The Savakis Mistress. Annie West

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.

      For an endless moment their eyes meshed. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she jerked her gaze away, only to find her attention snagging on his hand as he held the wine goblet out to her. He had a workman’s hands. Long-fingered but capable, powerful. His grip on the delicate glass should have seemed incongruous. Yet nothing could be further from the truth.

      He slid his index finger up the fragile stem then down again. Her mouth dried as she remembered the way he’d touched her nipples with that same finger. The way darts of sensation had rayed out from his touch, making her squirm with delight. The way she’d moaned into his mouth as he’d caressed her and discovered her intimate secrets.

      Watching the slow, deliberate movement, feeling the heat of his scrutiny on her flesh made her feel vulnerable. Naked.

      Impossible that her body should betray her so. Disgust filled her.

      Hurriedly she took the glass from his hand, careful not to brush his fingers. She pushed a tumbler of whisky along the bar towards him.

      He was too quick, his hand closing around the glass and her fingers in a grip that made her still.

      ‘What are you doing over there?’ her uncle grumbled. ‘Callista, you mustn’t monopolise our guest.’

      ‘Coming, Uncle,’ she called, trying to slide her hand from Damon Savakis’ hold.

      ‘What’s the matter, Callista? Aren’t you glad to see me?’ His voice was as seductive as she remembered.