by Annie West
His warm hand engulfed hers. She repressed a shiver at the echo of memory that sped through her. Of a man touching her, far more intimately, only this afternoon.
She pulled back but his hold was firm and unbreakable, his look piercing.
Dampness hazed Callie’s brow as, for an instant, panic flared. Her stomach churned and she gulped down a hard knot in her throat. Then a lifetime’s training kicked in. She ignored the jumble of emotions whirling inside and pinned a meaningless smile to her lips.
Damon Savakis’ eyes were dark. Darker than brown. Dark as a moonless night. Dark enough to sweep a woman into a whirlpool of need and longing and hold her there till sanity fled.
Callie knew it because she’d seen them before. Had already experienced the heady invitation of that bold, sensuous gaze.
He spoke at last, his voice brushing across her skin in an intimate tone that made the hairs rise at her neck.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Callista.’ The words were trite, expected, polite. Nothing at all like the searing expression in his fathomless gaze.
Nothing at all like the lazy, sensual approval in his laughing eyes as he’d seduced her a few short hours ago.
CHAPTER TWO
CALLIE’S lungs emptied as his gaze pinioned her.
It was him!
There was a roaring sound in her ears, like a jet coming in to land. In the distance her uncle spoke. Yet here, close to him, there was nothing but the fire in his eyes. Its impact devastated her, obliterating all thought of what she should do or say. Leaving only a yearning so strong it consumed her.
He was to marry Angela?
Impossible. It was a mistake.
But her uncle didn’t make such mistakes.
Callie wanted to smooth her palm along the sharp angle of his jaw to make sure he was real. She wanted to inhale the heady male scent of his burnished skin. She wanted…
No!
Her stomach cramped at the idea of explaining to her uncle how well she already knew his special guest.
This afternoon should have been a moment out of time, a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy. A passing aberration.
Now she was face to face with the man who’d persuaded her to shed every defence she’d used to keep the world, and especially men, at a distance. To keep herself safe.
In a moment of terrifying discovery she realised he had power, real, tangible power over her. She’d let him in, casting aside caution, opening her private, vulnerable self to him. Too late now to slam that door shut again.
This afternoon she’d unwittingly opened a Pandora’s box of raw emotion and physical longing. Feelings she’d locked away seven years ago had sprung to life.
And now this hunger, this weakness couldn’t be denied.
Hunger for a man who was here to woo her cousin.
What had Callie been to him?
Her stomach somersaulted in distress.
Desperate to break the bond of knowledge and need that pulsed between them, Callie turned, gesturing abruptly to the sofas. Her hand looked steady. Only she knew of the fine tremors running through her body.
‘Won’t you take a seat?’ Her voice was cool, almost without inflection.
She prayed that no one else noticed her brittle control over her vocal cords. Tension sank talons into the rigid muscles of her neck and shoulders.
‘After you.’ He inclined his head and raised his arm behind her back, as if to usher her towards one of the antique French lounges.
Centimetres separated his palm from the silk of her dress, yet she felt his heat, like a phantom caress in the small of her back. Instantly her spine stiffened.
‘No, please. Let me get you a drink. What would you like? A cocktail?
Wine, sherry? Or something stronger? We have ouzo, brandy…’
He watched her silently, as if he knew nerves made her babble. Gone was the heat in his gaze. Instead his look was speculative.
‘Thank you. A whisky.’
Callie moved quickly towards the bar. ‘And you, Uncle?’
‘Brandy, of course.’ There was a snap in his voice, but Callie barely noticed. She was too busy trying to control the trembling in her legs that threatened to buckle her knees.
Disbelief and shock clogged her brain.
She knew the name Damon Savakis. Who didn’t? He ran a company that had interests across the globe, in everything from marinas to luxury-yacht production, from exclusive coastal resorts to shipping lines. His wealth matched his uncanny business acumen, his ability to strike at precisely the right moment, turning an ever greater profit. The pundits said he was sharp, ruthless and had the luck of the devil.
More, he was the Manolis company’s biggest rival. Surely her uncle had spoken of him as a threat, not a friend?
Why was he staying in their cove on a beautiful but old yacht?
Had he known who she was all this time? She’d been on the family’s private estate. But if so surely he’d have mentioned his connection to her uncle.
And his plans to wed Angela.
Unless he’d deliberately withheld the truth. Callie’s breath caught.
Had he got a kick out of seducing her, while arranging to marry Angela?
Had he laughed at how easy, how gullible she’d been? Did he enjoy watching her flounder for composure?
Bile rose in her throat as bitter memories surged.
Callie had too much experience of powerful men and their diversions.
The way they used women. How had she been so stupidly trusting as to forget? Her first real happiness in seven years had been a betrayal.
She fumbled as she reached for the glasses.
‘Here. Let me help you,’ he murmured from just behind her. A long arm reached out to snag the corkscrew from her hand. ‘You prefer wine?’
The words were innocuous, but his breath on her neck sent tingles feathering across her skin. His body behind hers evoked an intimacy that made every hair on her nape rise in anticipation.
Shame washed through her. She couldn’t control her reaction.
Curtly she nodded and stepped aside as he uncorked the wine. She was crowded into the corner as he blocked her view of the room, separating her from the others. His heat enveloped her. Callie’s nostrils flared as a familiar scent reached her: all male, all too evocative.
‘So we meet again, Callista.’ His whisper was pitched for her ears alone.
Yet in that thread of sound she heard the echo of smug satisfaction.
She raised her eyes to meet his then wished she hadn’t. They blazed like a dark inferno, scorching her face, her throat, her breasts, in an encompassing survey that told her he remembered this afternoon in vivid detail.
‘You’re obviously a very versatile woman. What role are you playing tonight?’ Disapproval frosted his gaze and his words, making her shiver.
Callie faltered at the unexpected attack. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged but the intensity of his stare belied the casual gesture. He watched her like a hawk sighting a fieldmouse. ‘From wanton to well-bred society girl in an afternoon.’ His lips pulled back in what might be a grimace of distaste. ‘You look like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.
But just a few hours ago you were seducing a total stranger. Are you always this adaptable?’
Callie’s vocal cords jammed at his calculated insult. It was true what he said, and yet…after what they’d shared, how could he be so disapproving? Why?
She hadn’t been the only one hot and eager down on that beach. How dared he judge her?
‘As adaptable as you, Kyrie Savakis.’ The words nearly choked her.
For an endless moment their eyes meshed. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she jerked her gaze away, only to find her attention snagging on his hand as he held the wine goblet out to her. He had a workman’s hands.
Long-fingered but capable, powerful. His grip on the delicate glass should have seemed incongruous. Yet nothing could be further from the truth.
He
slid his index finger up the fragile stem then down again. Her mouth dried as she remembered the way he’d touched her nipples with that same finger. The way darts of sensation had rayed out from his touch, making her squirm with delight. The way she’d moaned into his mouth as he’d caressed her and discovered her intimate secrets.
Watching the slow, deliberate movement, feeling the heat of his scrutiny on her flesh made her feel vulnerable. Naked.
Impossible that her body should betray her so. Disgust filled her.
Hurriedly she took the glass from his hand, careful not to brush his fingers. She pushed a tumbler of whisky along the bar towards him.
He was too quick, his hand closing around the glass and her fingers in a grip that made her still.
‘What are you doing over there?’ her uncle grumbled. ‘Callista, you mustn’t monopolise our guest.’
‘Coming, Uncle,’ she called, trying to slide her hand from Damon Savakis’ hold.
‘What’s the matter, Callista? Aren’t you glad to see me?’ His voice was as seductive as she remembered. As if she’d imagined his disapproval moments ago.
‘As a friend of my uncle’s you’re welcome here,’ she said through numb lips, desperately clamping down on the accusations and questions clamouring for release. What did this man want of her? It seemed impossible he was the same warm, exciting lover who’d given her the precious gift of intimacy and tenderness. A wholeness she’d never known.
Damon’s eyebrows tilted down in the hint of a frown. His lips thinned a fraction.
‘Not a very convincing welcome, glikia mou,’ he whispered. ‘I would have expected something a little warmer.’
A ribbon of searing heat curled through her at his endearment in that deep, rich voice. Her weakness horrified her. How could she respond so to a man who had no shame about seducing her while he was here to court Angela? Who chided her for her promiscuity yet played games of innuendo?
Today had stripped her emotionally bare. The experience had overwhelmed her. Physical pleasure had been a vehicle for much deeper feelings, even for a tentative, unexpected sense of healing.
Her stomach cramped so savagely she could barely stand. What had meant so much to her was a sick amusement to him.
At last she managed to slide her fingers from under his and reached for her uncle’s brandy. She looked pointedly over Damon’s shoulder, hanging on to control by a thread. She would not make a scene.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take this to my uncle. It’s time we joined the others.’
He didn’t move. His eyes and his body held her trapped. He blocked her exit. She looked away, at the precise bow-tie on his perfect white shirt.
‘Are you planning to visit me again tonight, Callista? To ensure I feel truly welcome?’ His voice dropped to a low note that resonated through her very bones. There was no mistaking his blatant sexual invitation.
The innuendo and exultation.
Panic welled. And distaste. She felt raw and vulnerable.
He’d deliberately tricked her, luring her into betraying her innermost needs and desires. Desires she’d never known before. Now he wanted to gloat. To turn her one bright, glowing slice of heaven into something sordid.
‘Callista?’
She looked up into his shadow-dark eyes, catching the gleam of hunger there and a hint of amusement.
He thought this situation funny?
Instantly her spine straightened. Her chin tilted as indignation and hurt heated her blood. She’d had her fill of the malicious games men played.
Of being a pawn, subject to a man’s whim.
‘You want the truth?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘You don’t belong here, Kyrie Savakis. The last thing I want is to be forced to share a meal with a man like you.’
She stepped forward, calling his bluff.
He had no option but to make way.
Yet the flash of surprised anger in his glittering eyes told her he didn’t like it.
Tough! He’d had his little game at her expense. No doubt he’d got a kick out of seducing the woman the gossip mags had dubbed ‘untouchable’.
Nausea churned in her stomach and an icy chill crawled through her.
She’d believed today was precious. An oasis of warmth and comfort in a cold world.
Fool. Hadn’t she learned better than to trust a man?
‘That is the way you want to play, Callista?’
There was a warning edge to his tone. She ignored it.
‘I don’t play, Kyrie Savakis.’
She had a swift glimpse of narrowed, calculating eyes, of a chin jutting with masculine displeasure.
He was like the rest, expecting her to bow to his whims. But she was her own mistress now, free and independent.
Nevertheless her heart pounded as she walked past him. The sensation of his eyes on her bare back was like a lick of flame down her spine.
How was she going to survive a whole evening with him?
She had a sinking feeling that instead of her defiance dampening his conceit, he thought she’d thrown down the gauntlet.
He didn’t look the type to ignore a challenge.
‘No, thank you.’ Damon shook his head as the servant proffered wine to top up his glass.
‘Come, come, Damon.’ His host waved an arm impatiently across the table. ‘No need to be abstemious. It’s not as if you’re driving. Drink up, man.’ He nodded to the waiter and watched as his own glass was filled with premium vintage champagne. ‘You’ll only find the best quality in this house.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Damon responded. He looked from the uniformed servants clearing away plates to the ostentatious gold cutlery laid with such meticulous precision on the damask tablecloth. Not many people seeing the luxury in which Aristides Manolis lived would suspect how parlous was his financial state. How close he was to ruin.
Damon knew. Damon was the man whose money could save Manolis and his family company.
Or destroy it.
He’d worked his adult life for the day he’d have Manolis in his power.
The need to acquire and then take apart his precious company piece by piece had driven Damon for years. Revenge for what this family had done to his would be sweet.
A flash of light caught his eye and he turned. Callista’s necklace caught the light. A fabulous piece, white gold and several carats of diamonds.
Yet it was too obvious for his taste. Too showy. A blatant statement of wealth.
She reminded him of so many other rich, spoiled women he’d known. It was the cost of the gems that mattered to them, not the merit of the design.
Looking at her now, in her exquisite couture gown, her expression bland, he couldn’t believe her the same woman who’d seduced him so wantonly. That woman had revealed such vitality and innate sensuality.
There’d been something honest about her abandon. Something warmly generous and, he’d almost believed, special about her.
He’d responded to her with a hunger that stunned him. He’d spent the hours since anticipating the next day. When, he’d vowed, he would learn more about the woman who intrigued him more than any lover he could recall.
How could he have been so gullible?
‘You’re admiring my niece’s jewellery?’ There was gloating satisfaction in his host’s voice. He enjoyed flaunting what he had, or pretended to have. Any man who required two staff members to serve a meal for four was trying too hard to impress. ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’
Callista looked up then, her face a polite, gorgeous mask. But when her gaze met Damon’s he felt again that visceral pull, the drag of spiralling anticipation.
It infuriated him. He should be able to master this raw craving now he knew who and what she was. A pampered member of the Manolis family who’d targeted what she thought was a bit of rough on the side.
Her sensual abandon, her responsiveness had enchanted him on the beach. But from the moment tonight she’d stared at him with blank eyes and chilly hauteur
he’d realised today’s interlude had been just a jaded socialite’s cheap thrill.
If not something more contrived.
He shot an assessing look from his host to Callista.
‘The necklace is stunning,’ he murmured.
His gaze followed the fall of diamonds on her pendant, the way they dipped into the valley between her ripe breasts, visible in the low-cut gown.
She knew how to show off her assets. The thought annoyed him. Or perhaps it was the cool way she surveyed him with those amazing green eyes that infuriated him. He wasn’t used to women, particularly women he’d made love to so thoroughly, being indifferent to him. Or telling him he was unworthy to share their table.
One taste of her had left him craving more. He’d planned to look for his siren lover tomorrow. Now he discovered his fantasy woman was nothing but a spoiled rich girl who was ashamed of what they’d shared.
Ashamed of him.
That idea scored his pride, uncovering old wounds he thought he’d buried a lifetime ago. His slow-burning anger ignited at her dismissal, and at the fact he even cared.
Perversely her cool-as-a-cucumber air ignited his desire. He couldn’t resist a challenge. Not while she tried to put him in his place like a dirty secret. As if, despite his wealth and power, a blue-blooded Manolis wouldn’t sully her fair skin by letting a man with his working-class roots touch her again.
‘Alkis’ taste was always excellent, wasn’t it, my dear?’
‘He certainly knew what he wanted, Uncle.’ Her voice was crisp and uninflected, as if she discussed tonight’s meal rather than the thousands of euros of gems that dripped down to her breasts. She took her wealth and her life of pampered indolence for granted.
‘Alkis?’ Damon queried.
‘My husband.’ Her eyes dropped in an expression that might have been demure if not for the flamboyant glitter at her slender neck, ears and wrist.
Her husband. The syllables thrummed in his ears. Something hard and cold lodged in his belly. Fury sizzled along his veins.
He should have guessed. She was a bored society wife, looking for a little diversion. That was what today’s escapade had been.
She’d used him.
