by Julia James
She gave a laugh. ‘Terrifying!’ she said feelingly.
He laughed, as though he could not possibly believe her, and moved off. He was obviously thrilled by driving such a powerful, fabulous car, and Sarah wisely let him concentrate. The road leading out on to the Cap was a residential one, with a modest speed limit.
It was only five minutes to the villa, and she could see Philip’s reluctance to abandon the vehicle when he arrived. It seemed, she thought dryly, and not with regret, that she finally had a rival.
Well, any rival was to be welcomed, even one with wheels. What she really wanted to conjure up, though, was a flesh and blood rival to take his mind off her—someone suitable for his age and circumstances. She frowned slightly. What had Bastiaan Karavalas been saying the previous evening? About dispatching Philip to his villa in the first place because he’d been pursued by some spoilt teen in Greece? That was a good sign, because it could only mean that Philip’s cousin would be amenable to her suggesting that another rescue was needed.
Except that I’m going to have to speak to him alone.
That was not something she wanted to have to do. Not even behind the protection of being Sabine. But right now she would grab any protection she could.
Walking into the white-plastered, low-rise villa, set in spacious grounds out on the promontory of the Cap, she felt the need of Philip’s familiar innocuous presence as they crossed the cool, stone-floored hall into a wide reception room and she saw the tall, sable-haired figure of Bastiaan Karavalas strolling in from the vine-shaded terrace beyond to greet them.
As she had the night before, and the first time she’d laid eyes on him, Sarah felt an instinctive, automatic reaction to him. It was like a switch being thrown inside her—a buzz of electric current in her veins, a kick in her heartbeat. She saw his dark eyes narrow as they lit on her, and the electric current ran again—and then Philip was greeting him and ushering her forward.
‘Here we are, Bast,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Is lunch ready? I’m starving. Are we eating out on the terrace?’
‘We’ve time for a drink first,’ Bastiaan replied, and Sarah saw that he was carrying a champagne bottle in one hand and three glasses loosely by their stems in the other. ‘But let’s head out anyway. Mademoiselle...?’
He stepped aside from the door to let her go through first. It meant passing close to him, and she felt his eyes on her as she walked out on to the terrace. Then all thoughts of the disturbing Bastiaan Karavalas left her.
‘Oh, this is beautiful!’ she heard herself exclaim.
The wide, shady terrace, roofed by vines and vivid bougainvillaea, opened to verdant lawns beyond, which were edged with richly foliated bushes and sloped down to a glittering azure pool, behind which stretched the even more glitteringly azure reaches of the Mediterranean Sea.
‘Welcome to my villa, Sabine,’ said Bastiaan.
She turned at the accented voice. His eyes were sweeping over her and she could feel their impact. Feel the electricity course through her again.
Not in a tuxedo, as she had previously seen him, but in a pair of long, pale grey chinos and a short-sleeved, dark burgundy open-necked polo shirt, which moulded his powerful torso. He looked lean, lithe and devastatingly attractive. She felt her stomach give a little clench of appreciation.
‘Sab—come and sit down,’ Philip was saying, indicating the ironwork table set for lunch.
He’d taken to calling her ‘Sab’ on the way there, and Sarah was glad. It might make him less likely to call her Sarah. She was also glad about her choice of outfit. OK, so she was probably slightly too smartly dressed for what was clearly going to be an al fresco meal, with Bastiaan in casual clothes and Philip in his customary designer-labelled T-shirt and jeans, but her retro-chic dress felt almost like a costume—and that had to help her be Sabine and not Sarah, who was perilously out of her depth in such deep waters as swirled about this powerfully, devastatingly sensual male...
As she carefully seated herself where Philip was holding a chair out for her, in a position that afforded her a view right out over the gardens, she could feel those heavy-lidded eyes on her while Bastiaan settled himself at the head of the table.
‘May I tempt you to champagne, Sabine?’ The deep-voiced question required an answer.
‘Thank you,’ she said politely. Inside, the inner voice that whispered to her so seductively in Sabine’s husky tones was teasing her... You tempt me to so much more...
She silenced it sharply, making herself look not at the man who drew her eyes, but instead out over the beautiful gardens to the sea beyond. Her expression softened. It really was absolutely beautiful, she thought with genuine pleasure. Private, verdant, full of flowers, with the azure sea sparkling beyond—a true Mediterranean idyll.
‘What a beautiful spot this is!’ she could not help exclaiming warmly. ‘If it were mine I’d never leave!’
‘Oh, Bast has an entire island to himself at home,’ Philip answered. ‘This place is tiny in comparison.’
Sarah’s eyes widened. Bastiaan saw it as he busied himself opening the champagne. Thank you, Philip, he thought, that was helpful. His appreciation was sincere—he wanted to see how Sabine reacted to his wealth. Whether it would cause her to turn her attentions to him instead of his cousin.
And would that be helpful too? Again he found himself contemplating using that method to detach her from Philip. It might be so much...swifter.
Enjoyable...
His eyes rested on her as he filled their glasses. He was still trying to get past his first reaction to her when he’d walked out on to the terrace. It had been—surprise.
Oh, he’d known, obviously, that she wouldn’t turn up for lunch in a skin-tight evening gown and a face full of stage make-up. But he’d expected her to wear some kind of flashy strapless brief sundress, exposing a lot of thigh and with a slashed décolletage, and to be adorned with jangly gold jewellery, her hair in a tousled mane. But her stylishly retro look had a chicness to it that drew his eye without condemnation.
Interesting, he found himself thinking. She had changed her image decisively. At the nightclub she had been all sultry vamp. Today she had moved on a couple of decades to the swinging sixties—almost as though she’d made a costume change between acts...
But then, he thought caustically, putting on an act was what a woman like Sabine was all about, wasn’t it? From standing on a stage singing throaty, amorous numbers for strangers, to manipulating the emotions of a smitten, impressionable youth.
His eyes hardened minutely as they rested on her. You will find it harder to manipulate me, mademoiselle...
If there was any manipulating to be done, then it would be coming from him—not her. He would be the one to steer her in the precise direction he wished her to go—away from Philip. And to me instead? Again the thought played in his mind provocatively. Temptingly.
‘I imagine a private island is just about de rigueur for a Greek tycoon, isn’t it?’ she was saying now, lightly, with a clear infusion of amusement in her voice.
Bastiaan sat back in his chair, lifting his glass. ‘Do you take me for a tycoon, mademoiselle?’ he riposted.
But there was a deep timbre in his voice all the same. She felt it like a low vibration in her body.
‘Oh, surely you could be nothing less, m’sieu?’ she answered in kind. ‘With your private island in the Aegean!’
She had matched the slight tinge of ironic inflection that had been in his voice and suddenly there seemed to be a flicker in his dark eyes, a slight curve of his mouth, as if for her alone... Something she didn’t want to be there.
Something she did...
No, no I don’t. And, anyway, isn’t it bad enough that I’ve got to deal with Philip’s bad attack of calf love? The last thing I need is to develop a crush of my own on his cousin.
She paused. Crush? Was that what she was calling this strange, disturbing electricity between them? This ridiculous, absurd awareness of his overpoweri
ng physical impact on her? A crush?
Negation leapt in her. No, this was no crush. There was only one cause for what she was feeling about this man who had walked into her dressing room that night, who had taken her in his powerful, controlling clasp on the dance floor, who was now watching her, his heavy eyes half lidded, waiting for her to reply in similar vein...
Desire. Raw, insistent desire. Desire bred of her burning awareness of his presence, of his physical existence—the way the tough line of his jaw squared his face, the way the strong column of his throat rose from the open neck of his polo, the way the sable darkness of his hair feathered the broad brow, the way his shirt moulded across the strength of his shoulders, his torso...
Desire—that was the only word for it. The only name to give what she was feeling now as her body flushed with heat, with awareness...
Desperation spiked in her. It was like a sideways sweeping wave, knocking her askew, derailing her. And she could not allow it to happen. Not with her whole life’s ambition consuming her right now. That was all she must think of—that was all she must focus on.
Not on this man who can make my pulse catch just by letting his dark, dark eyes rest on me, setting my senses afire...
It was a fire she had to quench—and fast.
She reached for her champagne, needing its potency to regain control of herself.
‘Bast’s island’s in the Ionian Sea, not the Aegean,’ Philip was saying. ‘Off the west coast of Greece. Not far from Zakynthos.’
Sarah turned her head towards him, half reluctant, half grateful to drag her gaze away from his darkly disturbing cousin. ‘I don’t know Greece at all,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been.’
‘I’d love to show you. You’d love Athens!’ Philip replied immediately, his voice full of enthusiasm.
A low laugh came from the other end of the table. ‘A city full of ancient ruins? I doubt it. I’m sure Sabine would prefer sophisticated cities, like Milan or Paris.’
She didn’t correct him. The real Sabine, wherever she was right now, probably would prefer such cities, and at the moment that persona was hers. She’d better let the issue lie.
She gave a very Gallic shrug, as she had so often seen her French mother give.
‘I like warm climates,’ she answered, which seemed an unrevealing comment to make, and was true as well. The Yorkshire winters she’d grown up with had never been her favourite, nor her mother’s either. She had preferred the soft winters of her native Normandy. She looked at Philip again. ‘I couldn’t stand the frozen East Coast USA winters you have at uni.’
Philip shivered extravagantly. ‘Neither can I!’ He laughed. ‘But we get snow in Greece sometimes—don’t we, Bast?’
‘There is even skiing in the mountains,’ his cousin agreed.
‘Bast skis like a champion!’ Philip exclaimed, with open admiration for his older cousin.
‘I was at school in Switzerland,’ Bastiaan said laconically, by way of explanation.
Sarah’s glance went back to Bastiaan. ‘Is that why your French is so good?’ she asked.
‘Oh, Bast’s fluent in German as well—aren’t you, Bast? And English, of course. My English is probably better than my French, actually, so really we should be speaking—’
‘Tell me more about your private island.’ Sarah’s voice cut across Philip, preventing him from finishing his sentence. She was starting to think that this was ridiculous—all this stuff about her being Sabine. She should just come right out with it—trust Philip’s cousin with her real identity and be done with it.
But she was conscious of a deep reluctance to do so. Partly, she knew, for the reason she’d given Philip—but that was not the overwhelming reason. Being Sabine gave her...protection. Protection from the onslaught on her senses that Bastiaan Karavalas was making on her.
‘My private island?’ Bastiaan echoed her. ‘What can I tell you? Acreage? Location? Value?’
There was a quizzical expression in his voice, and he spoke lightly, yet Sarah could see a twist at the corner of his mouth. She found herself wondering at it, but her focus had to be on continuing the conversation. She didn’t really care that much about Bastiaan Karavalas’s island, but it had been the first thing she’d been able to think of asking about in order to interrupt Philip.
‘What do you do on it?’
The quizzical expression came again, but this time she had the feeling it was genuine—as if her question had been unexpected. She watched him lift his champagne flute to his mouth.
‘Do?’ he said. ‘Very little.’ He gave a sudden smile, taking a mouthful of champagne. ‘I take a dinghy out sometimes...swim, chill...not much else. Oh, I read sometimes too—or just watch the sun set with a glass of beer at my side. Nothing exciting. You, mademoiselle, would find it very dull.’
Even as he spoke Bastiaan found himself wondering. Why hadn’t she followed up on his deliberate mentions of its size and value? Gone on to draw him out about the other properties he owned? Like his villa in the Caribbean, his condo in Manhattan, his apartment in London, his mansion in Athens... It was inconsistent of her. She’d been keen to get him to talk about owning the island in the first place, getting him to reveal to her just how wealthy he actually was.
‘Au contraire,’ she riposted, and Bastiaan became aware of the greenness of her eyes. ‘It sounds very relaxing.’
She held his gaze a moment, and into his head sprang the image of just how he might ‘relax’ with such a woman on his private island... He felt a kick go through him—one that told him her impact on him was as powerful as ever.
Should I respond to it? Respond to the allure she has for me? Use it for my own purpose?
The questions came—but not the answers... And the very fact that the questions were forming in his mind indicated the temptation they presented. Showed him the answers he wanted to give...
His thoughts were interrupted by Paulette, emerging with the lunch tray. Philip got to his feet to take it from her and was rewarded by a beaming smile—clearly his young cousin had become a favourite of the housekeeper. As he and Philip started to unload it, he noticed Sabine was helping as well, passing plates of charcuterie and fromage, salads and crusty baguette slices.
‘Would you like wine, or are you happy to stick to champagne?’ Bastiaan enquired of his guest courteously.
Sarah smiled. ‘What girl wouldn’t be happy to stick to champagne?’ she replied humorously.
She was working hard to keep her tone light, inconsequential. After lunch she must find an opportunity to get Bastiaan on his own, to broach to him her recommendation that it might be best to remove his young cousin to another place that offered less distraction. But even as she determined to do it she found herself dreading it. Dreading being on her own with Bastiaan Karavalas for any time at all.
Roughly, she shook such thoughts from herself. Sought to find something innocuous to say... ‘Though if I drink too much at lunchtime I may well fall fast asleep in the afternoon.’
Bastiaan laughed, and yet again Sarah felt her pulse quicken. ‘You would be quite welcome,’ he said, and indicated the sun loungers that were set out on the lawn beneath the shade of a parasol.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ she riposted, reaching for a piece of bread.
But you do tempt me, Mademoiselle Sabine—you tempt me greatly...
Again, the words took shape in his head before he could unsay them. Unthink them...
As he started to help himself to lunch Bastiaan could feel thoughts swirling. Would it really be so bad to let his interest in Sabine take the direction in which he could feel it drawing him? Had since his first moment of setting eyes on her.
She tempts me—and without a doubt she feels desire for me, answering my desire for her...
He could hear the arguments in his head already—as tempting as this beautiful woman was.
It would achieve the end I seek...the purpose of my journey—it would take her away from Philip, set him free from his infa
tuation. And give me what I want...
There was so much in its favour. Why should he reject such a solution to the problem?
Through half-veiled eyes he watched as Philip fussed over her, offering her dishes from the table.
‘Chicken, brie and grapes would be lovely,’ she said.
Her smile on his cousin was warm, and Bastiaan could see Philip drinking it in. Out of nowhere, a needle pricked Bastiaan beneath the skin.
I want her to smile like that at me.
Jerkily, he reached for the champagne bottle, refilled their glasses.
‘So...’ said Sarah, glancing between the two of them, casting about for something else to say that would be innocuous. ‘Philip seems very smitten with that scarlet monster of yours that he picked me up in.’
‘Monster?’ said Philip immediately. ‘She’s a beauty!’
‘Her growl is terrifying!’ Sarah countered, with a little laugh.
‘Wait till I drive you fast in it!’ Philip exclaimed. ‘Then you’ll hear her roar!’
She shuddered extravagantly, but Bastiaan addressed Philip directly. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I know you love the idea of racing around in a car that powerful, but I’m not having you smash yourself up. Or, worse, my car,’ he added, to lighten the rejection.
A mutinous look flashed briefly across Philip’s face. Sarah could see it.
‘Sab would be perfectly safe with me.’
Bastiaan shook his head. Inside, his thoughts were not just on the safety of Philip driving the powerful performance car. No way was Sabine going to use his car to further her aims with his cousin. It was not Sabine who needed to be kept safe—it was Philip.
‘Come out with me instead,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you its paces. We’ll do the Grande Corniche. How about tomorrow?’ he suggested.
Philip’s face lit. ‘Great!’ he enthused. His expression changed. ‘But...er...in the afternoon, OK?’
Bastiaan nodded. ‘Yes. Do your studies in the morning, then I’ll reward you with a spin after lunch.’ He turned to Sabine. ‘As you know,’ he said deliberately, ‘my cousin is here first and foremost to complete his university vacation assignments. Not to jaunt around on holiday, entertaining you.’
