The Greek's Pleasurable Revenge

‘I’m afraid not.’ Lukas removed a tiny speck of dust from the sleeve of his immaculate suit. ‘I’m only surprised your lawyers didn’t tell you. I managed to acquire your father’s half of the island some time ago.’

Christos’s face turned puce, but it was Yiannis who spoke. ‘That can’t be true. Aristotle would never have sold to you.’

‘He didn’t need to. When he and my father bought the island they registered it in their wives’ names. A touching gesture, don’t you think? Or am I being naive? Perhaps it was simply a tax dodge? Either way, it has proved very convenient. My half, of course, came to me upon the death of my mother—God rest her soul. Acquiring your half was simply a matter of tracking down Aristotle’s first wife and making her an offer she couldn’t refuse. I can’t tell you how grateful she was. Especially as she had no idea she owned it.’

‘But you have been in prison for years. How could you possibly have done this?’

‘You’d be surprised. It turns out that you can make some very useful contacts inside. Very useful indeed.’ Lukas raised a dark brow. ‘I now know just the man for any given job. And I do mean any.’

Yiannis visibly paled beneath his swarthy skin. In desperation he turned to Calista, but she only gave a small shrug. She didn’t give a damn who owned the island. She just wanted to get off it as fast as she could.

Christos, meanwhile, always blessed with more brawn than brains, had raised his fists in a pathetic show of aggression. ‘You don’t scare me, Kalanos. I’ll take you on any time you like.’

‘Didn’t I hear you say you had a boat to catch?’ With a display of supreme indifference Lukas treated him to an icily withering look.

Christos took a step forward, but Yiannis grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him away to stop him from getting himself into real trouble. As he twisted sideways his feet got caught in the green tarpaulin covering the fresh earth around the grave and they both stumbled, lurching dangerously towards the grave itself, before righting themselves at the last moment.

Yiannis tugged at his brother’s arm again, desperate to get him away from humiliation, or a punch on the nose, or both.

‘You haven’t heard the last of this, Kalanos!’ Christos shouted over his shoulder as his brother hastily manoeuvred them away, weaving between the overgrown graves. ‘You are going to pay for this.’

Calista watched in surprise as her half-brothers disappeared. Weren’t they supposed to have been staying a couple of nights on the island to go through their father’s papers and sort out his affairs? Clearly that was no longer happening. Neither did they seem bothered about leaving her behind to deal with Lukas. It was obviously every man for himself—or herself.

But it did mean that there was nothing to keep her there any more. Unless she counted the formidably dark figure that was still rooted ominously by her side.

Realising she was still clutching the single lily in her hand, she stepped towards the grave and let it drop, whispering a silent goodbye to her father. A lump lodged in her throat. Not just for her father—her relationship with him had always been too fraught, too blighted by anguish and tragedy for simple grief to sum it up—but because Calista knew she was not just saying goodbye to Aristotle but to Thalassa, her childhood, her Greek heritage. This was the end of an era.

She turned to go, immediately coming up against the solid wall of Lukas’s chest. Adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she went to move past him. ‘If you will excuse me I need to be going.’

‘Going where, exactly?’

‘I’m leaving the island with the others, of course. There is no point in me staying here any longer.’

‘Oh, but there is.’ With lightning speed Lukas closed his hand around her wrist, bringing her back up against his broad chest. ‘You, agape, are going nowhere.’

Calista flinched, her whole body going into a kind of panicky meltdown that sent a flood of fear rippling down to her core. Bizarrely, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Just what I say. You and I have unfinished business. And you won’t be leaving Thalassa until I say so.’

‘So what do you intend to do? Hold me prisoner?’

‘If necessary, yes.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

She hardened her voice as best she could, determined that she would stand up to this new, frighteningly formidable Lukas. Pulling away, she looked pointedly at her wrist until he released it.

‘Anyway, what is this unfinished business? As far as I’m concerned we have nothing to discuss.’

Her nails dug into her palms at the blatant lie. But he couldn’t be talking about Effie. If he had found out about his daughter he would have blown her whole world apart by now.

‘Don’t tell me you have forgotten, Calista. Because I certainly haven’t.’

Dark, dark eyes looked down on her, glittering with intent.

‘Let’s just say the image of you lying semi-naked on my sofa, your legs wrapped around my back, has stayed with me all these years. I’ve probably conjured it up more times than I should have. Prison has that effect on you. You have to take your pleasures where you can.’

Callie blushed to the roots of her hair, grateful for the black veil that still partially obscured her mortified face. That was until Lukas gently, almost reverentially, lifted the fine lace and arranged it back over her head. For one bizarre moment she thought he was going to kiss her, as if she were some sort of dark bride.

‘There—that’s better.’

He stared at her, drinking her in like a man with the fiercest thirst. She held her breath. Each testosterone-fuelled second seemed longer than the last. She shifted beneath his astonishingly powerful scrutiny, her skin prickling, her heart pounding in her ribcage.

‘I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Calista.’

Her stifled breath came out as a gasp. She hadn’t expected a compliment—not after all the bullying and the veiled threats. Except this was a compliment deliberately tinged with menace.

‘I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to renewing our acquaintance. I’ve been looking forward to it for almost five long years.’

No! Calista choked back a silent cry.

Surely he didn’t think she would repeat that catastrophic error? Panic and outrage stiffened her spine.

‘If you imagine that I am going to go to bed with you again, Lukas, you are sorely mistaken.’

‘Bed...sofa...up against the wall right here in front of your father’s grave, if you like. It’s all the same to me. I want you, Calista. And I should warn you, when I want something I go all out to make sure that I get it.’

CHAPTER TWO

LUKAS WATCHED THE alarm on Calista’s face set her delicate features in stone.

He had been right to declare her beautiful—even if he had only meant to say it in his head. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The intervening years had honed her heart-shaped face, the high cheekbones, the firmly pointed chin. But the small, straight nose was still speckled with a dusting of freckles and her mouth... That was just as he remembered it, wide and full-lipped and deliciously pink—even now, when it was pursed in an attempt at defiance.

How Aristotle had produced such an exquisite creature as this was almost beyond comprehension. Calista obviously took after her mother, Diana, the actress-cum-model whose beauty had ultimately been her downfall. They certainly shared the same colouring, but whereas Diana had been all leggy height and stunning bone structure, which the camera had loved, Calista was petite, with full breasts and a slim waist leading to curvaceous hips that begged to be traced with the flat of his palm. Lukas could feel that urge powering through him right now, and he responded by reaching for her hand, relishing the soft feel of it beneath his own.

‘This way.’ He started off across the graveyard, pulling Calista behind him, all too aware that he was behaving like some sort of caveman but not caring in the least.

‘Lukas—stop this.’

No way. Her feeble protestation only made him all the more determined that she was going to come with him—back to his villa and back to his bed. He had waited far too long for this moment to allow any second thoughts to creep in, or even to let common decency stand in his way. Certainly not her breathless objections.

‘Lukas, stop—let me go!’

They had reached the small copse behind the ancient chapel, where he had left his motorbike. Positioning Calista between it and him, Lukas finally let go of her hand.

Calista snatched it back, her eyes flashing with fire. ‘Just what the hell do you think you are playing at?’

‘Oh, I’m not playing, Calista. This is no game.’

‘What, then? What are you trying to prove? Why are you behaving like such a...a horrible bully?’

‘Perhaps that’s what I’ve become.’ He gave her a casually brutal stare. ‘Perhaps that’s what four and a half years in prison does to a man.’

Calista’s expression tightened. ‘I don’t even understand why you aren’t still there. You were sentenced to eight years.’

‘Time off for good behaviour.’ His eyes glittered coldly. ‘You see, I was a very good boy whilst I was in there—as far as the authorities were concerned, that is. Now I intend to make up for it.’

He watched her swallow.

‘I do hope my early release hasn’t inconvenienced you?’

‘It hasn’t. I couldn’t care less where you are...what you do.’

‘Good. Then get on the bike. We are going to Villa Helene.’

‘No, we are not.’ Her hand flew to her chest. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

‘And there I was, hoping we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way.’

Easily spanning her waist with his broad hands, Lukas lifted her off her feet and planted her unceremoniously on the pillion seat of the bike. The thin fabric of her skirt rode up over her thighs, pulling seductively taut, while her breasts heaved with indignation.

Lukas fought down the kick of lust.

‘If you don’t get me off this thing right now I am going to scream.’

‘Feel free.’ He smiled darkly. ‘It won’t make any difference. Your dear brothers, along with the other broken-hearted mourners, are already on their way back to the mainland. No one will hear you.’

He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes but she didn’t move. Her pride refused to give him the satisfaction. And for some reason that only increased his admiration—and his arousal. Perched on the leather seat of his bike, she looked like some sort of erotic goddess, her back arched in defiance, her glorious Titian hair tumbling over her shoulders. The mourning veil, he noticed, had fallen to the dry ground at his feet.

‘There’s Petros...and Dorcas. They’re still on the island. Villa Melina is still their home.’

He gave her a telling look. That was something for him to decide—not her. Clearly she was forgetting who called the shots around here.

‘Look...’ She suddenly changed tack, trying for a conciliatory tone. ‘What’s this all about, anyway?’

‘You used to love this bike, Callie, don’t you remember?’ He deliberately used her shortened name, taking them back to the long hot summers of their shared past. ‘You were forever pestering me for a ride.’

They had both loved this motorbike—the sleek black beast that had been Lukas’s sixteenth birthday present to himself. He’d had other bikes since, and sports cars, luxury yachts, a helicopter—all the extravagant modes of transport that great wealth could afford. But nothing had surpassed the feeling of straddling this powerful beauty all those years ago, made even better by the feel of Callie’s skinny arms clinging to his waist as they had roared off, the sound of her excited squeals in his ear.

Coming across it in the garage this morning, just where he had left it, he had felt as if he were meeting an old friend. One old friend, at least, that hadn’t let him down. She had obediently started first time after he had charged the battery.

‘I think we’ve both grown up since then.’ Calista tossed back her flame-red hair, all sharp-angled defiance and dignified posturing. ‘Or at least I have.’

‘Indeed... I wouldn’t dispute that.’ Lukas gave a derisive laugh. ‘I seem to remember we engaged in some very grown-up activity last time we met.’

Again she flushed, as if she found the memory of what they had done intensely shameful. As well she might.

‘Well, that’s not something that is going to be repeated, I can assure you. Despite your earlier threats.’

‘Not threats, Calista. Think of it more as a promise.’

‘You are such an arrogant piece of work, Lukas, you know that?’ Emerald eyes flashed with fire. ‘I promise you this: what happened between us will never happen again.’

‘No? You’re sure about that, are you?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Then coming back to my villa for a couple of hours won’t hurt, will it? Unless you don’t trust yourself, of course?’

‘I trust myself, Lukas. It’s you I don’t trust.’

‘Ah, yes, of course. I keep forgetting that I’m the villain of the piece here.’

‘Yes, you are!’ Calista immediately fired back at him.

He had to hand it to her—her acting skills had improved significantly over the years.

‘In that case let me reassure you that nothing will happen between us unless you want it to.’

Was that true? It should be. His well-rehearsed plan had always been to trick her into wanting him, just the way she had him. But if she carried on looking at him the way she was now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hang on to his control.

He studied her from beneath lowered lashes, lazily, slowing himself down. Unless he was very much mistaken there was something else in that fiery look of hers. For all her prim deportment, her expression of outrage, her feisty comebacks, something simmered beneath the surface. Something that looked remarkably like sexual arousal. Yes. He would have her screaming his name with pleasure before the day was through. And then revenge would be his.

Swinging his leg over the bike, he turned the key in the ignition, gripping the handlebars and feeling the mechanical vibrations rumble through him.

‘I’d hang on if I were you.’ Speaking over his shoulder he twisted the throttle and the engine roared in reply. ‘Let’s let this old girl off the leash and see what she can do.’

And with a sudden jolt and a screech they were off.

* * *

Calista had no choice but to wrap her arms around Lukas’s waist as they sped away from the cemetery, leaving its occupants in blissful peace as Lukas navigated the bike onto the coastal road that wound its way round the island. She leant her body into his, the wind whipping her hair back from her face, drying the breath in her throat as she clung on for dear life.

He was driving deliberately fast, she knew that, trying to frighten her, make her squeal. Well, she wasn’t nine years old any more, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of behaving as if she was. In fact as soon as they got to the villa she would show him that she didn’t intend to take any more of his bullying ways.

The stunning Greek scenery flashed past, the dramatic coastline with its towering cliffs and secluded coves stretching before them. Screwing up her eyes against the glare of the sun sparkling on the sea, Calista knew it wasn’t fear she was feeling anyway. It was exhilaration. She felt alive, invigorated, realising how good it was to be back on Thalassa. More than that, realising how much she had missed it.

She adjusted her position slightly and felt Lukas’s body respond, the broad width of his back heating against the crush of her breasts, the muscles of his waist shifting beneath the grip of her hands. A dangerous shudder of pleasure went through her. The island wasn’t the only thing she had missed. And she was going to have to be very careful about that.

The twisty road took them past the turning for Villa Melina, her family villa, and continued east across the top of the island in the direction of Villa Helene—home to Lukas and his father, Stavros, now deceased.

It was a road Calista knew well—probably a distance of six miles or so. She had cycled it many times as a child, frequently seeking out the company of Lukas and his kindly father in preference to her own curmudgeonly father and boring half-brothers, with whom she’d had absolutely nothing in common. But she’d never paid much attention to the names of the two villas before—Melina, the name of Aristotle’s first wife and Helene, Lukas’s mother. She hadn’t known either woman, but it was obvious now she thought about it that the villas had been named after them.

What she hadn’t known—what no one had known by the look of it—was that Thalassa had actually belonged to them. No one except Lukas, of course, who had used that information to buy the entire island—presumably as a way of getting back at her family. She had no idea what had happened to the Lukas she had once known. What had become of him...

Turning off the coastal road, Lukas bumped the bike up the dirt track that lead to Villa Helene and pulled up in front of the entrance in a spray of dry dust.

Quickly dismounting, he held out his hand to her, but there was nothing gentlemanly about the gesture. It was done with an aggressively urgent air. Shepherding her before him, he unlocked the front door—an action that surprised Calista in itself. No one bothered to lock their doors on the island of Thalassa.

Inside, the villa was just as she remembered it. Even the smell was familiar—somehow both comforting and unsettling. She followed Lukas down the cool hallway until they reached the large living room that ran the entire width of the villa. It was still and dark in there, until Lukas strode over to the bi-fold doors, unlocked them and pushed them wide open, undoing the shutters so that the light streamed in.

Calista blinked. The stunning panoramic view of the Aegean Sea appeared before them, but Calista’s focus was solely on the room she now saw so clearly. Or, more specifically, on the sofa in the room. The one she had so recklessly fallen onto with Lukas that evening, in a tangle of fervid, scorching, pumping desire. The one where Effie had been conceived.

‘Drink?’ Lukas grabbed a couple of glasses from the sideboard and reached for a decanter of whisky.

‘No, thank you.’ Calista dragged her burning eyes away from the scene of their complete madness.

‘Mind if I do?’ Pouring himself a generous slug, he knocked it back in one gulp, then poured another.

Clearly he wasn’t waiting for her consent.

Averting her eyes from the sheer brutal beauty of him, Calista quickly scanned the rest of the familiar room; the white walls displaying colourful local artwork, the rustic wooden furniture and the travertine marble flooring. She had always loved this villa. More so than her own family’s, in fact, which Aristotle had massively extended over the years as a succession of different women had needed to be impressed and the urge to display his wealth had become ever more important.

Villa Helene was more modest, more traditionally Greek, with towering walls affording much needed shade and the exterior woodwork painted that particular Mediterranean blue. Not that it lacked any modern comforts, with its large stainless steel kitchen, a beautiful infinity pool that glistened invitingly through the open doors, five bedrooms, a gymnasium and a library. There was even a helipad where, out of the corner of her eye, Calista had noticed a gleaming helicopter, heating up in the sun as they had walked in. So that was how he had got here...

‘So, what is this unfinished business?’ She decided to take the lead rather than wait for Lukas like a fly in his web. She watched as he set down his glass, swallowing hard as he started towards where she stood in the middle of the room. ‘What is it you want to talk about?’

‘The talking can wait.’ He stopped before her, towering over her as he gazed down her flushed face. ‘Right now I am more interested in action.’

With no warning he reached forward, sliding a hand around the back of her neck, lifting the weight of her hair for a second, before dropping it so that it rippled down her back. ‘Right now I want you to kiss me the way you kissed me the last time we were here, agapi mou. Do you remember?’

Calista felt herself sway. His hand was branding the back of her neck...his hot, whisky-tinged breath was shooting sharp waves of longing throughout her body. Of course she remembered. She remembered every minuscule, heart-stopping, life-changing detail. She had been living it for the past five years.

It had been her eighteenth birthday party—a gloriously warm June evening. Calista had finished her exams and finally left the boarding school that she had disliked so much, and she’d been intending to soak up a few weeks of Greek sunshine before returning to the UK to start university.

She had been looking forward to the party—not so much to the actual event, the guest list for which had mostly comprised her father’s business cronies and their families, rather than her friends, although that had partly been her decision. Aristotle had told her to invite as many people as she wanted, offering to pay for their flights from the UK and to put them up at the villa, ‘So they can see the sort of wealth you come from.’ But she hadn’t had that many friends—she’d always been the outsider at school, a motherless red-haired creature with a Greek name—and she hadn’t intended to scare off the couple of friends she had had by subjecting them to the full force of her father.

Because far from wanting to show off Aristotle’s wealth she had been embarrassed by it—or, more precisely, embarrassed by Aristotle. Over the years he had become ever more boorish, more overbearing, and the large quantities of alcohol he’d consumed, along with the banquet-type meals that he demanded every night, had not helped his general health or his temper. It had seemed the larger he’d got, the more obnoxious he’d become.

But there had been one person Calista had wanted to see—Lukas. He had promised her that he would be there, and that alone had been enough to see her struggling to straighten her unruly tumble of red hair, carefully applying some lipstick and eyeliner and easing herself into a short emerald-green silk dress that had hugged her youthful curves in just the right places. Donning a pair of strappy gold sandals, complete with killer heels, she had been ready to go—or, more importantly, ready for Lukas.

Except he hadn’t showed up.

The disappointment had been crushing. Calista’s fragile hopes had been dashed every time another group of guests had appeared and he hadn’t been amongst them. It had seemed as if more and more people had come, spilling out onto the terrace, laughing, drinking, dancing...

Finally Lukas’s father Stavros had arrived, bursting onto the terrace in a highly agitated state, seeking out Aristotle and demanding that he go inside with him so that they could talk in private. Calista hadn’t even had a chance to ask him where Lukas was.

In the end she had decided to take matters into her own hands. Suddenly she had no longer just wanted to see Lukas. Being with him had become an all-consuming compulsion, taking on a frightening urgency that would have seen her do almost anything to achieve her aim.

Which had turned out to be stealing a car. Or rather ‘borrowing it’ from Stavros, who had left the keys of his SUV in the ignition. Calista had only had a handful of driving lessons—she had certainly never passed her driving test—but such had been her determination to see Lukas that she hadn’t been about to let a little thing like that stand in her way.