Blackmailed Into The Greek Tycoon's Bed

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 obvious; 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.

But not this woman.

Here on the dimly lit dance floor he held her loosely, feeling her slender, fragile form, his hands low and loose on her waist. He was in no rush. Xante knew exactly what he was doing.

Karin didn’t!

All night his eyes had spoken of want, and there had been a raw sexuality to him, this licentious edge that no amount of wealth or trappings could smooth. It had unnerved Karin. Oh, Xante had behaved like the perfect gentleman, and to her surprise he was still doing so now. To her disappointment, perhaps? There was no hint of suggestion in the way he held her; he might as well have been doing a duty-dance with an aunt.

‘It shouldn’t go on much longer now,’ Xante said politely to the top of her head.

‘Good,’ she said to his chest, yet again there was this surge of disappointment within her that didn’t equate with logic. She didn’t want him to want her, and yet she did.

His hands on her waist were warm, the subtle scent of him stronger now they were closer, when Karin made her third wish. She wished that this evening were true—that she was the woman who could hold Xante’s attention, was the woman that he bedded; that the papers and their rumours were wrong. She knew what the press said about her, knew people thought her frozen and frigid. But beneath that cool surface, that brittle shell, was a woman who yearned to be held and adored, and till now it had proved impossible. Yet here in the darkness, here in his arms, somehow she was able to forget. She felt as if she were dancing on the edge of the sun, that with one false move, one trip, she would fall right in, would dissolve to a delicious nothing.

His hands were just a touch lower now, or maybe she was imagining it. But they seemed to have slipped a delicious fraction, warming her lower back, both little fingers just at the start of the curve of her buttocks. She was supremely aware of her body, only not in the horribly awkward way of before. This was different awareness now; the warmth of his hands spread, this swirl of arousal hung heavy between them. Xante’s establishment was way too elegant for something as tacky as a smoke machine, but it was as close as she could come to describing the thick cloak of desire that swirled around them, permeating her skin, her hair, even the air she dragged in. Bubbles fizzed in her veins, little fizzes that buzzed into unfamiliar places. Aware suddenly of her breasts, of their weight peaking in the soft dress, her skin prickling with a need for more contact, low in her stomach she felt an unfamiliar pull, like a string bag tightening. Her body responded as any woman’s would, only as Karin’s surely mustn’t.

She could smell his cologne more strongly now, and as his cheek grazed hers Karin could feel the scratch of new growth just beneath his firm jaw. She felt the subtle nuzzle of his lips in her hair, on her cheeks, and the whispers of breath dusting her ear as his mouth slowly moved towards hers; it would actually be a relief were he to kiss her.

Except he didn’t.

Instead he pulled his head back and pinned her with his eyes, told her without a single word exactly what he wanted to do, exactly the places he would take her to, if only she might come to his bed. The skin felt raw on her cheeks as it burnt with indecent thoughts, wanting so badly to rest her lips on his, to give in to the subtle pressure of his hands and let their bodies mesh. Except to give in now would mean she must reveal herself later, and the glimpse of disappointment that would surely ensue gave her the strength to hold back, to avert her eyes and loosen his embrace.

He’d almost had her. He’d felt her warm beneath his hands, had seen the naked lust in her eyes, and there had been a rare sense of privilege as he’d witnessed the first stirs of her thaw. But all too soon it had faded. Before the music had ended, he had felt her distance. The lights blazed on, farewells being given, cheeks being proffered and the magic ending. And for Xante the challenge was set.

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