckle.

Lorenzo’s apartment was a shock. Lucy stood in the huge living room, eyes wide in surprise. She had expected something formal—and it was. Elegant blue and cream drapes hung at the tall windows of the main reception room, and two huge blue silk-covered sofas flanked a white-veined marble fireplace. The bookshelves either side were stuffed with books—hardback and paperback, shoved in haphazardly—and in front stood a big leather captain chair in scarlet! A large low glass table had papers and magazines scattered all over it. The room was a bit of a mess.

But a fabulously expensive mess, she realised. An antique bureau had a bronze statue of a naked lady—pure Art Deco—standing on it, along with an incredible yellow and blue glass sculpture of a fish and a carved wooden statue of what looked like a Native American Indian. But it was the walls that really captured her attention. She recognised a Picasso from his Blue Period, a Matisse, and what she was sure was a Gauguin, along with some delicate watercolours and a huge Jackson Pollock that almost filled one wall.

She turned to Lorenzo and saw he had shed his jacket and had tugged his tie loose so the knot fell low on his chest. ‘This is nothing like I imagined.’ She waved her hand around, grinning delightedly.

‘I know it looks a bit untidy, but Diego, my houseman, is on holiday, and I am not in the least domesticated,’ he said wryly.

‘I had noticed,’ Lucy quipped, recalling the way he stripped off and dropped his ruinously expensive clothes anywhere, without a second thought, every time they met. ‘But what I meant was I love the room—it is so colourful, and the art work is incredible. Some of it I would never have expected you to like.’

He reached for her then, his dark eyes holding hers and his hands closing over her shoulders ‘Not quite such a staid old banker as you thought?’ he queried, his hands slipping beneath the lapels of her jacket to peel it off her shoulders and drop it on the back of the sofa.

‘I never think of you as old,’ Lucy murmured, and the tension between them thickened the air as a different silent conversation took place. She was braless, and the white camisole she wore suddenly felt like a strait-jacket.

He glanced down at her breasts, knowing he would see her nipples jutting against the silk. He raised his eyes, reaching for her hair and pulling out the pins. ‘I love … your hair.’ He ran his long fingers through the silken length. ‘The colour is incredible—tawny like a lion is as near as I can get,’ he murmured, and closed his arms around her. His dark head bent and the smouldering flame of desire glittered in his eyes as he touched his mouth gently against hers.

It was what Lucy had been waiting for from the moment she had stepped off the plane, if she was honest. The moment she’d set eyes on him he had excited her like no other man ever had or ever would. One look, one touch, and she wanted him—craved him with an intensity of emotion she could not deny. And the more she saw him the worse it got. He filled her every sense until nothing else existed but the consuming need to feel him take her to that magical place where for a few incredible moments they became one explosive entity. However much she tried to pretend it was just sex, deep down she knew she had fallen in love with Lorenzo.

His mouth was like silk, his tongue teasing and easing between her eagerly parted lips, but the gentleness swiftly gave way to a kiss of mutual desperate passion. His hands reached down to the hem of her skirt and tugged it up over her hips. Lucy grasped his shoulders as she felt his long fingers slip between her thighs and rip the lace briefs from her body and she didn’t care. She was lost to everything but her hunger, her need for him.

He lifted his head, his face flushed and his black eyes holding hers as he zipped open his pants. ‘I want you now,’ he grated, and found her mouth again.

Lucy met and matched his demand instantly, totally, pushing her hands beneath his shirt, digging her fingers into the muscles of his back as he gripped her hips and lifted her. Wantonly she gave herself up to the fierce desire driving her, locking her legs around him. His tongue stoked deeper into her mouth and she cried out as he thrust up into the slick, heated centre of her.

The incredible tension tightened as he stretched her, filled her with deep plunging strokes, twisting, thrusting faster, building into an incredible climax that sent her mindless into a shuddering, shimmering wave of endless satisfaction. Then against her mouth Lorenzo groaned her name as he plunged one last time, his heart pounding out of control against hers, his great body shaking.

The silence afterwards was not restful but strained, Lucy slowly realised, shakily dropping her legs from his body, letting her hands fall from his shoulders. He stepped back and zipped up his trousers, and she smoothed her skirt down over her hips. She spied her ripped briefs on the floor. She glanced up at Lorenzo. He was watching her, and had seen the direction of her gaze. Then he spoke.

‘Your briefs are finished, Lucy, and your luggage has already gone on to the house. You will have to go commando for a while—but that is probably nothing new for you,’ he said with the arch of a brow, before adding, ‘I could use a coffee—how about you?’

Lucy nodded her head. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, and he turned and disappeared through the door to the hall. His ‘commando’ comment told her everything she needed to know. He had no respect for her at all … never had and never would.

She spotted a few pins on the floor and, picking them up, clipped back her hair. She took her jacket off the back of the sofa and slipped it on, fastened it with a slightly unsteady hand. She was still wearing her high-heeled sandals, and wished viciously she had stabbed him in the back with them five minutes ago.

Still trembling inside, she walked across to the window and looked down at the street below, drawing in a few deep, calming breaths. A steady flow of cars drove along the road, and the pavements were full of people of all ages—some single, some couples and families—all chattering and laughing, going about their daily life as she’d used to do.

So what had happened to her? Lorenzo had happened, and she didn’t know herself any more. Worse, she no longer liked herself. She had become one of those weak-willed women she normally pitied—a slave to her senses because of a man. In that moment Lucy knew she could not go on like this. She straightened her slender shoulders and folded her arms across her body, her mind made up. When this visit was over, so was her relationship with Lorenzo—whether he liked it or not. He could do his damnedest, but to save herself she could no longer afford to care.

In trying to be responsible and help other people she had given in to what amounted to blackmail. If she was brutally honest she had not fought very hard to avoid it, and in the process had lost all her self-respect.

She should have known from the start. She had tried before to be responsible for another, to help Damien, and it had ended in tragedy anyway. If Steadman’s closed and the development never took place, so be it—at least the town had the seven acres of land she had donated. As for the family home, she would do as the estate agent had suggested weeks ago, when he’d told her that after twelve years of neglect the house badly needed updating and with the smaller garden the best option now was to put it up for auction and sell it for whatever she could get in the current market. She would, and then hopefully she could keep the gallery—probably still mortgaged, but at least she would own it.

‘Coffee’s ready.’

She turned around. Lorenzo was placing a tray on the glass table and trying to nudge papers out of the way. He sank down on the sofa and, picking up the coffee pot, filled two cups, then glanced across at her. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’

He didn’t even know that much about her, she thought bitterly, and it simply reinforced her decision to end things.

‘No, thanks. I need the bathroom—where is it?’

‘There is one off my bedroom—I’ll follow you through. Coffee in bed quite appeals,’ he said, with a smile that was a blatant invitation.

‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ Lucy said coolly. ‘Just tell me where the bathroom is. After all, I am here to visit your mother, and it is bad manners to keep her waiting.’ She saw the flash of surprise in his eyes and watched them narrow, and felt a chill go through her.

Lorenzo was not accustomed to being denied, and his expression hardened as he looked at Lucy. She had pinned back her hair, replaced her jacket and fastened it, and was now standing stiffly, her arms folded in front of her, defiance in every line of her seductive body. He could make her do as he wanted—but suddenly he no longer had the stomach for it.

‘In the hall—second on the left.’ He gestured with his hand at the door he had just come through. Lucy was right. It was time they left.

He had shocked himself earlier, taking her without a second thought over the back of the sofa, totally out of control. This could not go on. The ice-cold anger and rage that had consumed him when he’d discovered Lucy had done a deal behind his back had cooled down, and he wasn’t proud of the way he had behaved.

With the benefit of hindsight he should have agreed with Lucy the day she’d come to his office—agreed to support the status quo, leaving the running of Steadman’s in the hands of the employee who had been dealing with it for the last five years. Instead he had let his anger over his brother’s death be stirred up by his lunch with Manuel and reacted badly. He had made his decision in anger instead of with his usual cool control. And getting involved with Lucy was another crazy mistake. In fact, he realised most of the summer had been one of crazy decisions on his part.

He was a normal, intelligent, healthy man, who enjoyed an active sex-life, but with Lucy he was in danger of allowing sex to take over his life to the detriment of his work and his leisure. He could not allow it to continue.

Since the day he had met her he had slept only one single night at his villa in Santa Margherita and only half a day sailing. And it was well over a month since he had been to New York. Instead he had spent most of his time in England, flying back and forth from Italy, and it had to stop. He still lusted after Lucy, but that was all it was—lust. Without conceit he knew that with his power and wealth he could take his pick of women, and occasionally had in the past. He would again.

His decision made, he rose to his feet and buttoned his shirt. The solution was simple: he just needed to get through the next three days, finish things with Lucy, then move on to a woman more his type who would not disturb the smooth running of his life.

His picked his jacket off the floor and slipped it on, then tightened his tie. When Lucy reappeared he moved towards her. ‘Ready to go?’

Lucy glanced at him. ‘Yes,’ she said, equally direct.

Taking her elbow, he ushered her out of the apartment and down onto the street. ‘Get in,’ Lorenzo said, holding open the passenger door of a low-slung, lethal-looking yellow sports car.

Lucy did, and quickly fastened the seat belt. She didn’t feel safe in this monster of a car, even when it was stationary. She glanced at Lorenzo as he slid into the driving seat and was about to ask what make the car was. But one look at the determined set of his jaw made her change her mind.

There was no other way to describe it—the man drove as if he had a death wish, Lucy thought. The countryside flashed past them in a whirl, and she caught her breath as the car swung around corners.

‘Do you have to drive so fast?’ she finally demanded.

He cast her a sidelong glance and said nothing, but she noticed he did slow down a little, and she could breathe easily again.

Her first glance of Lake Garda made her catch her breath again, and as Lorenzo drove along the one road that ran around the lake she was captivated by the small villages they passed. Eventually he guided the car between two stone towers that supported massive iron gates. The drive wound steeply up through a forest of trees and then veered right. Suddenly the forest ended, and Lucy simply stared in awe at the view before her.

The house was built in pale stone, beautifully proportioned, with circular turrets on all corners and with the forest as a backdrop. The gardens swooped down in lawns and terraces to the edge of the lake, where a wooden boat house was just visible by the trees. A small boat with its sails furled was tied up at the jetty. The overall view was idyllic, and incredible to her artistic eye. Someone had planned the garden skilfully. A pergola, a summerhouse and fountains were all strategically placed to draw the eye to a perfect flow of colour and symmetry.

‘Lucy?’

It was the first word Lorenzo had spoken since they’d left Verona, and she glanced at her wristwatch. Well over an hour ago. She realised he had stopped the car. She looked out of the window, her eyes widening in admiration on the portico, a graceful structure with elegant arches and roof supported by four columns.

‘Before we go in, a word of warning.’

She turned her head and looked at him. ‘What? No stealing the silver? ‘ she quipped.

He didn’t so much as smile, just gave her a sardonic glance. ‘That is an example of what I am afraid of. You are too impulsive, Lucy—you say everything that enters your head without a second thought.’

Not everything, Lucy thought. Even locked in his arms, in the throes of passion, she resisted the impulse to tell him she loved him.

‘When you meet my mother you will be friendly and polite—no going over the top with hugs or confidences. I have the painting in the boot of the car. You will give it to her as a gift and she will be delighted. As for you and I—as far as my mother and the staff are concerned we will behave as close friends, though obviously we will not share a room. It is enough that I have brought you to the family home. Not something I ever do with the women in my life. That, along with an occasional arm around you, will confirm my mother’s opinion—thanks to the Lanza woman—that we are a couple. When I tell her it is over between us you will have an excellent reason for no further contact that she will readily accept. Understand?’

‘Perfectly. Machiavelli could not have come up with a better plan.’

The arrogance of the man confounded her. When he dumped her she was supposedly going to be so brokenhearted she would cut off all contact with the Zanelli family. The sad thing was she realised he was probably right—though he did not know it.

Forcing a smile to her face, she added, ‘You mean pretend we are lovers but no mention of casual sex? I get it.’

‘Lucy, cut out the flippant remarks. This is very straightforward. All you have to do is behave yourself in a restrained manner for a couple of days.’

‘Yes, I see.’

And she did see—all too clearly. It was in his dark, impersonal eyes, in the hard face. He could not have made it clearer that when this visit was over so was she, as far as he was concerned. She turned her head away. It was what she wanted—to be free of him, she told herself, and tried to open the car door.

Before she could, it was swung open by a man Lorenzo introduced as Gianni—the butler!

Lucy stood in the grand hall, two storeys high, with a central staircase that split into two halfway up and ended in a circular balcony. Her green eyes fixed on the lady descending the marble stairs.

His mother was nothing like she’d expected, and when Lorenzo introduced her unexpectedly Lucy was hugged and kissed on both cheeks by the elegant woman. Lorenzo should have warned his mother not to go over the top, she thought. She’d been led to believe she was a frail little woman, but nothing could be further from the truth. Anna, as she insisted Lucy call her, was about five feet six, with thick curling white hair and sparkling brown eyes, and looked a heck of a lot fitter than Lucy felt.

Fifteen minutes later Lucy sat on a satin-covered chair in the most beautifully furnished room she had ever seen, with a glass of champagne in her hand, listening to Anna thanking her for what felt like the hundredth time for the portrait of Antonio.

She had always known Lorenzo was wealthy, but this house was more like a palace—and it seemed it was staffed like one. The butler had reappeared five minutes after they’d entered the room with the painting—gift-wrapped, Lucy had noted, probably down to Lorenzo.

She cast him a glance. He was lounging back on an exquisite antique gilt wooden-edged pink satin sofa, and he gave her the briefest of smiles that did not reach his eyes. If that was his idea of what would pass for ‘close friendship’ then heaven help him, she thought sadly.

The butler had appeared once more with the champagne, and a maid with a plate of tiny cakes.

To say his mother was ecstatic with her gift was an understatement. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Lucy.’ Anna smiled across at her. The painting was now propped on top of the magnificent fireplace, half covering a picture of a stern-looking gentleman who looked remarkably like an older version of Lorenzo. ‘You have captured my Antonio perfectly—but you knew him, and must have lots of photographs from the past. When did you paint it?’

‘Well, it was in the March of my second year at college. Antonio and Damien had just come back from their round-the-world tour, and they were staying in the house I shared in London with two other students while they planned their mountaineering trip. I needed a model for a portrait as part of my end-of-year exam, and Antonio offered. Mind you, I had to bribe him to sit still with a constant supply of chocolate-covered Turkish delight, which he adored. Actually, it was good fun,’ she said, smiling reminiscently. ‘Though now I am older and more experienced I could probably do better.’

‘Oh, no!’ Anna declared. ‘It is beautiful the way it is. It never occurred to me that Antonio had actually sat for you, but of course I can see it now. How else could you have caught him in that perfect moment in time, when he was at his best—healthy, happy and with friends? It is in his eyes, his smile, and it makes your gift doubly precious to me.’

‘I’m glad you like it,’ Lucy said inadequately, noting the shimmer of tears in Anna’s eyes.

‘I love it. And now a toast to my Antonio.’ She raised her glass.

Lucy lifted hers to her mouth but only wet her lips. The little cake she had eaten had been sickly sweet, and what she could really do with was a cup of tea and something else to eat.

She looked at Lorenzo. He had drained his glass and was looking at his mother with such care and tenderness in his eyes it made her ache. He had never looked at her like that, and never would. She tore her gaze away and replaced her glass on the table, shifting restlessly in her chair.

‘Champagne not to your taste, Lucy?’ Lorenzo queried politely.

She glanced back at him. He was frowning at her—no tenderness in his eyes now, just black ice. She realised if she didn’t get out of there soon she was going to scream—definitely not on Lorenzo’s list of acceptable behaviour during the visit.

She was sitting there minus her briefs, needing to go to the bathroom, with a nice woman almost in tears and a man who hated her.

‘Yes, it is fine,’ she said, her green eyes filling with mockery. ‘But if you will both excuse me?’ She stood up. ‘I have been travelling since eight this morning, and I would like to go and freshen up, please.’

‘Of course, my dear. Where are my manners? I was so overcome … ‘

‘Hush, Mother.’ Lorenzo rose to his feet. ‘I’ll show Lucy to her room.’ And, slipping an arm around her waist, he led her to the door. His mother smiled on benignly.

As soon as they were in the hall Lucy shrugged out of his hold. ‘No audience now,’ she sniped.

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Follow me.’

She did—up the elegant staircase to where Lorenzo turned right around the galleried landing to the front of the house, then along a corridor. He opened the second door on the left.

‘My mother has the master suite next door, so you will be perfectly safe.’

Safe from what or who? Lucy wondered, and followed Lorenzo into the room. She gasped. The décor was all ivory and gold—the bed covered in the finest ivory satin and lace. Next to the fireplace was a chaise-longue, and a beautiful occasional table inlaid with hand-painted roses and humming birds. The whole effect was very feminine.

‘The bathroom and dressing room are through there.’ Lorenzo indicated a door at the opposite end. ‘I believe the maid has unpacked your clothes. If there is anything else you need you have only to ring.’

She actually felt like wringing his neck. He was standing there so cool, so remote, when only hours ago he’d been ripping off her briefs. No—best not to go there.

‘What I really need is a cup of tea and a sandwich. Apart from that tiny cake I’ve had nothing to eat since I left home this morning, and I’m starving.’

‘Surely you were offered lunch on the flight? It was all arranged.’

‘I was offered lunch, but I refused because I got the impression the dashing young flight attendant was offering more.’

‘What?’ The polite mask had slipped to one of outrage. ‘You should have told me—I will dismiss him immediately.’

‘No—not on my account. His attitude is not surprising, really. He is probably used to flying loose women out to wherever you happen to be,’ she said scathingly, and saw his jaw tighten, a flash of anger in his dark eyes.

Quickly stepping past him, she headed for the bathroom. She heard the bedroom door slam behind her and wasn’t surprised.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE bathroom, like the rest of the house, was perfect. All pale marble, with a big raised bath and a very modern double shower. The vanity unit contained every possible bathroom accessory known to a man—and, she noted, her own modest toilet bag.

Spying a shower cap, she could not resist. She pulled it over her hair and picked up a top designer shower gel. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and turned the water on, relishing the soothing spray as she used the heavenly scented gel to wash her body.

Finally she stepped out of the shower and, picking a large white towel off the pile stacked on a shelf, dried herself. Taking another one, she wrapped it sarong-style around her body. Then she took her hairbrush from her toilet bag and brushed her hair.

Lucy walked back into the bedroom feeling refreshed, and saw a tray holding tea and sandwiches on the table by the chaise-longue. Lorenzo had done as she’d asked, but she had no doubt the maid had delivered them. She flopped down on the chaise-longue and poured a cup of tea, then ate an Italian-style sandwich made with crusty bread and filled with cheese, tomato and something spicy Lucy didn’t recognise. It was delicious.

* * *

‘Lucy? Lucy.’

Lorenzo didn’t want to touch her—he was hard just looking at her. She was stretched out on the chaiselongue asleep, her hair tumbled over her shoulders and with one arm above her head, the other across her stomach. A towel that was wrapped around her had slipped to reveal one rose-tipped creamy breast. She was enough to tempt a saint. Yet in sleep, with her long lashes curled against her cheek, she had a look of innocence about her that twisted something inside him.

Slowly Lucy opened her eyes and yawned. She saw the tray with the tea and sandwiches, and realised she must have dozed off.

‘Good—you are awake at last.’

At the sound of Lorenzo’s voice she glanced up. He had changed into another suit, she noted—then she saw where his eyes rested and blushed scarlet. Quickly she sat up, pulling the towel over her chest.

He looked down at her, his dark eyes mocking. ‘Nothing I have not seen before … But that is not what I came for. Dinner is at eight—you have half an hour to get ready. Before I go I should warn you my mother has arranged a party for Wednesday evening—she wants to introduce you to her friends. So you will not be able to leave until Thursday.’

‘Well, you can just unarrange it,’ Lucy said, knotting the towel firmly under her arm. She stood up, feeling vulnerable wearing just a towel when Lorenzo towered over her, his virile masculinity evident in every line of his long lean body, undisguised by the conventional dark suit he wore. With her temper and shamefully her pulse rising at the sight of him, she added, ‘You will have to—because I told Elaine I would be back by Wednesday night at the latest and she is taking Thursday morning off.’

‘I knew nothing about the party until this evening. If I had I would have discouraged my mother. The whole point of this visit was to get you out of her life, not more involved.’ Even as he said it Lorenzo realised it had been a crazy idea in the first place. What had he been thinking of? One glance at Lucy wearing a towel and he had his answer. She addled his brain without even trying, and the solution was to keep out of her way.

Lucy knew the purpose of this trip was to remove her from his mother’s life, but it still stung to be reminded. Flashing him an angry glance, she saw the strong jaw clench as if to control some unwanted reaction, but a moment later she knew she had been mistaken.

‘Anyway, it has nothing to do with me now,’ he said with a negligent shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘But do feel free to tell my mother to cancel.’ A mocking smile curved his mouth. ‘Rather you than me.’

Silently fuming, ten minutes later Lucy finally found her underwear, neatly packed away in drawers in the dressing room. She picked out a black dress from the few clothes she had brought with her, hanging forlornly in an enormous bank of empty wardrobes.

She had no time to fix up her hair, and had to be content with brushing it back behind her ears and fastening it with a silver slide at the nape of her neck. She used moisturiser on her face, and after a touch of mascara to her long lashes and an application of lipstick to her lips she slipped her feet into a pair of high-heeled sandals and was ready.

Finally she fastened a diamond-studded platinum watch on her wrist. It had been her mother’s, and was her most treasured possession. She only wore it on special occasions. Though this wasn’t a special occasion so much as a nightmare.

She had argued with Lorenzo that it was up to him to cancel the party, but he had shrugged her off. He had said it was up to her, as the party was basically for her benefit and if she insisted on going home on Wednesday, as planned, the party would not take place. He’d actually had the audacity to say that of course his mother would probably never speak to her again, which was a good result as far as he was concerned, and then walked out.

He knew damn fine, Lucy thought, walking down the grand staircase at a minute to eight, that it wasn’t in her nature to be so appallingly bad-mannered. But then again maybe he didn’t know—he thought she was little better than a street walker anyway.

She hesitated in the hall and adjusted the thin straps of the classic short black fitted dress she wore—another of Lorenzo’s purchases. Her thinking was that she might as well wear them in his company, because once this charade was over they were going to a charity shop. She looked around. The walls were lined with what she guessed were family portraits, because the men all had a look of Lorenzo about them—though not quite as striking—and the women were all beautiful. Suddenly she didn’t know what she was doing here, and was tempted to run back up the stairs.

But Gianni the butler appeared, and offered to escort her to the dining room. Smiling, she thanked him, her moment of panic over. Then her high heels slipped on the marble floor and she grabbed his arm, laughing with him as they entered the room, where Lorenzo and his mother were chatting quietly.

Both heads turned, and the butler quietly withdrew as Anna smiled and stepped forward. ‘Lucy, I hope you are rested. I was so overcome by your gift I forgot you had been travelling all day and forgot my manners, I’m afraid,’ she said disarmingly.

Lucy smiled. Anna was a delightful lady—a pity about her son, she thought, glancing at Lorenzo. He was lounging against the fireplace, a glass of what looked like whisky in his hand.

‘Shall we sit down, ladies?’ he suggested, straightening up and crossing to the long dining table perfectly set with silver and crystal. He pulled out a chair for his mother and Anna sat down. Then, crossing to the other side of the table, his dark eyes resting on her, he drawled softly, ‘Lucy, cara. Be seated,’ and gave her a smile, acting the perfect gentleman.

But Lucy knew otherwise, and realised immediately the endearment was for his mother’s benefit. She returned his smile with a false one of her own and took the seat he offered.

After a rocky start, the dinner was not the ordeal Lucy had expected.

Anna insisted she try the red wine she’d had the butler open in her honour—an especially good one from a renowned Tuscan vineyard—and Lorenzo sat at the head of the table, with Lucy and his mother either side of him, which meant the two women could talk easily across the table.

The first thing Anna said, after the wine glasses were filled and the wine tasted, was, ‘Lucy, dear, I know it was presumptuous of me to arrange a party for Wednesday evening, but I didn’t realise your time was so limited and you were going home that day until Lorenzo told me earlier. He suggested it might be difficult for you to stay longer, as you have a business to run, but I do hope you can. All my friends are invited, and the Contessa della Scala is coming—she is really looking forward to seeing you again. Now, with the portrait, the party will be even better. You will make an old woman very happy, plus you and Lorenzo can spend more time together.’ She beamed.

Emotional blackmail at its finest. Maybe it ran in the family? Lucy thought cynically. Lifting her chin, she looked at Lorenzo and caught the taunting gleam in his black eyes. She forced a slow smile to her lips. ‘Your concern for my business is touching, Lorenzo, darling.’ She baited him with an endearment of her own, and turned back to Anna as the first course was presented.

‘Unfortunately my friend Elaine, who is taking care of the gallery, is expecting me back by Wednesday evening because she has a dental appointment on Thursday morning. But it is not an insurmountable problem. I can ring her tomorrow and tell her not to bother opening on Thursday. I can be back before Friday.’

‘No, I would not think of putting you out that way,’ Anna said immediately. ‘Why should you lose business? Lorenzo can find someone to take care of your gallery for you, no trouble at all. In fact you could stay for the rest of the week. After visiting the dentist your friend would probably appreciate having the whole day off and more.’

Lucy had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing at the expression on Lorenzo’s face as he looked at his mother in astonishment—horror quickly masked.

‘You can do that, can’t you, Lorenzo?’ his mother queried.

Briefly he flicked Lucy a threatening glance, and she knew he saw the amusement in her eyes before he looked back at Anna.

‘Yes, of course I can, Mother—if Lucy agrees.’ His gaze was on her again. ‘I can probably arrange to get someone there by Wednesday afternoon, so Elaine can show them the ropes.’ An eyebrow rose as he asked innocently, ‘One day or two, Lucy?’

‘One will be fine,’ she said, knowing it was the answer he wanted. What was the point in defying him? She hadn’t wanted to stay longer in the first place, so why prolong the agony? ‘I must be home by Thursday night.’

‘Good, then that is settled,’ Anna said, and they finished their first course of risotto with red wine and porcini mushrooms.

The butler offered more wine and Lucy agreed, surprised to see she had finished the glass. But it was really nice, and very mellow.

Anna could certainly talk, Lucy thought as the plates were cleared by the maid. Mostly about Antonio—while Lorenzo sat looking on, his face a blank mask, adding very little to the conversation.

‘According to the doctor Antonio was a miracle child. He was very ill when he was born, and it was touch and go for a while, but he made a complete recovery and was soon running all over the place like any other child. I did sometimes wonder if it was because I was a lot older when he was born that he had problems—it was ten years after I had Lorenzo. But he grew up to be a wonderful young man. I only wish I had kept him longer … ‘

It occurred to Lucy that if Anna had always been so loquacious about her youngest son it might go some way to explain why Lorenzo had grown into the hard, apparently emotionless man he was.

The conversation stopped as the main course was served—veal escalope Marsala—and Lucy tried to change the subject.

‘You have a beautiful home, Anna. My bedroom is delightful, and the view from the window is lovely. I could not help noticing when I arrived that the gardens are magnificent, and so cleverly designed—whichever way one looks everything flows together perfectly. Someone at some time must have been a keen landscape gardener.’

‘Gardening is my passion,’ Anna said, obviously delighted by Lucy’s interest. ‘When Lorenzo started school my husband gave me permission to have the whole grounds redesigned. It was a huge project, and I spent three years deciding on and finding the flowers, the shrubs, the trees, the fountains—everything. Sometimes Lorenzo would come with me on my search for all the specimens I wanted. Mind you … ‘ she looked lovingly at Lorenzo ‘.his taste ran to the most vibrant colours, which was odd given his serious nature.’

Lucy did not find it odd at all, having seen his apartment, but she could sense Lorenzo almost squirming in his chair, and cast him a sidelong glance. Not a muscle moved in his darkly attractive face, but when he noticed her looking he lifted a negligent brow and turned back to his mother.

‘Lorenzo was a genius at mathematics at a very young age—my husband used to worry he might think he was too clever to settle for the role tradition demanded of him. But his skill was invaluable to me when it came to the design. He was only nine but he worked out all the angles, the lengths of the terraces and the paths where the fountains had to be placed for optimum effect, and made a complete plan for me. All the builder and gardeners had to do was the manual work.’

‘That is amazing!’ Lucy could not help exclaiming.

‘Not really.’ Lorenzo finally spoke. ‘My mother is prone to exaggeration,’ he said coolly, but tempered it with a smile.

The maid arrived and conversation ceased as the plates were cleared again. Dessert was brought in, and talk turned to the planned party.

Finally the butler suggested serving coffee, and Anna got to her feet and said, ‘I never drink coffee at night, but you go ahead. I know you will be glad of some time on your own,’ she prompted with a smile. ‘I have had the most marvellous day I can remember in years, and I’m going to bed now.’

Lorenzo got to his feet to help her, but she refused and patted his cheek, so he bent to kiss hers and she left.

The silence was deafening.

‘That went well,’ Lorenzo finally said. ‘My mother is happy and convinced we are close. Make sure you keep it that way until we leave on Thursday and everything you want is yours.’

Lucy looked up at him, her eyes tracing the hard bones of his face, the cool, steady eyes, the powerful jaw and mobile mouth. He had no idea what she really wanted, she thought sadly and, pushing back her chair, stood up.

‘I will,’ she said. ‘Unlike you, I don’t like deceiving your mother, and this can’t be over quickly enough for me.’ She turned towards the door, adding quietly, ‘if you don’t mind, I’ll forgo the coffee.’

He moved quickly, his hand catching hers, and kissed her palm. ‘I don’t mind anything you want, cara,’ he husked, and her eyes widened in shock.

Her hand trembled in his grasp—and then she realised it was for the benefit of the butler, who had entered the room with the coffee tray. Pulling her hand free, she patted Lorenzo’s cheek with more force than necessary and saw his lips tighten. ‘You enjoy your coffee.’

Swiftly an arm closed around her waist, his dark head dipped, and he kissed her cheek, his warm breath caressing her ear. ‘Not an option,’ he murmured. ‘Remember our deal? Everyone has to be convinced.’ And, raising his head, he said, ‘Take the coffee to the lounge, please, Gianni.’

Then his head bent again and his mouth closed possessively over hers, parting her lips. The prolonged assault on her senses swept away all her resistance. His hand moved sensually over her back to press her closer and she arched into him, her eyes closing in abandon.

Suddenly he lifted his head. ‘Gianni has gone.’

Her eyes flew open as his comment registered. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘I saw the way Gianni looked at you, laughed with you when you entered the dining room with your body blatantly on display in that dress. He is a red-blooded man and he is not going to believe for a minute that holding your hand or a kiss on the cheek would satisfy me or any man. Now he will be convinced, and if he is the rest of the staff will be also.’

For a moment Lucy had the odd idea he was jealous of the butler. ‘Does your brain ever stop working and planning your next move?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it, but probably not—except perhaps in a moment of intense sexual relief,’ he drawled, and ushered her out of the dining room and into the lounge, where the coffee was set on a low table in front of a sofa.

Lucy twisted out of his arm and sat down on the sofa, the colour in her face matching the pink satin, and leant forward to pour out a cup of coffee she did not want simply to hide her blush.

Lorenzo laughed and sat down beside her. ‘You know, Lucy, for an experienced woman it never ceases to amaze me how easily you blush—how do you do it?’

She was tempted to tell him then how little experience she really had, but bit her lip and drank the coffee. He would never believe her. He had formed his opinion of her, coloured by his distorted perception of her brother and the ease with which she had fallen into bed with him the first time. By accepting his deal she had reinforced that low opinion, and nothing she could do would ever make him change his mind.

‘Practice—just practice,’ she said, telling Lorenzo what he wanted to hear.

‘Did you practise with Antonio?’ he asked. ‘You have painted him with a happy smile on his face—did you sleep with him?’

Lucy’s eyes widened to their fullest extent on his unsmiling countenance. He couldn’t be serious, she thought. But he was, she realised—and suddenly she was furious.

Before she said something she knew she would regret, she got to her feet. ‘No,’ she said coldly. ‘Unlike you, he was a gentleman. Now, if you are satisfied I have played my part as required, I am going to bed. And before you get up—don’t bother. There is no one here to see you playing the gentleman.’

And she turned away and walked to the door, leaving him to follow her or not … amazed by his cruel insensitivity.

She looked around the bedroom; someone had laid her nightdress on the bed and turned down the covers. Service at its best, she thought with a wry smile twisting her lips as she entered the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and put them away. She washed her face, cleaned her teeth and, naked, returned to the bedroom. Picking the nightdress off the bed, she slipped it over her head and crawled into the big bed.

She didn’t expect to sleep, but surprisingly she did … She stirred once, at the tail-end of a dream of a shadowy figure of a man standing over her, but went straight back to sleep.

The next morning she awoke to the overpowering smell of strong coffee, and, easing herself up the bed, saw the maid approach with a tray which she placed on the bedside table.

‘Buongiorno, signorina. The Signora say to bring coffee,’ she said in fractured English, ‘Breakfast in one hour.’

‘Grazie!’ Lucy said. ‘Scusi—’ She sprang out of bed and dashed to the bathroom. When she returned, after having been sick, the maid was still there.

‘Signorina? Come stai?’

Lucy saw the worried frown on her face and knew enough Italian to reassure her she was fine. The maid left.

It was probably the wine she’d drunk last night, Lucy thought. She was not accustomed to fine red wine—or any wine, for that matter. She poured out a cup of hot milk, with the merest dash of coffee, and standing looking out of the window sipped it slowly.

The view really was breathtaking … And then she saw the yellow sports car shoot off down the drive. Good—Lorenzo had gone out. With no fear of him appearing, she relaxed a little.

She took a leisurely shower and wondered what to wear. It was a sunny day, and she wanted to have a look around the gardens. With that in mind she decided on a pair of soft denim jeans and bright flowing top. She tied her hair back in a ponytail and finally ventured out of the bedroom.

She did not need to look for the breakfast room. As soon as she reached the foot of the grand staircase Gianni appeared as if by magic and showed her to yet another room—not as large as the others she had seen, but just as elegant, and somehow more homely. Anna was already seated at the table, and looked up as she entered.

‘How are you, Lucy? Maria told me you were a little unwell.’ She frowned. ‘Please sit down, my dear. My doctor calls to see me most days at noon—if you like you could see him as well.’

Lucy smiled and took a seat. ‘No, that is not necessary. I am fine—just too much wine, I think,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a walk in the gardens after breakfast. The fresh air will do me good.’

‘Well, if you are sure, I will give you a guided tour,’ Anna offered. ‘Really it should be Lorenzo, but he has gone to the bank. I told him to take the day off, but he takes no notice of me. He works far too hard—always has. When my husband died—good man though he was—the bank was left in a poor condition. Lorenzo took over and soon put everything right, expanding all over the world, but sometimes I do wish he would slow down a little. Which is why I am so pleased he has found you, Lucy—you are just what he needs.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Lucy finally got a word in. ‘We are close friends, but realistically we have very little in common.’ And with a quick change of subject she added, ‘Before I forget, I must call Elaine and tell her of the change of plan.’

Elaine was surprised but happy to agree to the new arrangement of taking Thursday off while the shop was looked after by a temp.

Lucy, on the other hand, was stressed to bits.

Oddly enough, once outside, with the scent of pine trees and perfumed flowers mingling in the warm morning air, Lucy felt better. Meandering with Anna along the paths and terraces of the glorious garden was relaxing. She learnt from Anna the names of dozens of plants, and when they got to the lake learnt the sailing boat had been Lorenzo’s when he was a teenager, and he still used it occasionally.

According to Anna he was still a keen sailor, and spent most of his leisure time at Santa Margherita, where he had a villa. He kept a larger racing yacht at the marina, and sailed it very successfully in quite a few races round the Mediterranean.

Lucy was surprised. When Lorenzo had told her he had a yacht she had assumed he meant some big luxury motorised ship. A smile quirked her lips. She did think he looked like a pirate sometimes, so she should not be surprised, she told herself as they walked back to the house.

Lunch was served, and Anna’s doctor, who was a widower, joined them at the table. He was a distinguished-looking, charming man, and Lucy warmed to him immediately. She had a sneaky suspicion his interest in Anna was more than medical.

Then the butler appeared, and Lucy was surprised when he informed her Lorenzo was on the private line and wishing to speak to her. He escorted her to the rear of the house, into what was obviously a study, and handed her the telephone.

‘Hello?’ she said. She could hear voices in the background, one a woman’s—probably his secretary.

‘Ah, at last.’ Lorenzo’s deep dark voice echoed in her ear. ‘Are you getting along all right on your own, Lucy? No slip-ups?’

‘Yes. And if by that you mean have I told your mother that her brilliant saintly son is really a rat? No, I have not.’

‘Sarcasm does not become you. Do I detect a bit of frustration there? Missing me already?’ he drawled throatily.

‘Like a hole in the head,’ she snapped, and heard him chuckle.

‘No chance I would be given an opportunity to miss your smart mouth—you really know how to dent a man’s ego.’

‘Not yours, that’s for sure.’ Her pounding heart was telling her she was more disturbed by his flirtatious tone than she dared admit, but knowing it must be for his secretary’s benefit she said, ‘Cut the pretence and just tell me what you want. I am in the middle of lunch.’

‘Right.’ His voice was brusque. ‘I have arranged with an English agency for a Miss Carr who lives in Cornwall to help at the gallery. She will call in tomorrow afternoon at three to arrange the details with Elaine. Tell my mother I have back-to-back meetings all day and I’m staying in Verona tonight. I will be back tomorrow evening for the party. Can you do that?’

‘Yes. If that is all, I am going back to finish my lunch.’

Lorenzo was deliberately staying away—or he might even have another woman lined up for tonight, Lucy thought. As if she needed any more proof it was over between them!

‘Enjoy your meal,’ he said, and hung up.

Lucy relayed the conversation when she got back to the table. Anna did not look happy, but accepted the news with grace.

CHAPTER NINE

FOR some reason Lucy hadn’t been able to enjoy her lunch—in fact she’d hardly eaten anything. The doctor, noticing, had mentioned that Anna had told him Lucy had been sick that morning and enquired if she still felt unwell.

Unthinkingly Lucy had told him she thought it was the red wine, because she didn’t usually drink, and then added that she was not used to eating such rich food so late.

The doctor had agreed that might be true, but then mentioned the possibilities of gastro enteritis or food poisoning. Anna had looked mortified, and that was why Lucy was now lying on her bed, having submitted to numerous tests.

Lucy liked the elderly man, and at his enquiries had told the doctor about her medical history—including an operation she had undergone a few years earlier, which was one of the reasons she was careful what she ate and rarely drank, and probably why wine affected her so quickly. He had nodded his head and agreed with her.

Her lips twitched and parted in a grin, and she chuckled—then laughed out loud. She was the guest from hell … who had unwittingly implied her hostess had poisoned her. At least Lorenzo would be happy, because when Lucy left there was not the slightest fear of Anna wanting her to visit again.

On the contrary, Anna appeared to be quite happy when Lucy went back downstairs. Dinner was arranged for seven in Anna’s favourite garden room at the side of the house, where a small table was set for the two of them. The meal was light and delicious, and Anna confessed she usually ate there, only using the formal dining room when Lorenzo was home—which Lucy gathered was not very often.

Wednesday was chaotic. The huge house was a hive of activity as caterers, florists and extra staff bustled around the place.

The doctor came early—he was staying the night—and after lunch, when Anna had retired to her room to rest, told Lucy her blood tests were clear. It was probably, as she’d thought, the wine—or maybe the stress of visiting Lorenzo’s home and mother. He remembered when he’d met his late wife’s parents for the first time he’d been sick with nerves before he even got to their house.

Lucy tried to laugh, thanked him, and followed Anna upstairs.

She had a leisurely soak in the huge bath before washing her hair, and then, not feeling in the least tired, decided to go out into the garden and let her hair dry naturally in the fresh air, as she did at home. She pulled on jeans and a light blue sweater and, slipping her feet into soft ballet shoes, she stuck a comb in her pocket and left the house. There were so many people running around she would not be missed.

It was another sunny afternoon, with a slight breeze rustling the trees, and she wandered down the garden until the noise from the house faded away. Finally she stopped on one of the terraces. A circular fountain stood there, with water cascading down from a fifteen-feet-high centrepiece into a big pool, where koi carp in various shades of gold and yellow were swimming lazily around.

She sat down on a seat conveniently placed, and taking the comb from her pocket pulled it through her hair. It was half dry already. With a sigh she closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun. Bliss, she told herself. Just one more day and then no more Lorenzo. She would have her life back. But the pain in her heart told her she lied.

‘Lucy—I have been looking all over for you.’

For a second she thought she had conjured his voice up in her mind, then her eyes flew open. Lorenzo was standing a foot away, his dark gaze fixed on her face.

‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Nothing,’ she muttered. He was wearing a suit, but his jacket and tie were loose, his black hair dishevelled, and he was looking grimly at her, as if she had committed a cardinal sin. Even so she felt herself tense in instinctive awareness of the magnetic attraction of his big body. ‘I didn’t realise I had to ask permission,’ she said sarcastically, to hide her involuntary reaction to him.

‘You don’t. But I rang before lunch and spoke to my mother. She told me you were sick and you saw her doctor—are you all right?’

‘You are a day late. That was yesterday, and I am fine.’

His apparent concern was too little, too late, and she wasn’t fooled by it for a second. It was over. He had made that plain on Monday and they both recognised it—which was why she had not seen him since.

‘I guess she told you I think it was the wine and the food. Sorry about that. But, hey—look on the bright side, Lorenzo. She must think I am the guest from hell, accusing her of poisoning me. She will never invite me back.’

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. If anything, he looked even grimmer.

‘No, she hinted you might be pregnant. Very clever, Lucy, but no way will you catch me in that trap.’ His lips twisted in a sneer. ‘If you are pregnant try your last partner—because it has nothing to do with me. I was meticulous with contraception, as you well know, cara.’

Only Lorenzo could make an endearment sound like an insult, Lucy thought sourly. If she had ever had the slightest glimmer of hope that he might care for her it was snuffed out in that moment.

Flushed and angry now, she rose to her feet. Tilting back her head, she let her green eyes mock him. ‘I’m not pregnant, but thank you for that. It confirmed my sketch of you was spot-on.’

She turned to leave, but he caught her wrist.

His dark eyes flicked over her, from the striking mass of her hair to her pink lips and the curve of her breasts, making her wince at the mixture of contempt and desire she saw in his eyes as they finally met hers.

‘This changes nothing. You will behave yourself tonight, stay silent on your brother and the accident, and I will put you on the plane myself tomorrow—is that understood?’

‘Yes. Message well and truly received,’ she said bitterly, and all the anger and resentment she had bottled up for so long came pouring out. ‘For your information, I loved my brother, and I believe he did his best on that mountain—unlike you, who would believe the worst of anyone without a second thought. Antonio said you were a ruthless bastard admiringly, almost with pride, but I bet he never realised you actually are. You hate my brother because of the accident. But Damien did what the experts and the coroner all agreed was the correct thing to do in the circumstances. He cut the rope to go and get help for Antonio and he succeeded. The fact that rescue was too late was nobody’s fault—just fate.’

She paused for a moment, remembering. ‘But that was not good enough for you. With your arrogance and superior intellect you decided they were all wrong. And you couldn’t resist taking a bit of revenge out on me, because I’m Damien’s sister.’ She shook her head in disgust, her hair flying wildly around her shoulders. ‘The irony of it is, if I was the one hanging over a cliff tied to you I’d bet my last cent you would cut the rope without hesitation. You make me sick,’ she said contemptuously.

Lorenzo reached out and, catching her shoulders, jerked her forward, crushing her against him. Ruthlessly his mouth ground down on hers, and he kissed her with an angry passion that had nothing to do with love—only dominance. She struggled to push him away, but her hands were trapped between their bodies. And to her self-disgust even now she could sense herself weakening, responding. In a desperate effort of self-preservation she kicked out with her foot and caught his shinbone, and suddenly she was free.

If she had hurt him Lucy was glad. He deserved a hell of a lot more than a kick in the shin for what he had done to her.

‘You are coming with me,’ he said and, catching her wrist, pulled her forward. ‘As for cutting the rope—I would never tie myself to you in the first place,’ he said scathingly, his eyes deadly. ‘Cutting the rope is not why I despise your brother. It is because I have proof that he could have saved Antonio and chose not to.’

Lucy drew in a sharp breath. ‘That is a horrible thing to say and I don’t believe you,’ she lashed back at him. ‘Maybe it is your own guilty conscience looking for a scapegoat. According to Antonio you spent most of your time in America with a string of different women and he rarely saw you.’

‘That’s it,’ he snarled. ‘I will show you the evidence and that will be the end.’ And he almost frogmarched her back to the house.

Oblivious to the surprised looks from the dozens of people in the hall, he marched her to the rear of the house, pushed open a door, and led her into the study.

‘Sit,’ he instructed, and shoved her onto a well-worn black leather sofa. He walked over to a large desk and, opening a drawer, withdrew something, then walked back to stand towering over her.

‘You need proof of what an apology for a man your brother was?’ He flung a handful of photographs down on the low table in front of her. ‘These are pictures taken on the day of the so-called accident that killed Antonio. Look at them.’

He leant over and spread them out in front of her. The first he pointed to was of Antonio and Damien, their faces almost as red as the jackets they wore, laughing. Moisture glazed Lucy’s eyes as she stared at the picture. They both looked so young, so vibrant, so full of life—and now they were both dead.

‘That is the pair of them arriving at the base camp to prepare for the climb the next morning. Note the date and time on all of them.’

Lucy didn’t see the point. The date of the accident was imprinted on her mind for all time. But she did as he said. Three more were general shots the same day, and within the same hour. Only the fifth—a landscape shot—was of the following day, at two in the afternoon.

‘So they look happy?’ She brushed a tear from her eye. ‘What am I supposed to see?’

‘See the small figure in red on the landscape shot that is your brother. These photographs were given to me by a friend, Manuel, who is an expert climber. Damien and Antonio were not at his level, but were experienced climbers. They joined the climbing club together at university, climbed regularly in Britain, in the Alps, and on other continents when they toured the world.’ He looked down at her, his black eyes blazing with anger. ‘According to Manuel, from the position of your brother on the mountain at that time any reasonably experienced climber could have made it to the base camp in three hours—four at the very most. But it was dark when your brother called the rescue service—seven hours after that photograph was taken—too dark to start the search. A complete novice could have got down faster. He let Antonio die.’

Lucy looked up at him. For a second she thought she saw a glimmer of anguish in his eyes, and then it was gone, and he was watching her, waiting, supremely confident in his belief, his dark gaze challenging her to deny the evidence he was presenting her with.

Should she bother? Lucy asked herself. She knew Lorenzo. When he made up his mind about something nothing changed it. He was always right. He had decided she was a promiscuous woman the first time she went to bed with him for no other reason than that she had … He looked at a few photographs and decided they were proof her brother was a murderer, though he had not used that term.

‘You really believe that?’ Lucy said quietly.

‘Yes—the proof is in front of you. Antonio is dead. I lost a brother, and Damien cost my mother her son and devastated her life.’

Lucy’s eyes widened. She’d been devastated at Antonio’s death, maybe, but Anna still had Lorenzo—her life was hardly over. And she was fed up with being the bad guy—or girl, in her case.

‘It didn’t do a lot for my life, either, or I would not be sitting here listening to this,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I have finally realised everything is black and white with you, Lorenzo. Good or bad—no in between. You are always right. Does it ever occur to you not everyone is as strong as you are? Perhaps after hanging onto Antonio for over an hour Damien was weak? Perhaps he passed out and didn’t remember? Or maybe the clock was wrong? ‘ she ended facetiously.

‘No, there can be no other explanation, Lucy. The evidence is all there in the coroner’s report. Your brother said he thought it had taken him four hours to reach the camp, not seven. The coroner’s report states Antonio had died not of his injuries but of hypothermia, after spending the night on the mountain, only one or two hours before he was found. He could have lived if it wasn’t for your damned brother. So now you have seen the proof, and now you know why Steadman is a dirty word to me.’

Lucy thought of arguing and looked at him. His face was set hard and she shivered. What was the point? Lorenzo was a strong man—not the type to accept weakness in others.

‘Have you nothing to say?’ he asked, his dark gaze resting on her.

‘Thank you for showing me the photos.’ She stood up. ‘Can I go now?’

Lorenzo watched her. Damn it, she looked like a schoolgirl in her flat shoes—but he knew she wasn’t. Her head was slightly bowed, her beautiful face pale, her expressive eyes guarded. Her hair was falling in a tangle of waves around her shoulders, and she was wearing denim jeans and a soft blue sweater that clung to her every curve. He felt his body stir, and he hated himself and her for his weakness. With a supreme effort of will he forced himself to relax. It was almost over. After tonight he would be free of Lucy and would never have to see her again. So why was he not relieved?

His mouth hardened along with his resolve. ‘Yes, go,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll see you in the hall at seven—and wear something appropriate. The black you wore the other night will do.’ And, picking up the photos, he strolled over to the desk and returned them to the drawer.

What did he think she would do? Lucy wondered. Turn up in a pair of shorts and a shirt? For a second she was tempted, but quickly dismissed the idea and walked out of the study. She owed it to herself not to disgrace the Steadman name.

Contrary to what Lorenzo seemed to think, she had been well brought up. She had attended a prestigious boarding school and art college. Her family had been reasonably wealthy by any standards, and their home—while not as spectacular as this—lovely. Not overflowing with staff, but there had been a housekeeper who’d arrived at eight every morning and left at four. Her husband had been the gardener, and the acres of grounds had been well tended. When her parents had entertained extra staff had been hired. Her mother had been a beautiful, loving and elegant lady, whom everyone had adored—especially Lucy. But everything had changed after her mother died.

No, she wasn’t going to dwell in the past—she had done too much of that already. And, flicking her wayward hair back, she ran up the stairs to her room.

Lucy stopped at the top of the stairs and drew in a long, steadying breath. The huge hall looked more like a ballroom, with exquisite floral arrangements and a small raised platform at one side, where a quartet were arranging their music. Already quite a few guests had arrived, the men all wearing tuxedos and the woman glamorous in designer gowns, some short, some long, and all probably costing a fortune.

Suddenly Lucy was really glad that she had at the last minute packed the dress the Contessa had given her. It was perfectly appropriate for this sophisticated party. And no way was she wearing the black dress Lorenzo had suggested. After this afternoon, she was never doing anything he said again.

The dress was by an Italian designer, and a classic mini from the nineteen-sixties. Not too short, ending two inches above her knees, it had a curved neckline that revealed the upper swell of her breasts and skimmed perfectly over her hips and thighs. But it was the fabric that made it sensational—a fine silk jersey almost completely covered in white sequins from neck to hem, except for the dazzling psychedelic pattern of silver sequins down the front. On her feet she wore high-heeled sequined shoes.

Lucy made it down the stairs without stumbling, and heaved a sigh of relief when she got to the bottom safely and glanced around. Lorenzo was walking towards her, his dark eyes blazing. Whether he was angry or something else, she didn’t know. She had seen him conservatively and casually dressed, but wearing a black tuxedo, a white dress shirt and bow-tie he looked more stunningly attractive than any man had a right to, she thought helplessly, unable to take her eyes off him.

‘You are late,’ Lorenzo said.

He had watched Lucy walk down the stairs, a shimmering vision in white and silver, and she took his breath away. Her hair was swept up into a swirl on top of her head, with a few long tendrils left to fall down the back of her neck and either side of her face. She was wearing make-up, understated but perfect, and her big green eyes fringed with thick curling lashes looked even larger somehow. Her lips were a glossy deep pink that made him want to taste them—taste her. No, not any more, he reminded himself.

‘Sorry,’ Lucy murmured, and raised her eyes to his. She saw the desire, the hunger he could not disguise, and knew hers were conveying the same emotion. She caught the hint of regret before the shutters came down and Lorenzo spoke.

‘Very eye-catching dress, but what happened to the black I suggested? ‘ he demanded, and offered her his arm.

Consigned to the bin, along with all her foolish hopes, Lucy thought bitterly, and took his arm, thankful that tonight was the last act of this ridiculous drama.

They joined his mother, Anna hugged and kissed her, and Lucy lost count of the number of people she was introduced to. Teresa Lanza almost squeezed the air out of her and most of the other guests seemed very pleasant.

Then suddenly there was a hush, and Lucy watched as a stunning, tall and dark-haired woman in red on the arm of a much younger man made an entrance, pausing and looking haughtily around for a second or two.

Lucy felt Lorenzo tense beside her, and caught the slight frown on Anna’s face as the couple walked over.

Anna introduced the pair of them to Lucy. ‘Signora Olivia Paglia and her son Paolo.’

With the briefest of acknowledgments in her direction, Olivia wrapped her arms around Lorenzo’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks. It would have been his mouth if he had not moved his head, Lucy thought, her gaze flickering between the two of them as the woman began speaking.

She gathered from her limited understanding of Italian that Olivia was reminding him of his friend, and how much her poor disabled Fedrico would have loved to be here. It was not possible any more, and it was hard for her on her own, but how grateful she was for Lorenzo’s support.

Was Lorenzo really that clueless about what Olivia was doing? Lucy wondered. The only person Olivia was interested in was Lorenzo. It was blindingly obvious. She was playing on his sympathy for his friend with the hope of moving on to him. Or maybe she already had, if the rumoured affair the Contessa had told her of was to be believed. Well, they looked about the same age, and they obviously knew each other very well—they certainly had plenty to say to each other.

As if she wasn’t hurting enough already, another thought struck her. Maybe the reason for Lorenzo insisting she meet his mother and play the lover had nothing to do with his fear of Anna contacting her but was a deliberate ploy to use Lucy as a smokescreen to deflect talk of his affair with his friend’s wife. She wouldn’t put anything past him, and it would explain why except for one lapse he wanted nothing to do with Lucy now she was in Italy.

She glanced at Anna, who was greeting someone else, and then back at Lorenzo and Olivia, who were still talking. She moved to one side, totally disgusted. Then she caught sight of the latest arrival, and a genuine smile slowly curved her lips as she walked forward to meet her.

‘Contessa,’ she said, and was greeted with a delighted laugh.

‘Lucy!’ The Contessa put her arms around her and kissed her on both cheeks, then stepped back. ‘Let me look at you.’

Grinning, Lucy gave a twirl. ‘What do you think? Does it suit me?’

‘Perfectly—as I knew it would. You look lovely and it brings back so many happy memories for me. I was nineteen, and wore it the night I first met my husband. Now,’ she said, taking Lucy’s arm, ‘come and show me this painting I’ve heard about.’

Lucy was happy and relieved to go along with the Contessa. ‘It is on an easel in the lounge, I believe.’ Arm in arm, they started to walk.

‘Good—and later you can tell me what on earth you are doing with Lorenzo Zanelli. He is far too serious for you—though to be fair there is no doubting he is a very attractive man, and definitely all male. But be warned—he is the type of man a woman can enjoy making love with, but to talk with, to really know—never. He has too much pride and passion in his work. Everything else is on the periphery of his life, especially his women—and there must have been a few.’

‘I guess so,’ Lucy said. ‘But I am not doing anything with him. I am going home tomorrow,’ she stated as they approached the double doors. And if the Contessa noticed the hint of bitterness in her tone she did not remark on it.

Before they could walk through into the lounge, Lorenzo appeared.

‘Contessa … ‘ He spoke to her in Italian.

But she answered in English, with a mischievous glance at Lucy. ‘No need to apologise, Lorenzo, for not greeting me on arrival. I could see you were occupied with Signora Paglia, and Lucy more than made up for your lapse.’ As a put-down it was brilliant and she smiled at Lucy, her sparkling eyes brimming with merriment. ‘Lucy is going to show me her latest work of art—shall we, dear?’

Lorenzo stood frozen to the spot and watched as the two petite women—one old, one young—both beauties, walked into the lounge, the sound of their laughter floating back to him. He had never been so elegantly dismissed in his life.

He was about to follow them when Olivia caught his arm again.

‘Lorenzo, you never told me your little friend was an artist and had painted a portrait of your brother—how sweet. And she looks very sweet in that vintage dress. But secondhand clothes have never appealed to me—I prefer new.’

He looked at the tall brunette hanging on his arm. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Didn’t you know? The Contessa gave Lucy the dress she is wearing. Teresa Lanza overheard them talking, and apparently the Contessa wore it the first time she met her husband. Heaven knows how many years ago that was, but at least it saved you having to buy one for your mother’s little protégée. She probably had nothing suitable for an occasion like this.’

Olivia really was a bitch, Lorenzo finally realised, and from now on Fedrico was going to have to look after his own business affairs. Disabled or not, there was nothing wrong with the man’s brain.

Shrugging off her arm, he said, ‘Excuse me,’ and strode into the lounge.

He spotted Lucy with the Contessa, sitting on a sofa with a group of people standing around them. Lucy was laughing at something young Paolo Paglia had said. Lorenzo took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and walked over to the group.

‘Champagne, Lucy?’

Lucy heard Lorenzo’s voice, though she had not seen him approach, and her smile dimmed as she looked up at him and took the glass he offered. If his interest in her had been genuine, and he’d seen her as more than just a body in his bed, he might have noticed she never drank the stuff.

She listened as he effortlessly joined the conversation. But his very presence so close was affecting her hard-won poise—and it was getting worse.

For a man who could hardly wait to get rid of her, and was prepared to pay to do so, he had an odd way of showing it, Lucy thought two hours later. Lorenzo had insisted on sticking with the Contessa and Lucy. He had totally charmed the Contessa, and kept touching Lucy—her arm, her waist. She knew it was just for show, but by the time he escorted them to the buffet laid out in the dining room she was beginning to wonder.

The Contessa left after the buffet, and the band began to play.

Lorenzo led Lucy on to the dance floor and took her in his arms. For a moment it was like the first time they’d danced together—a perfect fit. Held close against his long body, Lucy stopped wondering, and her soft heart began to hope.

Then Lorenzo burst her bubble by speaking.

‘Did you hope to insult me by wearing the gown the Contessa gave you?’

It was like a douche of ice water over her head.

‘Did I succeed?’ Lucy asked, stiffening in his arms.

His dark eyes clashed with hers, something moving in the inky depths. ‘Not really—it looks beautiful. But if you wanted a new dress you had only to ask. I would have bought you as many as you like.’

‘I think you have paid quite enough already to get me here,’ she said. ‘As have I. And isn’t it time you mingled with your other guests?’

‘You are right,’ he agreed. ‘Maybe I have been a little neglectful.’ And he led her off the dance floor and through into the lounge, where Anna sat with a few friends.

‘Watch what you say,’ Lorenzo murmured as he led her over and she sat down beside Anna on the sofa.

The doctor made way for her with a smile and, perching on the cushioned arm. Lorenzo said a few words to the small group which made them smile.

Lucy managed not to flinch as he finally glanced down at her and she recognised the familiar ruthlessness in the tight line of his mouth.

‘I’ll see you later, cara.’

The indifference in his eyes chilled her to the bone. She watched as he walked back into the hall and saw he was quickly surrounded by a crowd of sophisticated friends, all laughing and talking—including Olivia Paglia, competing with the rest for Lorenzo’s attention. She looked as if she was winning.

Lucy turned her head away and, pinning a smile on her face, listened as Anna introduced her to Luigi, a small dark man, obviously Italian, but whose English was faultless—as was almost everyone’s here, she thought. But then at this level of society that was probably to be expected.

‘My congratulations, Lucy. Your portrait of Antonio is amazing—especially for someone so young,’ said Luigi.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled, and when he said he was an art historian the conversation flowed.

For the remainder of the evening Lucy stayed where she was, only moving after Luigi rose to take his leave, kissing both Lucy and Anna goodnight. Then Anna excused herself, as it was nearly midnight and time for her to retire. The rest of the group stood up.

Anna kissed Lucy on the cheek. ‘It was good of you, my dear, to spend so much time with us oldies. Now, come—I will find that formidable son of mine and tell him he has played host long enough. I will say goodnight, then you two can enjoy yourselves.’

Lucy didn’t think so, but she had no choice but to follow Anna into the grand hall. Lorenzo’s dark head bent towards his mother as they said goodnight and then Anna moved towards the stairs.

Lucy was left standing like a lemon, wishing she was anywhere else but here. She could feel Lorenzo looking down at her, and reluctantly glanced up.

‘Are you enjoying the party, Lucy?’ he asked, but his eyes were still dark pools, no glimmer of interest in their depths. ‘You seem to have been a big hit with everyone—especially Luigi … a good man to know in your line of work.’

Then just behind her she heard a young man’s voice.

‘At last the lovely Lucy has joined the dance.’

She felt an arm slip around her waist, and quickly pulled away. Another arm wrapped around her—this time Lorenzo’s—and she heard the laughter of the people around, and a mocking, ‘Well held, Lorenzo.’

‘Careful, cara.’ He smiled. ‘Paolo is only a boy.’

But there was no amusement in the dark eyes staring coldly down into hers.

‘I can see that,’ said Lucy, her cheeks burning and her green eyes sparkling up at him ‘Excuse me a moment.’

She spun out of Lorenzo’s grasp and swiftly moved through the crowd, making her way upstairs without a backward glance. She had been ignored, laughed at and mocked, and she had finally had enough of the injustice of it all.

Kicking off her shoes, she picked them up and made her way to the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes and washed her face and unpinned her hair. Then, wrapping a towel around her body, she crossed to the dressing room and found her suitcase. She began to pack.

Carefully she wrapped the dress she had worn for the party in tissue. It was a beautiful gift from a lovely lady, though Lucy doubted she would ever wear it again. She left out jeans and a sweater to wear when she left. She wanted nothing and no one to delay her departure, and if she didn’t meet the usual designer-clad elegant standard of the ladies Lorenzo usually transported in his private jet, she didn’t give a damn!

She walked back into the bedroom and, switching on the bedside light clicked off the main one. Dropping the towel, she climbed wearily onto the big bed. She pulled the satin and lace cover over her and laid her head down on the plump pillows. It was comfortable, and she heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh. This time tomorrow she would be at home in her own bed, all her problems solved, financially solvent, and free …

She should be ecstatic, so why did she feel so hurt, so defeated? She knew the answer. After Lorenzo’s outburst this afternoon she had recognised at last the implacability of his contempt for her. Was it possible to desire someone and hate them at the same time? Yes, she thought bitterly. Lorenzo could.

From the very beginning when she had felt they’d made love Lorenzo had felt … nothing … She moved her hand slowly over her naked body, remembering. Not strictly true. She thought of the dark desire, the passion in his black eyes, the need he could not hide when buried deep inside her.

Then she remembered his comment on Monday night. The only time his brain stopped working and planning was in a moment of intense sexual relief … The only time he stopped despising her … And then she knew she didn’t care what proof he thought he had. She had suffered enough pain to last a lifetime because of him.

Her eyes filled with moisture; in a house full of people she had never felt so alone in her life.

Turning, she buried her face in the pillow and gave way to grief for all those she had loved and lost, letting the tears fall. For her mother, her father, her brother—but most of all for the love she had never had and never would have from Lorenzo.

CHAPTER TEN

LORENZO had watched Lucy ascend the stairs. He had been watching her all evening. It was crazy, he knew, and he had to stop. Even if she had not been the sister of a man he despised she was still not for him. She was too young. Paolo was nearer her age, but he’d had some nerve, trying to put his arm around her. For a second he had wanted to knock the cheeky young devil down.

He glanced around the room. The crowd was thinning fast—time to do his duty as host and see them all out. He was not a lover of parties at the best of times—especially in his home—but at least his mother had enjoyed herself.

Gianni was on hand to round up the stragglers, and an hour later only the doctor was still in the lounge, as he was staying the night.

He glanced around the empty hall and saw again in his mind’s eye Lucy descending the stairs earlier, a vision in silver and white. Damn it! She was in his head again. She had been in his head for the best part of three months, and it had to stop. He had to forget her exquisite little body was curled up in bed a few metres above his head, despite the frustration coursing through him. The woman was driving him mad. The sooner he could stick her on the plane in the morning and forget he’d ever known her the better.

With the last guest gone, he strode into the salon. He was too tense to sleep, and spotted the doctor still seated on a sofa. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled off the bow-tie, crossing to the drinks cabinet and pouring cognac into two glasses. He handed one to the doctor and sat down in a chair opposite.

‘Brilliant party, my boy.’

Lorenzo agreed, and automatically asked him about his mother’s health.

‘Nothing to worry about. Her blood pressure is fine, and Anna is better than she has been in years. Lucy has given her a new lease on life. You as well, Lorenzo, I shouldn’t wonder. You are a very lucky man.’ He beamed at him, sipping his glass of cognac, more than slightly drunk. ‘That young woman of yours is a true gem—beautiful and talented, with a heart as big as a lion, loving and compassionate … maybe too compassionate for her own good. If I had been her doctor I don’t think I’d have advised a teenager to do it.’

‘Do what?’ Lorenzo asked, draining his glass. He placed it on the low table and reclined back in his chair. Had Lucy had an abortion? he wondered cynically, knowing how the doctor felt about such a procedure, being deeply religious.

‘Why—give one of her kidneys to her brother, of course.’

A rushing noise filled Lorenzo’s head. The colour leached from his face, and he sat up straight and stared at the doctor with horrified eyes. ‘Lucy did what? When?’ he demanded in a hoarse voice.

‘Surely you must know? When her brother returned to England—after the climbing accident. Apparently the Swiss clinic he spent a day in said he was naturally a bit exhausted, but fine, and discharged him. A couple of weeks later his own doctor and local hospital weren’t much better, and three months later he ended up in the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in London. They finally diagnosed him as having a rare disease, probably picked up in South America at the beginning of the year, that attacked the kidneys. The only solution was a transplant. Lucy was a perfect match—not that it did much good. She told me her brother died last year.’

‘Lucy … ‘ Lorenzo groaned her name as the enormity of what she had done hit him. ‘Will she be all right?’ he asked, terrified of the answer.

‘Yes, she is fine—very fit. One kidney is almost as good as two. I got her blood results this morning. No food poisoning—nothing wrong at all. Probably, as she said, the wine and too much rich food. She is a very sensible girl, who rarely drinks and watches what she eats. I think Anna was hoping Lucy might be pregnant, but she isn’t—and she is not on the pill, either. Doesn’t believe in putting anything in her body that is not necessary to her health—very wise.’ He suddenly stopped and added belatedly, ‘But I should not have told you—doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.’ Rising to his feet, he said, ‘Time I went to bed. Goodnight, Lorenzo.’

But Lorenzo didn’t hear. He was fighting to breathe, his heart pounding in his chest as the full weight of what the doctor had revealed exploded in his mind. Lucy—his Lucy—with the laughing eyes and the brilliant smile. It would kill him if anything happened to her. And in that instant he knew he loved her—probably had from the day she’d walked into his office and he had kissed her.

A host of other memories flooded though his mind: their first night together, when he’d carried her upstairs and she’d given herself to him so willingly. For the first time in his life he’d lost control. He should have known then he loved her.

He remembered kissing the scar at the base of her spine and asking her how she’d got it the second night they were together—when, after the first rush of passion, they had made long, slow love … caressing, exploring and having fun together. She had said it was just a cut, and, so engrossed in what she was doing to him by then, he’d never queried her answer. Later that night he had delivered a cruel cut of his own, and he couldn’t bear to think how brutal he had been.

He had actually accused her brother of manslaughter and ended their weekend affair with a ruthlessness as insulting to her as it was shaming to him. Groaning, he buried his head in his hands.

Lucy was never going to forgive him—how could she? He was the staid, arrogant banker she’d called him, who thought he was always right. She had tried to tell him this afternoon, when he’d shoved his so-called proof at her. She had accused him of seeing things in black and white and suggested her brother might have been weakened or passed out. But had he listened? No.

Lorenzo had no idea how long he sat there with every day of the last few months he’d spent with Lucy replaying in his mind—every word, every action. He had read somewhere that love was a kind of madness and, given the crazy way he had behaved since he’d met Lucy, he could believe it.

Finally he got to his feet, and with a steely glint of determination in his eyes walked upstairs. He hesitated for a second outside her bedroom, then opened the door and walked in.

He crossed to the bedside and stared down at where she lay on her back, her beautiful face illuminated by the bedside light, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep. His conscience told him the way he had behaved towards her was despicable and he should leave now. Let her go home as planned, and get on with her life without him. But he was not that altruistic. What he wanted he fought tooth and nail to get—and he wanted her with a passion, a depth of love, he had never imagined possible. Just the thought of never seeing her again tore him apart. She stirred slightly.

‘Lucy.’ He said her name and sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Lucy.’ he said again, and raised his hand to rest it on her shoulder.

Somewhere in her dreams Lucy heard Lorenzo call her name, and her eyelashes fluttered. She moaned a soft, low sound—'Lorenzo … ‘ Her lips parting in the beginning of a smile. Then she heard it again, louder, and blinked. ‘Lorenzo?’ she repeated, and felt his touch. She opened her eyes. This was no dream—he was sitting on her bed. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, knocking his hand away and scrambling back against the pillows, tugging the coverlet to her neck and suddenly very aware of her naked state.

‘I had to see you—to talk to you—make sure—’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ she cried. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

‘Yes—out of my mind with loving you.’

Loving her.

Her green eyes opened wide. She had to be still dreaming. But, no—Lorenzo was there, larger than life, minus his jacket, his shirt open at the neck. His black hair looked as if he had run his hands through it a hundred times, and his face was grey, but it was the pain in his eyes that shocked her most.

‘You look more like a man on death row than a man in love,’ she tried to joke. She could not—would not—believe what he had said.

‘Oh, Lucy,’ he groaned. ‘I might as well be if you don’t believe me. I love you—it is not a joke.’ And, reaching out, he curved his hands around her shoulders. ‘The only joke is on me, for not realising sooner,’ he said, staring down at her with haunted eyes. ‘Dio, I hope I am not too late.’

Lucy hung on to the coverlet as if her life depended on it and looked at him. This was a Lorenzo she had never seen before. Gone was the hard, emotionless man. She could see the desperation in his eyes, feel it in the unsteady hands that held her, and she could feel herself weakening, beginning to believe him … Her pulses were beating erratically beneath her skin, her heart pounding.

‘I have sat downstairs for ages, wondering how to explain my actions … the appalling way I have behaved towards you since the day we met … and the only explanation I have is because I love you.’

Her heart squeezed inside her. ‘That has to be the dumbest reason I have ever heard for declaring you love someone.’ She wanted to believe him, but with a cynicism she had never had until she’d met him she said, ‘What is this? Some ploy to get a farewell lay? Well, you are wasting your time. I know exactly how contemptuous you think I am—a promiscuous, greedy woman who can’t help herself around men and who you can pay off. But you’re wrong.’

She was angry—at herself for her body’s instant response to his closeness, and at Lorenzo for doing this to her now, when she had finally resigned herself to their parting.

‘I only ever had sex once in my life before you. As for your paying me off—that convoluted deal was all your doing. All I ever asked from you was for you to vote with me and not sell your shares to save my family firm. I ended up blackmailed into your bed. So excuse me if I don’t believe you love me. Just leave me alone. I am packed and ready go.’ And then she added, ‘Try Olivia. I’m sure she will oblige—probably already has, according to rumour.’

He looked stunned. ‘Rumour is completely unfounded. My relationship with Olivia Paglia is strictly business, and I will sue anyone who dares repeat it.’ He sounded genuinely affronted. ‘How the hell did you find out about the rumours?’

‘I met you coming out of her apartment building, remember? The Contessa told me.’

‘I thought better of the Contessa—she is not known as a gossip,’ he said, and she saw disillusion in his dark eyes.

‘In fairness,’ Lucy began, ‘the Contessa did not believe them—and now I think you should leave.’

Suddenly he pushed her back against the pillows and leaned over her, his face only inches away. She heard the heavy pounding of his heart—or was it hers?

‘Damn it, Lucy, I don’t care what you heard. I can’t leave you alone, and you are not going anywhere. I know I don’t deserve you, but I love you—I want you and I need you.’ he stated, staring into her eyes and seeing the darkening pupils. ‘Though you don’t love me, you do want me,’ he said, with some of his usual arrogance returning.

She stared back, her mouth going dry, her body heating beneath the pressure of his.

‘No, I don’t,’ she lied, still afraid to believe his sudden avowal of love. ‘I don’t really know you and I don’t trust you.’

‘Lucy, you know me better than anyone—but I can’t blame you for not trusting me.’ He leant back a little, resting his forearms either side of her shoulders. ‘I admit I was determined to think the worst of you, and sure I was right about your brother. I didn’t know until the doctor told me tonight what you had done for him—donating a kidney. Have you any idea what that did to me?’ he demanded his face grim. ‘All I could think of was you on an operating table, risking your life for someone else, and it ripped my guts out. I have never been so afraid in my life for another person. I asked the doctor if you were all right. Because in that moment 1 knew I would not want to live in a world without you. I knew I loved you.’ He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers, and she saw the vulnerability in his dark eyes. ‘You have got to believe me—listen to me. Lucy, please give me a chance.’

‘All right,’ she murmured—not that she had a choice, trapped in the cage formed by his broad chest and arms, but the please helped.

‘I think I have loved you from the day you walked into my office wearing that horrible suit with your hair scraped back in a pleat. I kissed you—totally out of character for me. With hindsight I can see it was unfortunate that Manuel was the man I’d lunched with that day. He gave me the photographs I showed you this afternoon, and his opinion on the timescale, and I accepted his conclusion. He is a strong man, and like me has not much time for weakness, but now I don’t know and I no longer care. The past is past. You say you don’t know me, but you do, Lucy. I am the arrogant bastard you called me, and I very rarely change my mind, but I did that day. I was considering voting with you on the deal, but I was so angry I changed my mind. Then, when I kissed you, I was so overwhelmingly attracted to you I nearly lost control and was embarrassed by it. I lashed out at you.’ He laughed—a hollow sound.

‘I actually thought I was having a mid-life crisis … But it wasn’t—it was you. And I have been lashing out at you ever since. I used my perception of your brother as an excuse to believe you were as bad as I thought him to be in a crazy attempt to deny what was staring me in the face. I love you.’

Deep inside, Lucy felt the dead embers of hope burst into flame. She could see the sincerity in his eyes—hear it in every word he spoke.

‘I swore I never wanted to see you again, and yet I came up with reasons to visit you—each one crazier than the last. I was jealous of my dead brother because it was obvious you’d liked him. I was even jealous of Gianni, the butler, when you walked into the dining room with him laughing. I’ve never seen Gianni laugh like that in his life. And tonight I could have knocked young Paolo down when he laid his hands on you. I was so jealous.’ He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘I know it is a lot to ask, but can you ever forgive me for the way I have treated you? At least try and forget? Forget the argument over our brothers and business? Forget everything that has happened these past months and give me a chance to prove I love you?’

Lucy looked at him. Lorenzo was jealous. She had not been mistaken. But he was better than most at hiding his feelings. She thought of how on that first night, when he had remonstrated with her about her security, it had given her hope at the time, and of other instances when he’d been protective of her. He said he didn’t care what her brother might have done. Later she would tell him how her brother had passed out when he returned home, and the rest—but for now she decided to take a chance, a leap of faith, and believe him.

Her green eyes sparkled and a smile curved her lips. ‘I’ll give you a chance, but I don’t want to forget everything, Lorenzo. Some parts were memorable and should be repeated,’ she said, with a wriggle against him and a teasing flicker of her lashes. Lifting her hand, she swept back the hair from his brow.

He caught her wrist, his eyes tender and passionate as they met hers. ‘Oh, I think I can arrange that,’ he said, knowing exactly what she meant. ‘But first there is something else,’ he said in a husky, unsteady tone.

Lucy tensed, wondering what was coming next.

‘I don’t expect you to love me, but I want to take care of you—keep you. I know I can make you happy in bed, and maybe in time you will grow to love me if only you will let me try. Lucy, will you marry me?’

Lucy felt her heart swell to overflowing. She saw the vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for her answer—her proud, arrogant lover was unsure … nervous. Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘You won’t have to try—I do love you.’ She saw the confusion, then the growing hope in his eyes. ‘I have from the first time we made love. And, yes—I will marry you.’

‘You do? You will?’ Lorenzo looked shocked, then his dark eyes blazed with emotion and a hint of tears as he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his broad chest, and buried his face in the fragrant silken mass of her hair. ‘You are sure?’ he queried, and then his lips sought hers and he kissed her with achingly sweet tenderness and a love that stole her breath away. He lifted his head. ‘When?’ he asked, and his dark eyes watched warily as he waited for her answer.

She realised her confident, powerful man was still uncertain. ‘Whenever you like.’ She smiled, all the love in her heart shining in her brilliant green eyes. ‘The sooner the better,’ she said, and finally let go of the coverlet and looped her arm around his neck. ‘Do we have to wait for the wedding?’ she teased.

‘Dio, no—I can’t wait,’ Lorenzo groaned, his voice thick with emotion and a hunger that Lucy felt herself.

Taking her arm from his neck, he stripped off his shirt, his pants. Lucy’s eyes followed his every move. This was what she wanted—what she yearned for—and as he gathered her in his arms she met the smouldering darkness of his gaze and arched into the hard warmth of his great body, her small hands caressing, her lips parting.

They melded together—heart to heart, mouth to mouth—in a kiss like no other, full of tenderness and longing, passion and love.

‘Lorenzo … ‘ she breathed, as his hands slid sensuously over her body and her own caressed his satin smooth skin. He filled up her senses, and with murmured words of love and groans of fervent need their bodies joined in the primeval dance of love, finally fusing together in surge after surge of pure ecstasy, two halves of a whole in perfect love.

‘I can’t find the words to tell you how you make me feel,’ Lorenzo husked as they lay satiated in each other’s arms. But he tried, with softly whispered endearments. He eased his weight away, but held her close to his long body, his hands gently stroking her back. ‘I don’t deserve you, Lucy, but I will never let you go—you are the colour in my life. You are beautiful inside and out.’ A long finger found the scar near the base of her spine. ‘I can’t believe you did this for your brother.’

‘Yes, you can,’ Lucy murmured. ‘You would have done the same for yours if he’d needed it,’ she said lazily as she surfaced from the sensual haze that surrounded her.

‘You have more faith in me than I do myself.’

‘Ah, but then I love you.’ She pressed a kiss on his chest and he rolled over on his back, carrying her with him. And as the dawn of the new day crept through the windows the dance of love started all over again.

‘What the hell?’ Lorenzo swore as a loud crashing noise woke him. Keeping Lucy safe in the curve of his arm, he sat up.

The maid was standing three feet into the room, and she had dropped the coffee tray she had been carrying. Her face was scarlet, and Lorenzo could understand why as Lucy opened her eyes and smiled up at him, stroking her small hand across his stomach.

‘I just need to feel you are real, Lorenzo, and know I wasn’t dreaming last night.’

Then to add to the confusion his mother appeared in the doorway, fully dressed.

‘What on earth has happened?’ she demanded of the maid, and then looked across at the bed. ‘Oh, Lorenzo—how could you?’

Lucy heard the voice and snatched her hand away from his stomach, blushing redder than the maid and trying to burrow down beneath the coverlet.

Lorenzo pulled her gently back up. ‘Trust me, Lucy—that will look worse.’ He grinned and tucked the coverlet under her, putting his arm around her shoulders before looking back across the room.

‘Good morning, Mother,’ he said, with all the confidence and panache a thirty-eight-year-old man could muster when for the first time in his life he had been caught in bed with a woman by his mother … ‘I want you to be the first to know Lucy and I are getting married.’

His mother gasped, and then smiled, and was about to rush over.

‘But can you save the congratulations and the cleanup until later? Lucy is a little shy right now.’

‘Yes—yes, of course.’

The two women backed out of the room.

‘As embarrassing moments go, that has to be the worst,’ Lucy said.

‘Not really. I should have expected something like that. From being a highly successful, staid and arrogant banker, in control of billions, who has never had any trouble with women in his life, this summer has seen women running rings around me. But, on the plus side, I have found the love of my life.’ And, laughing out loud, he tipped Lucy back in his arms and kissed her soundly.

EPILOGUE

LORENZO guided the car through the gates and up the drive, a smile on his face. Lucy had married him in the cathedral in Verona on a fine October day—a vision in white and a picture he would carry in his mind for ever. And eight months later their son Antonio had been born—conceived, Lucy was sure, on the night he’d proposed to her. Lorenzo had his doubts, but didn’t argue with his wife. She had filled his life with laughter and love, and she collected friends as other people collected stamps. Last week had been Antonio’s first birthday, and they had thrown a party for their friends, and his little friends and their families, with a funfair set up in the garden.

Today was Lorenzo’s birthday. He had spent the last four days in New York and could not wait to get home and get Lucy alone. He loved his family, but sometimes a man just needed his wife—and he was hard with anticipation. He had it all planned. He was going to surprise Lucy and fly her to Venice, take her to the Hotel Cipriani, where he had booked a suite for the night. They could share an intimate dinner … just the two of them.

* * *

Lucy combed Antonio’s soft black hair. He had woken from his afternoon nap an hour ago, and was now dressed and ready for the party. She kissed his cheek and handed him to the nanny to take downstairs. She had not wanted a nanny but Lorenzo had insisted, saying if she wanted to continue with her art it made sense.

He was right. He had arranged for one of the tower rooms to be converted into a studio for her, but she still had the gallery and visited regularly and showed her work there. Elaine now ran it, with Miss Carr the temp—who, having gone full-time, had ended up marrying the woodcarver in residence, confirmed bachelor Leon. In fact all four of them were here now, and downstairs with Anna.

Lucy walked along to the master suite and quickly showered and dressed. Sometimes she had to pinch herself to believe how lucky she was. Lorenzo had made her the happiest woman in the world. She knew he loved her—he showed it in myriad ways—and he had given her a wonderful son she worshipped and adored. He was a great father. How she had ever thought he was staid and boring was inconceivable to her now.

When they’d married he had asked her where she wanted to live, saying he would buy or build her a house anywhere she chose. She’d chosen to live in the house by the lake with his mother. He’d been surprised, but had agreed. They stayed at the villa in Santa Margherita a lot of weekends, and already he was trying to teach Antonio to sail on a specially built boat in the swimming pool. She’d told him he was crazy—the baby had only just learnt to walk—but he’d just laughed and made love to her by the pool.

He still worked hard, and commuted to Verona daily. Sometimes he drove, but he had a new toy—a helicopter which he piloted himself. Tonight he was driving home, thank heaven, otherwise he would be back too soon and ruin her surprise.

Three months ago he had surprised her. They had gone to Dessington for the grand opening of the new development, and she had discovered he had bought her old home. She had auctioned it off and converted it into a hotel with James Morgan. Not an ordinary hotel, but a centre where cancer sufferers and their families could have a holiday. Lorenzo knew her mum had died of cancer, and James had done it for Samantha.

They two were arriving any minute, with their son Thomas, and with one last look at her reflection in the mirror Lucy dashed downstairs just in time to welcome them.

Lorenzo stopped the car under the portico, leapt out and dashed into the house—and stopped dead. A huge banner was strung around the balcony, with ‘Happy Fortieth Birthday’ written on it, and the hall was full of people. His dark eyes went unerringly to Lucy.

She was walking towards him, a brilliant smile on her face, her eyes sparkling with love and laughter. The gown she wore should have been censored, was his second thought. His first was wow … A shimmering gold, the dress had a halter-neck and no back, he noted, as she turned for a second to speak to someone, and the bodice plunged between her breasts—slightly larger now, since she had breastfed their son. It nipped in at her tiny waist, then fell smoothly over hips to her feet. And he was in danger of embarrassing himself—but then Lucy always had that effect on him.

She reached up and looped her arms around his neck. ‘Surprise, surprise—happy birthday, Lorenzo darling.’

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as the crowd started cheering. ‘You will pay for this,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘I had plans for an intimate dinner for two in Venice. We have to communicate better—starting now.’

And then Antonio came, hurtling to his feet, and he picked his son up and spun him around, and kissed his mother on the cheek. Then he was shaking hands and greeting people, but he put a hand around Lucy’s waist and kept her by his side as he made for the stairs, telling Gianni and various others that he needed to get changed. And huskily telling Lucy she was going to help him.

‘Lorenzo, we can’t,’ Lucy said, eyeing him with loving amusement as he shed his suit and shirt, dropping them on the bed room floor as usual.

Wearing only boxers, he caught her to him. ‘Yes, we can, Lucy. I love you more and more each day. You have given me a wonderful son and you have made me the happiest man in the world. But it has been four days, and right now I ache to be inside you.’ And gathering her close, a hand curving around her nape, he kissed her long and deep, his fingers deftly loosening the haltertop.

Lucy closed her eyes. He was right. She could feel the passion, the desire vibrating between them, and when he slipped her dress down to pool at her feet and carried her to the bed she wanted him with a hunger that could not be denied. She always did and always would.

Later, she slipped off the bed and told Lorenzo to wait. She crossed to the dressing room and, taking the parcel she had hidden there, returned to the bed. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said, and handed him her gift.

Grinning, he ripped off the paper—and stopped, his dark eyes fixed on the painting. He stared for so long in silence, she began to worry.

‘I thought it was time there was a portrait of you above the fireplace in the lounge, and your father’s was relegated to the hall,’ she said. ‘But if it’s not good enough.’

He turned his head, and she saw the moisture in his eyes. ‘Good enough? It is magnificent—the best gift, after our son, you could possibly give me. The days. the hours you must have spent … I am humbled and flattered that you see me so well.’ And, slipping the painting gently to the floor, he reached for her.

Lorenzo Zanelli’s surprise fortieth birthday party was talked about for months afterwards in the homes of Verona—mainly because it had taken him three hours to get changed for the party, particularly as his wife was helping him!

Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent

Chapter One

ZAC DELUCCA stepped out of the chauffeur-driven limousine and glanced up at the four-storeyed Georgian-style building in front of him: the head office of Westwold Components, a company he had finally acquired two weeks ago. He had left Raffe, his top man, in charge of the changeover, so he had not expected to be needed in London in June, and he was not pleased…

He was ruggedly attractive, with black hair and shrewd dark eyes, and the navy silk and mohair suit he wore was a testament to the expertise of his tailor. The jacket stretched taut across shoulders as wide as a barn door, and at six feet five he was a powerful, impressive figure of a man in every respect. Not a man anyone could overlook, though the fierce frown at present marring his bold features would scare all but the bravest into glancing the other way.

Orphaned at a year old by the tragic death of his young parents in a car crash, Zac Delucca had spent his early years in a children’s home in Rome. He had left at fifteen, with nothing but the clothes he stood up in and a burning ambition to become a success in life.

Tall, and looking older than his years, he had by sheer guts, determination and keen intelligence dragged himself up from the gutter that beckoned. He had studied by day and used his physical strength in the testosterone-fuelled world of the fighting game at night to earn money and build up a stake to set up his own company: Delucca Holdings.

He had fought masked, under an assumed name, because he’d had total belief in his ability, mentally and physically, to be a winner in life. From a young age he had known he was destined to succeed on a worldwide scale…never mind in a canvas ring…

His first purchase at the age of twenty had been a rundown farm in southern Italy that had included three cottages, a large farmhouse and a thousand acres of neglected land. A few weeks later the government had bought a chunk of the acreage to build a new runway to expand a local airport for the increasing tourist trade.

Some people said he’d had inside information. He had said nothing and recouped the money he had invested and more besides. He’d converted the farm house, which was situated on the coast at the southernmost tip of Italy, with stunning views over the sea, and kept it for his own use.

The remaining land had included an overgrown olive grove he had tried to cultivate himself, but he had quickly realised agriculture was not for him and finally hired an expert in the field to restore, enlarge and manage the farm, while converting the cottages for the staff. Eventually he’d marketed the produce as Delucca Extra Fine Virgin Olive Oil, and Delucca Oil was today the choice of the connoisseur and priced accordingly…

It was the first business Zac had bought and kept.

Now, fifteen years later, Delucca Holdings was an international conglomerate that owned a vast array of companies, including mines, manufacturers, properties and oil of the petroleum variety as well as from the olive tree. Nothing was out of Delucca’s grasp.

Ruthless, arrogant, and merciless were some of the terms used by his enemies, but none in the business world friend or enemy could deny he was a financial wizard, and basically honest…A master of the universe who went after what he wanted and always succeeded.

‘Are you sure about this, Raffe?’ Zac demanded of the man who had exited the car to join him on the pavement.

Raffe Costa was his right-hand man and his friend. They had met over a decade ago, when Zac had applied for funding for a deal from a bank in Naples, where Raffe had been working in the commercial loan office. The pair had hit it off immediately, and two years later Raffe had joined Zac’s swiftly expanding company as an accountant-cum-PA. The title was not important. Zac trusted him completely, and knew him to be shrewd and rarely wrong.

‘Sure…?’ Raffe responded slowly. ‘No, I am not absolutely sure, but enough to want you to check it out,’ he qualified as they walked towards the entrance. ‘It wasn’t noticed in the due diligence we conducted before buying, because the siphoning off of funds—if that is what it is—has been done very cleverly, and been deeply hidden in the accounts for years.’

‘You’d better be right. Because I had plans to take a holiday, and I did not intend it to be in London,’ Zac said dryly, flicking his friend a glance as they entered the building. ‘I had a hot climate and a hot woman in mind.’

Zac Delucca was not a happy man. He had no trouble in thinking on several levels at the same time, and right now, while smiling at the security guard as Raffe introduced him, another part of his mind was wondering how quickly—if Raffe’s suspicions were correct—he could sort out the problem and leave…

He had, after months of prolonged negotiation, finalised this deal. Coincidentally it had been the following morning, standing in the shower, that he realised he had been celibate for almost a year. Ten months since he had parted with his last lady, because she was becoming too proprietorial and the M word had surfaced more than once.

Amazed at his own restraint, he had swiftly decided to rectify the situation by arranging a couple of dates with a rather striking model from Milan. He had planned to take her out on his yacht for the day and make her his mistress. If they proved to be compatible he had actually considered breaking the habit of a lifetime and allowing her to accompany him on a cruise around the Caribbean for a few weeks.

He had never taken more than a week’s holiday in years, but just lately he’d found himself questioning if work was the be-all and end-all of life. Unusual for him. He was not usually given to bouts of introspection and immediately he had decided to do something about it—hence Lisa the Milan model…

Unfortunately, the call last night from Raffe, voicing some concern over the recent acquisition of Westwold Components, looked like scuppering his plan.

He signed the log-in book where the security guard indicated—a formality, but no doubt the man wanted to impress—and was then introduced to the receptionist: Melanie.

‘I’m sure Mr Costa will have told you,’ the girl simpered, while hanging on to Zac’s hand like a leech. ‘We are all really happy to become part of Delucca Holdings, and if there is anything I personally can do…’ The busty blonde fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Just ask.’

The woman gushed and pouted at the same time, which was quite a feat, Zac thought cynically.

‘Thank you,’ he replied smoothly, and, disentangling his hand from the receptionist’s grasp, he turned. ‘Come on, Raffe, let’s get—’ And he stopped, his dark eyes instinctively flaring in primitive masculine appreciation of the woman walking into the building.

‘Exquisite,’ he murmured under his breath, his stunned gaze roaming over her. She had the face of an angel, and a body to tempt any man with blood in his veins…

Big, misty-blue eyes, pale, almost translucent skin, a small nose and a wide mouth with full lips that begged to be kissed. Long ruby-red hair fell in soft curls around her slender shoulders, and the elegant white obviously designer dress she wore caressed every curve of her slender body. Sleeveless, with a low square neck and a broad white belt circling her tiny waist, it accentuated her high full breasts.

She looked bridal…The unbidden thought flashed in his mind. But the evocative tap of high-heeled shoes on the marble floor knocked it straight out as his gaze lowered to where the hem of the skirt ended on her knees. The red stiletto sandals she wore screamed sex.

His heart almost stopped. She had legs to die for…A mental image of them clamped around his waist had his body hardening instantly.

‘Who is that?’ he demanded of Raffe.

‘I have no idea, but she is gorgeous.’

Zac looked at his friend and saw he was watching the girl as she drew nearer. He had to bite his lip to stop himself saying, Take your eyes off her. She is mine.

In that instant he came to a decision. Admittedly she was not his usual type. Tall, elegant brunettes had been his preference up until now. This woman was average height, with that long, red hair, but for some inexplicable reason he wanted her with a hunger he had not felt in a long time. He decided he was going to have her…

His firm lips parted in a loaded smile aimed directly at her, but amazingly the girl walked straight past him with a dismissive shake of her head…

Sally Paxton strode across the foyer of Westwold Components, determination in every step. She flicked a glance at the group of people at the reception desk and caught a brilliant smile from the tallest man in the group. Her heart missed a beat and she felt her shoulders stiffen with tension. She had to appear confident, as if she belonged here. Maybe he was someone she should recognise…She gave a brief nod of her head in acknowledgment.

Sally Paxton was a woman on a mission…and nothing and no one was going to stop her…

Her blue eyes fixed with a determined light on the two elevators situated to the rear of the elegant foyer. One elevator she knew was for general use; the other—the one she wanted—went directly to the top floor, where her father’s office was situated.

Zac Delucca, for the first time in his adult life, had been virtually overlooked by a woman, and for a moment it left him dumbfounded.

Recovering, he demanded of the receptionist, ‘Who is that girl, and what department does she work in?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before.’

‘Security,’ he said, alerting the guard standing nearby, but he was already calling out.

‘Stop, miss, you have to sign in!’

Sally stopped in front of the elevator and jabbed at the button, lost in her own angry thoughts. The one and only time she had visited her dad’s London office had been over seven years ago. She had been eighteen and had called in unannounced one Wednesday afternoon, after watching her beloved mother open a birthday card from her husband that morning.

Sally had been hoping to persuade her dad to return with her that evening to their home in Bournemouth, rather than waiting until the weekend. It was her mum’s birthday, for heaven’s sake…At least he had remembered to post a card…But as her mother had recently been discharged from hospital after a mastectomy, Sally had been determined to make him see that his wife needed his support.

The success of the surprise dinner party Sally had planned for the evening had depended on her father’s presence.

Her lips tightened in disgust, and briefly she closed her eyes. Even now the scene that had met her eyes was still scorched into her brain, and made her simmer with rage…

Nigel Paxton’s secretary had not been in the outer office, so Sally had knocked on her father’s door. When no one had answered she had opened it and walked in.

It had not been a pretty sight…There was her dad, leaning over his desk with his half-naked secretary, half his age, sprawled across the desk beneath him.

No wonder they hadn’t heard her knock…

Her father…the slick seducer…the serial adulterer…the slimy lying toad…the man her mother loved and thought could do no wrong—the man Sally had slowly grown to despise.

The elevator arrived and she stepped in and pressed the button. Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes.

As a young child she supposed she had loved her father, even though he hadn’t been around a lot. Their home in Bournemouth had been a large detached Victorian house overlooking the sea. But her father, as chief accountant for Westwolds Components, was based in the London headquarters of the company, and kept a studio apartment in the city where he stayed during the week.

As an idealistic teenager, anti-war of any kind, she had been horrified when she’d realised the firm her dad worked for manufactured essential parts for weapons. She had announced that it was morally wrong to work in the arms industry, and he had told her she was a silly girl, and to stick to looking good and leave the running of the world to men.

To call him a male chauvinist pig was to insult pigs! Dark haired, handsome and charming to those who did not know him, her father was at the top of his game in the accountancy stakes—but in Sally’s book he was a spineless apology for a man.

Well, today he was going to hear just what she thought of him—yet again, and demand he accompany her to visit her mother in the private nursing home in Devon that had been her mum’s home for almost two years.

It was over six weeks since her father had shown his face, and she blinked tears from her eyes as she pictured again the look on her mum’s face every time Sally arrived to visit. The gleam of hope that faded as she realised her latest visitor was not her husband yet again. Sally’s excuse for her dad that ‘pressure of work’ kept him in London was wearing very thin.

Her mother knew about his affairs, because Sally at eighteen had blurted out what she had seen. And her mother had admitted she had always known about her husband’s other women—in the plural!

Sally had been horrified when her mother had actually made excuses for him. Explaining how it was difficult for him as a virile man, because she had not been a very able wife in the bedroom department for quite some time even before she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and that he was a good and generous husband and father and she loved him.

Nothing Sally said had affected her mother’s opinion or her love for her husband, and, not wanting to upset her mother, she had been forced to drop the subject.

As for her father—she’d told him exactly what she thought of him, and he had simply responded with the usual: that she was a silly girl who knew nothing of the wants and needs of adults, and that she should mind her own business and concentrate on her studies, because he was paying enough for them…

Immediately, she had wanted to give up her place at Exeter University, where she’d been in her first year studying Ancient History, but her mother would not hear of it. Reluctantly, Sally had to agree, but she could barely bring herself to be civil to her father when he did occasionally return home the same weekend as her.

As it happened, her mother had been right to insist on her continuing her education, because her mum had recovered from the breast cancer remarkably well. Sally had watched her slowly begin to grow in confidence and hope as test after test had come back with positive results.

When her mum had reached the five-year point and still been in the clear she had told Sally it was time for her to spread her wings a little and strike out on her own. After graduating Sally had initially worked at a small local museum near home. But after her mother’s encouragement she had applied and secured a job as a researcher at the British Museum in London.

Sally had loved her new job—and the fully furnished one-bedroom apartment she had rented over a bakery in the city. For the first six months life had been good. Her mum had been well, and had occasionally visited her in London. Sally had gone home most weekends, and, excluding her dad, the future had looked rosy. Then the horrendous tragedy of her mum’s accident had destroyed their fragile happiness.

Even now Sally could not get her head around how fate could be so cruel…She shook her head as a huge black cloud of sadness enveloped her. It was so unfair. After five years her mum had virtually recovered from the cancer. Only to be knocked down by a car as she walked out behind the bus she had taken to the centre of Bournemouth to shop. After months of treatment she had been left a paraplegic, with no hope of further improvement.

Now every weekend Sally travelled down to Devon, where she stayed in a small hotel near the nursing home so she could spend as much time with her mother as possible. Last Saturday evening Sally had been sitting with her mother and had watched her face light up at the sound of her husband’s voice on the telephone, had seen in her eyes the pain and sadness she’d tried to hide as she replaced the receiver, and had listened with growing anger as her mother repeated the conversation.

Apparently her father had called to tell her he could not make it on Sunday, nor the next weekend…His excuse was that with the takeover of the company by the Italian firm Delucca Holdings, he was up to his ears in work.

Sally opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to calm down, and she needed to plan what she was going to say to her father. Yelling at him would be futile. For her mother’s sake she needed him to go to the nursing home with her willingly, for once in his selfish life, to act the part of loving husband.

God knew it wasn’t as if he was going to have to do it for long…If the consultant was to be believed, her mother’s life expectancy was limited.

On her last visit the doctor had called Sally into his consulting room and informed her that her mother’s heart was weakened beyond repair, probably as a result of the cancer treatment she had undergone combined with the accident that had followed. He was sorry, but there was nothing more that could be done, and in his opinion her mother had maybe a year at best. But in reality she could go at any time.

The doors opened and Sally exited the elevator. Her dad’s office was at the far end of the corridor, and, squaring her shoulders, she tightened her grip on her red clutch purse and made straight for his door.

Zac Delucca crossed to where the security guard stood, pressing the button for the elevator.

‘Sorry, sir, she got away. But this elevator only goes to the top floor, where the boardroom and Mr Costa’s office is situated. The only other office is Mr Paxton’s, the company accountant, but that wasn’t his girlfriend—secretary,’ he quickly corrected himself. ‘Maybe the lady is looking for you?’ he suggested, trying to sound positive after having failed in his duty to register all visitors.

So the accountant was having an affair…Zac filed the information away. ‘Do not worry, Joe,’ he said, glancing at the name tag on his uniform. ‘You were distracted—and if what you say is true the lady is not going anywhere. I suggest you get back to you desk.’

The elevator doors glided open, and Zac and Raffe entered.

‘Is the lady likely to be looking for you?’ Raffe asked with a grin. ‘Or should I say chasing?’

‘I should be so lucky,’ Zac drawled, though it was a common occurrence for women to chase him. He was an incredibly wealthy man and, as one reporter had once written, with his kind of wealth, good looks and height—a broken nose notwithstanding—he was a magnet for women the world over. Not that he thought of himself as such…

Concentrating on the task at hand, he asked, ‘It is the accountant whom you suspect of fraud, is it not, Raffe?’

‘Yes.’

‘I take it he is a married man?’

‘Yes—married with one child, I believe.’

‘And apparently this man has a mistress, and they do not come cheap. Your suspicions are looking well founded, Raffe.’

Sally walked straight into her father’s office and stopped. He was sitting behind his desk, his head in his hands, a picture of misery. Maybe she had misjudged him…Maybe he was more upset over his wife’s diagnosis than he showed.

‘Dad?’ she called softly, and he lifted his head.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ He straightened up, frowning. ‘What are you doing here? No, don’t tell me.’ He raised his hand. ‘You are on a holier-than-thou mission and want me to go and visit your mum, right?’

He wasn’t upset. He was the same selfish bastard he had always been.

‘Silly me.’ Sally shook her head in disgust. ‘For a moment there I thought you were thinking of your wife…’ She glanced around the large room and through the open door to the secretary’s office beyond, which was empty, and then back to her dad.

‘Well, I have had enough of your lies and deceit, and for once in your life you are going to do the decent thing and come with me tonight.’

‘Not now, darling,’ he snapped, and stood up, straightening his tie.

Zac Delucca had heard the woman’s demand that Paxton go with her as he entered the office, and he did not miss the darling, or the sardonic curl of the woman’s lips as she responded.

‘What’s the matter? Your latest Girl Friday deserted you? And I use the word girl deliberately,’ Sally goaded. And she must have hit the nail on the head as the colour seemed to drain from her dad’s face. Then she realised he was looking straight past her. The smile on his face did not reach the eyes that for an instant flickered with fear, quickly masked.

Inexplicably, Sally shivered, despite the slight stuffiness of the office on the hot summer’s day, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Someone else had entered the room, probably his secretary, and she was now shooting daggers at her back, having overheard her comment. Not that Sally gave a damn about upsetting her dad’s latest mistress…

‘Mr Costa, I was not expecting you back again so soon.’

Sally stiffened as her dad spoke and then stepped forward, ignoring her. Then she heard the Costa man introduce a Signor Delucca.

‘Mr Delucca, this is an unexpected pleasure. I am delighted to meet you.’

Her father’s hearty greeting rang a little false to Sally. She knew every intonation of his voice, and he did not sound delighted. She certainly was not. His secretary she could handle, but she stiffened as she recognised the name Delucca.

After her father had stated the man was taking over the company Sally had read an article about him in the business section of a newspaper. He was an Italian tycoon, incredibly wealthy, and renowned as the takeover king. His latest acquisition was Westwold. In a footnote to the article, it said that apparently he kept his private life very private, but it was known that he had escorted numerous statuesque models in his time.

Unbelievable…Sally fumed silently. For years she had for her mum’s benefit kept the peace with her father, even if it had been mostly by ignoring him. But today, for the first time in years, she had decided to challenge him and demand he cut out the lies and the girlfriend for the weekend and do the right thing by his wife. Instead, for once it seemed he might have been telling the truth. The new owner Delucca was here. Perhaps her dad did intend working the weekend…

But not if she could help it…

Chapter Two

ZAC DELUCCA walked forward and briefly shook the hand Nigel Paxton held out to him. ‘The pleasure is mine,’ he said suavely, and, turning, shifted his attention to the stunning woman.

He studied her intently for a long moment. Her gaze was fixed on Paxton and never wavered. She did not even glance at Zac, and he was intrigued. Could this gorgeous woman actually be Paxton’s lover? Or maybe, by the sound of the conversation he had overheard, a discarded lover? Both scenarios he found very hard to believe. Firstly, she was too young for Paxton, and secondly, any man who had such a female in his bed would be a fool to let her go. With a face and figure like hers she could take her pick of the male population and probably did, he concluded as he noted the banked-down fire in her ice-blue eyes that to a man with his expert knowledge of women denoted a passionate nature.

‘Sorry to intrude. I was not aware you had company,’ he continued, turning his attention back to the accountant—the possible thief, he reminded himself. ‘You must introduce me to your charming friend, Paxton,’ he commanded, and waited, his dark eyes once again roaming over the woman’s lovely face and exquisite body.

Sally barely registered the stranger’s smooth tones as her dad made the introduction.

‘Oh, she is not my friend,’ her father chuckled, and beamed down at her. He had got that right, she thought cynically. ‘This is my daughter, Sally.’

She turned slightly and looked up, and up again, at a positive giant of a man—with black hair and black eyes, and no doubt a black heart, if his unashamed masculine scrutiny of her body was anything to go by.

‘Sally…May I call you Sally?’ he asked politely, then went on, ‘You are a beautiful young woman. Your father must be a very proud man.’

Why did she get the feeling there was an underlying cynicism in his tone? Not that she cared. Overblown words of flattery from a man with a sexually explicit invitation in the dark eyes that met hers did not impress her, and she refused to be intimidated. Her mother was her only concern, and she shrugged off the unfamiliar tremor that slid down her spine.

Straightening her slender shoulders, she held out her hand politely, and it was immediately engulfed in his much larger one. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said flatly, and looked back at her father again. At the same time she attempted to slip her hand from Delucca’s, but outrageously his thumb slowly stroked the length of her palm and her fingers before setting her free.

How predictable—another one like her dad, she thought bitterly.

Zac Delucca did not miss the flash of distaste in her brilliant blue eyes as he finally let go of her hand. Maybe caressing her palm had been a little juvenile, but he had been unable to resist the temptation to test the softness of her skin against his. For a moment he imagined the brush of every inch of her skin against his naked body, and had to fight to control the surge of arousal the thought induced.

He had definitely been too long without a woman, but now he knew it was not Lisa in Milan or any other woman he wanted. It was this woman he wanted, and he resolved to have her. He had no doubt he would succeed—he always did. It was simply a matter of negotiating the when and where, sooner rather than later, if his neglected libido had any say in the matter.

Her voice was low, and ever so slightly husky. Her brilliant blue eyes had been cool as she glanced up at him and swiftly back to her father. Never had a woman so instantly dismissed him. Usually they hung on to his hand…Yet this beauty had done it twice. Her indifference rankled, and he was all the more determined to make her aware of him…

He watched as her father introduced her to Raffe. She gave him an equally brief smile and turned back to her father yet again. But as she continued speaking, Zac sensed it was not so much that she was ignoring him, but that she was disappointed in her father for some reason. He noted the dark flush that stained the older man’s face and he felt the tension between them.

Thinking fast, Sally spoke. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Delucca,’ she said without actually looking at the man, her hard blue eyes fixed on the reprobate that was her father. ‘I called round to persuade my father to take me out to lunch. I am always telling him he works far too many hours. Isn’t that right, Dad?’ she prompted sweetly.

She did not want to reveal her mother’s poor health to two virtual strangers, but she did need to get her dad by himself and extract a promise from him to go with her—if not tonight, then in the morning—to visit his wife. He was not fobbing her off again.

‘Yes, but you are a little late. I had a sandwich earlier, as I am rather busy, and as you can see, Mr Delucca, the new owner of the company, has just arrived. I can’t possibly take you to lunch today. Why don’t you run along and I will ring you this evening?’

Next he would be patting her on the head, like the silly girl he thought she was, Sally thought angrily. She knew perfectly well he would not call her tonight. She knew every lying tone of his voice. But she also realised there was not much she could do about it. Not with two strange men standing listening to the exchange.

She stared at her father for a moment. He was smiling his usual charming smile, and yet there was something…She could hear the underlying strain in his voice. Whether it was because she had turned up or because of his new boss’s presence she wasn’t sure, but before she could decide she felt the brief brush of long male fingers on her forearm—apparently to get her attention. Involuntarily she tensed at the touch, and glanced up in surprise, her blue eyes clashing with black.

‘Your father is right, Sally. He is going to be occupied for the rest of the day with Raffe, my accountant.’

For some inexplicable reason, Sally was paralysed by the dark eyes holding hers. They were not actually black, more a deep dark brown, with the faintest tinge of gold, and framed by the longest, thickest, sootiest eyelashes she had ever seen on a man.

What on earth was she doing? She tried to look away. Her mother was her only concern. But somehow her gaze lingered for a moment on his striking face. He wasn’t handsome, she decided. At some time his nose had been broken, and had healed, leaving a slight bump, and above one arched black eyebrow there was an inch-long scar.

‘But I could not possibly allow a young lady to lunch alone.’

Still studying his face, she was only half registering his words. Then with a jolt she swiftly lowered her gaze as she suddenly had a good idea where his statement was going. She glanced back up to see Delucca turn his attention to her dad.

‘If you have no objection, Paxton, I will take your daughter to lunch. Raffe is more than capable of explaining the business we need to discuss, and I will see you later.’

Sally was too stunned by the turn of events to object immediately. Instead she glanced from one man to the other, and caught the hardest look pass between them, and then her father responded—at his jovial best.

‘That is extremely kind of you, Mr Delucca. Problem solved. Sally, darling, Mr Delucca will take you to lunch—isn’t that good of him?’

Sally looked from her dad up to the man towering over her, his dark eyes gleaming with sardonic amusement and something more she did not want to recognise. She shivered and did not bother to answer her dad. Good…? There was nothing good about this man. Of that she was sure…

Ten minutes later Sally was sitting in the back of a limousine, Zac Delucca seated beside her, on her way to a lunch she did not really want.

‘Comfortable, Sally?’

‘Fine,’ she responded automatically. How the hell had this happened? she asked herself for the umpteenth time.

‘The restaurant is about twenty minutes away—a favourite of mine when I am in London.’

‘Fine,’ she murmured, rerunning in her head the conversation in the office.

When she had finally found her voice she had tried to get out of going to lunch with the excuse that she wasn’t that hungry and she was sure Mr Delucca was far too busy to waste time with her.

Delucca had silkily stated that time was never wasted with a beautiful woman. She had noted the devilish humour in his dark eyes, and just known he was laughing at her. He was the kind of man who always won, and she had wanted to slap him.

He’d known that as well, she was sure.

Then there was her dad, who for some reason had seemed very keen for her to go out with the man. In fact, he had practically insisted. With the two of them ganging up on her, she’d never had a chance.

Still, how bad could it be? she asked herself. A quick meal and then she could leave Delucca at the restaurant and grab a cab home. She gazed out of the car window and idly wondered how they made the tinted glass that looked black from the outside of the car, but from the inside was clear, allowing her to see everything outside.

She felt the brush of a hard masculine thigh against her own and moved slightly. If Delucca was coming on to her he was wasting his time. She wasn’t interested. She ignored the sudden warmth in her thigh…

Men did not interest her. Men in general did not figure large in her life, and with her father as an example it was hardly surprising. What with caring and worrying about her mother’s health for most of her adult life—because her father certainly did not—she had never had the time for a boyfriend since she’d left school, even if she had wanted one. If her mother’s doctor was right, she might soon have all the time in the world, and the knowledge made her want to weep. With sightless eyes she stared out of the window, a deep sigh escaping her.

Zac Delucca, for the first time in years, was stumped by a woman. The woman at his side was barely aware of his existence. Her uninterested responses to any attempt at conversation were monosyllabic, and it irritated the hell out of him.

He had even resorted to allowing his thigh to brush against hers, and while it had done dangerous things to his libido she had dismissed the contact without a glance. He was definitely losing his touch, he thought, a wry grin twisting his firm lips.

‘That was a big sigh. Is my company so boring?’ He prompted sardonically.

The deep, dark tone of his voice reminded Sally where she was, and she turned her head to look at him. ‘Not at all, Mr Delucca,’ she replied coolly, and watched as he squared his impressively broad shoulders and casually stretched a long arm across the back of the seat behind her. Not touching, but somehow enclosing her. She drew in a shaky breath, not liking the unfamiliar weak sensation that he somehow aroused in her.

‘Then please call me Zac,’ he invited smoothly. Her face was a perfect social mask, but he had sensed her unease when he had moved closer. She was not as unaware of him as she appeared, and at last he had got her attention. ‘I want there to be no formality between us, Sally,’ he told her huskily.

In fact, he wanted nothing at all between them—not a stitch of clothing, just flesh on flesh. He had never felt so fiercely attracted to a woman in his life, and he watched her reaction as, unable to resist touching her, he allowed his long fingers to slide down and caress her shoulder.

She jumped like a scalded cat and shot back. ‘I don’t want anything at all between us.’

He could not prevent a chuckle as she verbalised his thought exactly, but he was pretty sure she was not thinking along the same lines as him.

‘I’m glad you find me amusing,’ she snapped, looking anything but amused. ‘And take your hand off me.’ She leant forward, shrugging her shoulder to dislodge his hand.

Zac let her, and settled back in the seat. Maybe he had made a mistake. Did he have the time to pursue her, and did he really want to? She was just another typical high-maintenance little rich girl, with her nose put out of joint because the doting father who kept her in comfort had refused to jump to her bidding.

The irony did not escape him. If Raffe’s suspicions were correct, he had already paid for Sally Paxton’s lifestyle without any of the benefits of keeping a beautiful woman.

He studied her for a long moment. She was incredibly lovely. Maybe he could make time. Her hands were folded in her lap, the soft swell of her breasts was just visible above the square-cut neckline of her dress, and her face was hauntingly beautiful but somehow sad. The end of an affair maybe…Easier for him if she was unattached…

‘Not so amusing. More intriguing,’ Zac finally responded, suddenly needing to know. ‘Tell me—do you have a man in your life?’

Sally had heard the question countless times before. While she did not bother with men, quite a few bothered her, and she had developed a surefire way to cool their interest.

‘No. Do you have a wife?’ she retorted, glancing at him. He was still too close for her liking, his hard bicep touching her shoulder. Perhaps it wasn’t deliberate—he was a big man, with an even bigger ego to match, she surmised, and put her plan into action. ‘Because I never go out with married men.’

‘No wife.’ He smiled a hunter’s smile, Sally thought. ‘Nor do I want one,’ he confirmed. Lifting one long finger, he swept a stray tendril of her hair around her ear and stroked down her cheek to tip her chin towards him. ‘And no significant woman at the moment. So there isn’t anything to prevent us getting together. I am a very generous lover, in bed and out. Trust me—I promise you will not be disappointed.’

The sheer arrogance of the man astounded Sally. She had only met him half an hour ago. Yet already he had told her he wasn’t into commitment but was looking for an affair. Bottom line, she amended, he was looking for sex. Nothing more. Just like her dad.

She fought her instinctive reflex to knock his finger from her chin, and instead lifted wide blue eyes to his. They were dark and gleaming with masculine confidence. Well, not for long, she determined.

‘Oh, I don’t know, Zac,’ she said huskily, and finally deliberately used his name. ‘I am almost twenty-six, and I do want a husband—just not someone else’s.’ His finger fell from her chin. She caught the flicker of wariness in his dark eyes and wasn’t surprised. Typical male reaction…

She gave him a wry smile. ‘I too think it is good to be honest about one’s intentions, as you so obviously are, Zac.’ Sally doubted he noticed the underlying sarcasm in her tone. ‘Therefore I feel I should do the same. Ideally, I would like to have three children, while I am young enough to enjoy them, so basically I do not have time to waste on an affair with you, even if I wanted to.’

The expression on his face was comical. From confident, ardent suitor to wary and outraged male in less than sixty seconds.

‘I can assure you no woman has ever found an affair with me a waste of time,’ he declared arrogantly, and she almost laughed out loud.

Unable to help herself, she expanded on the theme.

‘If you say so.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Then again, you must be—what? Thirty-six, seven…’

‘Thirty-five,’ he snapped.

He didn’t like that, and Sally stifled a grin. ‘Still, you’re not getting any younger either. Maybe you will change your mind about marriage. You will certainly make someone a wonderful husband,’ she complimented him, and was actually beginning to enjoy herself. He moved slightly, his arm no longer touching her shoulder, and for the first time since meeting him she actually gave him her whole attention.

She turned her back half against the window in order to face him, and deliberately let her big blue eyes roam slowly over him. His hair was silky black, with a tendency to curl, obviously controlled by superb styling. His eyes were heavy lidded, and at the moment narrowed, hiding his expression. His features were big: large nose, a wide mouth with perfectly chiselled lips, the bottom one slightly fuller, and a square jaw with a delightful indentation in his chin.

Actually, he was very attractive, Sally acknowledged. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad and his muscled thighs were stretching the fabric of his trousers, she noted as he moved further away and crossed the leg nearest to her over his other knee.

A student of body language would probably say that was a sign of rejection…Her ploy had worked, Sally thought. But to make sure, she added, ‘You do have all the attributes to make a good husband—you’re a fine figure of a man, fit and filthy rich.’

Zac had listened with growing disquiet as she spoke. The woman was after a husband—a rich husband. She was the same as all the rest of her species. Her saving grace, if one could call it that, was that at least she had put all her cards on the table up front.

Getting into anything with her would be a huge mistake, his inbuilt sense of survival screamed at him. But, when she had barely looked at him since they met, feeling her gorgeous blue eyes examining every inch of him had been the most erotic experience he had known in ages. Out of necessity he had crossed one leg over the other knee, to hide the wayward reaction of his body.

Thank the Lord the car was slowing down. In a minute they would be at the restaurant. A swift meal and a polite goodbye, and the fact he had trouble keeping his hands off this woman he would put down to his lengthy celibacy. His common sense was telling him this lady was dangerous to his peace of mind. Time to walk away.

He glanced at Sally. She was sitting back in the seat again, but her eyes were no longer cold. They were sparkling. He caught the glint of feline satisfaction in the blue depths, and her soft mouth quirked at the corners in a barely concealed grin.

The little devil! Had she been teasing him? Deliberately trying to put him off? He wasn’t sure, and that was another first for him. Usually he could read a woman like a book, but this one had him tied in knots.

Warning bells rang loud and clear in his head, but he ignored them. He needed to delve a little deeper to discover what really made her tick. He had sensed her sadness and disappointment earlier—at her father or men in general he wasn’t sure. She had done her best to ignore him, but then she had examined him with blatant female thoroughness and he knew she liked what she saw.

He was not a fool. He had felt her reaction the moment he had put a finger on her arm in the office, and again when he touched her cheek. She was not immune to him. But was she really looking for a wealthy husband?

Did he care? He had escaped that trap all his life, and he was smart enough to continue to do so. But he enjoyed a challenge, and Sally Paxton was definitely a challenge—one that he was determined to pursue and conquer.

She was an adult woman, not some shy young virgin, and he did not have to deprive his body of the pleasure of hers simply because she was looking for a husband, he concluded—to his own satisfaction.

Chapter Three

THE restaurant was one of the best in London, and as they were led to their table by the maître d’, with Delucca’s hand firmly in the small of her back, Sally began to wonder if she had been as clever as she thought at discouraging him.

Something had gone wrong. His hand was like a brand, burning through the raw silk of her dress, and if his reaction as he had helped her from the limousine was anything to go by she was in deep trouble. He had declared that now they knew where they stood they could get better acquainted over lunch.

He certainly didn’t believe in wasting time, and she certainly did not want to get better acquainted with the man, she thought as her chair was held out for her and she sat down at the table. Briefly she looked around. There were more people leaving than arriving, and she glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. Not surprising, as it was two in the afternoon.

Suddenly, she was tired. She had been working all week, helping set up the latest exhibition to be staged at the museum. This morning the opening for the press and dignitaries had taken place, and she had attended at the request of her boss to answer any questions about the historical provenance of the exhibits. Usually she went to work in neat skirts and tops, but today she had dressed more smartly for the occasion. For months now she had been researching the history of the different exhibits, some of which had been brought up from the vast storage cellars and never been shown before.

Her boss knew of her mum’s condition and had kindly allowed her to slip away at one o’clock. Almost two years of faithfully visiting her mother every weekend plus holidays, not to mention the constant worry, had taken their toll and she felt completely washed out.

The last thing she needed was to fight off the attentions of a predatory male. What she really needed was her bed…alone…

‘Madam?’

She looked up. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured to the hovering maître d’, and took the menu.

‘Perhaps you would prefer I order for you?’

There it was, that deep accented voice again, intruding on her thoughts. Reluctantly, Sally glanced across the table at her companion. For a moment their eyes met, and she recognised the challenging gleam in the depths of his before glancing down at the menu in her hand.

He was sitting there, all arrogant, powerful male, and she was about to refuse when she thought, why bother? The quicker he ordered, the quicker they ate, and the quicker she could get away from his disturbing presence. Because, being brutally honest, she recognised he did disturb her, in a way she had never felt before. But then he probably had the same effect on every woman on the planet. He was one hundred percent macho male, and then some…

No wonder he wasn’t into commitment. Why would he settle for one woman when he had the pick of the best, according to the article she had read about him. It had extolled his brilliant business acumen and ended mentioning his preference for model girlfriends.

She certainly wasn’t in his league, and nor did she want to be, she concluded firmly.

‘Fine,’ she said, and handed the menu back to the maître d’, and let her hand drop on the table, her fingers idly playing with a fork. She wasn’t hungry—what did it matter what the man ordered?

‘They do a very good steak here, and I can recommend the sea bass, but everything they serve is excellent.’

‘The fish will be fine.’

‘Fine,’ Zac drawled with biting sarcasm. She was back to uninterested again. Grim-faced, he relayed the order to the maître d’, including a bottle of rather good wine. But inside he was seething.

Fine, she agreed when he mentioned the wine, without even looking at him. He had seen her glance at her watch as they arrived. He had never known any woman to be interested in the time when with him. Now she was sitting there, head bent, fiddling with a fork. Nobody ignored him—and certainly not a woman whose father had embezzled money out of a business of his. No matter how beautiful she was.

‘Tell me, Sally, what do you do when you are not pressuring your father to take you to lunch?’ he began silkily. ‘Do you fill your days with shopping and visiting the beautician? Not that you need to…’ He reached across and caught her hand in his, turning it over to examine the smooth palm. ‘Does this soft hand actually do any work, or does Daddy keep you?’

Sally’s head shot up as a tingling sensation snaked through her arm, and swiftly she pulled her hand free. Suddenly, she was intensely aware of Zac Delucca, in more ways than one. She was intelligent enough to know when she had been insulted. How typical of a super-rich tycoon like him to automatically think that simply because she had one Friday afternoon free her father supported her financially. Well, she was damned if she was going enlighten him. Let him keep his sexist attitude—she didn’t care…

‘I do shop—doesn’t everyone?’ she said nonchalantly. It was the truth. ‘And I visit the hairdresser sometimes.’ Again it was the truth. ‘The rest of the time I read a lot.’ Also the truth.

The food and wine arrived, interrupting the exchange, and Sally was grateful. She really wasn’t up to sparring with the man any more. She had a feeling he was far too intelligent to be deceived by anything anyone said for long.

Zac filled her wine glass, although she had refused a drink. He insisted she try it. He offered her a piece of his steak on his fork, and she was so surprised by the intimacy of the gesture she actually took it.

He asked what her favourite film was. She said Casablanca, and he told her she was a hopeless romantic, then added that if he had been in Humphrey Bogart’s position he would have taken the woman and run, which made her smile but somehow did not surprise her…His favourite film was Cape Fear, which she did find odd—until they got around to discussing books.

She told him she liked to read history and biographies, as well as being partial to the occasional murder story. And she discovered he spent most of his time reading financial journals and reports, but he did confess to reading the occasional thriller when he had time. Which figured, given Cape Fear was his first choice of film.

Sally sat back in her chair, replacing her knife and fork on the plate, surprised to note she had emptied her plate without realising. Against all expectations the lunch had been quite pleasant. Zac was a witty conversationalist, and he had made her smile—quite an accomplishment in her present state of mind.

She refused Zac’s suggestion of a dessert and agreed to a coffee. He placed the order with the waiter, and Sally glanced around the restaurant again. The furnishings were elegant, the staff discreet, and it was obviously very expensive. Luckily, she was dressed for the occasion—not that she had expected to be here. The clientele were mostly wealthy, high-powered business people, she surmised. Of the few that were left she recognised a famous female presenter from the television and a well-known comedian.

‘Sally Salmacis, as I live and breathe,’ a voice called out.

Sally’s eyes widened, and she pushed back her chair and leapt to her feet as six feet of shockingly ginger-haired male came striding towards her.

‘Algernon!’ she laughed.

Blue eyes met blue, and they grinned at each other, sharing a long-standing joke. Then she was swept up in a bear hug and kissed briefly on the lips, before being held at arm’s length.

‘Let me look at you. Gosh, you are more gorgeous than ever, Sally. How long has it been since I saw you? Two, three years?’

‘About that,’ she agreed. ‘But what are you doing here?’ she asked. ‘I thought you were still collecting butterflies in the Amazon. I had visions of you being eaten alive by mosquitoes.’

‘Yes, well, not quite—but not far off. You know me. I never could stand the heat.’

‘Hardly surprising.’ She arched one delicate eyebrow. ‘I did warn you, Al.’ His complexion, if anything, was even fairer than hers.

They had met at primary school, two redheads with unusual names, and had naturally gravitated towards each other as protection against the bullies. Al was the only person who dared to use her given name. She had demanded even her parents must call her Sally after her first year at school, and Algernon had done the same, demanding his parents call him Al. As teenagers they had planned on taking a year off after university to go around the world together, starting with South America—Al for the butterflies, and Sally to see the ruins of Machu Picchu. Her mum’s illness had put an end to Sally’s dream, but she still lived with the faint hope that she would do it one day.

‘So what are you up to?’ she queried, delighted to see him again.

‘Working in the family firm with Dad. We had just finished lunch, and I was following him out when I spotted you. But what about you? Still studying the Ancients?’ he prompted with a grin.

‘Yes.’ She grinned back.

‘I have to dash, but give me your new number. I tried your old with no joy.’ He took his cell phone out of his pocket and entered the number as Sally told him.

Zac Delucca had seen and heard enough. The telephone number was the final straw. For a woman with no man in her life, this guy, if not now, obviously had been. He had never seen Sally so animated—certainly not with him. When he had heard the younger man speak to her, then seen him take her in his arms and kiss her, he had been blinded by a red tide of sheer male jealousy—not an emotion he was familiar with, and it had stunned him for a moment. But not any more…

‘Sally, darling.’ He rose to his feet and crossed to her side. ‘You must introduce me to your friend,’ he demanded, fixing the young man with a gimlet-eyed stare.

Suddenly remembering where she was and who she was with, Sally swiftly made the introduction. She saw Al flinch as Zac shook his hand. The man was demonstrating his superior strength like a rutting bull, she though disgustedly. And where did he get off, calling her darling?

Al, ever the gentleman, responded politely. ‘Pleased to meet you Mr Delucca. A shame our meeting has to be so brief.’ He gave Sally an apologetic glance. ‘Sorry, Sally, I can’t stay and talk. You know Dad, he will be waiting outside. champing at the bit to get back to work. I’m going to a house party this weekend, but I will call you next week and we can have dinner and catch up. What do you say?’

It took a brave man to stand up to Delucca, but Al refused to be intimidated and Sally gave her old friend a gentle smile.

‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ she said, and watched him walk out.

She resumed her seat as the waiter arrived with their coffee, her eyes misty with memories of a happier time. Al had never teased her about the stutter she had developed as a child after the death of her grandmother, who had lived with them. He had been her staunch defender and best friend all through her school years. He had attended every birthday party she had, and been a frequent visitor to her home. And she had spent countless summer days playing around the swimming pool at his home, a magnificent thirties-style Art Deco house situated in Sandbanks, overlooking Poole Harbour.

He had been the first boy to kiss her, and he had been as shy as her. The sex side of things had not progressed much further than a few tentative gropes which had made them giggle, and they’d realised they were more brother and sister than lovers.

They had drifted apart since leaving school. She had gone to university in Exeter, while Al had gone to Oxford to study botany, much against his father’s wishes. They had kept in touch, and met up in the holidays occasionally, but with her mum’s illness, gradually their only contact had become the occasional telephone call or chance meeting, like today.

The last time she had seen him had been when they had bumped into each other in Bournemouth and gone for a drink. Al had been all fired up with the Amazon trip he was about to embark on, and had asked Sally to go with him. She had reluctantly refused, explaining that her mum was in the clear, but that she, Sally, was about to start a great new job in London.

It seemed a lifetime ago now…

‘Very touching.’ A deep, mocking voice cut into her memories. ‘Al is an old friend, I take it? Or should I say lover?’

She looked across at Zac, caught the latent anger in his eyes, and realised that beneath the cool, sophisticated exterior he was not pleased. Well, she was not a happy bunny either. She had not wanted to go to lunch with the man in the first place.

‘Say what you like. It is no business of yours.’

‘It is my business. When I take a lady out to lunch I expect her to behave like a lady, not leap up into another man’s arms—a man who yells her name, Sally!—and when he demands “Sal my kiss” proceeds to kiss him.’

Sally was puzzled for a moment, then her blue eyes widened in understanding. Her lips twitched and, unable to help herself, she burst out laughing. Of all the nicknames she had been called at school—salami, or simply sausage being the favourites—no one had ever put that interpretation on her birth name.

‘I’m glad you found it amusing because I didn’t.’ His accent had thickened and the anger in the black eyes that blazed into hers was all too real.

If that was what he had thought, in a way she could see his point, and she decided to tell him the truth.

‘You were mistaken. Al did not ask me for a kiss.’ She grinned. ‘My first name is not Sally but Salmacis.’ She gave him the proper pronunciation, a syllable at a time. ‘Sal-ma-sis.’ And saw disbelief, puzzlement and finally curiosity in his dark eyes.

Zac didn’t know whether to believe her. Salmacis was not a name he had ever heard in any language, and he knew half a dozen. If it was an excuse it was a hell of a good one. Yet she looked sincere, and English was not his first language, he could have been mistaken.

‘Salmacis.’ He rolled the name off his tongue and rather liked it. ‘What kind of name is that?’

‘It is Greek. When my mum was pregnant with me she spent the last four months of her pregnancy on bedrest. She got hooked on reading Greek mythology.’

Then Sally told him the legend. ‘Apparently Salmacis was the nymph of a fountain near Halicarnassus in Asia Minor. She became one with the youth Hermaphroditos. And before you ask, no, I am not a hermaphrodite—but I believe that is the origin of the word.’

‘It never entered my head.’ Zac chuckled. ‘What possessed your mother to give you such a peculiar though rather lovely name?’ he demanded, still smiling broadly. ‘You have to admit it is extremely unusual.’

For a moment Sally was stunned, her heart racing out of control as she met his enquiring gaze. His dark eyes danced with golden lights, his hard face was transformed into a softer, younger version by the brilliance of his smile, and she could not help smiling back at him.

‘I think it was the last fable she read before going into labour, and unfortunately for me it stuck in her mind,’ she said wryly.

‘No, not unfortunate. You are far too exotic—no, that isn’t the word.’ Zac shook his dark head, searching his brain for the English equivalent of what he wanted to say. ‘Your beauty is too unique. No—too mystical for a Sally,’ he declared with satisfaction. ‘Salmacis suits you much better.’ He saw the humour in her expressive eyes. How had he ever thought they were cold?

‘I much prefer Sally—in fact, I insist on it. So be warned—call me Salmacis and I will ignore you.’

‘Okay—Sally,’ he conceded, and added, ‘But I am a little surprised she persuaded your father to agree to such an unusual name. Accountants are not known for their flights of fancy.’

The sparkle vanished from her eyes like a light being switched off, to be replaced with a familiar blank look.

‘She didn’t have to. My dad married Mum because he got her pregnant when she was eighteen and he was thirty-five,’ Sally told Zac. It was the truth. Exhaustion from her hectic work schedule and from worrying about her mother overtook her, and she could not be bothered to dissemble.

‘Apparently, he was so upset when the doctor told him she would not have any more children, no future son, he didn’t much care what name I was given.’

Appalled by Sally’s matter-of-fact revelation, Zac realised her father’s attitude must have hurt her. To actually let the child know how he’d felt was a disgraceful thing to do. But then Nigel Paxton was almost certainly a thief and an unfaithful husband: sensitivity was obviously not his strong point.

‘I think we should leave now.’ Her voice intruded on his thoughts. ‘We are the only couple left.’

Zac had not noticed, but glancing around the room he saw she was right.

When was the last time a woman had held his attention to the exclusion of everything else around him? he asked himself. Never. The realisation shocked him rigid. In that moment he determined there was no way he was going to let it happen again. Sally was as dangerous as she was beautiful, and she was not for him…

‘Finish your coffee and we will go,’ he agreed, and beckoned the maître d’. He handed him a credit card and a bundle of notes for a tip, and after draining his coffee cup stood up.

The meal had turned out okay, despite its difficult start, and he had learnt a lot about Salmacis—too much, he thought wryly. From what he had overheard earlier, Sally obviously knew about her father’s infidelity and resented the fact he had more time for a girlfriend than he had for her. Hence turning up at the office today and demanding her father lunch with her.

Money obviously was not enough for the lovely Salmacis; she was the type who craved attention from the men in her life. Given the reaction of her father to her name, he could understand why she behaved the way she did. But clinging, needy women did not appeal to him, he rationalised, confirming his decision not to see her again.

He glanced down at her. She looked fragile and, act or not, he couldn’t prevent himself from slipping an arm around her waist as he led her out of the restaurant. She made no attempt to pull away, another first, but leant against him as they walked to where the limo was parked a few yards away.

He let the chauffeur help her inside.

She was magic to hold, he thought ruefully as he slipped into the back seat beside her, but every male instinct he possessed told him this was one woman he was going to pass on—for his own preservation.

‘Where would you like us to drop you off?’ he asked. ‘Bond Street? Harrods?’ he suggested, with an edge of cynicism in his tone.

‘Harrods is fine.’

He’d thought as much. A bit of retail therapy was all any woman needed to keep her happy.

She looked up at him with soft blue eyes, and he could not resist. He wrapped an arm around her waist and slid his hand through the silken tumble of her hair to tip up her face.

‘What are you doing?’ she murmured.

‘Oh, I think you know,’ he drawled huskily, and covered her lush lips with his own.

He could not let her go without kissing and tasting her just once, he told himself…

Chapter Four

STARTLED out of her lethargy as a strong arm slipped around her waist, Sally arched back in instinctive denial of the intimacy he was seeking. She glanced up at his darkly attractive face and recognised the sensual intent in his eyes. She was stunned by the sudden flash of awareness that heated her whole body. He was going to kiss her…

Her pulse began to race, and as his dark head bent she could almost feel the virile power emanating from his mighty frame. For a second she was tempted to abandon herself to what he was offering. But she knew it would be a disastrous mistake. She had no time in her life for an affair with Zac or any other man, even if she wanted one. She put her hands up to push him away, but too late…

Zac’s warm mouth claimed hers with a soft sensuality that totally confused and captivated her. She closed her eyes, her lips involuntarily parting to accept the subtle intrusion of his tongue as he deepened the kiss with a skilful, seductive passion that blew all thought of resistance from her mind.

Sally had never experienced a kiss like it. Dizzy with a sensual excitement she had never known before, she let her mouth cling to his, and eagerly, if a little inexpertly, returned the passion. Suddenly he broke the kiss, and tiny moans of regret escaped her, quickly followed by a gasp of pleasure as he trailed kisses down her throat and lower, to trace with his tongue the gentle curve of her breasts revealed by the neckline of her dress.

His hand dropped to slip beneath the fabric, long fingers edging beneath the delicate lace of her bra to cup her naked breast, a thumb teasing the burgeoning tip to send rivers of unbelievable sensation flowing through her body. His mouth returned to hers, and she was enthralled by his taste, his touch, drowning in the sea of erotic pleasure his kisses and caresses evoked. She felt the heat of his palm on her bare leg, his hand stroking up her thigh, and she trembled, the blood pulsing thick and fast through her veins. She was ablaze with sensuous hunger, with a need she didn’t understand but knew she wanted fulfilled badly.

So this was what she had been missing—this was the reason people loved sex, she thought wonderingly, and curved her hand around his neck to mesh her fingers in the silken hair of his head.

Abruptly he pulled away, and without his support Sally flopped back against the seat. Lost in a haze of sexual arousal, she murmured, ‘What happened?’

‘We have arrived at your destination. Harrods.’

His deep accented voice speared like an icicle through the emotional fog clouding her brain. She was mortified. She had not noticed the car had stopped. She glanced down and, horrified, adjusted the bodice of her dress. She looked out of the window—anywhere but at the man next to her. Finally, as the silence lengthened, reluctantly she looked back at Zac Delucca.

He was watching her, his eyes as dark as night, the remnants of desire swirling in the liquid depths.

‘Shame, I know, Sally.’ His lips quirked at the corners in the beginnings of a smile. ‘But we can continue this later. Have dinner with me tonight.’

‘No,’ she said abruptly. Sally had never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in her life. Noting her skirt had hitched up around her thighs, she swiftly smoothed it down with trembling hands. Never in all her life had a man kissed and touched her so intimately. And she couldn’t understand what had come over her.

‘Tomorrow night, then,’ he prompted.

How the hell had it happened? Sally asked herself for the second time today in the luxury of his limousine. This time it was much worse, and it was Zac Delucca’s fault again. When he had spoken of his skills as a lover she had never dreamt he meant to try and prove his statement with such explicit speed that the defensive wall she had built around herself would crumble with just one kiss…

‘Sorry, no. I am going away for the weekend.’

‘Cancel and spent the weekend with me,’ he demanded arrogantly.

Staring at him, her blue eyes widening, Sally unconsciously ran the tip of her tongue over her slightly swollen lips, where the taste of Zac still lingered. It would be so easy to say yes to a weekend of mindless pleasure instead of sadness, and suddenly she was afraid of the speed with which he had turned her life upside down. Then she realised he had been nowhere near as affected by the passionate interlude as she had been, and, given the churning in her stomach, still was!

He probably seduced women in his limo on a regular basis, and she had very nearly been his latest conquest…

She thought of her mother, who really needed her, as opposed to a man like Delucca, who certainly did not—except in the shallowest way. Zac was undoubtedly a formidable man, used to getting whatever and whoever he wanted, and he was her father’s new boss.

But then again, Sally thought, she didn’t give a fig for her father. If she offended his boss, so what?

‘That’s an outrageous suggestion and not one I would ever consider,’ she said bluntly. ‘And I promised my mother.’

‘Loyalty to your mother is an admirable trait. We can make it dinner on Monday night.’

Not only was he arrogant, he was also pig-headed, and she did not bother to reply as, to her relief, the chauffeur opened the car door. She needed to get as far away from Zac Delucca as she could, and, swinging her legs out of the car, she stood up. She hesitated and glanced back at Zac. Good manners were ingrained in her.

‘Thank you for lunch, Mr Delucca, and the lift,’ she said formally. ‘Goodbye.’ And, turning, she hurried along the street.

She did not go into the store, Zac noted as he watched her walk along the pavement. Her rear view was as enticing as the rest of her, and the reason he had eschewed good manners and not helped her out of the limousine was still causing him a problem.

‘Drive on,’ he ordered the chauffeur. Sally—or Salmacis, he smiled to himself—intrigued and also confused him.

By nature he was a decisive man. Once he decided on a course of action in both the business world and his private life he never changed his mind. Yet a certain red-haired woman had him changing his mind over and over again.

Needy was a no-no; husband-hunting was a no-no; idle little rich girl was a no-no—and he did not believe for a minute that she was spending the weekend with her mother. Partying was more her style, if the slight violet shadows under her beautiful eyes were anything to go by. He would bet on it…She wasn’t his usual type at all.

Yet, against all that, after deciding to kiss her goodbye he had changed his mind again.

As soon as their lips had met she had caught fire in his arms, melting against him, running her fingers through his hair, inflaming him further. She was the most incredibly responsive woman he had ever met, and there was no way he was walking away.

He strolled back into Paxton’s office and glanced at Raffe, who shook his head slightly. So Paxton did not know yet they were on to him. Good.

‘Your daughter and I had a pleasant lunch, Paxton. She asked to be dropped off at Harrods, though I noticed she didn’t go in the store.’

‘You know what young women are like—always changing their minds,’ he said with an ingratiating smile. ‘I gave her a studio apartment in Kensington and it is not far from Harrods. She probably decided to walk home.’

Zac knew enough about property in London to know that an apartment in the Royal Borough of Kensington did not come cheap. Sally was a lucky girl, and Paxton was looking guiltier by the minute.

Sally drove into the car park of the nursing home and cut the engine. She glanced up at the mellow stone, half covered by the rampant scarlet Virginia creeper. The sun was shinning, it was a glorious June day, and yet she felt none of the joy such a beautiful day should bring. For a moment she folded her arms across the steering wheel and let her head drop. She had to smile for her mother, even though her heart felt like lead in her chest. It was hard…so very hard…Even more so now she knew the doctor’s prognosis…

As she had guessed, her father had not rung her last night, and she had had no luck in getting in touch with him until this morning, when he’d informed her that because Delucca was there he could not possibly get away this weekend.

For once Sally believed him. After yesterday’s lunch with the man, she knew no one could refuse him—herself included. She still cringed when she thought of the way she had reacted to his kiss and, worse, the way she had spent a restless night trying to banish him from her mind—without much success.

Lifting her head, she drew in a deep, steadying breath and brushed a stray drop of moisture from her eye. At least today she would not have to lie to her mother. Her dad was tied up with business.

Five minutes later, forcing a smile to her face, Sally breezed into her mother’s room with a cheerful hello.

She was sitting in her wheelchair, an expectant smile on her face—a still lovely face, although now it was deeply lined with pain. Her hair was no longer the soft red Sally remembered. After her chemo it had grown back a mousy brown, and was now streaked with grey.

Yet her mum had not given up, Sally thought as she walked towards her. She had still applied her make-up—and even if the foundation was a bit streaky and the lipstick not perfect she had tried…Probably because she expected her husband. But she was destined to be disappointed yet again.

Sally swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, and dropped a soft kiss on her lined cheek.

The nurse had dressed her mum in the pretty summer frock Sally had bought for her the week before. She always brought a gift when she visited—sometimes simply a box of chocolates. This week she had book on Greek Mythology she had found in a secondhand bookstore. It was a real find as it was a very old copy, printed in 1850, with wonderful illustrations.

She gave her mum the book, and she was delighted, but her smile faded a little when Sally told her her husband was not coming. Sally tried to make it better by explaining about his new boss, saying that she had actually met him at her dad’s office, and that seemed to satisfy her.

Later Sally suggested they take a walk in the garden as it was such a perfect afternoon. Her mum agreed, and she spent a pleasant hour pushing the wheelchair around the extensive grounds.

Sally sighed as she entered the studio apartment gifted to her by her parents and closed the door behind her. She sagged against it. It had been another beautiful summer day, but she felt hot, sticky and tired.

The weekend had been bittersweet. She had not left her mum until late last night. The outing in the garden had tired her, and Sally had helped the nurse put her to bed and then sat with her for the rest of the afternoon and Saturday evening. She had done the same on Sunday, and it had been after midnight when she’d finally arrived back in London, exhausted. But worry over her mother and the images of a tall dark man had fractured her sleep, and she had had to drag herself out of bed this morning to go to work.

She felt totally worn out, both mentally and physically, and for a moment hadn’t the strength to move. Shoulders slumped, she glanced around the room with jaundiced eyes. She hated the place.

It had been her father’s studio apartment for years, but after her mum’s accident he had sold the family home in Bournemouth and bought a three-bedroomed apartment in fashionable Notting Hill.

How he had persuaded her mother to sell the house in Bournemouth—the house her mum had inherited from her parents—Sally had had no idea, but she had reluctantly agreed to go and see the new apartment, supposedly the new family home. It was a top-floor conversion of a large Georgian house, and she’d swiftly realised it was unsuitable for a wheelchair—which to her mind simply confirmed that her father had no intention of ever living with his wife again.

His excuse for selling the house was the cost of keeping his wife in the nursing home. As it was he who had put her there, it did not cut much ice with Sally, but she could not deny he did pay the fees.

Then, to her dismay, she had found herself the recipient of his studio apartment. Her mother had been delighted, and told her it was time she had a place of her own. When she’d tried to refuse her mother had insisted, and told her to listen to her father—he was the accountant, and the property was a good investment. Apparently, giving the studio to Sally was a great way of avoiding death duties in the future!

Sally had then realised how he had persuaded her mum to sell, and it had confirmed in her mind what a greedy low-life he really was…

She had reluctantly moved in ten months ago, when the lease on her old apartment ran out, mainly because her mother had kept asking her when she was going to move.

But to Sally this apartment didn’t feel like her home, and she knew it never could—because in her head she would always think of it as her dad’s sleazy love-nest. A fact that had been brought home to her the first week she’d moved in, when she’d fielded quite a few calls from present and previously discarded mistresses. She had changed the telephone number, but she could not change the fact that a string of women other than his wife had shared the king-size bed.

As a studio apartment it was a superior example, with natural wooden floors, and it was larger than most. The kitchen and bathroom were off the small entrance hall, separate from the main living area which was split-level, with a mini-staircase leading to the bedroom area. She had thrown out every piece of furniture her father had left, including his king-size bed and the mirror over it, and bought a queen-size bed for herself.

She had redecorated completely, in neutral tones, and bought the minimum of new furniture: a sofa, an occasional table, and a television for the living area. In the bedroom she had fitted interlocking beechwood units along one wall, which included drawers and shelves where she could house her books, plus a desktop that stretched the length of one unit. It held her computer and doubled as a dressing table. The other wall had a built-in wardrobe with mirrored doors. The bed had a beechwood headboard, and all her bedlinen was plain white—easily interchangeable. She didn’t need anything else, and she probably would not be there much longer.

She had mentioned to her mother a month ago that she was thinking of trying to sell the studio, telling her she would really prefer a separate bedroom. Her mum had said that would be nice, and the subject had not been mentioned again. But Sally had placed it with a local estate agent the next Monday. She had stipulated that she wanted no sign outside, as she was at work all day and away every weekend and a sign tended to encourage burglars.

She need not have bothered, as she no longer cared whether she sold it or not. Since hearing the doctor’s prognosis for her mother last week she’d recognised there were a lot worse things in life than living in an apartment one didn’t like.

She straightened up and headed for the kitchen, dropping her purse on the sofa on the way. A cup of coffee, a sandwich and a shower, in that order, and then bed.

Checking the water level in the kettle, she switched it on, and, opening a cupboard, reached for a jar of instant coffee just as the wall-mounted telephone rang.

Her heart leapt in panic. It must be the nursing home about her mother, was her first thought, and, lifting the receiver from the rest, she said quickly, ‘Sally here—what is it?’

‘Not what—who,’ a deep voice corrected her with a chuckle, before continuing, unnecessarily identifying himself. ‘Zac.’ And she nearly dropped the phone.

‘How did you get my number?’ she demanded.

‘Easy. Your father told me you lived in Kensington. I wasn’t so obvious as to ask him for your number, but you are in the telephone book.’

Of course she was. Hadn’t she changed the number and registered it under her own name? ‘You looked through all the Paxtons in the book? You must have had to ring dozens to find me.’ She couldn’t believe a man of his wealth and stature would go to so much trouble.

‘No. Surprisingly there are only a few, and yours was the first number I tried. I am just naturally lucky, Sally.’

He was naturally arrogant as well—and what was she doing, bothering to talk to him?

‘Now, about tonight,’ he continued. ‘I’ve booked a table for eight.’ He mentioned a famous Mayfair restaurant.

‘Wait a damn minute,’ Sally cut in angrily. ‘I never agreed to go out to dinner with you. So thanks, but no thanks, I am staying in to wash my hair,’ she ended sarcastically, and hung up.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she pulled in some deep breaths to control the anger and—if she was honest—the excitement the sound of his deep-toned voice aroused so easily.

The kettle boiled, and she made a cup of coffee with a hand that was not quite steady. What was happening to her? Exhaustion—that was the problem. It had probably lowered her immune system and sent her emotions haywire. Satisfied with the explanation, she made a cheese sandwich with stale bread, but ate most of it anyway and drank her coffee.

She crossed to the bed area, slipping out of her skirt, and she hung it in the closet and headed for the bathroom. She stripped naked, and, dropping her blouse, bra and briefs into the wash basket, turned the shower on to warm. She picked up a bottle of shampoo from the vanity unit and stepped under the soothing spray.

She washed her hair and then, placing the shampoo on the chrome rack, she let her head fall back. She closed her eyes and let the water wash away the grime and hopefully the grimness of the weekend.

Her mother had been pleased to see her, and had declared she was perfectly content, but Sally knew different. No matter how good the nursing home, how great the staff were or how beautiful the gardens, it was still a nursing home. The patients were there out of necessity, because they needed constant care. She doubted anyone, given a choice, would choose it over their own home.

She shrugged off her morbid thoughts, and, switching off the shower, grabbed a large fluffy towel from the towel rail and rubbed her body dry. She towel-dried her hair, deciding not to bother with the hairdryer, and letting it hang down her back to dry naturally. She cleaned her teeth at the basin, and, taking her towelling robe off the hook on the back of the bathroom door, she slipped it on, tying the sash firmly around her waist.

The telephone rang as she walked back into the living room. Surely not Delucca again? Moving to the kitchen, she answered it with a curt, ‘Yes?’

‘My. Sally, who has rattled your cage?’ an old familiar voice demanded.

‘Al!’ She laughed. ‘I thought it was someone else.’

‘Not the guy you were having lunch with, I hope?’

‘Got it in one.’

‘Sally, be careful. I mentioned I had met Delucca to my dad. According to him the man is not the type to get involved with. Apparently, he is an extremely powerful man, admired by a few, but feared by most. He is known as the takeover king and he’s a brilliantly astute businessman. Delucca Holdings is one of the few companies that the recession has barely affected—mainly because he is ruthless at closing down failing companies and selling off their assets. But he’s equally as clever at retaining and expanding the profitable ones. He owns mines in South America and Australia, a couple of oil companies, land and a lot more besides. As my dad pointed out, all tangible assets that, unlike stocks and shares, in the long term can’t fail. As for his private life, not much is known about him except that he has dated quite a few top models.’

‘I know all that—and don’t worry. I refused his offer of dinner. The lunch was a one-off, never to be repeated.’

‘Great. So have dinner with me tomorrow night? I have a table booked for nine at the new in place, but the girl I had high hopes of turned me down.’

‘That is a back-handed invite if ever I heard one.’ She laughed, but agreed, and after ten minutes of talking to Al she felt revived and almost human again.

She switched on the television, and an hour later was curled up on the sofa, watching the ending of her favourite crime programme and contemplating going to bed, when the doorbell rang.

The building had a concierge, and the intercom had not rung to announce anyone’s arrival, so it had to be Miss Telford from across the hall, Sally guessed. She had met her the first week she had moved in, when the elderly spinster had locked herself out. Since then, at Miss Telford’s request, Sally had kept a spare set of keys for her apartment, just in case she did it again—which she did quite frequently…

Standing up and stretching, Sally switched off the television and padded barefoot across the floor to open the door.

‘Forgotten the key…? You!’ The surprised exclamation left her lips before she could prevent it.

Sally was struck dumb, her incredulous gaze sweeping over the man before her. Zac Delucca was standing in the doorway, with what looked like a large cooler box in one hand and a bunch of roses in the other.

‘An honest woman—you actually were washing your hair,’ he drawled, eyeing the damp tousled curls falling around her shoulders. ‘But washing your hair or not, Sally, I figured you still need to eat. These are for you.’ He held out the roses and she took them, too shocked to refuse, and then, brushing past her, he strolled into her apartment. ‘Nice place,’ he opined, and set the box on the occasional table before turning round to look at her.

Still speechless, Sally let her eyes roam in helpless admiration over his impressive form. Gone was the designer suit. In its place he was wearing a white cotton shirt, and denim jeans that hung low on his lean hips and faithfully moulded his strong thighs and long legs. The designer label was a discreet signature on a side pocket.

Involuntarily her gaze was drawn back to his broad muscular chest, outlined by the obviously tailor-made shirt, the first few buttons of which were unfastened, revealing the strong column of his throat and a tantalising glimpse of black chest hair. Sally gulped, and for a moment had an overwhelming urge to run her fingers through the curling body hair. She took a step forward, the basic animal magnetism of the man, drawing her like a moth to a flame…

But the door slamming shut behind her brought her to her senses, and she ruthlessly squashed the impulse and found her voice.

‘The doorman never called, so how the hell did you get in?’ she demanded, and lifted her eyes to his face; now he was grinning broadly, and looked even more devastatingly attractive, Sally thought helplessly.

‘I told him you were my lover and it was our one month anniversary. I said I wanted to surprise you with champagne and roses and an intimate dinner for two. The man is clearly a romantic at heart—he could not refuse. Plus the tip helped,’ he added cynically.

There it was again. No one ever refused Zac Delucca. And Sally had a sinking sensation that if she was not very careful she might fall into that category too.

She went on the attack. ‘Then the man is going to lose his job, because I did not invite you here. I want you to leave now—get out or I will throw you out…’ She raised angry blue eyes to his and caught a golden flame of desire in the dark depths so fierce she imagined she felt the heat—before his attention was diverted from her face…

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