Blackmailed Into the Greek Tycoon's Bed

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘So, I’m dismissed now, I take it?’

  ‘Xante.’ She let out an irritated sigh in an attempt to assert control. ‘I’m tired. It’s been a long day. Thank you for escorting me to the match and for letting me use the rose today.’

  ‘Next time—’ Xante started, but Karin interrupted.

  ‘There won’t be a next time.’ Karin spelt it out because she had to, because for ten months more she had promised never to reveal her family’s secret. But with Xante sitting so close never had she been closer to doing just that. It was imperative she end this with him right now.

  ‘Next time you’d better make sure you’ve got a replica rose.’ Xante finished his sentence without interruption this time. ‘A passable fake, one that stands up a little better than its owner to close scrutiny.’

  ‘As I said, thank you for escorting me.’ Karin climbed out of the car, his words stinging, desperate to get away from this man who could see through her. But as she finally made to go he caught her wrist.

  ‘You know, when I first met you I thought you were a stuck-up ice queen. But now—’ he let go of her wrist then ‘—I know that you are.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE couldn’t go in.

  As his car screeched down the drive she leant her head on the heavy front door and couldn’t actually force herself to go in to face the chaos that was her life.

  She wanted Xante.

  All day she had wanted him—only how could she have him?

  How could she expose him to the filth that was her home; how could she reveal that the grand surrounds were a sham? How could she expose herself to him?

  She wanted to speak with her grandfather too.

  Wanted someone to tell her what to do, to hold her up high from the squalor so that she could see the right path to take.

  It was easier to get into her car than face it, and as if on autopilot her drive led her back to the place she’d just been. The streets were dark now and Karin put on her lights, her car leading her on the familiar route her grandfather had taken on so many wonderful times in the past, turning onto Twickenham Road and without pause indicating right for Mogden Lane. She had no idea what she would do when she got there, but there was a comfort to be had as she headed along Rugby Road and into Buttercup Lane.

  It was almost as if her grandfather was walking beside her as she walked through the near-deserted car park and spoke to one of the night cleaners who thankfully recognised her and let her in. There she sat quietly in the freezing, empty stands, trying to fathom what she should do.

  The stands were lit; an army of cleaners moved between the seats, picking up the rubbish, returning the ground to its pristine condition.

  Never had she wanted to walk away from her life more, to just give in, because it was hopeless.

  ‘As soon as you believe it’s hopeless, it is,’ her Grandfather had once told her. She had been a little girl, just four or five years old, but her grandfather had told her the story so many times she truly didn’t know if she remembered the day or just her grandfather’s recollection of it.

  England had been behind. They had lost fifteen out of twenty-three games and had gone into the second half against Ireland 0-3 down. Then the crowd had started singing, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, urging their team on and the dam had burst. England had become unstoppable with the roar of the crowd behind them, storming home to win 35-3.

  Only there was no one cheering her on any more, just the weight of it all dragging her down.

  Tell Xante.

  She could hear her grandfather’s voice, and even managed a wry smile at his approval of such an exotic name.

  She couldn’t. No matter how many times she rehearsed the conversation, she could just imagine those black eyes, narrowing, judging…

  ‘I have a scar…from a car accident.’

  And then what?

  ‘I was arrested for drink-driving, but the charges were dropped.’

  ‘Oh, and why was that, Karin?’

  There was no bit she could tell without revealing the other—like cancerous seeds, it just spread to every part of her past, to others’ pasts, and at what point did you tell? At what point did you trust?

  No point.

  She clawed at her head.

  To tell him some meant she had to tell him all, and she’d tried that once already.

  She cringed at the memories, doubled up in her seat and buried her head in her hands. She almost gagged to recall the attempts at love-making with David. David, who had demanded the truth and had reacted furiously when she’d told him her tale. David, who had tried not to wince when she’d shown him her scars and had promised her it would change nothing between them. He had sworn nothing would change how he felt about her, and had sounded so credible—but his body had humiliatingly failed.

  Over and over it had failed to respond.

  ‘It’s not you,’ he’d assured her. Oh, but Karin had known that it was.

  ‘We’re locking up, love.’

  Karin offered her thanks and headed for her car, turned on the engine and let it sit idling for a moment, trying to think of the bright side—because there was always a bright side, apparently.

  At least David hadn’t gone to the press. Nothing like a dash of impotence to ensure a man never sold his tale!

  She managed a wry smile as she passed the pubs her grandfather had taken her to for many a Sunday lunch, knowing he was watching over her.

  Xante wasn’t having a good night either.

  Okay, he wasn’t freezing in the empty stands at Twickenham. But his packed hotel-bar, with the England team enquiring about Karin’s whereabouts and asking him to join them offered no comfort. He was restless, angry and frustrated and he headed up to his lavish suite, pacing the floor and wondering what distraction would best suit his volatile mood.

  Oh, there were numerous women he could ring. Mandy had left four messages on his voicemail, and there were plenty of others on tap. Even Athena had called, the sound of his ex-fiancé’s voice had been a stark reminder, if ever Xante had needed it, that it was right to be suspicious of Karin.

  ‘I am looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, Xante,’ Athena had purred into the phone. ‘To catching up. To remembering the good times we shared.’

  ‘What good times, Athena?’ Xante had mocked. ‘You were lying, remember?’

  Even five years on it galled him.

  He had dated sweet Athena one winter when they’d both been teenagers. He had expertly disposed of the virginity she had been desperate to lose, and they had been a close item. But when spring had sprung Athena had become bored with Xante’s grand entrepreneurial plans that took up most of his attention, and had been scathing when he had told her of his dreams. Athena had been innocent enough to think that every future lover would be as skilled as the man who had taken her first, and had headed off on her travels to find a man who had already made it big.

  Years later, on one of Xante’s trips home, she had happened to return too. Of course, Xante had chosen not to tell her of his imminent arrival to the ranks of the seriously wealthy; even his own family hadn’t really known just how successful this twenty-five-year-old was about to become. In fact, when they had made love that night on her parents’ living-room floor—when she had cried in his arms as to how much she had missed him, how in all the years that had gone by no one had ever come close to him—it had been easy to believe that he was finally in love.

  How close she had come to fooling him!

  Five years on, still Athena persisted.

  The shame, the anger, the humiliation of a wedding that had been called off a week prior to its due date, seemed to dim, and in the past months she had been ringing him more and more. It was usually late at night; sometimes she’d be pleading for another chance, sometimes she’d be bitter and scorning and, at times like tonight, dancing on the edge of seductive.

  So restless was Xante that he had even momentarily considered that cold solution, but sweet relief in his
native tongue would create its own set of problems.

  ‘Athena, this has to stop…’ He’d heard the black silence on the other end of the line. ‘It has been a long day and I have to be up early tomorrow.’

  ‘A busy day out with your English rose?’ Venom had replaced her seductive tones then. ‘I read about you both in the newspaper recently and I watched the two of you together at the game on the television. She does not look much of a match for you, Xante.’

  ‘Still keeping track of me, Athena?’ Xante had given a mirthless laugh. ‘You would think you would have learnt your lesson by now.’

  ‘Don’t you think I have paid for my mistake? Please, Xante, tomorrow you will be home, tomorrow—’

  He’d terminated the call.

  Tomorrow they would all be watching and waiting for Xante to realise the error of his ways, return to the island and the people he belonged to and claim Athena as his—to restore her honour.

  Well, it was no longer Xante’s place to do that. He had nothing to feel guilty about where Athena was concerned, and nor where Karin was concerned! He had conducted himself with honour; he had bought the rose fairly and had leant it to her for the day, only to be treated like a lackey.

  So why the guilt?

  Xante often gave away his acquisitions, even returning them sometimes to their rightful owners who had fallen on hard times—so what was different here?

  Her.

  She had angered him, infuriated him, inflamed him, and then had simply walked away. Karin Wallis was the one woman who had left him feeling used.

  Well, no more.

  Xante wasn’t a rescuer—her troubles, he did not need—yet he did want her. Already doors that previously had been closed to him were opening. He had been invited for lunch this week at an exclusive club, and an offer to join had been extended. His supposed liaison with Karin Wallis had exalted his already high status, and Xante wanted more of the same.

  Picking up his phone despite the hour, he informed his PA as to his change of plans, then summoned his driver.

  His phone bleeped as the car slid off into the night. ‘I need the name of your passenger for clearance.’

  ‘Karin Wallis,’ Xante said, snapping off his phone and replacing it in his jacket, feeling the heavy box on the inside pocket of his coat.

  There was no doubt in his mind that she’d come. After all, he had something she desperately wanted…

  And Karin had something he wanted too.

  Exhausted by the time she arrived home, this time Karin made herself go inside.

  The house was heaving with the usual occupants, the smell of debauchery in the air, and Karin headed straight for the library, too tired to build a fire but too frozen not to.

  Oh, how she wanted Xante.

  Bittersweet tears slid down her cheeks, prickles of shame flaring every now and then as to what he must surely think of her. She had treated him appallingly, had been every bit the spoilt ice-queen he had accused her of being—but better that than let him get close.

  Wandering around, Karin saw the crystal decanter on the occasional table and, lifting the lid, smelt the whisky and remembered the delicious taste of Xante. For a few moments her body had come alive; for the first time since she had been seventeen she had felt beautiful again, and she had been able to forget.

  The fire was still too weak for any warmth, the flames just licking the logs, and she stood there shivering, only the memory of his kiss warming her.

  And she wanted to taste him again.

  Pouring herself a glass of whisky, Karin took a sip, screwing her face as if she were taking medicine. But it was worth it just to remember the taste of him and the reckless, wondrous feel of his mouth on hers. Just as the whisky burnt and warmed her, so too did the memory of his heat pressing into her.

  ‘Karin!’ Her brother pounding on the door annoyed her; he had the whole house to mess up, why the hell couldn’t they leave her alone?

  ‘What?’ Angry, she unlocked the door and opened it.

  ‘Joining the party?’ Matthew raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar sight of his sister with a drink in her hand. ‘You have a visitor.’

  His head motioned down the hall, and as her gaze followed Karin felt her heart stop. There, standing amidst the debauchery, looking fresh and clean and scathing, was Xante. The contempt in his eyes was palpable as he took in the scene, his black eyes finally coming to rest on her.

  ‘Xante!’ Her voice was a croak. ‘I wasn’t expecting—’

  ‘Clearly.’

  She disgusted him.

  She stood surrounded by filth, her smart suit crumpled and her face streaked with old make-up, with a glass of whisky in hand, and any trace of guilt he might have felt towards her soon vanished. Feelings of any kind were entirely wasted on her.

  She didn’t deserve his emotions!

  She led him to the library. At least you could see the carpet in here and the air didn’t stink of smoke.

  He saw her eyes blink rapidly when she saw the box he held in his hand. Blinking to clear the pound signs, Xante thought darkly. She couldn’t give a damn about her grandfather. It was all just a game to her, a means to an end, an endless conveyer belt of cash that was slowly winding down.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ It was the most stupid thing to say, and even as the nervous words came out Karin knew what his response would be.

  ‘Not for me, thank you—but you carry on, though.’ Her face was crumpling, and it just enraged him further. He was sick of her tears, sick of her lies and sick of her games.

  ‘I just wanted to taste you again.’

  ‘Komotakia.’ He grabbed her wrist, disappointment lashing him as his tongue lashed her. ‘You lying, filthy lush!’

  ‘It’s just a party…’ Tears stung her eyes as, despite the irrefutable evidence, she continued to try to hold on to the great Wallis name. Still trying, as she had as a child, to pretend this was normal.

  He stared down at her pretty face and wanted to slap it, wanted to kiss it. He could smell the whisky on her breath and was deranged with disappointment at her lies, abhorring her for not being all that she could be, and loathing himself that he could actually still want her.

  Yes; he wanted her.

  Wanted her away from this squalor, to see the cool beauty that had breezed into his life return. Oh, he knew he should walk away, just give her the rose and wash his hands of her. Except he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  He would instead have that sleek beauty on his arm who opened and closed doors, and he would be the toast of London—even if he had to groom her himself—Xante decided.

  And he would have her—all of her.

  She wanted the rose so badly? Well she could damn well earn it. It was high time to end Athena’s and the island’s obsession that one day he might return to her. Now, finally, he could put paid to that by attending the family christening with his sweet English rose. A black smile twisted his mouth at the reward that would be his.

  ‘Come,’ he ordered. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘You are coming with me to Greece, this minute.’

  ‘Oh, you want the lush to meet your family now?’

  ‘You will be a lady, to them.’ Xante’s expression was as hard and cold as granite. ‘If I have to put you in the bath and wash you myself, or throw coffee down your throat to sober you up. You will be the lady you pretend to be by day, and the woman we both know that you are at night.’

  She slapped his cheek then, but Xante remained stony faced.

  ‘Get your passport.’ He glanced to the photo of her on the mantelpiece and held it up. ‘I am sure it is up to date, what with all your skiing trips.’

  ‘You can’t order me about. You don’t own me, Xante! You think your money can get you anything…’ She was furious and hurting, and wanted him to share her pain. ‘Well, it can’t.’

  ‘Oh, but I think it can. You see, Karin, everyone has their price—and I have some
thing you want.’ He opened the box he was holding.

  She stared at her beloved rose—at Emily’s future, glittering and twinkling. It was almost within her grasp, perhaps for the last time ever. The preposterous sum Xante had paid for it, the same sum Matthew had quickly blown, meant she would never be able to afford to buy it back. ‘You’d give it to me?’

  ‘You’d earn it.’ Xante glowered. ‘Every last penny of it. In my bed!’

  ‘That’s blackmail.’

  ‘Said the thief!’ Xante retorted. ‘You’re right. I like nice things. But, unlike you, I can afford them, and I can afford you.’ He held her pretty chin in his fingers and looked down at her with contempt. ‘There will be no more games, Karin.’

  ‘You might get to sleep with me, Xante, but you’ll never get to have me!’ Karin spat. ‘I might share your bed, but don’t ever forget you’re paying for it the same way that you get to sit with the English rugby team—because you purchase the pleasure of their friendship.’ She could see a muscle flickering in his cheek, knew that her words were stinging, and it felt good to shame him as he had just shamed her. ‘You line your walls with others people’s achievements, but they’re not your achievements, Xante!’

  Xante wasn’t open to discussion now, his mind already made up. ‘Come; get your passport, get your shoes. My driver is waiting.’

  Hell was divided in equal parts by the door, but as he opened it and the sounds of the house reached her Karin knew she couldn’t live like this for another minute. Even if Xante was blackmailing her, a few nights in his bed would surely be better than nights shivering in terror on the sofa.

  And Emily’s future would be secure.

  Better the devil you don’t know, perhaps. Slowly she nodded, opened the dresser and retrieved her passport before heading out to the hallway and putting on her shoes. ‘I’ll go and pack…’

  But Xante wasn’t waiting for that. Instead he took her wrist and led her outside as the heavy door closed behind them. As nervous as she was to be with him again, it was overridden by a sense of relief. Standing on the stone steps, knowing she wouldn’t have to stay there tonight, Karin felt a giddy rush of euphoria. She leant against the door just to get her breath back, closing her eyes, and she could feel the cold night on her face. She was trying not to think about what lay ahead, was just relieved at all she was leaving behind. Karin wanted to get away, wanted time with Xante too—and, yes, she wanted the rose. Except, as a wedge of flesh suddenly pinned her to the door, only then did it truly dawn on her what she was agreeing to.