by Annie West
Shock tore through him.
He remembered the loss of his own father. Remembered too well its impact on his mother and siblings. The desolation and the grief. No decent man would use such emotions for his own gain.
Damon was a hard man in business, but honest. With women he was generous.
Pride revolted that Callie thought so little of him.
Suddenly this wasn’t about the give-and-take game of awareness between a man and a woman. Callie referred to a different sort of battle. An ugly one with no holds barred.
What sort of men had she mixed with to make her believe he’d use her grief against her?
Her uncle was a selfish opportunist, but she’d faced him down only this morning.
Who else? Her husband? Men she’d known during her marriage? Had her lovers been so unsavoury? Had they used her in some way, rather than being fodder for her rapacious desires as he’d assumed? The notion stirred protective anger.
A sliver of doubt stabbed him as he thought of his ultimatum. The power he’d wielded to make her come with him.
It was something he’d never done before—threaten a woman into his bed. Logic told him he was simply turning the tables on her. She’d connived and now it was his turn. She was facing her just deserts.
Yet he couldn’t repress a shiver that felt like guilt as she huddled in on herself.
‘Come here.’ His voice was rougher than he intended as he stripped the covers and lifted her onto the bed.
Wide eyes met his before she jerked her head away. Her mouth compressed in such misery his chest squeezed.
He swung her legs up so she lay in the bed. Seconds later he’d shucked off his shoes and lay beside her, drawing the covers over her. He slid his arms around her and pulled her close so her head rested on his collarbone.
She needed warmth and comfort.
Something other than his libido surfaced as he cradled her. He wanted to take care of her.
He’d feel the same about anyone in these circumstances.
Callie lay rigid in his arms.
After an interminable time she moved. Fingers tickled his throat and he swallowed down the surge of need that threatened to swamp him.
This was no time for sex.
Then he realised what she was doing. She’d fumbled his top shirt button open and was working on the next, her hands a delicious torment on his over-heated skin.
‘Stop!’ He clamped his palm over her hand and reared back so he could see her properly.
She was pale, her eyes enormous in her tear-washed face. Even her lips were pallid. But she’d stopped crying and there was a determined set to her mouth.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
Her gaze slid to where he held her captive. Only now did he register the fine tremor in her fingers. He stroked them with his thumb, aware of their fine-boned fragility.
‘Delivering on my promise.’ Her voice was a husky wisp of sound, barely audible.
‘Your promise?’ He frowned, his mind still grappling with the evidence of her vulnerability and his body’s inevitable response to her tentative caress.
‘I promised myself to you. As your mistress,’ she added as if she hadn’t been clear the first time. ‘You wanted—’
‘I know what you promised,’ he growled, thrusting her hand away as if stung. The reminder of their agreement, now, with her so patently vulnerable, made their deal seem tawdry.
Surely she couldn’t believe he’d demand she give herself here, now, when she was in such a state.
Surprised eyes met his. Grimly he tugged her close, pulling her head down to his shoulder. So he didn’t have to look into those bruised green depths.
Heat scorched him from the soul out. Guilt engulfed him.
‘Close your eyes and sleep, Callie. This isn’t the time.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU have a beautiful home.’ Callie gazed across the broad curve of the horizon pool to the indigo sea and the darker bulk of the mainland beyond. The peace of the tiny island enveloped her. After the shock of her emotional meltdown yesterday this was balm to her soul.
If only she could be alone to enjoy it.
Her skin prickled and she knew he watched her. Reluctantly she turned. He sat just a metre away.
His eyes snared hers and remarkably she felt again the illusion of connection with him she’d experienced the first time.
‘I’m glad you approve. I didn’t think it would be to your taste.’
His gesture encompassed the mansion behind them. Not a modern construction as she’d expected but a lovingly restored home with a history of its own. It had elegant long windows, full-length shutters, a pantiled roof and delicately poised balconies. Inside, as on his yacht, Damon had blended grace with modern convenience.
Callie’s gaze followed the line of the house to an unfinished building in a similar style, connected by a glazed walkway that surprisingly worked, rather than detracted from the original villa.
Damon was expanding, using the centuries-old house above its private bay as his centrepiece.
Callie liked his approach.
‘Just like you assumed I wouldn’t like the Circe?’
‘My mistake.’
Callie blinked. In years of marriage she’d never once heard Alkis admit to an error. Even to something so trivial. She grimaced and swallowed some wine. It slid like nectar down her throat. Only the best in Damon’s home.
‘My uncle’s taste isn’t mine.’ He probably thought she’d inherited Aristides’ love of over-the-top decoration.
Just as he’d assumed she was conniving and unscrupulous like her uncle.
‘So I’m discovering.’ Damon’s gaze slid over her, taking in her simple, stylish dress in cream and bronze. The colours suited her but there was no cleavage on display.
She lifted her chin. ‘Disappointed?’
‘Intrigued.’ The banked heat in his gaze revealed a familiar hunger. And something more: curiosity.
No wonder. He’d got more than he bargained for when he took her aboard his yacht. She cringed at the memory of that episode. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable. Yet to her amazement he hadn’t taken advantage of that.
Callie had woken from a dreamless sleep this morning to find Damon had sailed overnight to the mainland and organised a helicopter flight to his island.
He’d saved her the distress of staying on his yacht. When she’d tried to thank him he’d brushed aside her gratitude as if he’d done nothing at all!
More, he’d rejected her fumbling attempt to initiate intimacy. Instead he’d simply held her till she slept. The memory of his steady heartbeat soothing her, his strong arms protecting her, his scratchy chin moving against her hair as he spoke, created a tiny unfurling bud of warmth deep inside her.
There’d been no chastisement for her weakness, no rant about the inconvenience she’d caused. Instead she recalled his brusque tenderness as he’d rocked her to sleep. Damon had been patient and practical, as if dealing with a mistress’s phobia were commonplace.
She couldn’t fathom him, morphing from cold-blooded manipulator to carer in the blink of an eye. She’d never have believed it possible.
Who was Damon Savakis, really?
‘Is your family from this island?’ The intensity of his stare unnerved her. Polite conversation was better than silence when he watched her every move.
At least watching was all he’d do, for now. This morning she’d had to explain, red-faced with embarrassment, that her monthly cycle had begun early. Damon hadn’t batted an eyelid, no doubt used to such discussions with live-in lovers.
She didn’t have to please him in bed. Yet.
‘No, we’re from the south. From the Peloponnesus.’
‘So why here?’ Nerves forced her to continue.
He shrugged and she was reminded of him, bare-shouldered onboard Circe. Heat rippled through her and she looked away.
‘I’d sailed here and knew the island. It’s an easy
commute to Athens by chopper or even speedboat.’
‘You travel every day?’ He’d left her here all day, alone but for his unobtrusive staff. Presumably he’d spent the time working, despite his plan to take a few days off.
Of course, that was before he’d learned his new mistress was inconveniently unavailable for sex.
Why spend time here in the meantime? Nothing could have reinforced more clearly her place in his world. She served just one purpose.
‘This is a holiday retreat. My principal home is in Athens. But I thought you might appreciate the peace here.’
Just like that Damon pulled the rug out from under her assumptions. He’d come here so she could recuperate?
Heat flushed her throat and cheeks. Mortification warred with gratitude and surprise. ‘I… Thank you. That’s very kind of—’
‘Besides,’ he spoke again, cutting off her clumsy thanks, ‘I wanted to check how the build was progressing.’ He gestured to the extension beside the original villa.
Callie pressed her lips together. Either he didn’t want her thanks or she fitted neatly with his existing plans. She had no idea which. With Damon all her certainties crumbled.
‘I make it a point to keep a personal eye on all important matters.’
‘Like visiting my uncle when you took over his company?’ The words were out before she could regret them.
‘Precisely.’ Damon’s mouth firmed as he watched the distant view.
‘Do you oversee every deal?’ He was a billionaire with a reputation for decisive action. Surely he delegated some negotiations to his staff.
‘Ah, but that was more than a business deal.’ His lips twisted in a grim smile. ‘That was personal.’
‘How?’ As far as she knew her uncle had never met Damon before this week.
Slowly he turned to face her. His expression made her quiver. ‘He didn’t tell you.’ It was a statement, not a question, almost as if he spoke to himself. ‘Both my grandfather and father worked in the Manolis shipyards.’
Callie felt the slide of premonition down her backbone, like the touch of an icy finger.
‘My father died in an industrial accident there.’ He spoke in a monotone. But she saw the angry glitter in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’
Again that shrug of wide, powerful shoulders.
‘Your uncle was in charge of the company by then and his lawyers saw to it my mother didn’t get compensation. She barely got enough to cover funeral costs.’
Callie gasped at such callousness. But she could believe it of her uncle. He was all for screwing money out of the business any way he could. Empathy for workers was a foreign concept to him.
Remorse stabbed her, carving through her chest.
With his action Aristides had tainted the company her father had helped expand. He’d tainted their family. No wonder Damon expected the worst of them. Of her.
‘Acquiring Manolis Enterprises was payback. Is that it?’
Silently he nodded.
‘How long have you been planning your takeover?’
‘Since the day the lawyer bullied my mother into relinquishing her claim for compensation.’
Silence stretched, a taut wire between them.
All this was about revenge? Even his pursuit of her? Carefully she placed her glass on a nearby table as her hands began to shake. Her pulse pounded frantically.
How better to triumph in his victory over her family than to rub their noses in her weakness for him? No wonder he’d targeted her for seduction. She’d been collateral damage in his quest for vengeance.
The tentative warmth and gratitude she’d begun to feel leached away in the face of his calculating actions.
‘You don’t really want me,’ she whispered. ‘You want retribution.’
His ebony eyes gleamed as he surveyed her.
‘Wrong, Callie. I have my payback. But make no mistake. I want you too.’
Eight days later Damon emerged from the pilot’s seat of his chopper and strode from the helipad to his villa.
As usual, he was eager for his first glimpse of Callie.
Today the business with her uncle had been finalised. Contrary to his original plans, Damon had settled a generous sum on Manolis. The memory of Angela’s tentative smile, the knowledge of Callie’s worry for the sick aunt she rang daily, had played on his conscience. Instead of stripping the family bare of assets he’d acceded far more than he needed to.
He grimaced. He was getting soft.
His family told him his protective instincts were too strong, that he took his responsibilities for their welfare too seriously. Now he found himself going out of his way to provide for his arch rival’s womenfolk!
But the worry pleating Callie’s brow whenever she got off the phone, her obvious concern for her relatives, touched him. In that she was genuine and he respected her for it.
Besides, Angela and her mother shouldn’t suffer for Manolis’ behaviour. Hadn’t Damon slaved for years to protect his mother and siblings from the fallout of that man’s machinations?
Strange how, after years plotting revenge, the reality was tempered by other considerations.
Yet he was satisfied with his decision.
He’d even decided to salvage what was left of Manolis Industries, building it into his own vast enterprise so it became profitable once again. Only a fool would destroy something with such innate potential.
He pushed through a side-door and bounded up the stairs, anticipation firing his blood.
He hadn’t seen Callie since dawn, when he’d held her close and done nothing to assuage the ravening hunger to possess her again. For over a week now he’d kept his distance, insisting only that she share his bed. He had no intention of letting her establish herself in another room.
Each night had been a torture of thwarted desire, but he refused to give up the pleasure of sleeping with her. Even though he did precious little sleeping!
Her reaction aboard Circe had stunned him. He hadn’t realised her vulnerability.
Nor had he counted on the twinge of guilt that assailed him about his tactics in getting her to himself. Despite the underhand blackmail stunt she’d organised with her uncle, he had a sneaking idea he’d lowered himself to their level in forcing her hand.
Yet grief for her parents didn’t absolve her of how she’d lived since she was old enough to sell herself to a rich old husband. Or try to trick Damon into marriage.
She was simply more complex than he’d supposed, her mercenary gloss hiding doubts and fears, like anyone else.
Nevertheless, as he entered the corridor at the top of the stairs, he knew he wanted more. He didn’t want Callie giving herself because he demanded it. Because he’d blackmailed her by playing on her fears for her cousin.
He wanted her to come to him because she wanted him.
He reached the door to the master suite and he heard running water. Damon slammed to a stop.
His groin hardened as his imagination presented a picture of Callie in glorious detail. Her hair would be like dark honey, slicked over her shoulders and down the sweet arch of her spine. Her thighs, belly and breasts glistening with water. Her hand moving slowly, soaping tender, sensitive skin.
A groan of anticipation filled his throat.
Damon reached out and turned the door handle.
CHAPTER NINE
CALLIE secured the plush bathrobe at her waist then bent to towel-dry her hair.
These last eight days in the luxury of Damon’s private estate had given her plenty of time to think. Yet thinking got her no further forward.
She hated the way he’d forced her into this arrangement. Yet she’d seen glimpses of a better man hidden beneath the surface. A man who, despite every expectation, had gone out of his way to look after a woman he saw as his enemy when she was in distress.
The size of the Manolis family debt to his weighed heavily on her conscience. She could even understand, after dealing with her uncle, how Damon bel
ieved she’d tried to trick him in a plot to secure a wealthy bridegroom.
And running beneath all her ponderings lay the swift, dark channel of desire. Strong as rushing water, deeper than she cared to test. It blindsided her too often, especially when Damon held her in his arms every night, spooned in front of him or nestled across his chest. Each morning she’d wake to find they’d snuggled closer in sleep. His thigh between hers, his hand on her breast, her mouth on his warm throat.
Horrified by the way her body accepted his, she feigned sleep till he got up to shower ready for the office.
But nothing stopped the memories of a time when his touch had been magic to her starved senses.
When the time came and he demanded sex, would she resent his domination? Or would she welcome it?
Her indignation and defiance had wilted. Or was it just that today’s news had sapped her strength? After a long discussion with her lawyer there was still no news of the trust. Her plans to start her business were indefinitely on hold. She couldn’t rely on her uncle to hold to his promise.
Callie gritted her teeth and rubbed her scalp harder.
No! She wouldn’t give up. She would make her new start. As soon as she was free of Damon she’d find herself a job and start saving. She—
Callie’s hands stilled, tightening like claws against her scalp. A pair of large, bare masculine feet appeared in her line of vision.
Her heart pumped faster and her breasts rose and fell as her breathing turned shallow. The movement reminded her that beneath the towelling robe she was naked. Her skin contracted in shivery awareness of her vulnerability.
Adrenalin shot into her bloodstream. Suddenly every nerve was on alert.
Slowly she lifted her head. Dark trousers, superbly fitted over long, powerful legs, planted wide in an attitude of assurance. Pockets bulged where his hands rested, obviously at ease. Trim waist, flat stomach. A powerful chest beneath a tailored shirt.
Callie’s heart nosedived as she saw the top buttons of his shirt open, his tie missing and the taut, anticipatory smile on Damon’s beautifully sculpted lips.