The Savakis Mistress

by Annie West

  How pathetic to cling to such a crumb!

  The gleam in his eyes told its own story. Things weren’t so simple. She remembered the quickly veiled interest in several pairs of masculine eyes today, and the way the single men went out of their way to engage her attention.

  Damon had been playing a game of one-upmanship, displaying his latest acquisition. His mistress.

  The metallic tang of disappointment filled her mouth.

  She should have guessed. To him she was a possession. For a while, enjoying a discussion with the women about house design and furnishings, she’d almost forgotten.

  Damon didn’t want her for her mind or personality. It was her body—the way it looked and how it could satisfy his needs—that counted.

  ‘I think Rafael would have tried to steal you away if given half a chance.’

  Damon’s eyes bored into her, waiting for her reaction. What did he expect? Pleasure? Excitement?

  He moved in a world where rich men acquired and dropped beautiful lovers on a whim. Where women prowled for wealthy protectors and men held ultimate power.

  Her stomach churned. She’d had a taste of independence when Alkis died but now she was caught again in that net of male domination.

  ‘You were the most beautiful woman here.’

  Callie raised her eyebrows.

  She had no illusions about her appearance. Her eyes were nice but her mouth was too wide and her nose too long. Only good posture prevented her looking gangly, despite her curves. Most of her allure was artificial—clothes, attitude, bearing. Her eye for colour and design helped her create an illusion of beauty.

  For six years she’d been a possession displayed to prop up her husband’s ego and even, she’d discovered later, to lure potential targets for his commercial plans.

  She’d been paraded, slavered over and treated like a brainless mannequin. The memories were bitter and raw.

  The last thing she needed was compliments on her looks.

  She spun on her heel, pacing to the sideboard and the champagne flute she’d barely touched. Swiftly she tilted the crystal to her mouth and swallowed. Effervescent bubbles cascaded over her lips and burst on her tongue. They obliterated the taste of disappointment, though they couldn’t quench her simmering resentment.

  A few months of freedom and she’d foolishly allowed herself to forget her place in a rich man’s world.

  ‘Are we celebrating?’ Damon’s warm velvet voice caressed her bare neck. A shiver rippled across her skin as she registered the invitation in his tone. He stood so close his heat encompassed her. His musky salt scent invaded her space.

  His lips brushed her nape once, twice and she melted. Despite her fury she trembled at his caress.

  The flute landed on the wood with a click.

  ‘No. I was just thirsty.’

  A hand on her arm made her turn.

  She found herself skewered by a dark, unrelenting gaze that sliced to the core of her.

  ‘What’s wrong, Callie?’

  ‘I may be your mistress, but I don’t like being made to feel cheap.’

  ‘Cheap?’ His eyes narrowed and he stepped close, filling her personal space with his big body, his spicy scent, his vibrating anger. ‘Someone insulted you? Who was it?’

  Callie shook her head, taken aback by his sudden wrath. He looked positively dangerous.

  ‘No one.’ She backed a fraction to find herself jammed up against the sideboard. ‘I meant the way you invited me here just to show me off as your latest plaything.’

  Damon’s eyes sparked fire but his words were soft. ‘You think that’s why I invited you?’

  ‘Why else? Up till now my place has been in your bed. Now you’re busy gloating over how jealous your friends are.’

  ‘You read all this from my comment about them admiring you?’ He frowned.

  She lifted her shoulders in a tight shrug. ‘It’s how men are.’

  ‘Not this man.’ It was a muted growl that made the hairs on her arms prickle. ‘I don’t need the jealousy of others to prop up my ego.’ He thrust his face forward till his banked fury enveloped her. ‘You’re confusing me with someone else.’ There was no mistaking his sincerity, or that he felt insulted. ‘Your husband perhaps?’

  Callie looked away. The memory of Alkis and his controlling ways was still too strong.

  ‘I don’t discuss my marriage.’ Pushing that hurt aside was the only way she’d kept going.

  ‘Yet you judge me because of his behaviour. Is that it?’

  Callie kept her gaze fixed on the view of the harbour, intimidated by his righteous indignation.

  ‘Didn’t it occur to you that I invited you because I wanted you with me? Because I like having you beside me?’

  Startled, Callie froze.

  ‘Because I thought my guests would enjoy your company, which they did. And because I thought you’d enjoy theirs.’

  Slowly she turned her face up to his.

  He looked angry. Impatient. Sincere.

  ‘You look for insults where there are none.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, thrown by his intensity, feeling guilty and foolish at her suspicions. ‘I enjoyed today. Thank you. Especially meeting Paulo and Mariana. They have such a strong relationship.’

  He tilted his head to one side. ‘You sound surprised.’

  Callie’s lips twisted ruefully. ‘Happy marriages are a rare commodity.’

  ‘Including yours?’

  She sighed. He just didn’t give up. ‘Including mine.’ Callie sidestepped, gaining precious space. She didn’t want to talk about Alkis. ‘It’s nice to see a couple so devoted.’

  ‘My parents were like that.’ Damon surprised her with the personal observation. ‘And my siblings are all happily shackled.’

  ‘You sound very close.’ Maybe if she’d had a sister or brother she’d still have that sort of special bond with someone who loved her.

  Damon stepped nearer. ‘My sisters say too close. That I’m overprotective, that before they married I always tried to arrange their lives.’

  ‘Whereas now you have to divert your energies into saving stray dogs?’ Or settling an old score with the family who’d wronged his. Was that what Paulo had meant about him ensuring things turned out right?

  ‘Not all my energies.’ His voice was a silken skein of suggestion as he stroked her cheek, brow and lips.

  Instantly Callie’s eyelids lowered and she swayed close, drawn by the desire that pulsed between them. Each time it was the same—something she couldn’t fight. A hunger that fed on itself, growing stronger by the day.

  ‘I should go.’ Her voice was husky. ‘I have an appointment in the city.’ She needed to prove to herself that she retained some shred of self-control.

  His hand stilled. ‘An appointment?’

  ‘With my lawyer. I’d prefer not to be late.’

  ‘Ah, I thought you’d dressed conservatively.’ He gestured to her honey-beige suit, aquamarine camisole and high heels. ‘But I like it.’ His smile sent her pulse racing. His hand dropped to her lapel, sliding along the fabric.

  ‘Is there some legal problem?’ His question surprised her. She shrugged, half her attention on his wandering hand.

  Today’s meeting was to discuss her non-existent trust fund. She’d heard nothing from her uncle about her inheritance and her calls to Angela had centred on Aunt Desma. At least in that respect there was good news. The doctors had hopes she’d respond well to medication.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  Impenetrable eyes surveyed her so thoroughly she felt as if he stripped bare all her secrets.

  ‘When is the appointment?’ The liquid heat in his eyes told her he had plans for the afternoon that didn’t include meeting with lawyers.

  ‘In less than an hour.’

  Damon’s hand dropped, feathering past her breast in a stealthy caress that caught her breath. He stepped back.

  ‘All right, then. Let’s go. I’ll drop yo
u.’

  His withdrawal stunned her. She’d expected him to ignore her plans and seduce her. Here. Now.

  Disappointment fizzed.

  He extended an arm and waited till she reluctantly tucked her arm in his.

  For one instant she experienced a mad urge to lean against his solid bulk and blurt out her problems, as she had that day on his yacht.

  Then logic kicked in, a savage blow to the solar plexus that sucked the air from her lungs.

  Damon Savakis was her problem.

  Damon strode quickly to the bedroom.

  ‘Callie?’ Still that fillip of excitement got him whenever he came home.

  ‘Callie?’ He entered the master suite and paused, disappointment crashing into him when he found it empty. She wasn’t as he’d fantasised, in the sunken tub, waiting for him.

  Since they’d moved to his Athens apartment she spent most days out on business of her own. She wasn’t exactly secretive but she didn’t offer information and after the little he’d gleaned about her marriage he didn’t push. She was opening up to him only slowly.

  He knew her spark of extra animation coincided with her trust fund becoming available.

  He smiled. It was good to see the way she’d blossomed. She’d been gorgeous before, but now, with this inner glow of excitement, she was irresistible.

  Damon headed down the hall. Maybe she was in the room she’d converted into an office. He knocked. Silence. He hesitated. He’d never entered the private space where her belongings were stored.

  Finally he turned the handle. It wouldn’t be the first time she hadn’t heard him because she was listening to earphones. There was that memorable time in his private gym. She’d been working out in tight shorts and a skimpy top, oblivious to his arrival, and he’d…

  Damon stopped as the door swung open.

  He had a hazy memory of the room as it been, designer-styled cream chic.

  The memory vanished as vibrant colours caught his eye, lush, rich and inviting. He frowned, feeling a difference in the atmosphere.

  Stepping into Callie’s room was like stepping into another world. One alive with her presence.

  The pristine monochromatic style of his modern apartment suddenly seemed soulless as he gazed around this space.

  The bed was pushed into the corner to make space for a massive draughtsman’s desk. The cream coverlet was piled with cushions in purples, greens and blues that made him think how much he wanted to make love to her here.

  More cushions beckoned on a low sofa. On a glass coffee-table was an arrangement of lilies, their scent reminding him of Callie’s skin as they made love, sweet and musky.

  On the walls were a series of…he didn’t know the word. Hangings? Embroideries? Massive artworks of fabric and beads in the colours of the sea. They depicted the ocean in moods ranging from pearly calm to steely grey and dangerous, all finished with exquisite stitching.

  He stepped close, drawn to one that depicted a pine-fringed beach with water the colour of Callie’s eyes. He could almost reach out and touch the sea.

  A squiggle of gold in one corner caught his eye. C.M.

  Callie’s work? Could it be?

  He moved back, stunned. Callie had done this? He went from one piece to another. On each were the same initials.

  Callie said she sewed. But she’d been so reticent he assumed she made little doilies like those his mother sewed.

  Astounded, he pivoted. These belonged in a gallery.

  Why did she hide her talent like this?

  Curiosity got the better of him and he moved to the vast desk, taking in catalogues, business cards of artisans who worked in glass and wood and timber. Swatches of fabrics. And beside them a much thumbed folder. A business plan.

  Damon was so engrossed he didn’t feel a qualm about sitting down and leafing through the document.

  Half an hour later he flexed his shoulders and leaned back in the chair, closing the last page.

  What a mystery his lover was.

  She had outstanding talent. Even he, a philistine when it came to the decorative arts, recognised her genius for creating mood and sensation through her fabric scenes.

  Her business plan for an upmarket home-furnishings boutique was careful and well thought out. She’d made a few potential mistakes, but had done a professional job.

  Where had she learned about starting a business? Her husband? Unlikely. Yet she’d acquired the skills she needed.

  She was some woman.

  Pride warmed him at her determination to start her enterprise. It reminded him of his own drive to learn and succeed in business.

  He glanced round the room, bright and welcoming and warmly sensuous. Like Callie.

  He reached out and brushed his hand across a padded box upholstered in silk, with a beaded flying fish leaping across the top. Instinctively he knew Callie had made it. His hands curled around its soft edges, its glittering decoration.

  Sitting in her space, Damon felt the warmth, the vibrancy, the secret something that drew him to Callie as to no other woman.

  She’d turned his ideas about women on their heads.

  Like the day at Mikrolimano when she’d entertained his guests. He’d known she’d be the perfect hostess. He hadn’t hesitated in asking her, though he’d never invited any previous mistress to do so.

  Nevertheless he’d been curious about her response to so much male interest. She’d been friendly but not too friendly. She’d spent most of her time laughing with the women and seemed almost oblivious of the stir she caused till later when she’d snapped at him.

  Because she thought him like her husband? Something about her marriage was at the heart of her reserve.

  For Callie wasn’t the woman he’d first thought.

  Prickly, independent, intelligent, fabulously responsive. She never pandered to his ego. She’d stood up to him time and again. She continually refused his gifts. She engaged his mind as well as his libido.

  Callie was anything but a calculating man-eater.

  She turned him inside out. For the first time he was no longer focused solely on the next merger, the next business triumph.

  He wanted more. More of Callie.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘YOU mustn’t let business take up all your time, Damon! Say you’ll come to Kefalonia.’

  The woman’s gilded nails wrapped around Damon’s sleeve and tugged him into contact with her over-abundant, unnaturally firm breast. It was as enticing as cuddling up to an overblown beach ball.

  She turned scarlet lips up and her extravagant perfume closed like a fog around him.

  ‘It will be a very select house party, Damonaki,’ she purred, leaning still closer, as if her spouse wasn’t just on the other side of the crowded theatre foyer. ‘My husband won’t be there till the weekend but I’ll devote myself to entertaining you. Privately,’ she added suggestively.

  Her talons gripped tighter and he read the acquisitive glitter in her eyes.

  Revulsion rose.

  A swift glance at the throng around them made him swallow the curt retort hovering on his lips.

  ‘I won’t be available next week. Besides, my companion—’

  ‘Callista Manolis?’ He noted the barely restrained jealousy in the bottle-blonde’s tone. ‘She doesn’t run your life. Not a strong, decisive man like you.’ Her knee edged up his thigh. Bile filled his throat.

  ‘Or,’ she tilted her head speculatively, her mouth slackening in an expression of breathless excitement he found abhorrent, ‘if you bring her we could have some fun. The three of us together.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’ The cool, cut-crystal tone interrupted before he could give voice to a pungent, earthy response.

  He slid his arm free and turned towards the newcomer.

  ‘Callie,’ he murmured appreciatively. The sight of her, elegant and sexy in a high-necked, bare-shouldered black dress, was like a sip of pure spring water after swallowing something toxic.

&n
bsp; Damon reached out and she slipped her hand into his. Warm, supple, it fitted perfectly. He was growing accustomed to this sense of rightness, having her with him.

  ‘Damon and I have plans for that week,’ Callie said, looking down from her superior height.

  ‘You don’t know which week we were discussing,’ the other woman said. Her stiff facial muscles tightened more as she stared up at Callie.

  Callie favoured Damon with a brief, knowing smile that made his heart drum faster. Even here, now, at this premiere event, he responded to the promise in her gold-flecked gaze.

  ‘All Damon’s weeks are booked up,’ Callie asserted. ‘Aren’t they, Damon?’

  Surprise transfixed him as that sultry, bedroom voice emerged from Callie’s pink-glossed lips.

  The only time he heard that tone was when they were alone and he’d driven her to the extremity of pleasure. Instinctively his body tightened.

  ‘If you say so, glikia mou.’

  He enjoyed the novelty of her playing the vamp. Usually she was reserved at events like this. As if the company of A-list celebrities and their cronies wasn’t her style.

  He leaned close and inhaled her fresh scent. It reminded him of sunny days and long, languorous loving.

  Was she jealous? Was that why she’d appeared at his side?

  The idea pleased him immensely. Though he had her in his bed every night and the passion between them was a palpable force, part of her remained steadfastly closed to him.

  He chose lovers who understood he wanted no emotional entanglements. But with Callie he found himself wanting more than physical gratification. The realisation unsettled him and he shoved it aside.

  ‘Well,’ huffed the other woman. ‘Far be it from me to come between a happy couple.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘But don’t forget, Damonaki,’ she pressed close again, her mouth a wet pout, ‘you’re welcome any time. You’d find my hospitality memorable.’

  She turned and undulated her way through the crowd.

  Instantly Callie’s hand tugged, as if to be released. He firmed his grip. Anger simmered in her green stare.