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Angela’s face paled. ‘Yes, father.’ At eighteen she had none of her father’s brash confidence. Callie knew she found it a chore mixing among her father’s associates.
Callie stepped forward. ‘Tonight will be a success, Uncle. Don’t worry, we’ll see to it.’
If she had to dredge up every last ounce of patience to smile and listen to one of his cronies bore on about the iniquities of the government or the flaws of the younger generation, she’d do it. Anything to prevent an angry outburst that would force Angela further into her shell.
Aristides Manolis looked Callie up and down as if seeking to find fault. But six years of marriage to a rich man, of mixing in glamorous society, had given her the gloss to shine in any surroundings. And the experience to handle any social situation.
Dinner for four, even with the most demanding, querulous guest, would be no problem at all.
‘You will be our hostess,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want Angela fading into the background as she usually does.’
Callie found herself nodding in unison with Angela. She’d only been in this house five days and already she felt the old yoke of submission settling on her shoulders.
Could it really be just hours ago she’d lain naked in the arms of a man? Brazen enough to have sex with him in a secluded grove of pines by the beach?
As soon as her uncle strode from the room, Callie reached for her cousin’s hand. It was cold.
‘It’ll be OK, Angela. I’m here with you.’
Trembling fingers squeezed hers and she felt her cousin’s desperation. Then Angela pulled away, head up, back straight, the picture of elegant composure, as expected of the Manolis girls.
It was something the women in her family learned early. To conceal emotion. To appear calm and agreeable, an ornament and an asset to the right man.
The right man. Callie repressed a shudder of horror. Thank heaven that was behind her now. She need never again be the biddable possession of any man, much less a cruel control freak. The knowledge of her new-found independence still took her breath away.
Yet a sixth sense kept Callie on edge. Something was wrong. This wasn’t pre-party jitters.
‘What is it, Angela? What’s the matter?’
Her cousin cast a furtive glance to the doorway. ‘This visitor.’ Her voice was a shaky whisper. ‘Papa is arranging for me to marry him.’
‘Arranging to marry?’
Callie’s lungs seized as horror gripped her. The world spun chaotically and she grabbed the back of a nearby chair.
The years slid away. Once again she was just eighteen, Angela’s age. She stood here, waiting alone for him to arrive. The man her uncle had informed her she had to marry.
Unless she wanted to destroy her family.
‘Callie?’
Angela’s voice pierced the fog of nightmare reminiscence. Callie blinked, clearing her blurry vision and strove for composure.
Another arranged marriage. Another disaster.
Callie groped for Angela’s hand, knowing how much her little cousin needed her now. Remembering…
The sound of the men approaching sliced through her garbled thoughts. Her uncle’s forthright tone echoed from the foyer but his guest’s voice, though pitched low, was more resonant. It pulsed through her, tightening her stomach muscles with an illusion of familiarity.
She thrust aside the absurd idea. Angela’s news had knocked her off balance. As had an unexpected afternoon of passion with the sexiest man on the planet.
How she wished she were with him now, rather than in this suffocatingly opulent room, facing another catastrophe of her uncle’s devising.
Callie breathed deep. Angela needed her support. She couldn’t give in to weakness no matter how shocked she was.
‘Let’s get through dinner then talk.’ She aimed a reassuring smile at her cousin. ‘He can’t force you into anything. Remember that.’
Angela looked doubtful but there was no time for further conversation. The men were approaching.
Again the timbre of their visitor’s voice caught at something inside Callie. Something that had awakened today beneath the sheltering pines and the sensuously heavy touch of a man. It made her pulse trip to a faster, rackety beat.
Ignoring the strange sensation, she stepped forward. She only managed a single pace before jolting to a stop.
Uncle Aristides wore a wide smile as he looked up at the man beside him, then turned to gesture expansively to the room at large.
‘Well, my dears, here is our guest. I’d like to introduce a valued business associate, Damon Savakis.’
Time shattered in splintering, razor-edged shards as Callie saw their visitor. A flutter of reaction started high in her throat and her breath faltered. Her heartbeat raced as she took him in. Surreptitiously she snagged a quick, desperate breath, then another.
She stood frozen, staring as shock slammed into her.
Elegant. That should have described him. He wore his dinner jacket as if born to it, with a debonair grace that proclaimed his utter confidence. But the tailored perfection couldn’t conceal the man beneath. A man who vibrated energy and authority. A man with the posture and physical perfection of a born athlete.
His face was breathtaking, a sculpted embodiment of male power and sensuality. Except for one thing: his nose sat slightly askew, as if it had been broken. That only emphasised his charisma and an undercurrent of raw masculinity. This was no charming lightweight, but a man to be reckoned with.
His eyes narrowed as he took her in, a glitter of appraisal barely veiled. That searing look did curious things to her insides.
Callie’s mouth dried. Dimly she was aware of her uncle drawing Angela forward for an introduction.
Finally, far too late, she stepped forward, her hand outstretched as she dredged up a polite greeting.
‘How do you do, Kyrie Savakis? It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
His warm hand engulfed hers. She repressed a shiver at the echo of memory that sped through her. Of a man touching her, far more intimately, only this afternoon.
She pulled back but his hold was firm and unbreakable, his look piercing.
Dampness hazed Callie’s brow as, for an instant, panic flared. Her stomach churned and she gulped down a hard knot in her throat. Then a lifetime’s training kicked in. She ignored the jumble of emotions whirling inside and pinned a meaningless smile to her lips.
Damon Savakis’ eyes were dark. Darker than brown. Dark as a moonless night. Dark enough to sweep a woman into a whirlpool of need and longing and hold her there till sanity fled.
Callie knew it because she’d seen them before. Had already experienced the heady invitation of that bold, sensuous gaze.
He spoke at last, his voice brushing across her skin in an intimate tone that made the hairs rise at her neck.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Callista.’ The words were trite, expected, polite. Nothing at all like the searing expression in his fathomless gaze.
Nothing at all like the lazy, sensual approval in his laughing eyes as he’d seduced her a few short hours ago.
CHAPTER TWO
CALLIE’S lungs emptied as his gaze pinioned her.
It was him!
There was a roaring sound in her ears, like a jet coming in to land. In the distance her uncle spoke. Yet here, close to him, there was nothing but the fire in his eyes. Its impact devastated her, obliterating all thought of what she should do or say. Leaving only a yearning so strong it consumed her.
He was to marry Angela?
Impossible. It was a mistake.
But her uncle didn’t make such mistakes.
Callie wanted to smooth her palm along the sharp angle of his jaw to make sure he was real. She wanted to inhale the heady male scent of his burnished skin. She wanted…
No!
Her stomach cramped at the idea of explaining to her uncle how well she already knew his special guest.
This afternoon should have been a moment out of time, a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy. A passing aberration.
Now she was face to face with the man who’d persuaded her to shed every defence she’d used to keep the world, and especially men, at a distance. To keep herself safe.
In a moment of terrifying discovery she realised he had power, real, tangible power over her. She’d let him in, casting aside caution, opening her private, vulnerable self to him. Too late now to slam that door shut again.
This afternoon she’d unwittingly opened a Pandora’s box of raw emotion and physical longing. Feelings she’d locked away seven years ago had sprung to life.
And now this hunger, this weakness couldn’t be denied.
Hunger for a man who was here to woo her cousin.
What had Callie been to him?
Her stomach somersaulted in distress.
Desperate to break the bond of knowledge and need that pulsed between them, Callie turned, gesturing abruptly to the sofas. Her hand looked steady. Only she knew of the fine tremors running through her body.
‘Won’t you take a seat?’ Her voice was cool, almost without inflection. She prayed that no one else noticed her brittle control over her vocal cords. Tension sank talons into the rigid muscles of her neck and shoulders.
‘After you.’ He inclined his head and raised his arm behind her back, as if to usher her towards one of the antique French lounges.
Centimetres separated his palm from the silk of her dress, yet she felt his heat, like a phantom caress in the small of her back. Instantly her spine stiffened.
‘No, please. Let me get you a drink. What would you like? A cocktail? Wine, sherry? Or something stronger? We have ouzo, brandy…’
He watched her silently, as if he knew nerves made her babble. Gone was the heat in his gaze. Instead his look was speculative.
‘Thank you. A whisky.’
Callie moved quickly towards the bar. ‘And you, Uncle?’
‘Brandy, of course.’ There was a snap in his voice, but Callie barely noticed. She was too busy trying to control the trembling in her legs that threatened to buckle her knees.
Disbelief and shock clogged her brain.
She knew the name Damon Savakis. Who didn’t? He ran a company that had interests across the globe, in everything from marinas to luxury-yacht production, from exclusive coastal resorts to shipping lines. His wealth matched his uncanny business acumen, his ability to strike at precisely the right moment, turning an ever greater profit. The pundits said he was sharp, ruthless and had the luck of the devil.
More, he was the Manolis company’s biggest rival. Surely her uncle had spoken of him as a threat, not a friend?
Why was he staying in their cove on a beautiful but old yacht?
Had he known who she was all this time? She’d been on the family’s private estate. But if so surely he’d have mentioned his connection to her uncle.
And his plans to wed Angela.
Unless he’d deliberately withheld the truth. Callie’s breath caught.
Had he got a kick out of seducing her, while arranging to marry Angela? Had he laughed at how easy, how gullible she’d been? Did he enjoy watching her flounder for composure?
Bile rose in her throat as bitter memories surged.
Callie had too much experience of powerful men and their diversions. The way they used women. How had she been so stupidly trusting as to forget? Her first real happiness in seven years had been a betrayal.
She fumbled as she reached for the glasses.
‘Here. Let me help you,’ he murmured from just behind her. A long arm reached out to snag the corkscrew from her hand. ‘You prefer wine?’
The words were innocuous, but his breath on her neck sent tingles feathering across her skin. His body behind hers evoked an intimacy that made every hair on her nape rise in anticipation.
Shame washed through her. She couldn’t control her reaction.
Curtly she nodded and stepped aside as he uncorked the wine. She was crowded into the corner as he blocked her view of the room, separating her from the others. His heat enveloped her. Callie’s nostrils flared as a familiar scent reached her: all male, all too evocative.
‘So we meet again, Callista.’ His whisper was pitched for her ears alone. Yet in that thread of sound she heard the echo of smug satisfaction.
She raised her eyes to meet his then wished she hadn’t. They blazed like a dark inferno, scorching her face, her throat, her breasts, in an encompassing survey that told her he remembered this afternoon in vivid detail.
‘You’re obviously a very versatile woman. What role are you playing tonight?’ Disapproval frosted his gaze and his words, making her shiver.
Callie faltered at the unexpected attack. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged but the intensity of his stare belied the casual gesture. He watched her like a hawk sighting a fieldmouse. ‘From wanton to well-bred society girl in an afternoon.’ His lips pulled back in what might be a grimace of distaste. ‘You look like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. But just a few hours ago you were seducing a total stranger. Are you always this adaptable?’
Callie’s vocal cords jammed at his calculated insult. It was true what he said, and yet…after what they’d shared, how could he be so disapproving? Why?
She hadn’t been the only one hot and eager down on that beach. How dared he judge her?
‘As adaptable as you, Kyrie Savakis.’ The words nearly choked her.
