Greek Affairs in his Bed: Sleeping with a StrangerBlackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s BedBedded by the Greek Billionaire

by Anne Mather

  She’d never had such a violent attraction to a man; even David, who she had been with for months, had never affected her in that toe-curling way Xante had. In that instant, when he had first come over before her foolish actions, there had been this shock of attraction, which now as the hour approached she couldn’t erase from her mind.

  Karin swallowed down a rush of nerves that swarmed like butterflies in her throat as she peeled off her dressing gown.

  Trying not to look in the mirror, she pulled on the French-lace panties and lacy, strapless bra she had chosen. They were beautiful, the black lace against the sheer pink, the little beads in the centre. But Karin loathed them. Their beauty and fragility only accentuated the unsightly thick scarring that laced an ugly network on her lower chest, thick bubbles of skin where the hot metal of the car wreckage had seared her flesh. The surgeon had told her, when her wounds had settled, that something possibly could be done to disguise them—only nothing ever had been.

  Her parents had been loath to discuss the circumstances of the car accident and push for further treatment, and in turn Karin had been reluctant to show her body and live the nightmare again. It had been far easier just to cover the scars and pretend they didn’t exist.

  Except they did exist.

  And, no matter what the self-help books had said about the topic—that she should love herself and the rest would follow; that a loving man would accept her, faults and all—it actually didn’t work like that. Because she’d trusted David, had told him her past when he’d insisted on hearing it, had shown him her scars when he’d assured her it wouldn’t change anything. Only it had.

  Over and over, despite repeated, desperate attempts, he had rejected her in the most intimate way possible.

  Karin and her dashing army captain, society’s rising golden-couple, had, as the papers had said, ‘amicably’ parted. Yet there had been nothing amicable about the fresh batch of scars David had left her with—emotional scars, that were as deep and as raw as the ones on her body.

  A thick, mascara-laced tear slid down her cheek, and Karin quickly dabbed at it. No one must ever guess that for now her life was anything but perfect.

  For Emily’s sake.

  So she pulled on the dress and stood, seemingly resplendent, draped in full-length blush-velvet that hugged her curves, the heavy halter-neck jacking up her bosom. Her cleavage was only slightly revealed, but with bare arms too it felt as if acres of flesh were on show; all Karin felt was exposed.

  Hearing the knock on the door, Karin took a deep breath and held it as Xante entered the room. She stared into those black eyes and felt a flutter of something unfamiliar deep inside. Her own arousal unnerved her. She’d never found it easy to look a man in the eye, only with Xante she wanted to, and that was what scared her. His dark, brooding good looks did nothing to soothe her; she could almost smell the testosterone in the air that surrounded them. Karin knew that, despite the luxury suite and the designer suit, despite all the trappings, Xante was a bad boy made good. Instantly she was on the defensive. She picked up a small, jewelled bag and dropped her lip gloss in before giving him a brittle smile.

  ‘Right; let’s get this over with.’

  ‘Karin …’ His low voice, his thick accent, seemed to stroke her inside, turning her into a mess of nerves. But she hid it well, meeting his eyes with icy defiance. ‘We can have a long, miserable night exchanging barbs, resenting every minute we are together, or we can try and enjoy this evening.’

  She gave a terse nod.

  ‘You look very beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you.’ How clipped and formal she sounded, compared to his languorous ease. Utterly comfortable dressed to the nines, he was a man completely at ease with his potent sexuality, and Karin would have killed for just an ounce of his confidence. ‘So do you.’ Her words were wooden, her smile forced, and, closing her bag, she crossed the room and walked out to the mirrored lift.

  Even if it was more for the guests’ benefit than hers, she was rather grateful when his hand found hers. Hot and warm, it closed around hers, and she gripped him back.

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ Just as the lift hit the lobby, he turned and smiled at her, and offered her reassurance—the same smile that had greeted her when they’d first met, a smile that wasn’t mocking or superior, just welcoming.

  As the lift door opened and they stepped out as a couple, Karin was careful not to make her third wish.

  Xante Rossi was no doubt used to dating the world’s most beautiful women. If he’d known her past, if he knew her present, he would never truly want her.

  It was imperative she keep her distance.

  Removing her hand, she turned her attention to the guests and did what she always did when duty called—she sparkled.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BY THE time seven p.m. came round, Xante was seriously questioning his decision to have Karin escort him tonight.

  He had looked her up, of course. Xante had already known about her grandfather’s achievements—Henry Wallis’s stunning rugby-career was legendary—but he had found himself reading further on and discovering more. Henry had an only child—a son, George—who’d had a charmed life too; attending the best schools, studying and attaining a law degree, then being called to the bar. The Wallis name had continued to shine brightly; George had married the stunning society-beauty Sophia, and together they had produced three ravishing blonde children. They had been the talk of London. Sophia had been a high-profile patron of many charities, quietly supporting her husband’s non-existent career—to Xante’s trained eyes, anyway. An invitation to a famous Wallis party had been, Xante had read with an ironic smile, an invitation to join the elite of London society.

  Yet even fairy tales had their dark side. There had been the odd salacious article that had always been quickly refuted by the Wallis family’s spin-doctors. George Wallis had been furthering his studies, or working on an international case, not drowning in alcohol and debt. But the occasional chink had certainly appeared in the solid Wallis armour. Still, all had been forgiven when two years ago their charmed, golden lives had come to an untimely end as the result of a boating accident. Their only son Matthew had taken it badly but, given the circumstances, the press had forgiven his errant ways. Karin, it would seem, had dealt with her grief by roaming the globe in search of freezing winters or searing summers, skiing in Switzerland or lying on a beach in the south of France, as the youngest Wallis, Emily, completed her studies at boarding school.

  The Wallis family’s debauched ways had once briefly impinged on Xante—it had been one of his company’s boats that the Wallises had died in. It had taken less than five minutes to access their files to find that, in the aftermath of the accident, insurance investigators had questioned the mechanical safety of the boat. His lawyers in turn had accessed the coroner’s report and uncovered a few other salient facts, and in no uncertain terms his team had informed the investigators of the boating company’s impeccable safety-record. It had also been pointed out that both the boat’s occupants’ blood and drug-alcohol readings would have rendered a walk in the park dangerous.

  Ah, yes; reading between the lines, as Xante always did, Karin’s appalling behaviour this morning now made sense. The whole Wallis family had feasted like pigs in a trough on her grandfather’s success—had stuffed themselves till the table had lain bare—and still Karin was greedy for more.

  Yes, Xante had been irritated and less than impressed as he had sharply rapped on the door to his own suite, eager to get this night over with and to relegate Karin Wallis to the past.

  And then he saw her, and again rationale was lost.

  Her slender, willowy figure was draped in blush-pink velvet, her pale arms and creamy décolletage mocking, laughing, spitting a hundred times over at the fake-bronze limbs that usually embraced him. She wore no jewellery, except for two diamond studs; she needed nothing else. Her long blonde hair was piled high, sleek and elegant, and all Xante wanted to do was take it down,
to unravel it clip by hidden clip.

  Kneed in the groin with longing for a moment, all he could do was stay still, to compose himself for a quiet moment as he acknowledged her beauty. He remembered in that moment all that had first captivated him about Karin, and chose to forget their sullied meeting for this one night, to push aside all he knew of her—to just revel in the woman she was.

  Walking to the lift, he could feel her tension, despite the cool demeanour. And when his hand located hers Xante expected her to sharply pull away. Instead he was rewarded with the sweet feel of the pressure of her fingers, and then everything changed.

  Karin Wallis was his guest this evening, and with every unfolding moment Xante was discovering the difference that made. Her company was engaging, quietly informed; she chatted easily with the most esteemed guest and their partners. And, when the players realised who she was, she was accepted into the fold in a way Xante could never be.

  For a while it irked him—it was his hotel, but not his night, and the seating had been arranged so that the players and elite guests were seated at the top table. Only a quiet word must have been had because, with Karin Wallis as his date, suddenly he was sitting amongst the elite now with Karin beside him. Suddenly he was the toast of the table, accepted in a way he never had been before. Still, it was hard to remain irritated with such a rich tapestry of guests, and almost easy to dismiss the part she’d played in his acceptance.

  To just enjoy the night, as he had instructed her to do.

  Karin declined the wine, taking Xante’s word for it that it was excellent, but asking for sparkling mineral-water instead.

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Never.’ Karin nodded, accepting her mineral water and blowing out a small breath, realising that she actually was enjoying herself. Oh, she was exquisitely aware of the man sitting beside her, could feel his hand on her arm occasionally, could feel him invade her personal space when he leant over as she spoke—more demonstrative, more expressive, than David had ever been. But here in the bright lights of the ballroom, here surrounded by fellow diners, Karin knew she could keep him at arm’s length, and safe in that knowledge she had allowed herself to relax.

  ‘The food is amazing, Xante.’

  It was. The roast beef was so tender you could have cut it with a butter knife; trays of roasted vegetables were spread before them, and Yorkshire puddings as fluffy as clouds, which Karin smothered in thick, rich gravy.

  ‘You would not believe the thought that has gone into this menu,’ Xante admitted, relieved at the reception of the simple fare. ‘I have a very highly strung, but genius French chef—Jacques.’

  ‘Oh?’ Karen’s fork, laden with very English fare, paused midway to her mouth.

  ‘Last year we hosted the team. The food was superb; Jacques had spent days preparing. I found him in tears the next morning when he found out most of the team had ordered club sandwiches from room service. This year we will make sure no one goes to bed hungry.’

  They certainly wouldn’t; the sumptuous roast was followed with a selection of puddings—upside-down cake smothered in golden syrup or spotted dick—all washed down with the most delectable custard.

  ‘My grandmother used to make this …’ A flood of warm memories bathed her, her cheeks pink as she closed her eyes and took a bite.

  ‘You were close to your grandparents?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘And your parents?’ He shook his head in apology. He knew that he’d crossed the line and was cross with himself that he’d actually forgotten, as they’d dined together, the real reason she was here.

  Karen gave a bright smile, and tried to resurrect the conversation. ‘Will you go to any of the Six Nation matches next year?’

  ‘One or two, I hope.’

  ‘Surely if they’re staying in your hotel …?’

  ‘I am not often here.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I own many hotels—though this one,’ Xante admitted, ‘is my favourite. But the hotels are only a part of my business.’ He chose not to add ‘a small part’, chose not to add that he was the most successful shipping tycoon in modern times and that he employed more people than the hotel staff just to count and track his vast wealth.

  ‘Your parents must be proud.’ It was Karin that tipped the conversation into the personal this time.

  ‘My father died when I was nine. In a boating accident.’

  ‘The same as mine,’ Karin said. ‘More recently, but they died in a boating accident too.’

  No; he bit on his tongue rather than say it. His father had died working; his father had been sober; his father had died because the company had sent him out in a badly maintained vessel. It had been nothing like Karin’s parents’ amoral end. Instead of saying it, though, he gave a gracious nod.

  ‘How about your mother?’ Karin asked.

  ‘There is only one thing that will make my mother truly proud: it is about this big.’ He held his hands a foot or so apart, his smile so devastating Karin found she was smiling too. ‘It makes a lot of noise and smells. I am back there next week for a christening. My cousin Stellios—he is also my best friend—has just acquired one.’

  ‘A smelly, noisy thing?’ Karin checked, and Xante nodded.

  ‘So I will suffer the weekend being reminded that I should be settling down with a nice Greek girl and producing babies instead of wasting my time with sport and work and nonsense like that.’

  ‘Do you have many brothers and sisters?’

  ‘Just me.’ Xante rolled his eyes.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Karin smiled, really starting to enjoy herself now. Xante Rossi up close and personal, apart from being seriously gorgeous, also had this rather dry humour that appealed. ‘Well, good luck next weekend.’

  There was something on the tip of his tongue—right there on the very tip—the ludicrous suggestion that she come with him. But thankfully formalities took over; the MC stood, the lights dimmed, and Xante breathed out a small sigh of relief.

  Since his break-up with Athena, he had never brought a woman back to his island, and if he suddenly were to now the implication would be huge to his family. It had been but a moment of madness, Xante decided. Karin Wallis might have all the attributes of a lady, but under that dress she had a grazed knee where she’d been tripped up stealing. At that moment she leant over to say something, just an observation about the speeches, and Xante caught a scent of her perfume. A stray curl just dusted the edge of his cheek, and he was so lost he had to ask Karin to repeat herself.

  The speeches and formalities went on for ever, but neither Karin nor Xante seemed to mind. Sitting together, listening, occasionally talking, they truly appeared a couple. Only, just as Karin truly started to relax, the highlight of the night started—the charity auction. Everything seemed to be auctioned, from Caribbean holidays, a luxurious winter retreat at Lake Como and baubles from Tiffany’s that Xante had acquired at a preposterous price for his godchild. And yet all it did was make Karin feel sick. The copious spending, the haemorrhage of money, was all too familiar to her.

  But the lavish spending had been just a pale precursor. When the auctioneer silenced the room, the major prize was announced—for a group of up to twenty to train alongside the English rugby team for a week at Twickenham and have access to the top coaches, trainers and masseurs. A headmaster of a grand all-boys school opened the bidding, and Karin watched as the fever in the room mounted. She could feel that there was more than a desire to obtain the ultimate prize—there was the boast of wealth that she abhorred. Like her parents, like Matthew, who’d thrown money away on things they neither wanted nor needed just because it had to be seen that they could. And when Xante trumped the biddings, when the room burst into applause and congratulated him on the obscene amount he had paid for something he would probably never use, Karin was hard pushed to play the part of the dutiful partner and smile at his excess.

  That she was less than impressed was blatantly obvi
ous; as Xante pocketed the golden ticket he saw her tongue roll in her cheek.

  ‘You don’t seem too pleased.’

  ‘It’s not my concern,’ Karin said tartly.

  ‘No,’ he smiled. ‘It’s not.’

  They sat in tense silence—tense because Xante wasn’t the only one realising how much a partner could change one’s status. Aware of her Ice Queen reputation, usually Karin stood apart at this sort of function, unable to relax and enjoy herself, rigid and awkward. It just compounded the rumours. But just walking in the room tonight she had felt the shift.

  Men had looked at her differently—and the women too. She was invited into their circles in a way she had never been before, moving beyond the awkward, polite small-talk that was her usual fare, and chatting, laughing and joking with these acquaintances as if now they were friends, as if now they wanted to know her.

  For a while she hadn’t been able to put her finger on why she was being treated differently. But, staring over at him—dark, brooding and restless in the chair beside her, his clean-shaven jaw already dusted with the shadow of the morning, his hands tapping an impatient tune with the coaster—Karin got it. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Xante.

  Like a rumble of thunder in the distance on a perfect day, there was this dangerous edge to him. His sensual lips barely moved, yet never had a mouth been more expressive. His body was this ripple of energy and tension beneath his immaculate suit, and his eyes when they met hers spoke of sex and sin and wicked, private places—even if his words were supremely polite. And if she were with Xante, if this night were real, then the newspapers had surely misrepresented her and the company tonight had therefore misinterpreted her—because to be with Xante, to be the woman that held him, meant there was surely more to her than met the eye.

  It was with trepidation that she walked to the dance floor with him, as if her awkwardness would reveal their lie.

  But awkwardness Xante could deal with. His teenage years had, after all, been spent in a virtual playground of tourists—women out for two weeks of fun and romance in the Greek summer sun, which Xante had been only too happy to provide. He’d driven them on his battered scooter around the islands, their thighs gripping him as the delicious scent of arousal filled the air; he’d taken them to secluded spots, swearing he would write, would ring, that they were the one … So convincing was he that in those moments Xante had almost believed it to be true. It was the chase Xante had relished, the prize of the most unwitting surrender he had sought—and Karin Wallis, tense and rigid in his arms, provided the challenge he had for so long craved. Women these days were just too eager, too ready to please.