The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel (4 page)

‘What will you do after this?’ he asked.

‘Stay here for a few days, or weeks. It’s a chance for me to do some research. Homer has great contacts. There’s a museum vault that’s never opened for anyone, but he’s fixing it for me.’

He glanced down at the slender, sensual body moving in his arms, at the charming face that seemed to smile more naturally than any other expression, and the blue eyes with their mysterious, tantalising depths, and he knew a sense of outrage. What was this woman doing in museums, investigating the dead, when everything in her spoke of life? She belonged not in tombs but in sunlight, not turning dusty pages but caressing a man’s face and pressing her naked body against his.

The mere thought of her nakedness made him draw a sharp breath. The dress fitted her closely enough to give him a good idea of her contours, but it only tempted him to want more. He controlled his thoughts by force.

‘Is visiting museums really your idea of being lucky?’ he asked slowly.

‘I’m going to see things that other scholars have been struggling to see for years. I’ll be ahead of the game.’

‘But isn’t there anything else you want to do?’ he asked.

‘You mean, what’s a woman doing worrying her little head about such things? Women are made for pleasure; serious matters should be left to men.’

Since this came dangerously near to his actual thoughts he was left floundering for a moment. He wished she hadn’t used the word ‘pleasure’. It was a distraction he could do without.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he managed to say at last, ‘but when life offers you so many more avenues—’

‘Like Nikator? Yes, I could throw myself into his arms, or anything else he wanted me to throw myself into—careful!’

‘Sorry,’ he said hastily, loosing his fingers, which he’d tightened against her instinctively.

‘Where was I? Ah, yes, exploring avenues.’

‘Forget Nikator,’ he snapped. ‘He’s not an avenue, he’s a dead end.’

‘Yes, I’d managed to work that out for myself. I’m not seventeen any more. I’m thirty-two, in my dotage.’

In her dotage, he thought ironically, with skin like soft peach, hair like silk and eyes that teased, inviting him just so far and warning him against going any further. But she was right about one thing. She was no child. She’d been around long enough to discover a good deal about men, and he had an uneasy feeling that she could read more about him than he wanted her—or anyone—to know.

‘If you’re fishing for compliments you picked the wrong man,’ he said.

‘Oh, sure, I’d never come to you for sweet nothings, or for anything except—yes, that would be something—’ She hesitated, as though trying to phrase it carefully. ‘Something you could give me better than any other man,’ she whispered at last.

He struggled not to say the words, but they came out anyway. ‘And what’s that?’

‘Good financial advice,’ she declared. ‘Aha! There, I did it.’

‘Did what?’

‘I made you laugh.’

‘I’m not laughing,’ he said through twitching lips.

‘You would be if you weren’t trying so hard not to. I bet myself I could make you laugh. Be nice. Give me my little victory.’

‘I’m never nice. But I’ll let you have it this once.’

‘Only this once?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.

‘I prefer to claim victory for myself.’

‘I could take that as a challenge.’

Then there was silence as their bodies moved in perfect time, and she thought that yes, he was a challenge, and what a challenge he would be; so different from the easy-going men with whom she’d mostly spent her life. There was a darkness about him that he made little attempt to hide, and which tempted her, although she knew she was probably crazy.

‘Do your challenges usually work out as you plan?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him. ‘I won’t settle for anything less than my own way.’

‘I’m exactly the same. What a terrible battle looms ahead.’

‘True,’ she said. ‘I’m trembling in fear of you.’

He didn’t speak, but a slow smile overtook his face—the smile of a man who didn’t believe her and was planning a clever move.

Petra had a strange feeling that the other women on the dance floor were staring at her. Most of them had slept with Lysandros, she’d been warned, and suddenly she knew it was true. Their eyes were feverish, full of memories, hot, sweet and glorious, followed by anguish. Mentally they raked her, undressed her, trying to imagine whether she would please him.

And that was really unnerving because she was trying to decide the same thing.

They spoke to her, those nameless women, telling her that he was a lover of phenomenal energy, who could last all night, untiring, driving her on to heights she’d never reached before, heights she wanted to discover.

There was one woman in particular whose greedy gaze caught her attention. Something about the extravagantly dressed, petulant creature made Petra wonder if this was the most recent of Lysandros’s conquests—and his rejections. Her eyes were like the others, but a thousand times more bitter, more murderous.

Then Lysandros turned her in the dance, faster and faster, taking her to a distant place where there was only the whirling movement that shut out the rest of the world. She gave herself up to it completely, wanting nothing else.

Would she too lie in his arms in a fever of passion? And would she end up like the others, yearning wretchedly from a distance?

But something told her that their path together wouldn’t be as simple as that.

Suddenly they were interrupted by a shout from a few yards off. Everyone stopped dancing and backed away, revealing the bride and groom locked in a passionate embrace. As befitted a glamorous couple, the kiss went on and on as the crowd cheered and applauded. Then some of the others began to embrace. More and more followed suit until it seemed as though the whole place was filled with lingering kisses.

Lysandros stood motionless, his arm still around her waist, the other hand holding hers. The space between them remained barely a centimetre. It would take only the slightest movement for him to cover that last tiny distance and lay his lips on hers. She looked up at him, her heart beating.

‘What a performance!’ he exclaimed, looking around and speaking in disapproving tones. ‘I won’t insult you by subjecting you to it.’

He released her, stepping back and giving her no choice but to do the same.

‘Thank you,’ she said formally. ‘It’s delightful to meet a man with a sense of propriety.’

She could have hit him.

‘I’m afraid I must be going,’ he said. ‘I’ve neglected my affairs for too long. It’s been a pleasure meeting you again.’

‘And you,’ she said crisply.

He inclined his head courteously, and in a moment he was gone.

Thunderstruck, she watched him, barely believing what had happened, and so suddenly. He was as deep in desire as herself. All her instincts told her that beyond a shadow of doubt. Yet he’d denied that desire, fought it, overcome it,
because that was what he had decided to do.

This was a man of steely will, which he would impose no matter what the cost to himself or anyone else. He’d left her without even a glance back. It was like a blow in the stomach.

‘Don’t worry. Just be patient.’

Petra looked up to see the woman who’d caught her attention while they’d danced. Now she recalled seeing her arrive at the wedding with one of the city’s most wealthy and powerful men. She was regarding Petra with a mixture of contempt and pity.

‘I couldn’t help watching you—and Lysandros,’ she said,
moving nearer. ‘It’s his way, you see. He’ll come just so close, and then withdraw to consider the matter. When he’s decided that he can fit you in with his other commitments he’ll return and take his pleasure at his own time and his own convenience.’

‘If I agree,’ Petra managed to say.

The woman gave a cold, tinkly laugh.

‘Don’t be absurd, of course you’ll agree. It’s written all over you. He could walk back right this minute and you’d agree.’

‘I guess you know what you’re talking about,’ Petra said softly.

‘Oh, yes, I know. I’ve been there. I know what’s going through your head because it went through mine. “Who does he think he is to imagine he can just walk back and I’ll yield to him on command?” But then he looks at you as if you’re the only woman in the world, and you do yield on his command. And it’ll be wonderful—for a while. In his arms, in his bed, you’ll discover a universe you never knew existed.

‘But one day you’ll wake up and find yourself back on earth. It will be cold because he’s gone. He’s done with you. You no longer exist. You’ll weep and refuse to believe it, but he won’t answer the phone, so after a while you’ll have to believe it.’

She began to turn away, but paused long enough to say over her shoulder, ‘You think you’ll be different, but with him no woman is ever different. Goodbye.’

T
HE
party went on into the evening. Lights came on throughout the false Parthenon, music wafted up into the sky, assignations were made, profitable deals were settled. Petra accompanied Estelle into the house to help her change into her travelling clothes.

The honeymoon was to be spent on board the
Silver Lady
, Homer’s yacht, refurbished for the occasion and currently moored in the port of Piraeus, about five miles away. Two cars bearing luggage and personal servants had already gone on ahead. There remained only the limousine to convey the bride and groom.

‘Are you all right?’ Estelle asked, glancing at her daughter’s face.

‘Of course,’ Petra said brightly.

‘You look as if you were brooding about something.’

In fact she’d been brooding about the stranger’s words.

‘When he’s decided that he can fit you in with his other commitments he’ll return and take his pleasure at his own time and his own convenience.’

That was not going to happen, she resolved. If he returned tonight he would find her missing.

‘Do you mind if I come to the port to see you off?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Darling, that would be lovely. But I thought you’d be planning a wild night out.’

‘Not me. I don’t have your energy.’

In the car on the way to the port they drank champagne. Once on board, Homer showed her around the stately edifice with vast pride, finishing in the great bedroom with the bed big enough for six, covered with gold satin embroidered cushions.

‘Now we must find a husband for you,’ he declared expansively.

‘No, thank you,’ Petra hurried to say. ‘My one experience of marriage didn’t leave me with any desire to try again.’

Before he could reply, her cellphone rang and she answered.

‘I’m afraid my manners left something to be desired,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Perhaps I can make amends by taking you to dinner?’

For a moment she floundered. She had her speech of rejection ready prepared but no words would come.

‘I’m not sure—’

‘My car’s just outside the house.’

‘But I’m not there. I’m in Piraeus.’

‘It won’t take you long to return. I’ll be waiting.’

He hung up.

‘Cheek!’ she exploded. ‘He just takes it for granted I’ll do what he wants.’ Seeing them frowning, she added, ‘Lysandros Demetriou. He wants to take me to dinner, and I wasn’t given much chance to say no.’

‘That sounds like him,’ Homer said approvingly. ‘When he wants something he doesn’t waste time.’

‘But it’s no way to treat a lady,’ Estelle said indignantly.

He grinned and kissed her. ‘You didn’t seem to mind.’

As they were escorting her off the yacht Petra suddenly had a thought.

‘How did he know my cellphone number? I didn’t give it to him.’

‘He probably paid someone in my household to find out,’ Homer said as though it was a matter of course. ‘Goodbye, my dear.’

She hurried down the gangplank and into the car. On the journey back to Athens she tried to sort out her thoughts. She was angry, but mostly with herself. So many good resolutions ground to dust because of a certain tone in his voice.

On impulse she took out her phone and dialled the number of Karpos, an Athens contact, an ex-journalist whom she knew to be reliable. When he heard what she wanted he drew a sharp breath.

‘Everyone’s afraid of him,’ he said, speaking quickly. ‘In fact they’re so afraid that they won’t even admit their fear, in case he gets to hear and complains that they’ve made him look bad.’

‘That’s paranoid.’

‘Sure, but it’s the effect he has. Nobody is allowed to see inside his head or his heart—if he has one. Opinion is divided about that.’

‘But wasn’t there someone, a long time ago—? From the other family?’

‘Right. Her name was Brigitta, but I didn’t tell you that. She died in circumstances nobody has ever been able to discover. The press were warned off by threats, which is why you’ll never see it mentioned now.’

‘You mean threats of legal action?’

‘There are all kinds of threats,’ Karpos said mysteriously. ‘One man started asking questions. The next thing he knew, all his debts were called in. He was on the verge of ruin, but it was explained to him that if he “behaved himself” in future, matters could be put right. Of course he gave the promise, turned over all his notes, and everything was miraculously settled.’

‘Did anything bad happen to him afterwards?’

‘No, he left journalism and went into business. He’s very successful, but if you say the name Demetriou, he leaves the room quickly. Anything you know, you have to pretend not to know, like the little apartment he has in Athens, or Priam House in Corfu.’

‘Priam House?’ she said, startled. ‘I’ve heard of that. People have been trying to explore the cellar for years—there’s something there, but nobody’s allowed in. Do you mean it’s his?’

‘So they say. But don’t let on that you know about it. In fact, don’t tell him you’ve spoken to me, please.’

She promised and hung up. Sitting there, silent and thoughtful, she knew she was getting into deep water. But deep water had never scared her.

She also knew that there was another aspect to this, something that couldn’t be denied.

After fifteen years, she and Lysandros Demetriou had unfinished business.

He’d said he would be waiting for her and, sure enough, he was there by the gate to Homer’s estate. As her car slowed he pulled open the door, took her hand and drew her out.

‘I won’t be long,’ she said. ‘I just have to go inside and—’

‘No. You’re fine as you are. Let’s go.’

‘I was going to change my dress—’

‘You don’t need to. You’re beautiful. You know that, so why are we arguing?’

There was something about this blunt speech that affected her more than a smooth compliment would ever have done. He had no party manners. He said exactly what he thought, and he thought she was beautiful. She felt a smile grow inside her until it possessed her completely.

‘You know what?’ she said. ‘You’re right. Why are we arguing?’ She indicated for her chauffeur to go on without her and got into Lysandros’s car.

She wondered where he would take her, possibly a sophisticated restaurant, but he surprised her by driving out into the countryside for a few miles and stopping at a small restaurant, where he led her to an outside table. Here they were close to the coast and in the distance she could just make out the sea, shimmering beneath the moon.

‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘It’s so peaceful after all the crowds today.’

‘That’s how I feel too,’ he said. ‘Normally I only come here alone.’

The food was simple, traditional Greek cooking, just as she liked it. While he concentrated on the order Petra had the chance to consider him, trying to reconcile his reputation as a ruthless tyrant with the suffering boy she’d met years ago.

That boy had been vulnerable and still able to show it, to the extent of telling a total stranger that a betrayal of trust had broken his heart. Now he was a man who inspired fear, who would deny having a heart, who would probably jeer at the idea of trust.

What had really happened all those years ago? And could it ever be put right for him?

She thought again of dancing with him, the other women with their envious, lustful glances as they relived hours spent in bed with that tall, strong body, yielding ecstatically to skills they’d found in no other man.

‘Are you all right?’ Lysandros asked suddenly.

‘Yes—why do you ask?’

‘You drew a sharp breath, as though you were in pain.’

‘No, I’m not in pain,’ she hurried to say.

Unless, she thought, you included the pain of wanting something you’d be wiser not to want. She pretended to search
her bag. When she glanced up she found him regarding her with a look of wonder.

‘Fifteen years,’ he said. ‘So much has happened and we’ve changed, and yet in another way we’re still the same people. I would have known you anywhere.’

She smiled. ‘But you didn’t recognise me.’

‘Only on the surface. Inside, there was a part of me that knew you. I never thought we’d meet again, and yet somehow I was always certain that we would.’

She nodded. ‘Me too. If we’d waited another fifteen years—or fifty—I’d still have been sure that we would one day talk again before we died.’

The last words seemed to reach right inside him. To talk again before they died. That was it. He knew that normally his own thoughts would have struck him as fanciful. He was a strong man, practical, impatient of anything that he couldn’t pin down. Yet what he said was true. She’d been an unseen presence in his life ever since that night.

He wondered how he could tell her this. She’d inspired him with the will to talk freely, but that wasn’t enough. He didn’t know how.

The food arrived, feta and tomato slices, simple and delicious.

‘Mmm,’ she said blissfully.

He ate little, spending most of his time watching her.

‘Why were you up there?’ he asked at last. ‘Why not downstairs, enjoying the wedding?’

‘I guess I’m a natural cynic.’ She smiled. ‘My grandfather used to say that I approached life with an attitude of,
Oh, yeah?
And it’s true. I think it was already there that night in Las Vegas, and it’s got worse since. Given the madhouse I’ve always lived in, it could hardly be any other way.’

‘How do you feel about the madhouse?’

‘I enjoy it, as long as I’m not asked to get too deeply involved in it or take it seriously.’

‘You’ve never wanted to be a film actress yourself?’

‘Good grief, no! One raving lunatic in the family is enough.’

‘Does your mother know you talk like that?’

‘Of course. She actually said it first, and we’re agreed. She’s a sweetie and I adore her, but she lives on the Planet Zog.’

‘How old is she really?’

‘As old as she needs to be at any one moment. She was seventeen when she had me. My father didn’t want any responsibility, so he just dumped her, and she struggled alone for a while. Believe me, anyone who just sees her as a film star should see the back streets of London where we lived in those years.

‘Then my father’s parents got in touch to say that he’d just died in a road accident. They hadn’t even known we existed until he admitted it on his deathbed. They were Greek, with strong ideas about family, and I was all the family they had left. Luckily, they were nice people and we all got on well. They looked after me while Estelle built her career. My grandfather was a scholar who’d originally come to England to run a course in Greek at university. At first I didn’t even go to school because he reckoned he could teach me better, and he was right.’

‘So you grew up as the one with common sense?’

‘Well, one of us had to have some,’ she chuckled.

‘How did you manage with all those stepfathers?’

‘They were OK. Mostly they were lovelorn and a bit dopey, so I had a hard job keeping a straight face.’

‘What about the one in Las Vegas?’

‘Let’s see, he was the—no, that was the other one—or was he? Oh, never mind. They’re all the same, anyway. I think he was an aspiring actor who thought Estelle could help his ambitions. When she finally saw through him she tossed him out. She was in love with someone else by then.’

‘You’re very cool about it all. Doesn’t all this “eternal love” affect you?’

‘Eternal love?’ She seemed to consider this. ‘Would that be eternal love as in he tried to take every penny she had, or as in he haunted the set, throwing a fit whenever she had a love scene, or as in—?’

‘All right, I get the picture. Evidently the male sex doesn’t impress you.’

‘However did you guess?’

‘But what about your own experience? There must have been one or two brave enough to defy the rockets you fire at them?’

Her lips twitched. ‘Of course. I don’t look at them unless they’re brave enough to do that.’

‘That’s the first of your requirements, is it? Courage?’

‘Among other things. But even that’s overrated. The man I married was a professional sportsman, a skier who could do the most death-defying stuff. The trouble was, it was all he could do, so in the end he was boring too.’

‘You’re married?’ he asked slowly.

‘Not any more,’ she said in a tone of such devout thankfulness that he was forced to smile.

‘What happened? Was it very soon after our meeting?’

‘No, I went to college and studied hard. It was the same college where my grandfather had been a professor, and it was wonderful because people couldn’t care less that I was a film star’s daughter, but they were impressed that I was his granddaughter. I had to do him credit. I studied to improve my knowledge of the Greek language, learned the history, passed exams. We were going to come here and explore together, but then he and my grandmother both died. It’s not the same without him. I so much wanted to make him proud of me.’

She hesitated, while a shadow crossed her face, making him lean forward.

‘What is it?’ he asked gently.

‘Oh—nothing.’

‘Tell me,’ he persisted, still gentle.

‘I was just remembering how much I loved them and they loved me. They needed me, because I was all that was left to them after their son died. They liked Estelle, but she wasn’t part of them as I was.’

‘Wasn’t your mother jealous of your closeness to them?’

Petra shook her head. ‘She’s a loving mother, in her way, but I’ve never been vital to her as I was to them.’

‘How sad,’ he said slowly.

‘Not really. As long as you have someone who needs you, you can cope with the others who don’t.’

At that moment all the others who hadn’t needed her seemed to be there in the shadows, starting with Estelle, always surrounded by people whose job it was to minister to her—hairdressers, make-up artists, lawyers, psychologists, professional comfort-givers, lovers, husbands. Whatever she wanted, there was always someone paid to provide it.

She was sweet-tempered and had showered her daughter with a genuine, if slightly theatrical affection, but when a heavy cold had forced Petra to miss one of her weddings— Fourth? Fifth?—she’d shrugged, said, “Never mind” and merely saved her an extra large piece of cake.