For Love or Money Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sarah Morgan

  She entered the en suite bathroom adjoining her office to freshen up. Every day she’d sworn that this night would be the one—that she’d reveal her secret tonight, that she would leave the light on and take off her clothes and let him discover the truth.

  And every night her resolve to tell Loukas had been blown away by the sheer force of their lovemaking and the knowledge that things would have to change once he knew.

  Her face stared back at her in the mirror. What would it be like for him to see her scars for the first time? Would he think them as bad as she anticipated or worse? How would he react? In horror? In revulsion? Or would it just turn him off completely? There weren’t a lot of options, and none of them were good. He could hardly react with joy.

  On a sudden whim she lifted the hem of her knitted top and pulled it over her head before she could change her mind. Her satin and lace bra followed. She needed to prepare herself for what was to come. She needed to be able to face what she expected him to.

  She opened her eyes and looked into the mirror. First at her eyes—a little bewildered, a lot afraid—then at her mussed hair, and finally to the red mottled stain that started on one side of her ribcage and crept up like a red wine stain on a white tablecloth, the edges crazily uneven, to devour most of her left breast.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. The contrast with her untanned white skin only accentuated the scars. And if she found it ugly…

  But it couldn’t be put off any longer. No more covering up with robes, with lace teddies and negligees. No more hiding from the light, no more deception. If she couldn’t trust Loukas now, after what they’d shared, then she was never going to be able to trust him.

  She summoned all the strength she had as she replaced her clothes, smoothing her hair before heading for the exit.

  Tonight was the night!

  She was waiting for him outside the clinic, just as they’d arranged, and one sight of her was enough to quicken his pulse in anticipation of what the night would bring. She’d been such a good student, eager and quick to learn, turning from an innocent into a she-devil in less time than he would have imagined possible even under his skilful tutelage.

  And yet he hadn’t managed to transform her completely. She was a strange mix—so sexy with her new knowledge one minute, and yet still so shy and innocent the next. She continued to plead to make love in the dark, as he hungered to see her body stripped of the shadows she preferred to adorn herself with.

  But time had run out. He gritted his teeth as he remembered his father’s call. Olympia was back, and about to book herself into the clinic at any time. Which meant there was no more time for instruction of his protégée—no more time to break down her last remaining barriers.

  And that annoyed him intensely.

  How could time have slipped away so quickly? He wasn’t finished with her yet—not by a long way. He hadn’t had enough of her lush curves, her responsive body, the incredible feeling of her shattering in his arms as he pumped into her.

  His teeth clenched as he pulled into the kerb alongside her, noticing the way the breeze sculpted the soft fabric of her skirt around the sensational legs beneath. Legs that climbed all the way up to a place where he’d found paradise for the last three nights. A place that would be available to him only in his memories once she discovered his real purpose.

  He rammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel.

  Damn his father!

  Damn his sister and her useless husband!

  And damn Della-Bosca and the industry that fed like parasites off the insecure, fuelling their endless pursuit for the perfect body!

  He lifted his eyes from Jade’s legs long enough to notice her slight frown—too bad if she’d picked up on his mood, he was too angry to pretend everything was all right. And it didn’t matter if he wasn’t the perfect host tonight. He had a more important job to do.

  She had to tell him whatever she knew. Whatever Della-Bosca had planned for his sister he would have to prevent. And then hopefully he would have enough evidence to put her away for life. It was time someone did.

  ‘You seem tense,’ she said, when finally, after a conversation-starved journey, they arrived at the house. ‘Is something the matter?’

  She waited while he fixed them both a drink, almost afraid to breathe, already rethinking her plans to come clean. Could it be that he was tiring of her already? Was her lack of experience and finesse a turn-off for him?

  The thought almost paralysed her with a kind of grief—the last few nights had been the best in her life, and Loukas was the reason. But if he didn’t want her any more…

  He turned then, and what she saw almost made her recoil—because for the briefest second his face looked exactly as it had done the first time she’d seen him: harsh and unforgiving and etched with a hostility she couldn’t fathom. But then in a blink of his eyes it was gone, replaced by a smile she’d become more familiar with, a smile that seemed so warm and sincere she almost reeled in confusion, wondering whether she’d imagined the transformation.

  But she had seen that momentary flash in his eyes, the chiselled set of his chin. Underneath the façade he was angry with her—but why?

  Unless he knew! Fear pooled deep down in her gut, turning the contents of her stomach to rebellion mode. She’d thought she was being careful enough, but maybe he’d discovered her secret himself. Maybe he was furious with her for not telling him, for deceiving him—just like Garry had been.

  It was history repeating itself. Here was another man she’d hidden the truth from. Another man deceived. Why the hell hadn’t she learned something from her first appalling experience? Why the hell had she waited to tell Loukas?

  Fool, she thought, as he left the drinks on the bar and closed the distance between them empty-handed. Her stomach churned, her feet seemingly cemented to the floor when all she really wanted to do was flee. Of course she’d waited! Because she’d known exactly what would happen once she told him—she wouldn’t see him for dust. And she would have missed out on three incredible nights, the scorching memories of which were going to keep her warm at night long after he was gone.

  Was that what he was building up to now? Was this the end?

  She swallowed as he came to a standstill in front of her, the action forcing up her chin defiantly. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ She’d dredged confidence from somewhere. Her words sounded far braver than she felt. But she had to know where she stood. Her mind was already working on her defence. I was going to tell you! Now! Tonight!

  He said nothing, the wine glasses on the bar forgotten, the look on his face confusing her—too many tangled emotions to make sense of, too much to understand. Then a muscle in his jaw spasmed, lifting the corner of his mouth, and somehow the layers seemed to slide from his features, the anger, the resentment dissolving away, so that all that was left was undisguised and all the more potent. Raw desire—need—there was no misinterpreting his message now.

  ‘I’m not actually all that thirsty any more,’ he said, his breath brushing lightly across her cheek, setting her skin to prickling awareness all the way down to her toes. ‘How about you?’

  His eyes riveted her to the spot. She could no sooner take her eyes from his than walk to the moon. She gave a single barely-there shake of her head. ‘No,’ she said.

  He smiled then, and curved his arms around her neck, the pads of his fingers still cool from the wine glasses while the reaction they triggered was anything but. His thumbs stroked her earlobes, tugging gently on her gold hoops. Her eyelids fluttered closed. There was something wonderfully sexy about the way he did that, something strangely hypnotic—his eyes locked on hers, his fingers tugging, insistent, on her soft flesh.

  Then his mouth dipped to hers, and it was the turn of his mouth to catch her bottom lip, securing the plump flesh between his teeth before releasing it. Again and again he repeated the tender gesture, as sweetly as if he were playing an instrument, while she stood entranced, eyes closed, the rh
ythm of his gentle movements building on the need mounting, coiling inside.

  Only when he released her lip one final time did she open her eyes. He sighed then, almost as if he was reluctantly giving himself over to something he didn’t quite understand, but there was no time to ponder his expression once he uttered his next words.

  ‘Then come to bed.’

  And, just like his caresses, his lovemaking was slow and languid, his movements designed to extract every last drop of pleasure from the act. His hands explored her skin, rounding over her curves, dipping into her hollows, taking his time as if he was reading her through his fingertips. And all the while his mouth worshipped her, tasting her, laving her.

  Slow, exquisite torture. The pace suited her mood, matched her needs. And gave her the time to drink in his body, to memorise the lines of his sculpted torso. Because she would tell him tonight—in the lush afterglow of sex, when the memory of their lovemaking might mellow his response. And then finally there would be no lies between them, no deception.

  But that would be later. Right now she accepted each tender kiss, each gentle caress, mentally documenting them along with every taste, every different texture of his skin, storing them away as if they might be her last opportunity.

  And even when they finally came together—their bodies so slick as if oiled, their breathing coming fast—even then he controlled the pace, driving into her purposefully, lending his entire length to her, then resting subtly before withdrawing, achingly slowly, tormenting her, driving her crazy before thrusting into her again. And in this way, slowly, steadily, inexorably, she felt it building, an overwhelming force that lifted her higher and higher as he continued his relentless drive into her until there was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to climb.

  She sensed his body still, accepted one more surging thrust, and with a cry she came apart, clutching at the bedclothes, clutching for him, clutching to keep a hold on a universe that was coming to pieces all around her. He shuddered into her, prolonging her release, sending her spinning even further out of control with his own pulsing energy to a place beyond reason, beyond experience.

  She lay in his arms gasping for air as the last waves rocked through her, gradually subsiding. His heartbeat was like a drum, rock steady, pulling her back to normality. It had never been this good. It had never felt that powerful. And there was no question that she’d been wrong.

  It wasn’t over between them. No way could you make love like that with a person who meant nothing to you. Even with her limited experience of relationships, that much at least seemed obvious. Loukas must feel something for her. Even if it in no way matched the heart-swelling surge of this new love she felt for him, he had to feel something.

  And that knowledge gave her courage. She would tell him. This didn’t have to be a repeat of that night in Yarrabee. Garry had never cared about her. Both of them had wanted different things that night. She’d wanted to finally know what it was like to have a boy interested in you—a boy who thought you were pretty enough to take out and make feel special. But all Garry had wanted was a quick lay.

  She shoved the bitter memories back to the past where they belonged. Loukas wouldn’t react the same way—couldn’t react the same way—not after what they’d shared together. And if he did? Her heart rate jerked up a notch. When he discovered she was imperfect, that she was scarred, that she was not the woman he’d thought her to be, would he really accept her then?

  She swallowed back her fears. It made no difference now. The time had come.

  ‘Loukas?’ she murmured, unable to resist the temptation of running her fingers over his muscular chest, through the wiry spring of the dark hairs, around the firm nub of his nipple for what might well end up being the last time.

  His hand snared hers, stilling her movements, holding her captive. The suddenness of his action startled her, as did the rough way he abruptly discarded her hand and twisted away, almost wrenching his arm out from underneath her.

  ‘What is it?’

  His voice sounded strangely harsh, as if he’d returned to that dark mood he’d been in earlier, and she felt her courage waver. The way he’d left her side, turning his back on her—so much for taking advantage of the warm afterglow of love. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. She couldn’t keep this secret for ever. And the longer she tried, the more difficult it would become, the more dangerous the possible repercussions.

  ‘Loukas,’ she repeated softly, steeling herself for the inevitable shock that would follow her revelation. ‘T-turn on the light. I’ve got something to tell you.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HE ROSE from the bed, bile burning in the back of his throat, the passions of the last half-hour obliterated in the knowledge that he had to act soon if he had any chance of saving his sister.

  ‘I hope so,’ he tossed in reply, without turning. ‘It’s time someone shed some light on things around here.’ He threw her robe across to the bed automatically, as he’d learned to do the last few nights, acceding to the bizarre code of embarrassment she lived by.

  Without looking back he zipped himself into a pair of jeans, and then he stood at the window, watching the reflection from the moon light a path across the water.

  He’d known it would come to this since the first moment they’d met. There was no way for them ever to be more than enemies—not in the long run—not with what he had to do. And now, after what his father had told him, now there was no way around it. So why was he hesitating? Why now was he finding it so difficult to do that about which he had no choice?

  Because you’re going to hurt her.

  He pushed the thought back to where it had sprung from. That shouldn’t be a consideration—it was inevitable that she would be upset, but it had never factored into the equation before. So why now?

  ‘Loukas?’

  He gazed out over the bay, watching the water shimmer under the path of the moonlight while everywhere beyond was black. Zoë had loved the sea. She’d once shone as brilliantly as that slash of light bisecting the water, making everyone and everything around her fade into amorphous shades of grey.

  But she didn’t shine any more. She would never shine again. Grace Della-Bosca and her cronies had extinguished the spark that had been Zoë, preying on her insecurities, feeding her own self-doubts, and ultimately destroying her with a drug-crazed hand.

  And he’d be damned if Della-Bosca was going to get a chance to do the same to his sister!

  He swung around, facing the bed and its sole occupant, both little more than dull shapes in the dark room.

  ‘Tell me what you know about my sister, Olympia.’

  Silence followed his question. He saw the outline that was Jade move to sit up, reaching for what he took to be her robe.

  ‘I didn’t even know you had a sister. You’ve never mentioned her.’

  He laughed out loud. As if he’d have to mention it! He knew Olympia was a client. She’d told her mother she was booked in—there was no mistake. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to believe that?’

  ‘You can believe what you like, but it’s the truth. As far as I know I’ve never met your sister. What makes you think I have?’

  ‘Come on! Is that what she tells you to say whenever someone starts asking difficult questions?’

  ‘What who tells me to say?’

  Her voice had dropped the defensive attitude and taken on a more argumentative tone. Good! Maybe he might get somewhere yet. He watched her silhouette rise from the bed, saw movement as she thrust her arms into the robe.

  ‘Who do you think? That woman you work for. Della-Bosca.’

  ‘You’re talking about Dr Della-Bosca, I take it?’

  She rounded the bed, snapping a switch as she reached the door, and suddenly everything moved from the shadows and was bathed in colour and light.

  He looked at her, at the dishevelled hair flying untamed around her colour-tinged cheeks, her accusing eyes, the peacock-blue robe cinched tightly around her waist and
her arms crossed firmly over her chest, and he realised all too soon his mistake.

  So much for the softly-softly approach he’d intended! Instead he’d gone in all guns blazing, and now it was too late to pull back. Especially when all her continued denials achieved was to further fuel his anger.

  ‘Why bother to call her a doctor at all?’ he sniped. ‘Witch doctor would be more appropriate!’

  Her gasp told him he’d punched the air right out of her lungs, and her features were masked with shock. Thank God. She needed to hear the truth, even if she didn’t like it. She had to face up to the kind of woman she was working for—the kind of woman she herself was no doubt becoming, if she wasn’t already there. Why else would she defend her so stridently?

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden?’ she demanded, unfolding her arms only to plant her hands defiantly on her hips. ‘Grace is doing work that’s world-renowned. You know that. Who are you to criticise her? What is your problem?’

  ‘I expected you to defend her.’

  ‘Of course I’m going to defend her! Somebody needs to, given she’s not here to defend herself. Who the hell are you to attack her this way?’

  ‘Who am I? Just someone who knows what she’s really like. Someone who has seen what that monster can do and think she can get away with it. And someone who’s going to make damn sure she doesn’t get a chance to destroy my sister’s life!’

  By the time he’d finished his outburst he was shouting, his chest heaving, one hand curled into a fist, ramming against the air with every point he made.

  This was madness. Her mind reeled under the force of his tirade, the force of his hatred. But she had to stay calm—stay calm, breathe deeply, and then get the hell out of there!

  ‘I told you before, and I’m telling you now, I don’t know and have never heard of your sister.’ Her voice surprised her with its even quality. Thank God. Someone had to keep control here. She took another lungful of air, praying that her tone would have some soothing effect on Loukas’s mood. ‘Come and search our database if you don’t believe me. There is no Olympia Demakis on our files anywhere.’