Her eyes flashed with grief. “Please, if you knew him, you’d understand. He’s had such a difficult life. But at school, he’s just … he has such potential.”
He shook his head. “You’re forgetting the first term. Do not speak to me of him. I don’t wish to know anything about him. I will pay his fees if you agree to be mine.”
A shudder of revulsion spread through her. The way he spoke of her was in the same manner he’d referred to the piano; as an asset he wanted for the sake of acquisition.
“And the third term?” She whispered, dropping her eyes shut.
“You will go, when I tire of you, without complaint and without emotional drama.” He crossed around the island, putting his strong hands on her shoulders. Hands that had brought her inexplicable pleasure. “And I will tire of you, agape mou.” It was as though he was making the promise to himself as much as to her.
Her heart was breaking.
“So?” He prompted, studying her with a lazy insolence. “Do you love him enough to agree? Do you stay, for your brother?”
“Your brother,” she reminded him. An image of Filip flashed into her mind and she nodded. “In a heartbeat. And if you knew him, you’d understand why.”
* * *
“Look. Isn’t that the guy you know?”
Elle lifted her weary eyes towards Hannah. She was gesturing at a poster across the street. The traffic of Athens had breathed smog over its face, and she could just make out the name ANDRE in big, white letters. “So it is.” Her dark mood lifted slightly as she thought of her friend and mentor. “He must be releasing a new album. No. He’s on tour.”
Hannah’s look was pointed. “That could be you, you know …”
Elle stopped the conversation in its tracks. “I can’t have that old argument now. I’ve got too much to think about.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually going to go through with this. You hate this guy. You hate everything the Rakanti family stands for. You always have.” Hannah turned her attention to the very prickly issue at hand.
“I don’t hate him,” Elle denied, her cheeks flushed as she tried to search for a better word to describe what she felt for the handsome tycoon.
“Well, you used to and you still should.”
Elle shook her head. “He’s as much a victim in this as my brother. He was blindsided by the facts. There’s no way he knew about this.”
Hannah snorted. “I don’t buy that.”
“Either way, it doesn’t matter. I got what I came for, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t meant to be like this. You were meant to be in charge, reading him the riot act. He was meant to give you the money in exchange for your silence, not …”
“You and I both know my threats would have been empty. I would never have sold a sleazy tabloid story.”
“Of course I know that. But he doesn’t. So he would never have known the threat was just that.”
“It’s done,” Elle said firmly. “We’ve made an agreement and I’m sticking to it.”
Hannah swore under her breath. “You can’t.”
“I have to, and you of all people know why.”
Hannah toyed with her earring. She hated this Christos Rakanti enough for the both of them, even if she’d never met him. “He’s treating you like shit.”
“I know that.” Elle swallowed down the bile. “I don’t care. He’s going to get bored of me soon enough,” she said with a confidence she was far from feeling. “We both know his attention span for women is as long as a supermodel’s at a buffet.”
Hannah groaned. “God, this is all my fault. I should never have sent that stupid text.”
“No! How could you have known? Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I’d beat him up if he was standing here,” Hannah said angrily. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Elle nodded. “Filip’s not on break for another month or so. He doesn’t even need to know, okay? Just do me a favour and forward me any communication from the school. They should send a receipt once he’s … once Christos has transferred the amount.”
“Then you can come home!” Hannah said, putting an arm around her friend’s shoulders.
“Maybe.” Elle was non-committal. She couldn’t do anything that would jeopardise their pact. “I need him to commit to pay the next three years of Filip’s education, remember.”
“You’re not going to stay with him until Filip finishes school,” Hannah demanded with appalled outrage.
Elle’s laugh was shaky. The idea terrified her, didn’t it? So why had her heart soared? It was adrenalin; that was all. “Of course not. He’s going to send me packing within days,” Elle promised, crossing her fingers and telling herself she hoped it was true.
Hannah pulled a face but Elle forestalled any further conversation. “I have to go. I told him I’d only be an hour.”
“You’re acting like a prisoner,” Hannah said disapprovingly.
Elle blinked at her friend and then stood, lifting her heavy suitcase to her side. “Isn’t that what I am?”
CHAPTER FOUR
“And so the lamb returns to the slaughter,” he murmured, opening the front door inwards and stepping back to allow her through. He fought the urge to take the luggage she held. She deserved no such respect. Though watching her balance herself with her other arm as she moved into his hallway filled him with a sense of pity.
“Just slaughter me fast,” she snapped, placing the bag down. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned to face him, looking every bit as innocent and young as she’d been that morning.
“Oh no,” he murmured, closing the distance and putting his hands around her. “Where would the fun be in that?” His smile was cold. “I like to play with my prey.” He ran a finger down her cheek, watching her eyes darken with emotions and need. “I want to make sure you understand that you tried to wrong me. And no one gets away with that.”
She rolled her eyes, desperately trying to evince bravado when she was shaking like a leaf. “You sound like some kind of mobster.”
He lifted one side of his mouth in a lazy smile. “Do I?”
She nodded and he stepped back.
She realised, belatedly, that he was wearing a suit. He looked stunning. Then again, he was stunning. “I’m going out.”
“You are?” Relief was a cone wrapping around her, but her body was cold where his touch had been lifted. She tried not to notice, and not to care.
His laugh was mocking. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home to collect before you know it.”
She blanched as though he’d struck her. Not caring that her eyes were filling with tears, she said with a quiet sense of dignity: “Please don’t speak like that to me. I know you’re angry. And that you’ve been completely shocked by all this. And that you’re being horrible to me so that you feel you have some control over a situation that’s completely out of your control. But I don’t deserve your contempt.”
“I beg your pardon?” He stared at her with obvious disbelief. “You don’t believe you deserve my contempt? You slept with me for the sole purpose of blackmailing me for money.”
“No!” She shook her head, desperate suddenly that he not believe it of her. “It wasn’t like that. I wanted to be with you.”
“Don’t make it worse by lying to me now,” he responded tautly. “I know what motivates you, agape mou. The same thing that undoubtedly motivated your whore of a mother. Money. Plain and simple. So don’t act like I’m not giving you everything you could ever want.”
“If it wasn’t for Filip, I would walk out of here without a backwards glance,” she muttered defiantly. “You should remember that. You have me here, and I’ll do what you want, but you’re the one who’s blackmailing, not me.”
“Because you gave me no choice,” he responded.
“As if! That’s a flimsy excuse for what you’re doing and you know it. You had a choice, just like I did. At least I’m willing to admit I made the wrong one.”
She turned her back on him and moved into the kitchen. “If you speak to me with such blatant disrespect I will go.”
“And the deal will be off.”
She hated herself for the words that were forming but she knew she had to utter them. Apparently without a threat hanging over his head he would be making this impossible for her. “You’re forgetting that I have a DNA test and a contract signed by your father. If you don’t honour the terms of our agreement, I’ll make public the truth.” It was a lie. She would never do it to Filip, nor to Christos’s mother, but Christos had no way of knowing that.
“You are a piece of work,” he said in disgust. “But a clever one.” He paced towards her menacingly. “This is it, though. This isn’t a blank cheque you can keep writing. When I’m done, I’m done.”
“I wouldn’t touch a cent from you if I were one day from starving to death,” she promised angrily, her hands itching to push at his chest. “I don’t want anything from you or your father.” She spat the word with vitriol.
“Fine.” He controlled his emotions with effort, assuming a mask of arrogant confidence. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she simpered, batting her lashes at him in an imitation of a coquettish damsel.
“I know.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the kitchen, leaving her utterly shell-shocked.
But Elle had experience with shock and confusion. She knew that the best thing to do when flying out of control over any speed-bump life presented was to keep busy. She lugged her suitcase up the stairs to the room they’d shared the night before. The bed bore the signs of their lovemaking; the sheets were tangled at the feet and the pillows were tossed across the room.
She sorted that out first, neatly tucking the sheet into place and then arranging the quilt over the top. She settled the pillows as one might find in a luxurious hotel, with the European squares against the wall and the fluffy, duck down pillows in front. The cushions she placed artfully and then stepped back to admire her work. Perfect. No one could ever have imagined the pleasure the bed had witnessed only hours earlier.
It was harder to be matter-of-fact about the bathroom. When she walked in she felt like she’d been punched in the gut. It was glorious. The view of the city remarkable. But all she could remember was how it had felt to be wrapped around his waist, feeling him move deep inside of her.
She hung the towels up and moved the toiletries into a neat row along the mirror, then turned her attention to her suitcase.
The bulk of weight in her bag was books. She’d brought several with her, much to Hannah’s amusement. But Elle didn’t like to be without a book on hand, and she was in the middle of six particularly good ones.
As for clothes, she’d only packed enough for a weekend, and none of the outfits were particularly impressive. Another pair of jeans, two more shirts, a swimming costume, a sun dress and some very utilitarian pajamas and underwear comprised the total of what she had at her disposal. It was safe to say then that seduction would be off the menu.
The thought caught her off-guard.
Why would she want to seduce Christos? She wanted to resist him. To fight him. To disdain him. With a determined tilt of her chin she unpacked her meagre selection of clothes into a drawer then stood in the middle of the room.
What next?
But she knew, of course, the one thing in the house that would calm her nerves.
She practically tiptoed down the stairs and across the kitchen to the beautiful piano. When she lifted the lid she looked guiltily over her shoulder, as though Christos might arrive and boss her away from the glorious instrument.
He didn’t, of course, and so she sat in the centre of the stool and lifted her hands to the keys.
Her fingers flew and the music exploded, bracing the house with melody. She played and played, for over an hour, and gradually she felt herself being stitched back together. As sure as chord followed chord, she would find a way to make everything better. She would get through this.
She would cope.
She would manage.
Because that’s what she did.
With a nod of her head, she dropped the lid carefully back into place and padded through the house.
It was a hot day. Even with the airconditioning, she felt warm just moving around and the swimming pool was beckoning to her. She lay on her back in the calming water, staring at the bright blue sky, wondering when fate and life would conspire to offer something good to her?
It was a self-pitying thought and she didn’t care for it, so she dismissed it with determination and stepped out of the pool.
There were several patio lounges on one side of the deck. She lay in one, intending to move inside in search of food soon after, only her eyes were suddenly very heavy. After all, she’d had only a few hours of very broken sleep the night before and she’d woken early. She stifled a yawn and settled a little lower into the daybed. She’d just rest for a moment, Elle thought, slipping easily into unconsciousness.
It was in this manner that Christos found her when he returned to the house several hours later.
At first, he thought his fears had been realised and that she’d left at her first opportunity, for the house had seemed empty.
A thorough search had revealed only that she was either a nervous or compulsive cleaner, but there was no sign of the beautiful American.
Until he’d come downstairs and thought of the pool at the last moment. Then, he’d seen her, sleeping like a baby, her skin reddened by the sun.
With a sound of frustration he strode across the terrace and blocked the heat from her body. She was so beautiful; he felt something inside of him stir at the sight of her. It wasn’t his fault. He could hate her and want her at the same time. She was the definition of ‘impossible to resist’. And how many other men had found that?
He ignored the jealousy. It wasn’t appropriate. She was the worst kind of woman; cheap and mercenary – someone who valued sex only in terms of what it could get them. Just like her mother had presumably been. But looking at her the accusation felt sharply discordant and stung in his mind. He swore softly and reached down, shaking her shoulder none too gently.
She woke slowly, her eyes peeling to look at him with evident annoyance. “Go away,” she said crossly, turning a little and falling instantly back to sleep. Her lips parted and her breathing resumed its same slow, rhythmic exhalation.
She was as light as a feather; he cradled her against his chest and strode into the house. “What are you doing?” She asked in the same groggy tone, her eyes still glued shut.
“You’re completely sunburned,” he said with obvious censure. “What kind of fool lies around for hours in the middle of the day under the Greek sun?”
Half-asleep, her expression of pain was more obvious for she was less able to conceal it. An answering cut of empathy lanced his gut. He refused to heed it.
“A fool like me,” she murmured. “Put me down. I can walk.”
He stifled a groan of frustration as he eased her to the floor. Her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She cleared her throat. “I was tired.”
“I’m glad you rested,” he said. “You won’t get much sleep tonight either.”
She nodded, but the inference stung. “I’m going to go and shower.”
He watched her disappear with a sense of growing annoyance. She was practically running away from him. When he went upstairs a few minutes later, he discovered that she’d locked the door to the bedroom.
And could he blame her?
He shook his head and returned to the kitchen. While she showered, he removed jars and containers and put together a platter, so that by the time she appeared in a pair of pajamas that would have been at home on a geriatric in a nursing home there was a selection of olives, cheese, bread, pastrami, salami and fruit.
She stared at it in surprise and her stomach let out an answering groan.
“Hungry?” He asked, lifting hi
s brows in invitation.
She nodded, lifting an olive from the platter and popping it in her mouth.
“Come.” He nodded towards the outdoor area. “It’s a nice evening. Let’s eat on the terrace.”
She followed behind him, uncertainty and doubts plaguing her every step. When he was horrible, she could find a way to manage because she was on the defensive. When he was almost-normal, it was a whole new ball game.
“Wine?” He offered as she took her seat.
She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
He slid into the seat opposite but leaned back, watching her thoughtfully. He was unnerving her and Christos suspected he was more glad than sorry. She had a guilty conscience, that much was obvious. Her fingers were shaking as she reached for some cheese and lifted it to her mouth.
That mouth.
It pouted even as she chewed and he ached to pull her lower lip between his teeth.
“So you are not a musician. Besides swindling men out of their fortunes in exchange for the use of your body, what do you do with yourself?”
Her face flashed with hurt, as he’d known it would. The satisfaction he’d expected from landing such a taunt on her head didn’t come.
She did her best to ignore the insult. He was trying to get a rise out of her and she was pretty sure she would score a point if she sidestepped the temptation to show how he could hurt her. “I’m a waitress.”
“A waitress?” He laughed cynically. “That seems like a waste of your … talents.”
“Some of us don’t have billionaire daddies prepared to bankroll our careers,” she said with mock innocence.
His smile didn’t drop. He didn’t need to defend himself. He’d used very little of his trust fund to build his empire. His wealth was a result of his own dogged determination, not Filip’s money.
“Most people don’t,” he responded with a shrug. “And is waitressing all you hoped and dreamed?”
She narrowed her eyes, sparking at his snobbery. “It’s a good job, and my manager’s kind. I have the flexibility to be with Filip when he’s home from school. You have no right to speak scathingly about a perfectly legitimate form of employment.”
Rakanti's Indecent Proposition Page 5