‘He did this to himself, Pia. Let me deal with him—please?’ His chiselled features twisted, playing out a complex series of emotional shifts.
‘No. He wants something.’ Right then she flashed back to their brief conversation. ‘And I suspect it is something only Zeus can give—otherwise why lie about having a meeting prearranged? So before he destroys my club with his ugly rumours, or costs me another twenty-five million on the stockmarket, I want to know why.’
Jovan grumbled in the way Pia had learned to ignore. ‘So what do you intend to do with him?’
Stress and worry lined his brow, reminding her of the day they’d met. When he’d swept her into his arms as she’d lain knocking on death’s door outside her father’s palatial entryway. Sixteen years old and before then she hadn’t even known her father existed. Without Jovan, Pia doubted she would have survived in her father’s frigid Siberian world.
‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have no idea.’
Commodities? A cinch. Juggling multi-million-dollar investments every day? A breeze. Dealing with people? Excruciating torture.
‘I’ll just have to play it by ear. Question him. Find out what he wants and why.’
Jovan snorted. ‘Good luck with that one. He is arrogant. Overly cocky and dangerously determined.’
‘Then we are equally matched. I don’t believe in coincidences, Jovan. My gut tells me he’s responsible for the rumours and the mayhem at Eros, and if so he wants something and won’t disappear until he gets it. It would be foolish of me to take my eyes off him for one second.’
‘So we put him on watch. Twenty-four-seven.’
‘Or I go in there. Deal with him. Quickly. Quietly.’
‘Pia, please. It is too risky.’
‘Since when have I been afraid of a little risk?’ Never. Fear would never touch her heart again. ‘He’s sure to tell me far more than he would ever tell you, and I’ll hazard a guess he’ll remain obstinate until he meets the man behind Q Virtus anyway.’
‘He’ll be waiting a long time.’
‘Quite. So I’ll put him off. Persuade him to deal with me and figure out what he’s looking for. Why he’d chance his membership, his reputation, his business and fortune, by toying with the club. With me personally. He must know Zeus could bring him down.’
‘But you’ll place yourself in jeopardy. Under the spotlight. What if he realises you and Zeus are one and the same person? That your father is dead?’
Without thought Pia let her fingers creep up to her throat, where her pulse beat against her palm in a wild tattoo. Such an outcome wasn’t even worth contemplating.
‘He won’t. He’s a man. He’s predictable and he won’t look beyond my breasts. Women are designed for whoring or childbearing in his world—the truth wouldn’t occur to him in a million years. Granted, very few people know Antonio Merisi had a daughter, but my existence is no secret. If he looked in the right places he’d know I exist. When I tell him he’ll think I am merely ornamental—a pampered child—so I doubt he’ll crow to his friends that he was wrestled to the ground by a mere female.’
The man had a superb business mind and a vast IQ, but he was arrogant and conceited and as dominant as they came. Any battle between them would likely stay behind doors.
‘This is my life we’re talking about and the future of a club I swore would stand the test of time.’ Damn the old rules. ‘Damn the dinosaurs that litter the ranks of my club.’
They’d never accept leadership from someone with a sullied past such as hers. Not only that, but the gentlemen’s club was bound by rules—archaic, chauvinistic rules created by troglodytes—that declared only a Merisi man could lead. Only a man could own and control the largest business interests in the world.
Yet here she was. Groomed. Her path decided the moment her father had seen her, semi-conscious in Jovan’s arms. She’d become the son Antonio Merisi had never had. His heir. His corporate assassin. The girl he’d called worthless, tainted, illiterate trash at first glance, making her feel dirtier than the clothes on her back. The same girl who’d then taken his fortune and quadrupled it within the first two years of living under his excessively opulent roof.
She was master of the most exclusive club in the world. Perpetually in hiding. Habitually alone. And that was the way it must stay.
‘If my instincts are right he’s declared war and I’m fighting blind—ignorant of the cause. If I’m to have any chance of surviving I need the right weapon to wield. Turn off the screens, Jovan.’ Her tone brooked no argument. ‘I’m going in.’
The monitors flickered to black and a moment later a faint tap on the door preceded Clarissa Knight, one of the petite q’s, shifting on her feet as she was nudged through the space, a telling flush driving high on her cheekbones.
The pennies dropped more quickly than a Las Vegas slot machine flashing ‘Winner’ in neon lights.
Oh, wonderful. A lovesick puppy.
Pia checked a disgusted growl. ‘Oh, Clarissa, tell me he promised you the world—or at least a permanent position in his bed?’
Simultaneously Clarissa’s eyes fell to the floor and Jovan raised a small, flat high-tech sensor pad in the air, his expression warning her not to underestimate their intrepid foe.
Fingerprint recognition.
Her anger dissipated as fast as it came. She wasn’t going to ask Clarissa how it felt to be used. She remembered humiliation and worthlessness all too well.
* * *
Somewhere in that dark abyss between unconsciousness and lucidity a razor-sharp rapping registered and Nic tried for a gentle head-shake. His temples loathed that idea, twisting his stomach into a tight knot, pleading with him not to even attempt it a second time.
Prising his bruised eye open wasn’t much of a picnic either, but his heuristic brain—not to mention his sense of self-preservation—was keen to know exactly how much trouble he was in.
And he was in trouble. The ropes cutting into the skin of his wrists was a dead giveaway.
Well, he’d been in worse situations. Look on the bright side, Nic. You’re in. Zeus is here. Somewhere. They haven’t thrown you out. Yet.
Neck aching from being slumped forward, he cautiously raised his head to take in his surroundings.
His mind registered the darkness, the shadows prancing around the bare room, before he focused on a single stream of moonlight shining through the only small window, illuminating one stiletto-heeled foot tap-tap-tapping on the floor.
Ah. He suspected that was the culprit responsible for the lethargic woodpecker hammering at his head. Yet, oddly enough, all was forgotten as his appreciative eyes glissaded upwards.
Vintage towering black patent heels with an inch-thick sole. Sculpted ankles and toned calves. Sheer stockings draping long, long luscious legs and disappearing beneath a short, black figure-hugging pencil skirt.
His mind took another detour, wondering when he’d last had sex. Full-on, hedonistic, mind-blowing, erotic carnality usually kept his body taut, but now he thought about it he hadn’t felt the need in months. Little wonder he was famished.
‘Good evening, Mr Carvalho.’
A rush of heat shimmered over his skin like a phantom fire. ‘Well, well, well—if it isn’t my little gunslinger.’
‘We meet again. How are you feeling?’
Mouth as dry and hot as the desert sands, he licked his lips. His voice still came out gravelly with repressed need. ‘Much better for seeing you, querida. Or at least the half that I can see. I do wish you’d come a little closer. You can trust me.’
‘Said the wolf to the lamb,’ she quipped. ‘Was it that charming reprobate tongue you used to gain access to my private suite, Mr Carvalho?’
‘Call me Nicandro, please. I’d like to think my submissive aspect puts us on first-name terms at least. Right now you could do anything you desired to me.’
Straddling his lap would his first choice. Pressing her breasts into his chest and licking into his mou
th and down the column of his throat would be the second. The agony of feeling her all over his body but being unable to touch... Exquisite torture.
‘Very well...Nicandro.’
His name rolled deliciously from her mouth with a hint of European inflection. Italian, or maybe Greek. He didn’t miss the fact that she still hadn’t given him her name, but he was too busy imagining thick, dark curling locks and hazel eyes to match that smoky, sultry voice.
‘Let us discuss the misdemeanour of breaking and entering. It stands to reason—our being on first-name terms, after all—that you should tell me exactly what you were doing in my private rooms this evening.’
‘Tell me your name and I will.’
That she didn’t want to was clear. But two could play this game, and he hadn’t needed to hear the safety click of her revolver or the commands she’d issued to the staff to tell him this woman held power. Exactly how much he had yet to figure out.
‘My name is Olympia Merisi.’
Now, that was unexpected. He barely managed to swallow the sharp hitch in his breath.
‘Ah. The little wife, then?’ A healthy dose of disappointment made him frown. What did he care who she was chained to?
‘Little? Now, there is something I’ve never been called. As for me being a wife—angels will dance in hell before I submit to any man.’
Nic could soon change that. In fact he was tempted to make it his mission. Which was incongruous, considering he hadn’t even seen her face yet.
‘A more accurate description for me would be...daughter.’
Everything stopped, as if someone had pressed ‘pause’ on the drama that was his life.
Zeus had a daughter. Well, now, every cloud had a silver lining and it seemed the fates were looking down on him tonight.
How utterly opportune. How devilishly delicious.
This new information gave him extra verve to break loose and he regained his attempts at loosening the knots binding his wrists as he found his tongue.
‘In that case I do hope I didn’t cause too much damage to your father’s security staff. I was hoping to meet the man himself to apologise.’ If he were Pinocchio his nose would have poked her eye out by now.
‘That is very decent of you,’ she said, skating the lines of sarcasm.
‘I thought so too. I’m a very decent man.’
‘That remains to be seen. You see, I have the very old-fashioned view that seducing a member of my staff and breaking into private quarters does not decent make.’
He flashed her a mock-aggrieved look. ‘Now you are just nitpicking, querida. I was curious, that is all.’
A small flat black box spun through the air and landed at his feet with a clatter.
Ah. Busted.
‘I would expect to find such high-tech equipment in the hands of a CIA operative, not a man who is merely curious to meet another. I very much doubt you’d find such a thing in the electronics section at the local store.’
Nic shrugged. Forgot he was slightly incapacitated and wrenched his shoulder. Dios, it hurt like hell. He was going to get her back for this and he’d enjoy every single second.
What had she said? The local store? He wished. It would have been a damn sight cheaper. ‘Let us say I have friends in high places.’
‘MI5? The White House?’
‘The Bronx.’
She huffed out a genuine laugh and, just as it had earlier, a hot kind of thrilling pleasure infused his blood with a sullen pulse of want. Come on, Olympia, show me your face. You’re beautiful—I know it.
‘Any normal person would’ve asked for an appointment. Ever heard of a phone?’
‘Believe it or not, I much prefer the personal touch—’
‘Oh, I believe you,’ she interrupted snarkily.
‘Maybe curious was too bland a word,’ he went on regardless. ‘Tenacious?’
‘Foolhardy? Reckless?’
He settled on, ‘Intrepid.’ It sounded better to him.
‘Why? What exactly is it you want?’
‘An audience with the all-powerful mystery man himself. One hour with your father.’
‘Impossible,’ she declared, without missing a beat.
There was something no-nonsense about her. She was overtly frank. And, call him a fool, but he believed her. Thinking about it, she didn’t seem the type to waste time messing around. As if her time was at a premium.
He pondered that while he doubled-checked. ‘He isn’t here?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. On this occasion the journey was too far for him to travel.’
She had an odd tone to her voice he couldn’t fathom, but he still trusted her word. Dangerous? Probably. Considering who her father was. Her father who wasn’t here.
‘Pity.’ Or was it? Eventually this woman would lead him directly to Zeus himself, and in the meantime...? The game was afoot and his to master.
A few days or weeks in the company of this woman would be no hardship. He could burrow into her life, find potential weak spots, and seduce her into his bed. Imagine Zeus’s horror when he discovered Nic had tasted his precious daughter. It was too delicious an idea to reject outright. It needed serious consideration.
‘Is it a private matter, or business?’ she enquired.
‘Both.’
‘Then I’m happy to talk to him on your behalf, or deliver any message you wish. You have my word it will be delivered with the utmost secrecy.’
She began to lean towards him and Nic watched, mesmerised, breath held, pulse thumping frenetically, as she came into view inch by delectable inch. It occurred to him then that she was trying to gain his trust by coming out of the shadows, making eye contact, and figured it was entirely too possible that he was underestimating her.
Nic’s eyes strained to focus as she leaned further still, bending that tiny waist, bringing the low, severe slash of her black V-neck shirt into the light, showcasing a deep cleavage of pearly white skin that made his blood hum.
Every blink of his eyes felt lethargic, every punch of his pulse profound, as she came closer...closer—
Dios...
Legs crossed, she sat with her elbow on her bent knee, chin resting on her lightly curled fist; she was the picture of seductive power.
His jaw dropped so fast it almost dented the floor. He felt his IQ dip fifty points. ‘You are...’ Stupefyingly beautiful. ‘Blonde.’
Eyes sparkling with amusement, she tipped her head to one side, as if he’d given her a complex mathematical equation and no calculator.
‘Ten out of ten, Mr Carvalho. What exactly did you expect?’
‘Greek.’ It was the only word he could muster. Pathetic, really, considering his reputation. But holy hell and smoke and fire, the woman looked as if she’d just stepped off a film noir set, playing the leading role of femme fatale. Visually dominant and unrepentant.
Thick flaxen hair the colour of champagne had been swept back from her face and perfectly pinned in a chic 1950s Grace Kelly look. Then again, the image of Grace Kelly aroused words like innocent, serene. Whereas Olympia Merisi exuded danger and sin. A woman who would refuse to be defined by any man or to submit to her sexuality. All mysterious and seductive. The type whose charm ensnared a man in the bonds of irresistible desire.
There was no other word for it—her beauty was otherworldly, almost supernatural. Pale flawless skin that shimmered like a pearl, high slashing cheekbones that any supermodel would weep for, huge, ever so slightly slanted violet-blue eyes thickly rimmed with black kohl, and full pouty lips painted in the deepest shade of unvirtuous red.
She should have been called Aphrodite, as undeniably goddess-like as she was. An enchantress able to weave her magical powers, leaving her morally ambiguous. She was danger personified—and didn’t that just ratchet up his ‘want meter’ into the stratosphere?
This wasn’t a woman you married—hell, no: the very idea was ludicrous. This was a woman you bedded. Found ecstasy in her body over and over, until neither of
you could walk, talk or summon the energy to breathe.
Hauling in damp air, he silently prayed for his arousal to subside, wishing he’d felt one zillionth of this visceral attraction for the petite q he’d earlier declined.
‘Your mother...? Norwegian? Swedish?’ With that natural colouring she had to be.
If Nic had blinked he would have missed it. That pained pinch of her mouth, that subtle flinch of her flesh. It didn’t take a genius to work out that her mother was a touchy subject.
‘French,’ she said, in a tone so cold it was a welcome blast of air-con sizzling over his hot, damp skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Nic shrugged. What was a couple of thousand miles? ‘European. Close enough.’
Her displeased pout told him to drop it, and even he knew some battles weren’t worth fighting. So he did. Well, sort of...
‘Please allow me to apologise for waking you earlier, querida. Or maybe you should thank me. Your dreams seemed too dark to be pleasant.’
Right there. Ah, yes. She might ooze power and control, but beneath all those chilly layers she was still a woman, swayed by emotions, capable of vulnerability. This was going to be child’s play.
‘What haunts your sleep, Olympia?’ And since when had he ever been interested enough in a woman to care?
‘A mere headache.’
Poised and graceful as a ballerina, she stood and pirouetted on her heels, turning her back on him. No doubt to soothe the raw nerve he’d struck. But what really bothered him was the weird, not to mention scary idea that he wanted to take it back, soothe her pain himself.
Instead his eyes followed her like a heat-seeking missile, and he detonated at the sight of the tight curves forming her lush heart-shaped bottom and the perfectly straight black seams splicing down her sheer stockings.
Every thought in his head exploded with the extra blast of heat to his groin.
Holy smoke. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t wait to taste her. To get up close and personal with that stunning hourglass figure. To mould his hands to her flesh, sip at her skin for days. And he would. There was no woman in the world he couldn’t beguile and lure into his bed.
The Ultimate Revenge Page 3
