The Savakis Mistress. Annie West

girl who was ashamed of what they’d shared.

      Ashamed of him.

      That idea scored his pride, uncovering old wounds he thought he’d buried a lifetime ago. His slow-burning anger ignited at her dismissal, and at the fact he even cared.

      Perversely her cool-as-a-cucumber air ignited his desire. He couldn’t resist a challenge. Not while she tried to put him in his place like a dirty secret. As if, despite his wealth and power, a blue-blooded Manolis wouldn’t sully her fair skin by letting a man with his working-class roots touch her again.

      ‘Alkis’ taste was always excellent, wasn’t it, my dear?’

      ‘He certainly knew what he wanted, Uncle.’ Her voice was crisp and uninflected, as if she discussed tonight’s meal rather than the thousands of euros of gems that dripped down to her breasts. She took her wealth and her life of pampered indolence for granted.

      ‘Alkis?’ Damon queried.

      ‘My husband.’ Her eyes dropped in an expression that might have been demure if not for the flamboyant glitter at her slender neck, ears and wrist.

      Her husband. The syllables thrummed in his ears. Something hard and cold lodged in his belly. Fury sizzled along his veins.

      He should have guessed. She was a bored society wife, looking for a little diversion. That was what today’s escapade had been.

      She’d used him.

      Unbidden, memories crowded thick, of the days before he’d made his money. When his only assets had been his determination and his flair for commerce. And his looks. Rich women had clustered round him then, eager for adventure, the thrill of walking on the wild side.

      As if he’d swallow his pride to be any woman’s plaything.

      ‘Your husband isn’t here with you?’ Damon reined in brewing anger and self-disgust at having given his libido free rein without checking exactly who she was.

      Wide eyes lifted to meet his across the table. They were the colour of the sea in the secluded cove where his yacht was moored. The sea whose lapping waves had muffled the sound of this woman’s cries of ecstasy as she found release in his arms.

      For a moment he felt again that illusion of oneness they’d experienced as their bodies joined. He’d felt more pleasure with her than he could remember with any woman.

      That alone stoked his distrust. And his disgust that he’d fallen for the fantasy she projected.

      ‘My husband died some months ago, Kyrie Savakis.’ A chill shuttered the momentary warmth in her eyes.

      Too late, Callista! She might act the ice maiden now but he’d already discovered the sensuous fire that blazed inside.

      Her passion today hadn’t been the by-product of grief for her husband. There’d been no shadowy spectre between them, no yearning for the past. Just untrammelled lust.

      A merry widow indeed.

      ‘My condolences,’ he said and she inclined her head fractionally. She was so aloof. Not a trace of bereavement or even regret. Damon wondered what sort of female could lose a spouse and not feel anything. Instinct told him, whatever she concealed with that cool expression, it wasn’t a broken heart.

      ‘Alkis always chose the best,’ Manolis boomed. ‘Those diamonds are of the finest quality.’

      ‘Really?’ Damon leaned forward as if to get a better look. ‘They’re quite unusual.’ If it was unusual to expend a fortune on something so gaudy. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything to match them.’

      ‘They were made to order. Callista, give our guest a closer look. No need to stand on ceremony, girl.’

      ‘Uncle, I’m sure he doesn’t really want to see—’

      ‘On the contrary,’ Damon cut across her. ‘I’d very much like to see them up close.’ If the Manolis clan was vulgar enough to flaunt its apparent wealth, he was happy to take advantage of the fact.

      He watched a swift unreadable glance pass between Callista and her silent cousin. Then she rose and walked round the table towards him.

      Her exquisite body shimmered seductively and his groin tightened. Lamplight caught thousands of tiny silver beads on her dress. Each step accentuated her lithe lines and sultry curves in a shifting play of light. His muscles tensed with the effort of sitting still and not reaching out to touch. To claim her as, even now, he hungered to do.

      When she stood before him he caught a waft of scent that he knew retailed for an exorbitant price. He’d bought some as a parting gift for his last mistress.

      He got up, annoyance flaring as he realised he preferred the fresh, natural fragrance of her bare skin this afternoon. The artificial scent masked that.

      Yet it served to remind him the woman he’d met earlier, the woman he’d been drawn to, was a fake.

      Callista stood, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, making the stones flash and glitter. To his mind she’d look better without them. Just bare golden skin to match the dark-honey hair piled up in a chic style behind her head.

      Damon reached for one drop earring. She trembled and the stones scintillated. The fine hairs on her arms stood up, signalling her awareness of him. It couldn’t be a chill on a night so warm. Damon’s body stirred, attuned to her tension.

      He enjoyed the knowledge that she wasn’t as calm in his presence as she appeared.

      ‘Remarkable,’ he murmured, stepping in so his body almost touched hers, as if to view the heavy pendant. Instead his eyes traced her décolletage. His palms itched as he remembered the bounty of her breasts in his hands.

      ‘They are, aren’t they?’ Manolis’ voice had a self-congratulatory ring. ‘Alkis always got his money’s worth.’

      ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Damon stared into her sea-green gaze, close enough now for him to note again the gold flecks that had dazzled him earlier.

      What had her price been?

      He’d realised now, remembered the story. A pity he hadn’t made the connection earlier today. His enquiries about the Manolis family had revealed only a daughter, no scandalous niece.

      This was the woman who at nineteen had been the talk of Athens when she married a rich Greek-American more than old enough to be her father. She’d cashed in her youth and good looks for his wealthy lifestyle and prestigious name, selling herself as a trophy wife.

      Damon had been in the Pacific at the time, finalising work on a luxury marina complex. On his return everyone had talked of the match. Now he knew why. Callista was stunning, one of the loveliest women he’d met.

      His lips twisted wryly. Like her name, Callista was most beautiful. But that gorgeous body hid a strong mercenary streak. A heartlessness that had enabled her to sell herself for a life of pampered luxury.

      Deliberately he turned away, catching the startled gaze of the other woman present. ‘But sometimes it’s not fabulous jewels that are most alluring,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Sometimes a more natural style is the most attractive.’

      He caught the sound of a hastily stifled gasp beside him. Callista would be used to holding centre stage at the expense of her quiet cousin. She must have read the insult in his words.

      ‘You’re right, Damon. Absolutely right.’ Manolis boomed in that over-hearty voice as Callista resumed her seat on the other side of the table, her face expressionless. ‘Sometimes true beauty is more subtle.’

      Subtlety wasn’t a trait Damon’s host possessed. There was no mistaking his eagerness as he extolled his daughter’s virtues, as if she were a thoroughbred in an auction ring. Nor could Damon miss the younger girl’s embarrassment as her father’s bluff encomiums continued so long.

      Damon’s eyes narrowed as