by Annie West
He cursed his weakness but couldn’t pull back. His need was primal, stronger than reason.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth sagged and he fantasised about plundering it with an urgent kiss that would lead to other, more satisfying activities.
‘Your threats don’t frighten me.’ Yet her voice was husky. She was frightened.
Or turned on. Damon’s body tensed on the thought.
‘No threat. A promise.’
‘You have no hold over me.’ She lifted her head and bestowed a blazing look, like an Amazon queen, defiant and proud. ‘I run my own life. No man tells me what to do.’
She gestured to the bungalow at the end of the path. ‘I’m sure you can find your own way, Kyrie Savakis.’ Then she turned and left him. She strolled easily as if she’d done no more than dismiss a servant.
No one dismissed Damon Savakis.
Yet he silently applauded her nerve. Not many people stood up to Damon.
She fascinated him. He wanted to smash past her poise and warm her body with his till the heat consumed them both.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans rather than haul her into his arms and force her submission with a direct, passionate assault.
That would be too easy, too crude. He wanted the satisfaction of her coming to him, begging for his attention.
In twenty-four hours Callista had become more than a challenge. She was fast becoming an obsession. Despite her disdain. Despite who she was. Or perhaps because of it.
Old anger stirred. His grandfather and his father had slaved for the Manolis family, wrecking their health for little pay. His grandfather had worked himself into an early grave. When Damon’s father died in an industrial accident in the Manolis shipyards his mother had received condolences, a company representative at the funeral and none of the compensation she was entitled to. Lawyers had exploited a loophole to absolve the company of responsibility. As if it wasn’t a matter of conscience and honour. As if his father’s death had been another entry in a ledger.
Damon had directed his anger into his quest for success, ensuring his family was never again as vulnerable as when he was fifteen, the eldest of five fatherless children.
Was it any wonder he enjoyed watching Aristides Manolis scamper to please him? Or revelled in the idea of Callista Manolis, so dismissive, bending to his will?
Her damnable coolness set the seal on her fate.
Damon would make her confess her desire. He’d take her again, just long enough to have his fill. Then he’d dump her, leaving her craving more. Craving what she couldn’t have.
Callie walked up the hill, resisting the instinct to run. The knowledge that he watched her gave her courage not to flee. That and the fact that her knees trembled so hard it was a supreme effort to move at all.
She felt his hot, possessive gaze like a touch. That proprietorial sweep of her body with eyes so black she fell into oblivion whenever they held hers. Despite her fury her traitorous body was alive with fizzing awareness.
She’d given herself blithely, not realising the danger.
Now she couldn’t escape until she sorted out her inheritance. Without that she couldn’t realise her dream of establishing a small business and supporting herself.
That dream had kept her going through the cruel years of marriage. It had given her hope. It was too precious to give up. Yet all she could do now was pray her uncle’s deal went through and, miraculously, Damon rejected his matchmaking.
She stumbled to a stop as realisation slammed into her. Only Damon’s money could save her plans for the future.
Thank God he had no idea. He was unscrupulous enough to use her vulnerability against her.
The sound of weeping interrupted her thoughts. Following it, she came to a secluded grove. There, to her dismay, she found Angela huddled on a bench, shoulders hunched.
Callie froze, memories swamping her.
Déjà vu. Seven years ago she’d come here to sob out her broken heart when the love of her life betrayed her. She’d thought nothing could eclipse her pain and disillusionment.
How naïve she’d been. That had just been the beginning.
‘Angela! What is it, sweetie?’ She hurried forward and wrapped an arm round her cousin’s unsteady shoulders.
‘It’s Papa,’ she sniffed. ‘He knew I’d been talking to Niko. He was furious.’ She slumped and Callie drew her close.
‘He’s forbidden you to see Niko?’
Angela nodded.
‘Go on.’ Callie’s heart was leaden. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.
Her uncle had let slip last night that Damon hadn’t yet agreed to the marriage.
‘He won’t listen, doesn’t care that Niko and I love each other.’ Angela wailed. ‘He says I have to save the family and the company.’
Callie’s arm tightened.
‘I tried to reason with him.’ Angela’s voice was ragged and Callie’s chest squeezed, knowing what it had cost her cousin to stand up to her bullying father. ‘I said Damon wouldn’t be interested in me. I’m not glamorous like you. That only made him angrier. He said Damon wanted children with someone obedient and docile. Someone from a good family to connect him with the right sort of people.’
Callie cringed at her uncle’s prejudiced views. As if Damon needed marriage to secure his place in society! His authority and massive wealth gave him entrée wherever he cared to go. Her uncle was a troglodyte.
But in one thing he was right: men still bartered wealth to possess women. Her uncle had cashed in on Alkis’ obsession with Callie to shore up the family coffers last time he’d mismanaged the company. Callie had been naïve enough to fall in with his wishes, for the good of the family. She’d thought her life over at eighteen and hadn’t realised the yoke she’d put around her neck, marrying a man as cruel and controlling, and as insecure as Alkis.
‘Papa said a man took a wife to bear children and make life comfortable.
That Damon would look elsewhere for…for…’
‘Shh, Angela. It’s all right.’ Bitter fury surged in Callie’s veins at her uncle’s callousness, treating them like pawns. At the ruthless men who joined his devious games.
‘But it’s not. If I don’t obey we’ll lose everything. The house. Everything.
And Mama is so sick, more than Papa realises. If she needs treatment…’
Angela sat up, breaking Callie’s embrace. Her face was pale and set, despite the tears tracking down her cheeks.
With a last hug Callie let her arm drop, watching Angela’s drawn face with foreboding. Despite her quivering mouth there was resolution in the tight angle of her jaw.
‘You’re not alone, Angela. Remember that. I’ll help.’
‘But what can you do? What can either of us do?’
Callie stood and reached out a hand. Angela let Callie pull her up.
‘Don’t give up yet. We’ll find something.’
Whatever it took she’d find a way to save her cousin.
She couldn’t let Angela endure what she, Callie, had. She’d walk over hot coals to prevent it.
Callie’s lips thinned in a grimace of determination.
She’d get down on her knees and beg Damon Savakis, if that was what it took.
‘Thank you, Callie.’ Damon accepted the cold drink, deliberately encircling her slim fingers.
She jumped and sticky juice cascaded over their hands.
Her nerves were frayed, he saw with satisfaction. Her touch-me-not composure crumbled after days playing hostess to him. The business could have been concluded in a few hours but Damon had let Manolis drag out discussions, since it meant having Callie at his beck and call.
At first he’d thought she’d run. He’d been ready for a chase. Instead the hunt had become a slow siege, a war of attrition. With each day the flicker of hunger in his belly grew to a blaze as he sensed her defences weaken.
She tugged her hand. Damon didn’t release her but got up from the poolside chair, fingers
still wrapped around hers.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured, her gaze skating from his then back again. ‘I’ve spilled it. I’ll go and get a cloth.’
‘No need.’
‘But I—’
‘Let me.’
He lifted their linked hands. Gold sparked in her sea-green eyes and beneath the high-necked silk top her breasts rose and fell rapidly. As rapidly as his shortened breathing.
He shifted his hold and bent his head, licking the juice from her thumb, her forefinger, the sensitive V of flesh between them. A judder ran through her. Only his iron-hard grasp stopped her dropping the glass.
Her taste was sweet and salt and feminine musk. The scent of her skin like summer. Instantly his hunger escalated to a desperate craving. Too late he realised his mistake. The taste of her sent him spinning out of control. He was rigid with the force of swelling desire.
‘Don’t. Please.’ Her voice was low but he couldn’t miss the quiver of unsteadiness.
A bolt of something like guilt or even pity cleaved through him, making him frown. What had happened to the Callista he knew—all ice and fire? Her self-possession slipped and he glimpsed a different woman behind the façade.
That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For her to surrender and admit she wanted him?
Yet looking at her averted profile, reading the fine lines of strain around her mouth and the smudge of tiredness beneath her eyes, he knew a moment’s doubt.
‘Callie,’ he murmured, drawing her closer.
‘Callie, can you help? I—’ Angela’s voice came from the terrace and Damon turned as the younger girl approached. Her eyes were huge as she took in the pair of them. Belatedly Damon released his hold.
Instantly Callie shifted away. ‘I’m sorry; I just wanted to check something.’
‘Hi, Angela. No need to apologise.’ Damon smiled. He liked the girl despite her puffed-up father. She reminded him of his youngest sister, timid with strangers but delightful.
Callie hurried to Angela, drawing her away. She shepherded the younger girl, her arm raised as if to protect.
Damon frowned. He’d seen that gesture before. It had taken this long for him to notice, for whenever Callie was near he didn’t think clearly.
Now he watched and wondered, his brain clicking into gear. He recollected how regularly Callie appeared when he and Angela were alone. How she often sat between them.
Why?
The women conferred about a projected dinner party. As if aware of his regard, Callie raised her head and something sparked in her eyes. She excused them and ushered Angela ahead of her into the house.
Could it be that, despite her hoity-toity attitude, Callie was jealous of the attention he gave her cousin?
He turned and paced the length of the pool.
Or had he been right the first time? Was she trying to protect her cousin?
The idea nonplussed him.
He’d never be a threat to a sweet girl like Angela. The girl was probably a virgin and far too young. He didn’t seduce innocents. Life was less complicated with lovers who understood long term relationships weren’t on his agenda.
When the time came to think of marriage he…
Damon stilled.
Was that it? Aristides Manolis’ plan to interest Damon in marriage to his daughter? The idea was nonsense. As if he needed help choosing a wife!
As if Angela would suit him!
Then he remembered the look on Callie’s face as she urged her cousin inside. Could she really believe he was interested in marrying Angela?
Suddenly so much made sense.
A smile of satisfaction spread across Damon’s face.
He had her.
He knew the chink in Callie’s armour. All he had to do was apply a little pressure.
‘Just who I wanted to see.’ Damon’s voice was low and intimate. The hairs on Callie’s neck rose in instant awareness. ‘We need to talk.’
It didn’t matter that he held her in contempt. Or that he threatened the fragile peace of mind she’d built up since Alkis’ death. A force stronger than reason or pride held her in thrall to Damon Savakis.
Who’d have thought desire could be so strong? In her inexperience it had seemed far more—as if in the seclusion of the pine-shaded beach, she’d connected with the only man in the world who was…right.
Her lips thinned. She’d always been too naïve. She should have stopped believing in fantasy long ago.
Slowly she turned. After a morning in her aunt’s sick room, Callie had sought the secluded platform at the end of the garden. She’d hoped its view over the village and the sea beyond would help her find the peace she’d lost.
He wore a crisp white shirt and tailored dark trousers, a jacket slung over one solid shoulder. He looked serious, a man to be reckoned with.
He’d been with her uncle for hours. What had they decided?
‘I’m leaving soon,’ he said, stepping close.
Callie’s hands tightened on the balustrade. Relief, not dismay. She told herself she wanted him to leave.
‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay.’ She turned, unable to hold his stare.
Instead she gazed at the distant harbour.
‘Your family’s hospitality has been most…generous.’ His odd inflection sent unease skimming down her backbone.
A vessel in the harbour, a tiny blue-hulled boat, chugged towards the open sea. Callie wished she could be on it, sailing safely away from Damon. Her lips twisted. Just the idea of going on board a small boat made her stomach cramp with fear. She couldn’t even fantasise about her escape!
‘So generous that I’m considering strengthening my connection with your family.’
She should be relieved. If the deal was favourable she might get her inheritance. Yet, turning to see his satisfied expression, she had an awful suspicion it wasn’t so simple.
‘With a merger?’ She held her breath.
He draped his jacket over the railing then leaned, arms splayed. He looked like a man who commanded all he surveyed.
Disquiet thrummed through her. Her uncle had invited a powerful predator into their midst and foolishly believed he could keep the upper hand. Instinct told her Aristides Manolis had badly underestimated Damon.
‘Not necessarily.’ Was that a hint of amusement? ‘I’m considering something more personal.’
Callie’s fingers clenched round the rail in spasm.
‘Your cousin is a lovely young woman.’ There was a purr of satisfaction in his voice that made Callie’s hackles rise.
He wasn’t serious! He didn’t need marriage to a Manolis to cement his place in society. The idea was farcical.
‘I don’t see the connection,’ she said through clenched teeth.
‘Don’t you? Odd, I thought you quite astute.’
She cast him a surprised glance then looked away.
‘Angela will make someone a fine wife,’ he mused. ‘She has the qualities a man looks for in a permanent partner.’
‘What? Timid, eager to please and biddable?’ She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. She’d learned what men wanted. Someone to shore up their egos and obey their whims. They didn’t look beyond the surface to the woman beneath. Much less recognise her needs.
‘Trust a beautiful woman to be so scathing of another.’
‘That’s not what I meant! I—’
‘I’m surprised you don’t know your cousin better. I was going to say Angela is intelligent, amiable and generous. Pretty too in her quiet way.’
‘She’s too young for you,’ she blurted out. ‘Far too young.’ Defiantly she confronted him. The impact of his gaze, so intense, so penetrating, dragged the air from her lungs.
One eyebrow, dark as night, rose speculatively.
‘You can’t be serious,’ she hissed.
‘Why not? A man reaches the stage when he wants a woman to come home to.’
‘I’m sure you have no problems finding women eager to wait up for you.’
His lazy smile set her teeth on edge. ‘You’re right. But I’m not talking about casual sex. I’m talking about the mother of my children. A man wants to pass on his name, his genes, his fortune to the next generation.’
Callie had become used to such attitudes since moving to Greece in her teens. Yet the cold-bloodedness of taking a wife simply because it was time to settle down irked her.
‘You want a brood mare.’
‘More than that.’ His expression was amused. ‘I require someone to be my hostess too.’
‘Why tell me?’ she asked flatly.
‘You’re an intelligent woman. You know your cousin. Your opinion interests me.’
She regarded him through narrowed eyes. There was a catch somewhere. ‘It wouldn’t work. Angela doesn’t want to marry you. She’s in love with someone else.’
No male with any pride would stomach the idea of his woman pining for another. Hadn’t Alkis’ obsessive jealousy arisen from the false belief Callie would seek the passion he couldn’t provide in another man’s arms? He’d made their lives a misery and their marriage a cruel prison because of it.
Damon merely smiled, like a hungry wolf sizing up its next meal.
‘She’s eighteen. Of course she fancies herself in love. She’ll get over it.
Any husband worth the name would see to that.’ He straightened, shifting his weight. Callie was struck anew by the sheer masculine charisma of his tall frame. If any man could turn the head of a susceptible teenager it was him.
‘You don’t understand.’ Callie turned and paced, unable to stay still.
‘They’re really in love. This is genuine.’
‘At her age? It’s puppy love.’
Callie opened her mouth to argue then snapped it shut. At eighteen she’d been head over heels in love with Petro, a clever, older law student. She’d believed it a grand passion, a once-in-a-lifetime thing.
Callie had been an ugly duckling who’d never felt at home in Greece, or with her new family, and still grieved the loss of her beloved parents.
She’d spent four years struggling to fit in where everything, from the language to the customs, was foreign. She’d barely scraped a place at university and had been pathetically grateful when a dashing older student found her attractive.
