The Savakis Merger

by Annie West

  But even as her eyelids fluttered in expectation of his next caress, his hand dropped and he stepped back.

  What now? Why had he stopped?

  ‘You want me to make this easy for you. Don’t you, Callie?’ The words hung between them as the silence lengthened.

  Yes, she almost screamed at him, her nerves raw with the tension crawling through her. Please, please, just…

  ‘But, given your condescension and your cold treatment, I think it’s time you made the first move.’

  Callie’s jaw sagged and she snapped it shut as a surge of vibrant emotion straightened her weakening resolve.

  ‘You want your pound of flesh, is that it?’ She spoke through clenched teeth.

  His lips twitched. ‘You could say that, glikia mou.’ His firm mouth, so beautifully sculpted, curled up into a smile that made her want to smash something. Preferably him.

  ‘So what did you have in mind?’ Already she dreaded the answer.

  ‘You’re my mistress now. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Why don’t you just seduce me?’

  Seduce him! She had no idea where to start. When they’d made love there’d been little thought involved. It had seemed so natural, so right, she didn’t remember a conscious decision to give herself to him.

  Tentatively she reached out, screwing up her courage as she lifted her hand to his face. But she moved too late. Her hand touched air as he stepped away and sank onto a long sofa. Nonchalantly he spread his arms along its back and stretched his long legs, crossing one ankle over the other.

  ‘Go on,’ he urged, for all the world as if he anticipated a show!

  Did he expect a striptease? Wrath heated her chilled body at his deliberate show of power.

  How like Alkis he was in his smug superiority. Something like hatred clawed at her chest, tightening her throat. But it helped. Now her hands were rock-steady as she jerked out the rhinestone pins holding her hair up.

  Moments later her hair slipped down, a concealing weight around her shoulders and breasts. Callie let the pins fall.

  ‘And the diamonds.’ His face was unreadable but his voice sounded curiously thick. ‘I don’t want you coming to me wearing another man’s diamonds.’

  His proprietorial demand reinforced her contempt. He thought by possessing her body he had a right to control her. She unsnapped the bracelet and tossed it onto the marble coffee-table. Her earrings followed, splashes of scintillating light in the lamp-light. Callie raised her hands to the clasp of the necklace and caught Damon’s look as it raked her face and upthrust breasts.

  A shock of sensation jolted her out of her fury. A shock of something almost like excitement.

  She dropped the necklace to the table and discovered she was breathing hard, as if she’d run here instead of tottering on ridiculously high heels.

  She stepped out of the delicate slingback sandals and her feet sank into the luxurious pile of the carpet.

  Still he said nothing, just watched her with eyes that glowed with an inner fire.

  No time for second thoughts. She’d committed herself. Head up, back straight, she paced towards him. He didn’t move except to tilt his head, the better to watch her.

  He really was a manipulative bastard. He enjoyed this power play. She sensed it even though his face remained granite-hard.

  The realisation gave her the strength to sink onto her knees beside him on the sofa. She twisted a little, her leg aligning with his thigh, so solid and warm and unmoving. Without giving herself time to think she reached out and cupped his jaw in her hand. His skin was hot and smooth. So smooth she wondered if he’d just shaved. Had he been so sure she’d come to him?

  Of course he had. He held all the cards.

  Anger spurred her on. She leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth.

  He didn’t move. Didn’t respond. His lips were warm and uncooperative.

  She tried again, this time pressing closer, her tongue flicking across the seam of his mouth. He didn’t open it for her.

  Callie clasped his face in both hands, caressing him slowly. She pressed kisses to the corner of his mouth, along his jaw and up to his ear, grazing her teeth along flesh that tasted of that unique spicy tang she remembered from a week ago. A shiver of pleasure, an echo of heady excitement, raced through her, tightening her skin. She inhaled his scent as she nuzzled his neck and a wave of dizziness hit her.

  She edged closer, pressing herself to his solid heat. Her hands slipped down to the collar of his shirt, swiftly unbuttoning till she could slide her fingers, her hand inside. Crisp hair and steamy skin met her touch as she smoothed her palm across his firm pectoral muscles.

  A dart of pure heat pierced her, arrowing straight to her womb, and lower, to the juncture of her thighs, as heady memories of sensual pleasure swamped her.

  Again she kissed him, urging him, silently pleading with him to let her in. To reciprocate. This wasn’t about his challenge any more. She felt that telltale surge of desire deep within her at the touch, taste, scent of Damon. It felt suspiciously like…coming home.

  Despite her anxiety, her anger, her disappointment, there was a truth about this, about her and Damon together, that was more powerful than logic or pride. The realisation swamped her, flattening her defences.

  Her trembling fingers worked frantically at the remaining buttons, ripping his shirt open to bare his torso. Callie sighed her pleasure as she slid down, exquisitely aware of the friction between their bodies as her breasts, covered only by thin silk, moved against his broad chest. Darts of fire lit the darkness behind her closed lids as she experienced again the raw power of sensual need.

  She licked his collarbone, then swept urgent kisses down his sternum.

  He tasted as good as she remembered.

  Following instinct, she licked one firm nipple, then tugged it lightly between her teeth. He shuddered and she let her questing hands mould and stroke the powerful contours of his chest. Did his heart beat faster?

  It pounded against her palm as she slid her arms round him.

  He was so big, so superbly made that her pulse ratcheted faster in awareness of all that restrained masculine power. She remembered how he’d used that power so wonderfully, so tenderly to make her come alive in his arms.

  Fire danced in her veins and need shimmered through her, drawing every nerve-ending awake and aware.

  Callie rose, nipping his jaw, his chin, kissing his mouth with an insistent urgency that threatened to spiral out of control. She speared her hands through his thick hair, holding him captive as she teased, tempted and silently implored him to respond. That was what she needed, what she craved.

  She sagged against his chest, breasts sliding against him. Sparks of pure delight flared from the contact. The heat built, urging her on.

  Hurriedly she slid a hand to the waistband of his trousers, fumbling to undo his leather belt.

  His mouth moved beneath hers. Yet he didn’t return her kiss.

  ‘At last,’ he drawled. Callie sat back on her heels as his tone penetrated the haze fogging her brain. His glittering eyes held her captive.

  ‘I thought you’d forgotten I’m the one you’re supposed to pleasure. Not yourself. You’ll have to improve your technique, Callie, or I might change my mind about having you. Perhaps I should take your little cousin as my wife instead.’

  It was a douche of icy water, shocking her out of her stupor.

  Callie’s skin crawled as she realised what had happened. In a few short moments she’d forgotten everything about why she was here: his callous demand, her subservient role, the degradation of giving herself like a commodity in a business deal. Unbelievably all that had been obliterated by a force so strong it terrified her.

  She’d succumbed to a primal, inexplicable need. The need for him. It shattered everything, even her pride, to smithereens. All that remained was a compulsion so strong even now she felt it pulse and rage in her blood.

  She’d been completely out of control while he�
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  Shame and hurt and rage warred, forming an ice-cold lump of misery in her chest.

  How had it happened? Through years of unhappiness, of occasional desperation, only control, her ability to withdraw inside herself, had kept her strong. It was how she had survived.

  His hands thrust hers aside, making short work of his belt. Callie heard a zip slide down, then he spread both arms again along the sofa, the image of supercilious impatience. She scooped a lungful of air, transfixed by his arrogant stare.

  In the gloom his expression looked familiar. The hard line of his mouth, the cold glint of his eyes. So had Alkis looked as he berated her for her failings, chastised her for not pleasing him in some way, or accused her of infidelity.

  She’d escaped one manipulative man only to fall prey to another.

  The searing, life-affirming heat of desire she’d felt seconds ago seeped from her body as ice-cold splinters of horror ripped through her.

  What had she almost done?

  Unbelievable that she’d hungered to give herself to this man! And all the while he’d felt nothing but impatience for her inexpert caresses.

  Something shrivelled inside. If she did this, she’d lose what little was left of her hard-won self-respect. That was all she’d salvaged from the last six years.

  In a surge of desperate energy she propelled herself back off the couch and onto legs that wobbled uncontrollably.

  ‘Well?’ He raised one interrogative brow. ‘I’m waiting.’

  She opened her mouth but no sound came. She slicked dry lips, ignoring the flicker of interest in his gaze. He sat with his clothes open, his arms splayed. He looked every inch the arrogant sensualist, awaiting his pleasure.

  The thought nearly choked her.

  Callie took a step back, then another.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The lazy boredom disappeared from his voice.

  His tone sharpened.

  Fear spiked. Fear that, even now, she couldn’t quite conquer the urgent desire that drew her back. Even arrogant and impatient Damon Savakis wielded a power that made her tremble with feminine weakness. That shamed her.

  A second later Callie spun round and wrenched open the door. She grabbed her long skirts in her hands and raced pellmell up the path, terrified that at any second his hard hands would curl round her shoulders and yank her back.

  Gravel bit her bare feet, her hair streamed behind her and a sob tore from her constricted throat. She stumbled but kept running, her breath sawing desperately in her throat.

  She’d only just escaped the degradation of a loveless marriage to a venal, cold-hearted man. She couldn’t deliver herself into the hands of another like him.

  It was asking too much.

  Damon stared in disbelief at the pale figure flying up the hill, long skirts billowing about her as she ran.

  He stumbled to his feet, cursing his lack of co-ordination. He could no more catch her up than he could fly. His body was in lock-down, gripped in the stasis of a sexual arousal so potent it hurt to move.

  Hell! It hurt to breathe.

  Damn his vitriolic tongue. His need to assert his dominance.

  Dominance! His mouth compressed in self-disgust.

  He’d been putty in her delicate, sensual hands. Only determination to make her pay for her condescension, for the burning frustration he’d suffered, had lent him strength not to plunder her mouth and her body instantaneously.

  Pride demanded he remain unresponsive to begin with.

  He’d gripped the sofa so hard in his effort not to respond that his fingers were numb. The upholstery was probably shredded. She’d bewitched him and he’d fallen into a helpless state of immobility, muscles frozen in stunned disbelief.

  Damon had reached breaking point. He’d been about to ravish her luscious mouth when she fumbled at his belt and relief spiralled through him. Just as well she hadn’t touched him lower or he might have embarrassed himself. He was more explosively aroused than he’d been since his teenage years.

  That realisation had given him the bare strength to meet her eyes and lie bald-faced about how she made him feel.

  He’d never relinquished power to any woman. The realisation that she, of all women, had turned the tables with just her kisses and her slow caress of his bare torso, scared the hell out of him.

  He’d lashed out, trying to redress the imbalance of power. Now look where that had got him!

  Cursing himself for a fool, he did up his trousers and walked stiff-legged to the door. The winding path was empty. Callie was long gone.

  Unbelievably, for the first time he could remember, Damon had overplayed his hand.

  It was late when Callie emerged next day. After a night of no sleep she’d spent ages concealing her pallor and puffy eyes with make-up.

  Had Damon left for Athens? Had he changed his plans and announced he’d marry Angela?

  Callie bit her lip and faltered to a stop on the stairs. Her chest constricted, misery swamping her. She’d failed Angela. Guilt burned a hole in her belly.

  Despite her determination, her vaunted self-possession, she’d let Damon frighten her into failure. It almost didn’t matter that she’d pay a personal price now. He’d be furious enough to screw the Manolis family for every penny and she’d never get back what her uncle had stolen.

  But that was only money. She’d find a way to pursue her dream, even if it meant years of delay. She would support herself and lay to rest the taunting echo of Alkis’ voice telling her she was good for nothing but show. He’d belittled her brains, her ability and almost succeeded in breaking her. But she’d prove him wrong. Prove her worth to herself.

  The thought of Angela, trapped in a marriage that would destroy her happiness, her very soul, ripped Callie apart. And her aunt, diagnosed with a heart condition, who’d lose her home if the deal didn’t go ahead.

  Callie had just discovered that bombshell this morning as she looked in on Aunt Desma. The results of the medical tests had come through. Her aunt put on a brave face, but the prognosis was serious. She needed quiet and professional treatment. Not to be uprooted from her home.

  Not to deal with her husband’s volcanic temper if he lost everything.

  It was the stuff of nightmares.

  Guilt swirled inside her. She’d had the power to save them all, to placate the man who held their futures in the palm of his hand.

  She’d failed them.

  ‘Callista!’ Her uncle’s voice echoed up from the vestibule. ‘There you are. Come here immediately. You’re needed.’ She peered over the railing to see him bustle back into his study.

  Reluctantly she forced herself down the stairs. Was Angela’s marriage a fait accompli? Or had Callie’s actions last night scuppered the deal completely? If Damon was as incensed as she suspected, had he pulled the plug on the merger?

  No, business would always come first with Damon. He wouldn’t let a woman get in the way of profits.

  Her uncle turned as she reached the doorway. His brow was puckered but his unctuous smile sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine.

  Damon had done it, then—announced his intention to wed Angela.

  Callie’s stomach cramped so violently she grabbed the door to hold herself upright against the pain.

  ‘Come in, come in. It’s time you turned up. We’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘For me?’ She stepped over the threshold and slammed to a halt when she saw his companion, leaning back in an easy chair. Damon Savakis, large as life and wearing an impenetrable expression.

  ‘Of course.’ Aristides Manolis seemed ill-at-ease. ‘Damon and I have sorted out the business side of things. But there are personal matters to be resolved.’

  ‘Personal?’ The word was torn from her lips. Surely that meant a wedding. Callie swung her head, searching for her cousin. The study was empty but for the men.

  Damon’s mouth curved in a slow smile. Something hot and possessive flickered in his eyes.

  The door closed behind
her with a snick that sounded like the clang of a prison door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DAMON watched Callie’s stiff posture and wary eyes.

  Quite an act. She looked almost apprehensive.

  As if she didn’t know her uncle had spent the last hour haranguing him about his intentions, trying to manoeuvre him into ‘doing the right thing’ by the woman he’d compromised.

  Disgust rose as Damon thought of their cleverly orchestrated ploy.

  He’d been genuinely remorseful for his behaviour last night. There’d been no excuse, not even the confusing welter of emotions Callie created inside him.

  After a lifetime protecting the women in his family he understood how appalling his behaviour was. He’d spent a sleepless night berating himself for arrogance, stupidity, his bloody ego. To distress her so…

  He’d arrived at the house early, needing to see her.

  That was when he’d learned the whole scene had been a charade.

  Manolis and his niece had set him up. Again.

  Manolis had taken the tone of disappointed host and strict guardian.

  He’d seen Callie enter the house last night. She’d been distraught, he’d said, adding a reference to her dishevelled state, her lack of jewellery and shoes.

  It was a new experience for Damon, being wrong-footed by his own actions.

  A niggle of conscience reminded him that, as far as the world was concerned, he’d acted reprehensibly. Society’s rules, his obligations as a guest, his own sense of honour all damned his behaviour.

  Except Callie was no victim. Manolis had pulled out all the stops.

  Throwing his daughter at Damon in hopes of a marriage to secure financial security. And, as back-up, a dirty little scheme of blackmail.

  From the moment Callie had given herself to her tearful flight, it had all been a con to entrap him. She’d played the role of distressed victim last night.

  Fury sizzled in Damon’s veins. He’d never been so gullible. He should have been more cautious dealing with an unscrupulous old fox like Manolis.

  Instead he’d let desire cloud his judgement. In that their cheap ploy had worked.

  His pride screamed for payback.