The Savakis Mistress. Annie West

explain my trust fund.’

      Aristides’ fingers tightened on the paper knife with barely repressed violence. His gaze slid away. ‘Things were so difficult with the company; I had to find a way to keep it afloat. A temporary measure to tide us over.’

      A burning knot of emotion lodged in Callie’s throat, choking her, making it difficult to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, hearing only her desperately thudding pulse.

      How many times would this man betray her?

      Why had she naïvely believed that finally, for the first time in her life, things would work out right?

      Greed and betrayal. Those were the constant themes in her adult life. You’d think she’d have learned to expect them by now. Yet the shock and hurt, the disbelief, were as overwhelming now as they’d been each time she’d been victim of a man’s duplicity.

      Wearily she opened her eyes and gazed at the mottled face of her dead father’s brother. The one man who, above all, she should have been able to trust.

      ‘You stole my inheritance,’ she whispered.

      ‘Callista Manolis! Recall your place! Now that your husband is dead I’m the head of your family.’

      ‘I know who you are.’ She thrust aside the panic, the distress, the sheer pain of this ultimate betrayal. ‘And what you are.’ His eyes bulged but he said nothing. ‘I thought you’d have more pride than to steal from your own family.’

      His fist smashed down on the desk but Callie didn’t even blink. ‘It wasn’t stealing. It was a temporary redistribution of funds. You wouldn’t understand—’

      ‘I understand you’re a thief,’ she said, holding his gaze till he looked away. ‘As my trustee you were supposed to behave legally and ethically.’

      Callie battled rising fury. She was tempted to report him to the authorities, now, tonight. To see just one of the men who’d used her for their own purposes brought to book.

      But the thought of her cousin and her dear aunt stopped her. Justice would hurt them and it wouldn’t get her inheritance back.

      ‘The money will be available soon.’ His voice was as close to pleading as she’d ever heard it. ‘With interest. When this deal goes through.’

      ‘You’re expecting Damon Savakis to bail you out of strife?’ Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘His reputation is formidable— as a winner, not for compassion to rivals. He has no interest in helping you.’

      ‘But we won’t be rivals.’ Aristides leaned forward, his plump hands splayed on the polished wood. ‘If my plans go as I expect, Damon Savakis will be more than a business associate. He’ll be a member of the family.’

      * * *

      The sound of voices at the poolside stopped Callie in her tracks. Her cousin Angela and Damon Savakis. No other man could unsettle Callie with the low rumble of his laughter. His deep tones made something shiver into life in the pit of her stomach.

      Only yesterday, with her face pressed to his broad chest, she’d felt his lazy amusement bubble up and emerge as a deep chocolate caress of sound. Through a haze of sensual satiation it had made her feel vibrantly alive.

      Her fingers clenched as desire pulsed again.

      She was a fool. He’d used her for cheap amusement in the most calculating way. She’d taken him at face value, believing he, like she, had been blown away by an attraction too strong to be denied.

      She suspected with Damon Savakis nothing would ever be simple.

      His behaviour last night punctured that foolish daydream. He’d found her amusing. Her confusion and distress had added spice to the evening. How piquant, having his lover and soon-to-be-fiancée together.

      She knew his reputation for meticulous attention to detail. Impossible that he hadn’t known who she was on the beach. Members of the Manolis family would have been basic research.

      But he’d kept his identity a secret, enjoying the joke on her. Seducing the woman dubbed the Snow Queen must have been diverting to an appetite jaded by over-eager women. Watching her squirm last night had been a bonus to a man who revelled in power.

      The sort of man she detested.

      She straightened her shoulders.

      ‘Good morning, Angela. Kyrie Savakis.’ She bestowed a brief smile as she approached the table where she and Angela often shared a meal. No chance now of a private chat. They’d missed their opportunity last night when Uncle Aristides called her to him. Afterwards Callie hadn’t found Angela. She hated to think of her alone and distressed.

      ‘Sorry I’m late. I didn’t realise we had a guest.’

      ‘Kyrios Savakis is staying with us for a few days,’ Angela said quietly, sending a shiver of apprehension down Callie’s spine.

      A few days! This got worse and worse.

      ‘He arrived for breakfast.’ Angela sounded calm and relaxed, a perfect hostess. Only someone who knew her well would realise her discomfort, her fingers busy pleating the linen tablecloth, her body a fraction too poised.

      Callie’s heart stalled as guilt smote her. She hadn’t thought of her poor, shy cousin acting as hostess alone. She’d slept late after a night grappling with what her uncle had conceded about their bleak financial situation. Reliving the horror of discovering Damon’s identity and true character.

      ‘Your uncle kindly invited me to sample more of your hospitality,’ a deep voice murmured from across the table.

      Did she imagine a wry emphasis on the last two words? As if he referred to a service she might personally provide?

      He couldn’t be so crass. Could he?

      Slowly Callie turned to face him, ignoring the escalating thud of her pulse.

      He looked disgustingly self-satisfied. Like a man whose appetites had been sated. Callie was horrified at the drift of her thoughts. She forced a smile to her lips, hiding her shudder of reaction as she drank in the sight of him.

      Despite her anger, he looked good enough to eat.

      If you had a taste for danger.

      He wore a white shirt open at the throat, designer jeans and an expression that proclaimed him utterly at home as he leaned back in his seat.

      ‘I was about to show Kyrie Savakis the guest bungalow,’ Angela explained.

      The guest bungalow? Thank heaven. At least they wouldn’t share a house.

      ‘Please, call me Damon. Kyrie Savakis makes me feel like I belong to your father’s generation. There’s no need for formality.’

      But there is, Callie thought, sliding a glance at Angela.

      Even after a night coming to grips with her uncle’s outrageous plot, Callie couldn’t suppress horror at how history repeated itself so appallingly. Her skin crawled. It was a nightmare that he’d use such a scheme a second time.

      ‘Thank you, Damon. Please call me Angela.’

      ‘Angela.’ He bestowed a brief smile then turned to spear Callie with his dark, questioning gaze.

      ‘Technically speaking, you do belong to another generation.’ Callie said before he could speak to her. ‘You’re in your late thirties, aren’t you? Angela is just eighteen.’

      Dark brows inched together, then his lips quirked in what looked suspiciously like humour rather than annoyance. ‘I’m thirty-four, since you’re wondering,’ he murmured.

      ‘Really? So—er—young?’ Callie arched her brows as if in surprise. She knew when he was born. She’d looked him up on the net last night. He was too old for Angela. As well as the years between them, there was a gulf of experience and expectation