Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  She’d had sex before, but she’d never felt this shift. It was an enormous change. Being made love to by this man was making her feel like a goddess.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, ripping his fingers through her hair and staring down at her face. It was flushed from the orgasm that was shredding through her. He thrust once more and released himself with a guttural cry, pushing her head against his chest and holding her tight as the enormous burst of sensual fever burst through them.

  He laughed throatily when they had begun to feel like themselves again. He laughed, because what they shared was so unique and so baffling. He laughed because he hadn’t expected to meet a woman he desired so fundamentally, who would desire him just as often and as intensely.

  “I don’t know what brought you to my bar last night, but I’m as glad as hell something did.”

  The words were perfectly formulated to swap her sexual heat for guilt. How could she possibly blackmail this man? She couldn’t. Ever. She couldn’t hurt him. She had to find a way to tell him the truth and just hope that what they’d shared would be enough to make him take her request seriously. At least to understand how high-stakes this was for her. It was the only explanation to justify the amoral path she’d walked: how close she’d come to blackmailing.

  He placed her carefully back on the ground, waiting until her feet took her weight before stepping away. He stepped out of the shower, reaching for a fluffy white towel. “Take your time,” he said, his voice a rich, deeply accented invitation. “I’ll get toast and tea.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. He would hate her! No matter what she said, he’d despise her.

  With a sinking feeling, she reached for the loofah and began to lather her body in a wash that smelled like coconuts and dishonesty.

  Christos didn’t bother to dress; he didn’t see much need for clothes while Elle was around. He could not quench his need for her. She was a drug and he was completely hooked.

  The guest rooms were stocked with a minimal supply of clothes, and he pulled an over-sized t-shirt out for her. It would swim on her petite frame, he thought with a smile as he placed the clothes on the edge of the bed.

  A familiar iPhone message sound rung out in the room and he moved to the bedside table. Her phone was face up; she must have checked it through the night as he didn’t remember it being there when they’d gone to sleep. He was about to step away when the words of the text permeated his sex-addled brain – the message was right there, so clear he couldn’t help but read it.

  Well? What’s going on? Have you got the dirt on Mr Moneybags yet? Is it enough to hang him out to dry *evil laugh*. Seriously, E, just let me know you’re okay – and when we can start working out the details of Operation Blackmail.

  He stared at the message as his whole world began to tilt in a strange fashion. He read it again. Surely it was a mistake.

  He sent a look towards the bathroom and then back at the phone. Another message buzzed through. It was a photo, and unmistakably it was him and Elle outside the nightclub the night before.

  He had no idea what was going on, and uncertainty didn’t sit well on Christos Rakanti’s broad shoulders. The shower was still running and she’d started to hum. He ignored the way her voice seemed to be wrapping invisible chords of appreciation through his body. With a grim expression, he began to type. “I’m fine. In his house.” He paused, thinking of what he could send back that might elicit some more information. “What should I do?”

  It took only moments for a return text to beep into his hand. “Anything that will make it impossible for him to say no ;) I know you don’t want to blackmail him honey, but you need this money, E. And he has got a shitload of cash!”

  It was odd that he hadn’t pegged the beautiful blonde as mercenary in the slightest. Sexy, beautiful, interesting, enigmatic: she was all those things. But a woman who would sleep with a rich guy to weasel funds from him? If he hadn’t seen the proof for himself, then he’d never have believed it.

  He replaced the phone and stepped away from the bed, the bedroom, and mentally from the situation.

  If she thought she could cross swords with him and win then she had no idea who she was dealing with.

  3

  He had been right.

  Dressed in his boxers and shirt she looked absolutely beautiful. But she wasn’t. She was a manipulative bitch. Having seen the texts for himself, he felt very little tug towards her. Christos was great at that too – switching off. When something ceased to please or interest him, he simply turned his attention elsewhere. After all, what was the point in mourning something that was no longer an option.

  He watched as she padded into the kitchen, her face a study in innocence as she took the seat opposite him.

  “Déjà vu,” she remarked with a smile. But even her smile he mistrusted.

  How much money did she want from him? And why?

  “We should talk.” He placed two pieces of toast onto a plate and handed it to her, then nodded towards a tray of spreads.

  “Should we?” She bit down on her lip. Another gesture designed to portray innocence when she was anything but. “But we’ve discovered other things are much more stimulating.”

  “Mmm,” he nodded. “True.”

  He sipped his coffee, waiting for the throbbing rage to calm itself. “It’s funny. I almost felt like you were looking for me last night,” he said, his eyes boring into hers with the incisive attention he was renowned for in the boardroom.

  He saw the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed with the smallest hint of colour; the way her lips tightened momentarily and her fingers fidgeted with the knife. “Maybe I was,” she said with a shrug. It was an entirely too-clever answer, designed to evade the question, tell him nothing, and it wasn’t actually a lie.

  “Did you know I would be there?”

  She licked her lower lip and pretended to concentrate on spreading jam over the toast. “That’s … a little arrogant, isn’t it?”

  “Not if it’s correct.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his whole body vibrating with disgust now. How had he fallen for it? He was so careful when he took women to bed! He chose women who were wealthy and high-profile, women who were looking for a quick romance and wanted nothing more from him. Women who were as well-served by discretion as he was.

  “I heard kómma was the place to be in Athens. I wanted to see it for myself.”

  It was all a lie. Why didn’t he see it last night? She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d flock to the latest nightspot. “You were so quick to find me, though. So quick to invite yourself to my home.”

  Elle was flushed with fear. Something had changed. He was vastly different. There was a scathing condemnation in his tone that was at odds with his earlier behaviour. “And you were quick to invite me here,” she said off-handedly.

  “Yes. As you knew I would be.”

  “If you say so.” She crunched down on a corner of the toast but tasted nothing. Fear had spiked adrenalin into her mouth.

  “Do you do this often?”

  Was that it? Was he jealous?

  “No.” She tilted her head to one side. “Not really.”

  His face was pale beneath his tan and she realised that he was keeping a tight rein on his temper. “Meaning?”

  “What’s with the interrogation?” She hedged, biting down on her toast again. “You have no need to be jealous.”

  “Jealous?” He barked, his expression as hard as nails. “Believe me, I’m not. I’m angry. Angry with myself for having let a little whore like you get under my skin.”

  She was so shocked by the epithet that she dropped the toast to the plate and stared at him for a long time. Her brain wasn’t working. She shook her head. “I don’t need to sit here and be spoken to like this.” She stood unevenly and he could almost have felt sorry for her, had he not seen for himself proof of her duplicity.

  “Sit down,” he barked, crossing to block her exit. �
��Now.”

  “No.” She crossed her arms. “What are you going to do? Force me?”

  He sent her a look of withering scorn. “What was the plan? How did you think us having screwed each other’s brains out would ever be enough to blackmail me with?”

  It was warm in the kitchen but Elle began to shiver uncontrollably. Her stomach swooped as though she’d crested over the highest point on a rollercoaster and was now in free-fall. “What do you mean?” She asked in a weak attempt to buy some time. But it was futile. His information was perfectly accurate and they both knew it. “How did you find out?”

  “Your phone.”

  “You went through my phone?” She responded, numbed by shock.

  “No. A message came through in plain sight.” He drew his eyes closer together. “And I clarified it because I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer out of you.”

  She startled. “I … what message?”

  “About blackmailing me,” he hissed angrily. “I have never paid a woman for sex and I do not intend to start now.”

  She swallowed and twisted her fingers nervously in front of her. “It’s not like that. I can explain,” she promised, turning her back on him and moving slowly through the kitchen. She sat with a dejected slump on one of the stools. He didn’t follow her.

  “I doubt it. But tell me of your plan so that I may enjoy the joke before kicking you out of my home.”

  “Please … please don’t talk to me like that,” she implored numbly. “I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be.” She shook her head. “But I didn’t know what to do.”

  “So you spread your legs to get ahead? You seem intelligent enough to realise that is the very definition of prostitution.”

  “God, stop it,” she begged, her eyes enormous as she stared at him. But hadn’t she said as much to Hannah, when she’d first suggested this outrageous scheme? She felt nauseous. “Please stop staring at me like that. I just need a minute.”

  “You aren’t going to get a cent from me. I won’t give you that satisfaction. Say what you want in the press. Having a sexual appetite is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “So? What am I missing? What were you going to say about me? Tell me everything immediately or get the hell out.”

  She stood up jerkily. She wanted to go. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Only thoughts of Filip kept her anchored to the spot. “We have something … or rather someone … in common.”

  He didn’t visibly react. He waited for her to speak, to continue the cryptic thought. It was probably a lie, anyway.

  “My brother is … he’s your brother too.”

  Christos stared at her as though she was certifiably mad. “Are you saying we’re related?” He demanded, disgusted by the very idea.

  “No. Oh my God. No. No!” She shook her head, similarly repulsed by the idea. “Not you and me. Him and me. You and him.”

  He stared at her waiting for the words to penetrate his brain.

  Miserably, Elle sat back down. “He and I share a mother. You and he … share a father.”

  “That isn’t possible,” he said after a beat had passed. “My father was devoted to my mother.” He thought of the myriad evidence he had of that; the way he had celebrated her not just on special occasions but every day. “Their marriage was almost sickening for its happiness.”

  “I don’t know anything about their relationship,” she said with a small twist of her lips. “But Filip is your brother.”

  “Filip?” He said in disgust. “You’re actually using my father’s name?”

  “I’m not using your father’s name,” she promised darkly. “My mother did that.”

  “This is absolute bullshit.” When he swore his accent was thicker. “It’s some elaborate lie and I’m not going to buy into it. You’re tarnishing my father’s reputation when he’s not here to defend himself. Theos, he’s not even cold in the ground.”

  She blanched with self-disgust. There was no denying the timing was terrible. If Filip Senior had paid the school feels more promptly then Elle might have had the luxury of waiting a decent time; she squirmed to think of arriving like a vulture to pick over the wealthy carcass. But she’d done what needs must, and with the ruin of what they’d shared at her feet, she could only focus on why she was there.

  “It’s not a lie,” she said quickly. “I can prove it.”

  “Oh?” His laugh was laced with scorn. “I would just love to see you try.”

  “Please, Christos, let me explain.” She sucked in a deep breath and simply for something to do with her hands, lifted her tea to her lips. It was lukewarm now but she didn’t care. “Your father insisted on a DNA test before he would pay a cent towards Filip.”

  At that, Christos froze. “You’re actually trying to tell me there is DNA evidence linking my father to this bastard?”

  With difficulty, she ignored the foul description of Filip. “Yes.” She nodded. Her eyes contained genuine sympathy as she looked at him. “Your father agreed to pay for my brother’s schooling, and that was all. He didn’t want his family knowing anything about this, and my mother was satisfied that the sum was sufficient.” Elle dipped her eyes from his. Oh, her mother would have liked more. So much more. But Filip Rakanti had been a horrible man and faced with school fees or nothing, she’d taken what she could get. “When my mom died … your father was worried, I guess, that I would tell the world about his love-child.”

  “None of this makes sense. If my father actually had another son, he would have been entitled to considerably more than paltry school fees.”

  “The school fees are definitely not paltry.” Elle’s cheeks flushed. “But yes, I know that. So did mom.”

  “But?” He tapped his fingers on the bench, a caustic tattoo sounding through the kitchen.

  “Your father said he would bury all his assets. That then my mom would get nothing, and Filip would always know how unwanted he was.” Her eyes sparkled with angry tears.

  Christos tried to listen to her words but his anger was intense. “And now your lie is shown for what it is. My father would never speak like that.”

  “He didn’t trust my mother would manage other funds wisely. So he paid the school fees himself, and that was the sum total of his involvement. Even when …” she bit off the rest of the sentence, desperately wanting to conceal the awful, tragic truth from this man and his hate-laced expression.

  “My father was a good man. You dare come here and speak of him in such a manner? To me? His only son?”

  Elle shook her head from side to side; her blonde hair, still wet, flung with her. “You aren’t,” she whispered. “Filip is your brother and I need your help. He needs your help.”

  “My help?” He responded sarcastically. He honed his mind back on the facts she’d asserted. Christos was methodical and focussed. He would not let her distract him from the main issues. “Why did my father believe you would ‘tell the world’, as you say?”

  Now it was her turn to laugh, a strangled sound of frustration and despair. “Because we were broke, Christos. We don’t all live like this.” She swept her hand around the kitchen scathingly. “Not everyone can buy million dollar pianos just because they wake up and decide to ‘collect beautiful things’.”

  He dismissed the implied criticism. “So my father did what exactly?”

  “He came to see me. Right after mom … after the accident.” She swallowed, wishing she could dispel the memories. “He made me sign a confidentiality agreement and agreed to pay for Filip’s schooling per the original agreement.”

  “You have a copy of this alleged contract?”

  She nodded. “He mailed one to me. Or his lawyer did.”

  “What was his lawyer’s name?”

  “Anna Tsolkios.”

  Christos was very, very still. It was a detail she could have got off the internet, along with the rest of it. But a crack of doubt appeared in his confidence
. “So? Now he’s dead you want to con more out of his estate?”

  “No!” She shook her head. “It’s not like that.” She ran her finger over the marble bench top, her shoulders slumped forward. “Filip’s incredibly bright.” She shook her head. “I think he’s probably a lot like you.”

  “Don’t,” he said the word with a quiet hatred; it was far scarier than if he’d shouted. “Don’t you dare compare this bastard to me.”

  She flinched at his words; the long silence that stretched between them was barbed with fury. “He’s your half-brother.”

  He swore in his own language, turning so that he was in profile to her. He planted his hands on his hips and breathed deeply, his mind swimming. “So why sleep with me?”

  She swallowed. The whole situation was mortifying. She bit down on her lip. “Does it matter?”

  He closed his eyes, disgusted with himself and with her. “Yes.”

  “I … I don’t know anymore.” She made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “I was terrified you’d say no to helping me.”

  “Why? Why did you think I would turn you away if you’d presented this to me? You say you have evidence. So why not make an appointment, bring your proof and allow me a chance to respond?”

  “I couldn’t risk it. Your father … he … I had asked him for help for … something other than school fees. He always made it obvious that he hated Filip. That he didn’t want to be supporting him at all. I thought you might feel the same and I needed … I don’t know. I don’t know what my plan was.” She shook her head angrily. “I just thought I could … that I needed some leverage.”