The Savakis Mistress. Annie West

lips, desperately clamping down on the accusations and questions clamouring for release. What did this man want of her? It seemed impossible he was the same warm, exciting lover who’d given her the precious gift of intimacy and tenderness. A wholeness she’d never known.

      Damon’s eyebrows tilted down in the hint of a frown. His lips thinned a fraction.

      ‘Not a very convincing welcome, glikia mou,’ he whispered. ‘I would have expected something a little warmer.’

      A ribbon of searing heat curled through her at his endearment in that deep, rich voice. Her weakness horrified her. How could she respond so to a man who had no shame about seducing her while he was here to court Angela? Who chided her for her promiscuity yet played games of innuendo?

      Today had stripped her emotionally bare. The experience had overwhelmed her. Physical pleasure had been a vehicle for much deeper feelings, even for a tentative, unexpected sense of healing.

      Her stomach cramped so savagely she could barely stand. What had meant so much to her was a sick amusement to him.

      At last she managed to slide her fingers from under his and reached for her uncle’s brandy. She looked pointedly over Damon’s shoulder, hanging on to control by a thread. She would not make a scene.

      ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take this to my uncle. It’s time we joined the others.’

      He didn’t move. His eyes and his body held her trapped. He blocked her exit. She looked away, at the precise bow-tie on his perfect white shirt.

      ‘Are you planning to visit me again tonight, Callista? To ensure I feel truly welcome?’ His voice dropped to a low note that resonated through her very bones. There was no mistaking his blatant sexual invitation. The innuendo and exultation.

      Panic welled. And distaste. She felt raw and vulnerable.

      He’d deliberately tricked her, luring her into betraying her innermost needs and desires. Desires she’d never known before. Now he wanted to gloat. To turn her one bright, glowing slice of heaven into something sordid.

      ‘Callista?’

      She looked up into his shadow-dark eyes, catching the gleam of hunger there and a hint of amusement.

      He thought this situation funny?

      Instantly her spine straightened. Her chin tilted as indignation and hurt heated her blood. She’d had her fill of the malicious games men played. Of being a pawn, subject to a man’s whim.

      ‘You want the truth?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘You don’t belong here, Kyrie Savakis. The last thing I want is to be forced to share a meal with a man like you.’

      She stepped forward, calling his bluff.

      He had no option but to make way.

      Yet the flash of surprised anger in his glittering eyes told her he didn’t like it.

      Tough! He’d had his little game at her expense. No doubt he’d got a kick out of seducing the woman the gossip mags had dubbed ‘untouchable’.

      Nausea churned in her stomach and an icy chill crawled through her. She’d believed today was precious. An oasis of warmth and comfort in a cold world.

      Fool. Hadn’t she learned better than to trust a man?

      ‘That is the way you want to play, Callista?’

      There was a warning edge to his tone. She ignored it.

      ‘I don’t play, Kyrie Savakis.’

      She had a swift glimpse of narrowed, calculating eyes, of a chin jutting with masculine displeasure.

      He was like the rest, expecting her to bow to his whims. But she was her own mistress now, free and independent.

      Nevertheless her heart pounded as she walked past him. The sensation of his eyes on her bare back was like a lick of flame down her spine.

      How was she going to survive a whole evening with him?

      She had a sinking feeling that instead of her defiance dampening his conceit, he thought she’d thrown down the gauntlet.

      He didn’t look the type to ignore a challenge.

      ‘No, thank you.’ Damon shook his head as the servant proffered wine to top up his glass.

      ‘Come, come, Damon.’ His host waved an arm impatiently across the table. ‘No need to be abstemious. It’s not as if you’re driving. Drink up, man.’ He nodded to the waiter and watched as his own glass was filled with premium vintage champagne. ‘You’ll only find the best quality in this house.’

      ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Damon responded. He looked from the uniformed servants clearing away plates to the ostentatious gold cutlery laid with such meticulous precision on the damask tablecloth. Not many people seeing the luxury in which Aristides Manolis lived would suspect how parlous was his financial state. How close he was to ruin.

      Damon knew. Damon was the man whose money could save Manolis and his family company.

      Or destroy it.

      He’d worked his adult life for the day he’d have Manolis in his power. The need to acquire and then take apart his precious company piece by piece had driven Damon for years. Revenge for what this family had done to his would be sweet.

      A flash of light caught his eye and he turned. Callista’s necklace caught the light. A fabulous piece, white gold and several carats of diamonds. Yet it was too obvious for his taste. Too showy. A blatant statement of wealth.

      She reminded him of so many other rich, spoiled women he’d known. It was the cost of the gems that mattered to them, not the merit of the design.

      Looking at her now, in her exquisite couture gown, her expression bland, he couldn’t believe her the same woman who’d seduced him so wantonly. That woman had revealed such vitality and innate sensuality. There’d been something honest about her abandon. Something warmly generous and, he’d almost believed, special about her.

      He’d responded to her with a hunger that stunned him. He’d spent the hours since anticipating the next day. When, he’d vowed, he would learn more about the woman who intrigued him more than any lover he could recall.

      How could he have been so gullible?

      ‘You’re admiring my niece’s jewellery?’ There was gloating satisfaction in his host’s voice. He enjoyed flaunting what he had, or pretended to have. Any man who required two staff members to serve a meal for four was trying too hard to impress. ‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’

      Callista looked up then, her face a polite, gorgeous mask. But when her gaze met Damon’s he felt again that visceral pull, the drag of spiralling anticipation.

      It infuriated him. He should be able to master this raw craving now he knew who and what she was. A pampered member of the Manolis family who’d targeted what she thought was a bit of rough on the side.

      Her sensual abandon, her responsiveness had enchanted him on the beach. But from the moment tonight she’d stared at him with blank eyes and chilly hauteur he’d realised today’s interlude had been just a jaded socialite’s cheap thrill.

      If not something more contrived.

      He shot an assessing look from his host to Callista.

      ‘The necklace is stunning,’ he murmured.

      His gaze followed the fall of diamonds on her pendant, the way they dipped into the valley between her ripe breasts, visible in the low-cut gown.

      She knew how to show off her assets. The thought annoyed him. Or perhaps it was the cool way she surveyed him with those amazing green eyes that infuriated him. He wasn’t used to women, particularly women he’d made love to so thoroughly, being indifferent to him. Or telling him he was unworthy to share their table.