Greek Affairs in his Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger\Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s Bed\Bedded by the Greek Billionaire (43 page)

‘Come into me—take me—’ she had said.

‘Come into me—take me—’
love me
, she had been about to go on.

And she knew that those were not the words he wanted to hear. That love was not what he wanted from her.

But love was what she felt, she now realised. Impossibly, foolishly, crazily, dangerously, she had fallen madly in love with Angelos. Or perhaps she had always loved him. Perhaps, from the very first moment that she had seen the Black Angel here, in the stables where he had just stamped his sexual mark on her and made her his so conclusively, she had always been his. Perhaps that was why she had been stupid enough to think that she could marry Chris and be satisfied with him. What was it Angelos had called her ex-fiancé in response to the accusations she had flung at him in her anger and pain—? Mr Opposite-of-me.

At eighteen, she had fallen in love with Angelos and then, after the way he had treated her, knowing that the love she felt was too dangerous, too destructive, her self-preservation instinct had kicked in and made her choose a man who was as far away from the Black Angel as anyone could ever be. But she should have known that such a man could never satisfy her; that he would always have been found wanting, even if he had never betrayed her in the way he had. Once Angelos had come back into her life she could never have looked at any other man, let alone married him. She had been branded for life with Angelos Rousakis’s own personal stamp of intense sexuality and forceful maleness and no other man could ever match up to it.

Beside her the straw rustled as Angelos adjusted his position, stretched lazily and raked both hands through the black strands of his hair, smoothing them back into place after her hands had tangled them so frantically in the throes of ecstasy.

‘I have to go …’

He was looking around, reaching for his discarded clothes. He wanted to be up and gone, his distracted attention said that.

‘Go where?’

‘Something’s come up. That’s what I came to tell you….’

Instinctively, Jessica clutched at the T-shirt, wanting to hug it close to her as if by doing so she could hold him with her
even though he was on his feet, snatching up his jeans. Already she felt that he was on his way, putting her and the passion they had shared out of his mind as he focused on the other things he had planned.

‘I have to go to Greece. Business I have to attend to.’

Greece—but that was so far away. Too far away.

‘Are you coming back?’

Angelos paused in fastening his jeans, his hand stilling on the zip. Turning his dark head, he looked her straight in the face, the long, level stare seeming to search right behind her eyes, looking deep into her soul.

‘I don’t know—you tell me. Am I coming back? Do you want me back?’

Did she?

Did she have to ask? The answer was there at the top of her head in an instant. If she had had any doubts, then just the way she felt, the dreadful sensation of her heart tearing in two at just the thought of being parted from him for a moment told her the truth.

‘Yes.’ Oh,
yes
. ‘Please come back.’

The look he gave her was strange, unfathomable, his eyes clouded and opaque. It was as if he was debating something in his mind, weighing up pros and cons in some invisible scales.

Then, ‘I have a better idea. Why don’t you come with me?’

‘You …’

The answer was yes. Of course it was yes. Yes, please. But don’t bite his hand off, Jessica, she warned herself. You’re not eighteen any more, so don’t act as if you are. Play it as cool as you can manage.

‘I don’t know about that,’ she managed as airily as was possible while lying naked on a bed of straw with only a T-shirt—his T-shirt—to cover her. ‘You see, I’ve just started this new job and I don’t think I could take leave of absence so early.’

She must have managed somehow to catch just the right tone,
just the right mood. To her surprise, his sensual mouth actually quirked up at the corners into a quick flashing smile.

‘How about if I speak to your employer? I’m sure I could persuade him to give you a couple of days off.’

‘But won’t you be working? You said you had business to attend to.’

‘I do, but that won’t take all my time. I’ll have some time off—for relaxation.’

For relaxation, read sex, Jessica admitted to herself. But she’d come this far, had admitted that she would take whatever he would offer her and not look for anything more.

‘Well, if you can persuade my employer …’

‘Consider it done. You’d better start packing.’

It was quite a promotion, Jessica reflected as she forced herself to follow his example and collect up her scattered clothes. Stable hand to mistress in the space of a morning. The problem was that she couldn’t switch from lover mode to business as swiftly and easily as Angelos obviously could.

And there was no promotion at all that could take her any closer to where she really wanted to be—in his heart.

J
ESSICA
turned away from the sea and started walking across the sand, heading back towards the long, low, white-painted villa that stood on a small rise overlooking the ocean. The afternoon sun was just starting to sink towards the far horizon; soon Angelos would be home and their time together, that relaxation time he had spoken of, would begin as it had done on every evening in the week they had been in Greece.

This was her favourite part of the day. The time when, for a while, Angelos threw off the concerns of Rousakis International and became just Angelos, the man she loved.

There, she’d said it again, at least in the secrecy of her own thoughts. It was actually becoming less scary each time she did so. Back home, in England, and particularly at Manorfield, the idea of loving him had seemed terrifying, dangerous, with no hope of any possible future, but here, in the sunshine of the small jewel of an island in the Dodecanese, everything seemed to have developed a softer edge, become less tense and more at ease. Here, after a day spent wandering the beaches or simply relaxing by the pool, she could almost convince herself that she was on holiday here and that her relationship with Angelos—hot, passionate, but ultimately uncommitted—was nothing more than a wonderful holiday romance which she should concentrate on enjoying for as long as she possibly could.

It had about as much chance of surviving for very long as most holiday romances, she admitted to herself as she left the beach and began climbing up the small steep path worn into the hillside. She knew that Angelos wanted her sexually; he never made any secret of that. They had spent most of their time together either in bed or recovering from the long passionate lovemaking sessions that had left both of them exhausted. But he had never said a word about any other sort of feelings, or shown any sign of making their relationship anything more than it already was.

And she would be a fool to ask for more.

She had told herself that she would be satisfied with what she had, and she would damned well do that. Even so, it became harder and harder to cope with each day that passed.

Angelos was late tonight. There was no sound of his approach; no sign of the helicopter circling in the sky.

Catching her own thoughts, Jessica gave a small laugh, shaking her head as she walked into the cool air-conditioned rooms of the villa. It was only a week since she had travelled here with Angelos and yet already she was growing that bit accustomed to the things that had first shaken her sense of reality on arrival.

Things like the helicopter that regularly flew Angelos where he wanted to go instead of driving, or even being driven. Of course, being on an island, the helicopter was more of a practical necessity than a luxury, but the first thing she had had to adjust to was the fact that this island actually belonged to Angelos. The island and the personal jet they had flown out to Athens in, the helicopter that had met them at the airport and ferried them to the island. In the end she had felt like Cinderella, snatched away from her place by the fireside and transported into a fairy tale world where she only had to ask for something and, Angelos being the generous lover that he was—it was granted.

Ask for
anything
… she reminded herself, recalling the scene
just two days after their arrival on the island that had proved exactly that.

Angelos had come back from Athens with a bundle of mail, couriered to him from Manorfield. Amongst all the others had been a couple of letters for her—letters that had made her gasp aloud and turn pale when she had read them.

‘What is wrong?’ Angelos caught her reaction and put his own mail down to study her face. ‘Jessica—tell me …’ he commanded when her hesitation clearly told him that she was about to brush off her reaction in some way.

‘Just some bills … for the wedding,’ she added reluctantly, seeing from the way he kept his eyes on her face that he knew there was more, and that he expected her to tell him.

‘Bad?’

‘Bad enough …’

She knew that her voice shook because she was looking back at how much money Marty had wanted to lavish on her and knowing a sense of horror at the thought of him doing that while all the time he and Manorfield were going under fast.

‘If only I had known the position Marty was in then I’d have gone for something much simpler. But he insisted. And, of course, even though the wedding’s been called off there are still bills to be paid … What?’ She broke off sharply, staring in astonishment at the hand he held out.

‘Give them to me,’ Angelos commanded. ‘I’ll pay them.’

‘No—I can’t …’

‘Of course you can.’

He dismissed her protest with an arrogant flick of his wrist.

‘Can you afford to pay them? Obviously not …’ he commented as her eyes went back to the frightening figures detailed in red and she knew that her face had lost all trace of colour. ‘Let me deal with them.’

‘No …’

Angelos’s sigh was a perfect blend of resigned patience and total exasperation. ‘Jessica, don’t be so damn stubborn. I will pay them. Why not? I paid all the rest.’

That stunned her totally, her head going back, eyes widening in shock.

‘You—when—why?’

Angelos shrugged off her question with one shoulder. ‘They came to Marty, so they were part of the estate …’

Once again he held out a hand for the bills. ‘I paid those, I’ll pay these.’

‘But I can never repay you.’

The frown that snapped his dark brows together was cold and frightening, sending a shiver of apprehension running down her spine.

‘Did I ask for repayment? What is it, Jessica?’ he asked when she still hesitated. ‘Do you still hold some attachment to your former fiancé—is that it?’

‘No! How could you think that?’

She doubted if she had even spared Chris a thought in the past few days. Angelos had so completely erased him from her memory, replacing him totally in her thoughts that it was as if he had never existed.

‘Then give me the bills—it is worth paying them to know that you are free of all ties to him.’

And the subtly implied threat behind the words left her with no alternative but to hand them over, knowing that not to do so was to risk Angelos suspecting that there was some secret reason why she didn’t want to do as he said.

But where was Angelos now?

Jessica stepped out of the shower, where she had rinsed the sand from her body and the sea water from her hair after her swim earlier. Reaching for one of the fresh huge, soft towels that were piled on the bathroom cabinet, she swathed herself in it and
wrapped another around her hair before padding into the bedroom and starting to get ready for the evening.

She always showered, changed her clothes and did her hair ready for dinner when Angelos arrived home. He had never told that she had to dress for dinner, but somehow it always made her feel a little better if she did so. It made her feel less like a freeloader, someone who was only taking the luxury and the comfort that Angelos’s island home provided and offering nothing in return. At least he had a relaxed, stylish and welcoming partner to come back to.

And when, as happened every night, she felt a twinge of discomfort at the thought that she was like some old-style concubine, bathing and perfuming her body in preparation for the attention of her lover, like some handmaiden in a sheikh’s harem, then she pushed it away, refusing to let it settle and take root. There was some truth in the image, but not a total truth. She had chosen this path, it was her free decision and so, she acknowledged with a glance towards the huge king-sized bed that she had shared with Angelos on every night since their arrival here, with a faint snort of wry laughter, she had made her bed and she was very definitely going to have to lie in it.

After putting on white lacy underwear and spending a few minutes blow-drying her hair into a sleek, smooth style that hung loose on her shoulders, Jessica crossed the room to the huge built-in wardrobes that lined one wall. When she had first reached the island from England, her small case full of clothes had barely made any sort of impact on the enormous hanging space, but almost every time that Angelos came back from Athens or wherever he went every day, he had brought at least one gift for her—sometimes more. Perfume, jewellery and sometimes clothes, so that now when she opened the big mirrored doors she was faced with a choice of stunning designer outfits, the sort of thing that she could never have afforded to buy for herself, even when Marty had been alive.

Sighing, Jessica reached for a dress, a beautifully cut, totally simple full-length slip dress that she knew, from one try-on, set off her colouring and figure wonderfully. The deep turquoise silk flattered the light tan she had acquired from her days in the sun, and the fine material just exposed the tops of her breasts, clinging to every curve on its way down to fall in soft, flowing folds that swirled around her ankles when she moved. It was stunning—spectacular—but she would have traded it and every other gorgeous, expensive gift he had given her for one moment of real feeling, one trace of true love.

But that was a fantasy—and here and now was reality. And the only thing she could let herself deal with was reality. Even to dream of anything else was laying herself open to worse heartbreak with every second that she let herself indulge in the vain hope.

The hanger that held the dress had stuck for some reason and Jessica had to tug at it, twisting it slightly to get it out.

‘Come on,’ she muttered. ‘Come
on
!’

Another tug and she had it in her hands but the jerky movement had dislodged another hanger, sending one of Angelos’s jackets tumbling to the floor—the jacket he had worn out to work only the day before.

‘Darn it!’

Tossing the turquoise dress on to the bed, she bent to pick up the linen jacket before it could crease. But, as she did so, she heard a rustle and a thud as something fell from one of the pockets and she had to kneel down to scrabble amongst the shoes on the rail to find what it was.

‘Double darn …’

Her ability to talk, to think, deserted her as she brought out the pen and a couple of envelopes that had fallen to the floor. Envelopes addressed to Angelos … but to Angelos at Rousakis International—and they were both addressed in handwriting that was disturbingly, painfully familiar to her.

‘What?’

Sinking back on her heels, she stared at the long white envelopes, their English stamps, the postmarks actually from the village post office just down the road from Manorfield. And, if she had doubted the evidence of her eyes, then there on the back of each one, printed carefully and neatly, impossible to deny, was the name and address of the sender.

Chris Atkinson’s name and address.

For a long moment Jessica simply stared, unable to believe what she was seeing. But no matter how hard she looked, or how hard she blinked again and again, trying to clear her vision so that she could focus on the words in front of her, they still read exactly the same.

Christopher Atkinson …

Why was her ex-fiancé writing to Angelos? And one of the dates on the postmarks was
before
the date of Marty’s funeral.

Before Angelos had come to England
.

And before Chris had ever broken off their engagement.

Jessica’s vision blurred again and her hands trembled as she tried to pull one of the letters out from the envelope. The paper shook in her hand and the words danced before her eyes as she tried to make head or tail of it.

Why—just why—would Chris receive any cheque from …?

‘What the hell are you doing?’

It was Angelos’s voice, dark and raw with fury, and, glancing up in shock, she saw that he was standing in the doorway, face as black as a storm cloud, eyes glittering with the suppressed fury she could hear in his tone. Because he had been working, he was wearing the steel-grey suit he had put on that morning, but the
silver and black tie had been tugged loose at his neck, the top buttons of his darker grey shirt unfastened to reveal the long, tanned column of this throat, a hint of black hair on his chest. The helicopter must have landed while she had been blow-drying her hair and she hadn’t heard it. Then he had come upstairs, silent and unobserved.

‘I said—what the hell are you doing, going through my jacket pockets?’ Angelos demanded again.

‘I … I …’ Jessica stammered but then, swiftly rethinking as she remembered just what was in the letters she had read, she switched her tone from defensive to attacking. ‘No—you tell
me
just what the hell is going on. Why is Chris writing to you? What were you
paying
him for?’

If she had hoped to catch him off guard, she didn’t succeed. Angelos blinked just once, then spoke in a coolly dismissive tone.

‘I told you—there were bills for your planned marriage that came to the Manorfield estate, some of them from Atkinson.’

It all sounded perfectly reasonable, so why did something still nag away in the back of her head, telling her there was more to this than Angelos was letting on?

‘So now, if you’ll let me have my property back …’

The black ice of his eyes, the controlled anger in his tone, almost convinced her. She had actually folded up the letter, was pushing it back into the envelope, when remembrance struck, reminding her of the real truth.

‘No …’

Hastily she scrambled to her feet. He was too big, too powerful, too totally overwhelming towering over her like this. He was making her feel overawed just by standing there and it made it impossible to think straight. And she had to think straight because there was something going on here that she really didn’t understand.

Something that she knew she needed to understand.

‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently, sending her hair flying
around her head. ‘No, that isn’t right … Chris … these letters … One of them was written before Chris broke off our engagement. Before you ever came to England. What did my fiancé have to say to you before …?’