Proud Greek, Ruthless Revenge. Chantelle Shaw

she felt strangely light-headed. The champagne must have gone to her head, she thought ruefully. The peculiar feeling that had swept over her when Thanos’s skin had briefly come into contact with hers was not an intense reaction to the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on, she told herself firmly. And yet she could not deny that he unsettled her.

      ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Savakis,’ she said politely. ‘Are you here in London on business, or…?’ She tailed away uncertainly, entranced by the sudden smile that lifted his features from handsome to breathtakingly gorgeous, and revealed a flash of white teeth which for some inexplicable reason made her think of the story of Red Riding Hood and the cunning wolf.

      ‘Business…and pleasure,’ Thanos drawled, relieved that he was once more in control of his hormones. He trailed his eyes over Tahlia. She was exquisitely packaged: designer dress, shoes and handbag, not to mention an eye-watering collection of sapphires and diamonds that sparkled enticingly against her creamy skin. Her outfit must have cost a fortune, he thought cynically. Tahlia was clearly used to the finer things in life, and he was going to take enormous pleasure in putting an end to her pampered, self-indulgent lifestyle.

      He had expected her to show some sort of reaction when he introduced himself, but there had been no flicker of response in Tahlia’s eyes at the name Savakis. Presumably she had been unaware of James Hamilton’s wife’s maiden name—no doubt she and James had not spared a thought for Melina during their secret assignations. Molten fury seared his insides. He wanted to vent his anger and denounce her as the heartless whore who had wrecked his sister’s life—let the members of London’s high society who were gathered in the gallery hear what a cheap little tart she was. But with a huge effort of will he resisted the urge. There would be time enough to tell her what he thought of her after he had brought her to her knees.

      ‘I see that Earl Fullerton has just arrived,’ Crispin Blythe murmured. ‘I’ll leave you two to have fun. I suggest you ask Tahlia to give you a tour of the gallery, Thanos. She has a special relationship with the artist, and is the best person—apart from Rufus himself, of course—to talk about his work.’

      ‘Oh, but…’ Tahlia stared after Crispin, unbearably embarrassed by the obvious way he had manoeuvred her and the sexy Greek together. Thanos’s mouth was still curved into a smile, but the faintly derisive gleam in his eyes unnerved her, and she could not shake off the idea that for some reason he had taken an instant dislike to her. ‘I mustn’t monopolise your company, Mr Savakis,’ she murmured, glancing rather desperately around the gallery, in the hope that she would spot someone she knew.

      ‘What exactly is the nature of your “special relationship” with Rufus Hartman?’ Thanos queried coolly. ‘Is he one of your lovers?’

      For a moment Tahlia was too taken aback to reply. With a sinking feeling she realised that Thanos had probably seen the newspaper reports of her supposed affair with Damian Casson. Her temper flared. So much for Crispin’s assertion that no one believed the rubbish that was written in the downmarket tabloids. ‘I really don’t see that it’s any of your business,’ she said coldly, ‘but as a matter of fact Rufus isn’t attracted to women,’ she added. She was not sure why she had lowered her voice, because Rufus was quite open about the fact that he was gay. ‘He is a good friend with an incredible talent.’

      Thanos’s dark eyes roamed lazily over her, as if he were mentally undressing her, and Tahlia felt horribly exposed in her low-cut gown. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to his face of their own volition, and she could not help but focus on the sensual curve of his mouth. His kiss would not be gentle. The thought crashed into her head and her face burned as she imagined him lowering his head and covering her lips with his. Heat coursed through her veins, and when she tore her eyes from him and glanced down she was mortified to see the outline of her nipples clearly visible beneath her dress.

      Tahlia had turned her head again, and seemed to be scanning the room for someone. ‘Are you searching for anyone in particular?’ Thanos queried, his eyes narrowing when she shrugged her slim shoulders. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. He noticed a dusting of gold freckles along her collarbone and the slopes of her breasts and felt a tightening sensation in his groin. His fierce awareness of her was both unexpected and infuriating, but it was satisfying to see the evidence that she was equally aware of him.

      If she had been any other woman he would have wasted no time in seducing her. With her track record he doubted she would need much persuading into his bed. Disgust swept through him and he ruthlessly banished the image of peeling the straps of her blue silk gown down her shoulders and exposing her slender naked body. She was his brother-in-law’s whore, he reminded himself grimly, and it was inconceivable that he could desire her when he had sworn revenge on her for the pain she had caused his sister.

      Thanos’s accented voice was deep and sensual, and it sent a little shiver of awareness down Tahlia’s spine, but she was determined to ignore the effect he had on her. ‘I’m looking for an Arab prince—Sheikh Mussada,’ she said coolly. ‘Do you know him?’

      ‘I know of him—as, I imagine, does everyone else here tonight, seeing that he has recently taken over a major high street bank.’

      ‘Yes, I believe he is the fifth richest man in the world,’ Tahlia muttered distractedly, supremely conscious of the exotic scent of Thanos’s aftershave. She wondered if it would appear impolite if she walked away from him, and then—recalling his dig about Rufus being ‘one of her lovers’—wondered why she should give a damn what he thought of her. The Prince must have arrived by now, she thought, as she craned her neck to peer into the larger gallery.

      Thanos frowned, wondering what had caused the hectic flush on Tahlia’s cheeks. ‘Didn’t Sheikh Mussada marry recently?’ he queried tersely, a sudden suspicion forming in his brain.

      ‘Yes, but apparently his wife hates flying, and never travels abroad with him.’

      Tahlia thought of the business cards in her purse. As she had driven to the gallery she’d indulged in a daydream in which Sheikh Mussada admired her sapphire necklace and asked her where he could buy something similar. That would be Tahlia’s cue to invite him to visit one of the Reynolds Gems shops—she would arrange to open the store out of hours if the Sheikh preferred, and expert assistants would be on hand to help him purchase a gift for his wife. In the daydream, Sheikh Mussada was so impressed by Reynolds’ stock of jewellery that he requested their catalogue to take back to Dubai. Soon afterwards they would be flooded with orders from the Prince and his numerous wealthy relatives.

      ‘Oh, that must be him.’ Tahlia felt a spurt of excitement as the throng of guests parted and she glimpsed a man wearing traditional Arab robes. This was her chance to save her family’s business. The sapphire collection she was wearing tonight was truly spectacular, and Sheikh Mussada was reputed to be an enthusiastic collector of top-quality jewellery. All she had to do was somehow gain his attention.

      ‘Hey, don’t run away.’

      Warm breath feathered Tahlia’s neck, whispering across the stray tendrils of hair at her nape, and she jerked her head around, startled to discover that Thanos had moved and was now standing much too close for comfort.

      ‘Sorry?’ For a few seconds she had been so caught up in her daydream about the Sheikh that she had almost forgotten about Thanos. Almost, but not entirely, she conceded ruefully. He was not an easy man to forget, and as she stared at his beautifully sculpted face and glimpsed the flare of sensual heat in his eyes her breath snagged in her throat.

      ‘Our host has assured me you are an expert on Rufus Hartman’s work, and I wholeheartedly approve of his suggestion that you should give me a guided tour of the exhibition,’ he murmured.

      ‘I assure you I’m no expert,’ she replied quickly, feeling as though she were drowning in Thanos’s dark eyes. His lashes were ridiculously long for a man, she mused, and his skin gleamed like polished bronze, stretched taut over his magnificent cheekbones. He swamped her senses, and her heart slammed painfully beneath her ribs when he reached out and trailed one finger very lightly down her face.

      ‘Your skin is