by Annie West
soulless mansion had been.
That was what had changed, Callie realised as Damon ushered her out to the waiting limo, his arm protective around her.
The deep freeze at her very core had begun to thaw.
Damon had done that. He mightn’t trust her fully, might view her as a source of convenient sex, but he was more generous than any man she’d ever met. Generous with his time and himself, in ways that, to a woman used to being dismissed as an ornament, made something warm and soft burgeon inside.
Her weakness for him terrified her but she couldn’t break away. Hadn’t been able to since the morning he’d challenged her to walk out on him.
Callie was hooked on the passion blazing between them. It made her feel bliss.
More, it made her feel she was no longer alone against the world.
Damon wasn’t generous as her husband had been, with easy gifts that proclaimed his ownership. Callie had made sure of it, refusing his offer of a designer dress, a glittery trinket from an exclusive jewellery house.
She would live within her means.
The recent, wonderful news that her trust fund had been restored fed her determination not to depend on a man’s money again. More, she’d prove to herself she was capable, that she amounted to more than a woman whose sole accomplishment was as a man’s trophy. She was hard at work on her plans, investigating commercial locations and sourcing products.
The suddenness of her lawyer’s news still stunned her. She could barely believe her uncle had restored what he’d stolen. Had her lawyer pressured him somehow?
Her relationship with Greece’s most eligible tycoon was based on sex, not profit. It still shocked her that she wanted him so badly, so constantly, but she found a curious dignity in their arrangement. An equality.
Both were victims of an attraction they couldn’t resist.
Damon had been piqued and curious when she didn’t live up to her reputation of grasping money-grabber. His first gift, an oyster silk negligée that shouted ‘mistress’with every stitch, had resurrected her fury at being manipulated into his bed.
That argument had ended with the silk in shreds and Damon smiling with feral pleasure as for the first time she took a dominant role in lovemaking. He’d looked up at her, moving above him as the world spun in kaleidoscope colours, and huskily threatened to buy her lingerie every day.
Callie’s lips twitched at the memory.
Even her pride couldn’t force her to relinquish this passionate relationship. Especially since she enjoyed being with Damon. He made her feel good about herself. Amazing when he’d originally forced their relationship and she’d wanted to hate him!
‘What are you smiling about?’ Damon tugged her close on the limo’s back seat, his arm around her shoulders, his fingers a warm imprint on her bare flesh.
Desire ignited. It erupted, a tangible force, shooting darts of heat to her breasts and womb.
She put her hand on his muscled thigh and felt a judder of reaction as Damon’s muscles tensed.
In this they were equals. Her smile widened.
‘Nothing important. Tell me,’ she turned to look him in the eye, ‘who was that woman? Not an old flame?’
She was too old for Damon with her surgically enhanced face. She was vulgar. She was wrong for him in so many ways.
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ His mouth twisted. He lifted her hand to his mouth, licking across her palm and up her wrist, creating an earth tremor of rapture.
Callie’s mouth slackened and her pulse accelerated. She leaned nearer, grateful for the privacy screen between them and Damon’s driver.
‘I didn’t think your taste ran to anything so obvious.’
Damon cradled her hand to his face. Her heart kicked as his tongue swirled at the centre of her palm. Hot wires of tension snagged tight inside and her eyes fluttered closed.
‘And you know all about my taste in women.’
Callie’s eyes popped open to meet his impenetrable stare. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or sarcastic.
Too late she realised she’d left herself open to a hurtful retort. Hadn’t he accused her once of being obvious in her efforts to attract him?
Her fragile sense of well-being cracked.
‘You intrigue me,’ he murmured. ‘Once I would have lumped you in the same group as her, with the morals of an alley cat.’
Callie stiffened and jerked her hand away, but he recaptured it easily, holding it between both of his.
‘She’s always on the prowl for fresh meat, a new lover she can corrupt with her tawdry charms.’
Numbly Callie shook her head, waiting for him to make a cutting remark about her own character. She should be inured to jibes. Hadn’t she parried them endlessly before?
Yet after the intimacies of these recent weeks, the idea of such ravaging scorn cut her to the quick.
‘They sicken me, the rich bitches who get what they want, no matter the cost to others.’
Damon wasn’t looking at her. He stared at the streets of Athens, still crowded at this hour. Callie sensed it wasn’t the city he saw. His thumb rubbed absently over her knuckles.
Curiosity stirred.
‘She’s not discreet,’ she ventured. But the stares and wordless invitations directed at Damon by other women were often blatant.
No wonder he was so arrogantly certain of his attractiveness. He could have his pick. And every flashing-eyed stare made Callie’s hackles rise.
He was hers.
She wasn’t sharing.
Callie blinked, stunned at her vehement possessiveness.
‘Discreet?’ His snort of disgust brought her abruptly back to the present.
‘Why be discreet when you can use wealth to smooth out any…inconveniences?’
‘Damon?’ His harsh expression scared her. He looked so angry. ‘What is it?’ Her fingers wrapped round his, tugging till he looked at her.
‘Nothing,’ he said at last. ‘She reminded me of someone, that’s all.’
Dark eyes held hers with an intensity that stilled her to immobility. He tilted her chin so he could see her face. She trembled under his intense scrutiny.
‘What is it?’ she whispered.
‘We’re almost home.’ His voice held a sultry promise of pleasure and something more. ‘Then we can talk.’
Since when had talking been the main item on Damon’s agenda?
Twenty minutes later Callie sat alone on the shadowy rooftop terrace with its multimillion-dollar view across the city to the coast. The sweet scents of exotic flowers wafted from the exquisite penthouse garden.
She held a glass of sparkling water. Her bare feet were curled under her on the outdoor lounge and she still wore her black dress, the jersey soft and comfortable.
It was one she’d designed herself. She’d felt inordinate pride when Damon complimented her on her appearance.
Alkis had almost had an apoplexy at the idea of his spouse wearing anything ‘home-made’, no matter how exquisite. He couldn’t see her creative flair, only the notion that anything she accomplished must be second-best.
As for starting her own home-wares and design boutique! He’d deemed it far beyond her limited female abilities.
Silently Callie lifted her glass in a silent toast.
To her new venture.
To being her own woman.
To no longer being classed as second-best.
‘Sorry.’ Damon’s voice came from behind her, sending a shivery trail of awareness down her spine. ‘It was an urgent call from California but it’s sorted now.’
‘That’s all right.’ Callie shrugged. ‘I was enjoying the quiet.’
Without him. Was that the implication?
Damon frowned, wondering if she’d prefer to be alone.
He stepped into her line of vision, his heart contracting at the vision she presented. Her dress was simple and sexy, her hair up, emphasising the slender column of her throat, and she wore no jewellery. Yet her eyes were
brighter than emeralds, her smile more alluring than pearls.
The flight of fancy should have made him scoff. A lifetime’s experience had proved no woman, particularly an indulged woman from a privileged family, deserved to be put on a pedestal.
Yet Damon’s cynicism foundered. He knew she was more than she’d seemed.
The time had come to unravel the secrets she hid.
‘What are we toasting?’ He raised his glass of wine.
Her lips curved in a secret smile that clenched his belly in a spasm of primitive ownership.
Sexually she was his.
But he wanted more. He was greedy for her in so many ways.
‘New beginnings.’ She touched her glass to his.
‘To new beginnings.’
He sat with his back to the glow of the city lights. He’d seen that view many times. Tonight his focus was the enigmatic woman before him. He was determined to keep his distance until he had answers.
‘Tell me why you married.’
Her head jerked and her eyes rounded.
‘I don’t talk about my marriage.’ Frost coated her voice.
‘I know. I want you to tell me anyway.’
‘Why should I?’ Her chin jutted.
‘Why shouldn’t you?’ he countered, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his glass clasped in both hands. ‘You’re not protecting anyone, are you?’
‘No,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation.
‘Then what have you got to lose?’
‘It’s private.’
Ah, there it was, the serene expression of queenly disdain. It proved he was on dangerous ground. Instinct told him the secret of the real Callie lay buried in the circumstances of her marriage.
He didn’t need to understand her to bed her.
He didn’t need to understand her to revel in the heady bliss of the best sex of his life.
Yet still he needed to know.
Callie was more than the latest woman in his bed. Even that realisation couldn’t deter him.
He didn’t do serious relationships. But with Callie he needed more than a simple physical relationship. The knowledge had gnawed at him for weeks.
‘You’re afraid to tell me. Is that it?’
‘Why should I pander to your curiosity?’ Glittering eyes stabbed him.
He watched her defences go up, just as they had in her uncle’s home.
Only he’d been too angry to see there was more to her attitude than pride and superficiality. That there was hurt as well.
This time he wouldn’t react to the challenge. Though his body stirred at the idea of harnessing all the resentful energy quivering through her and directing it into passion that was hot and erotic and satisfying.
From the moment he’d found her huddled and grief-stricken on his yacht, the need to know more had grown. He’d felt her pain. There was so much more, unresolved. It had just taken him a while to realise it.
‘Why are you scared?’
Predictably she met his gaze squarely. ‘I’m not.’
‘Don’t you know what they say about sharing painful experiences so they don’t fester and take over your life?’
Is that what had happened to Callie?
‘We toasted new beginnings. You have to let the past go before you can make that new beginning.’
‘Spare me your pop psychology.’
Yet her eyes narrowed, her mouth pursed, as if she considered the idea.
Silence stretched for long minutes, broken only by the distant hum of traffic. Damon watched her intently, alive for the slightest relaxation in her rigid posture.
‘I’ll tell you,’ she said at last, looking stiffer than before. ‘On one condition.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
‘You answer a question of mine.’
‘Done.’ His reply was instantaneous.
He sat back, sipping his wine. Better not to crowd her. Yet his scrutiny was intense as he waited, watching her fiddle with the glass in her hand.
‘I married for my family,’ Callie said eventually, looking beyond him to the city.
‘In what way for your family?’
‘My uncle promoted the match. Alkis was an acquaintance of his.’ Her voice was devoid of emotion. Eerily so.
‘You married because your family thought it a good match?’ He couldn’t believe they’d consider a thirty-five-year age-gap wise.
‘My uncle did.’ She paused and gnawed her lip in the first overt sign of stress she’d revealed. Then the words poured out in a rush. ‘The company was in financial difficulties. They were facing ruin. Uncle Aristides said that without Alkis’ support the family would lose everything. But Alkis would only help if he could have me.’
‘Your husband made you part of a business deal?’ Damon’s skin crawled at the notion. ‘And Aristides agreed?’
The idea of her being given in marriage, a bonus to sweeten a contract, sent wrath surging through him. Acid burned his mouth and his fingers tightened around the glass. He’d like to tighten them around her uncle’s flabby neck.
‘Yes.’
‘The bastards.’ There was no question she was genuine. It was there in her anguished eyes and the tight curl of her lips. After living with her for weeks he knew this had the ring of truth. Far more believable, now he knew her, than her vamping an older man to win a fortune.
She was one of the least avaricious women he knew.
‘You can say that again.’
‘Your uncle bullied you into it.’ It wasn’t a question. He knew enough about Aristides Manolis to imagine how he’d threaten a young girl to get what he wanted.
‘That’s how he operates,’ she murmured. ‘My first love affair had ended badly and I was too wrapped up in that to put up much resistance. I felt I’d be responsible if my aunt and cousin ended up homeless.’
Curiosity about her lover sidetracked him until he realised the broader implications of her statement.
‘Manolis just tried it again.’ Damon put down his glass before he broke the stem; such was the fury rising within him. ‘He tried to sell his daughter to sweeten our negotiations!’
Damon’s fury exploded at the notion of being part of such a scheme, however unwittingly.
He’d dismissed the idea of such a match as wishful thinking by Manolis.
Had Callie’s cousin been under the same intimidating pressure to marry a wealthy man? It made Damon feel unclean.
‘He wanted to force Angela too?’
She looked at him curiously. ‘Of course.’
Damon leaned back, remembering Angela’s diffidence, her nervousness.
He’d put it down to natural timidity, but perhaps it was fear of failing to please him, or worse, fear that she’d have to marry him.
He catapulted to his feet, a tide of rage sweeping him along. How had he been so blind? He’d used Callie’s protectiveness of her cousin to get her into bed, not for a moment realising the girls had genuine reason to take the idea of such a marriage seriously. That it had happened before.
He’d played on what he thought were Callie’s unfounded fears and jealousies.
Christos! It must have been like history repeating itself for Callie, watching her uncle try to bring off another business coup by selling his daughter for profit.
He swung round. She looked calm in the moonlight, her face devoid of expression. Now he knew her he understood she concealed her pain.
Pressure built in his chest, squeezing his lungs till his breath jettisoned in a rush.
He’d hurt her, unknowingly playing on what must be deep wounds from the past. He cringed inwardly at the accusations he’d made about her marriage. And the way he’d threatened so glibly to marry Angela if Callie didn’t give herself to him.
‘I’m sorry.’ The words were such a strangled burr he had to repeat himself. ‘I’m sorry, Callie. I had no idea. I was too busy finding fault and fighting lust to see what was in front of me.’
‘You didn’t k
now,’ she said finally, shrugging, but she couldn’t deceive him. The tense set of her shoulders, the line of her mouth belied her insouciance.
‘I hurt you.’ He stepped close, till she looked up and met his eyes. There at last he saw a flicker of something other than stoic control.
‘I didn’t see how serious Manolis was about his plan to marry me to Angela. Didn’t realise the pressure he was applying to Angela. And to you.’
Callie scrutinised him as if she could read in his face whether he was genuine.
‘You didn’t deserve the way I treated you.’ Understanding the full implications iced his bones. Never had he treated a woman so badly.
‘No, I didn’t.’ She slumped back as if the fight had left her, or the effort of maintaining her composure was suddenly too much.
He sat beside her and took her limp hand in his.
‘I behaved like an arrogant bastard too.’
Her lips curled in a lopsided smile that tore straight through him. ‘You did. You were appalling.’
Yet she let him hold her hand between his palms without pushing him away.
‘As bad as Alkis?’ he couldn’t help asking. Now he saw his actions in a new light. Circumstances and his own outrageous behaviour bracketed him together with the man he’d despised for pursuing a nubile young trophy wife.
His breath stopped as he awaited her answer. For whatever there was between them—sex, excitement, even a strange, raw relationship built on moments of connection like this—Damon wasn’t ready to end it.
He wasn’t ready to relinquish her.
‘Nothing could be as bad as that.’
The quiet vehemence in her clipped words sliced through his thoughts.
Her hand balled into a fist in his hold. What the hell?
‘Why not?’
Glittering eyes focused on him. In the moonlight he saw brilliant tears well and cling to her lashes.
That curious tight feeling in his chest struck again and his hands tightened around hers.
‘My husband was a manipulative, suspicious control freak. Mental cruelty was his speciality.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I’m glad he’s dead.’
Before Damon could respond she spoke again.
‘I don’t want to talk about him. But you owe me an answer.’
She halted, looking down at their linked hands then up again in a sidelong glance that told him she’d chosen her question carefully.