The Greek's Convenient Wife. Melanie Milburne

the floor of her stomach as she went to answer it, her instincts warning her off opening the door.

      The tall, intimidating figure of Demetrius Papasakis stood framed in the doorway, his brown, almost black, eyes glittering as they insolently raked her from head to foot.

      Shock rendered her momentarily speechless. How had he known where she lived? And, more to the point, what did he know about her brother’s activities the night before?

      ‘Miss Jones, I presume?’

      ‘Th…that’s correct.’ It annoyed her immensely that her voice had sounded distinctly husky. ‘How can I help you?’

      ‘I’d like to speak with your brother.’

      Her eyes flickered briefly away from the dark intensity of his.

      ‘He’s not here right now.’

      ‘Where is he?’ The three words were as sharp as daggers, accusing almost.

      ‘I don’t actually know.’ She reassured herself that it was the truth; she had no idea what part of the continent Kyle was currently flying over.

      ‘Don’t play games with me, Miss Jones,’ he warned her silkily. ‘I have an issue to discuss with your brother and it would be in his best interests to hear me out.’

      ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you.’

      She began to close the door in his face but before she could get any weight behind it, he reached out a lean hand and the door slammed back against the wall with a resounding thwack.

      She shrank back, her hand going shakily to her throat.

      He stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him with exaggerated care.

      ‘I wouldn’t like your neighbours to overhear what I have to say,’ he said.

      ‘I’d like you to leave.’ She stepped back another step. ‘Right now.’

      ‘Before or after I call the police?’ He unhooked his mobile phone from the waistband of his trousers.

      She swallowed the constriction in her throat as his lean brown fingers began typing in some numbers.

      ‘What’s it to be, Miss Jones?’ His forefinger paused over the last digit.

      Maddison bit her lip.

      ‘I have your brother’s probation officer’s telephone number right here,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to speak to him about your brother’s whereabouts last night?’

      ‘He was here, with me,’ she said in a thin voice.

      He lifted a sceptical brow. ‘You expect me to believe that?’

      ‘Believe what you like.’

      ‘You’re playing a dangerous game, Miss Jones. Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.’ He stepped closer to where she was backed up against the wall. ‘I’m not leaving here without information about your brother’s whereabouts.’

      ‘I hope you’ve brought a toothbrush then.’ Her sapphire-blue eyes flashed with fire. ‘I don’t have a spare.’

      His eyes glinted with reluctant amusement at her show of spirit.

      ‘Are you offering me your bed?’

      ‘Not a chance,’ she returned primly. ‘You’re not my type.’

      He leant one hand on one side of her head and surveyed her up-tilted face in a leisurely manner.

      Maddison sucked in a sharp little breath when his fingers captured a strand of her ash-blonde hair, coiling it repeatedly until she was forced to take a tiny step towards him. She could feel the heat of his body this close, his dark eyes so mesmerising she felt as if he was seeing through to her very soul, laying all her innermost secrets bare. She could pick up a faint trace of his citrus-scented aftershave in the air surrounding them, and her bare leg beneath her skirt felt the unmistakable brush of a hard muscled, very male thigh.

      ‘Now, let’s try it one more time.’ His voice was a silky caress across the sensitised skin of her lips. ‘Where is your brother, Miss Jones?’

      She sent her tongue out to the tombstone-dryness of her lips. She saw his dark eyes follow the movement and the breath in her chest tightened another notch.

      ‘He’s…away,’ she croaked.

      His brows snapped together in a frown. ‘Away?’

      She nodded.

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Interstate.’

      ‘Which state?’

      ‘I can’t tell you.’

      ‘You will tell me, Miss Jones.’ His voice was velvet-covered steel. ‘Even if I have to force it out of you.’

      ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

      ‘Are you not?’ Amusement gleamed in his eyes. ‘Then you should be.’

      ‘Do your worst, Mr Papasakis.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not easily intimidated.’

      ‘Then I shall have to be very creative and think of an effective tool to bring about your capitulation.’ His smile was deliberately sensuous. ‘Now won’t that be fun?’

      She didn’t trust herself to reply. Hatred seethed in her belly until she was sure she’d explode with the effort of keeping it under some semblance of control. She knew enough about him to know he wouldn’t rest until he exacted some sort of revenge, but as long as she had breath she wasn’t going to let him get within a gnat’s eyelash of her brother.

      ‘Nothing to say, Miss Jones?’ he asked after a tight little silence.

      She set her mouth in an intractable line. ‘Get out of my apartment.’

      ‘Say please.’

      ‘Go to hell.’

      ‘Now, now, Miss Jones, that’s not very hospitable of you, is it?’

      ‘If you don’t leave I’ll scream.’

      ‘I just love it when a woman screams,’ he drawled suggestively.

      Maddison’s face suffused with outraged colour. ‘You’re disgusting.’

      ‘And you are aiding and abetting a criminal.’

      ‘My brother is not a criminal,’ she ground out through clenched teeth.

      ‘You’re living in a fool’s paradise, Miss Jones,’ he warned her. ‘He’s already got a record. One more strike and he’s out—or should I say inside?’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she hedged, her cheeks instantly heating.

      ‘Perhaps you will when I tell you I have proof of your brother’s lawbreaking tendencies.’

      She gave him a nervous glance, uncertain whether he was calling her bluff or not.

      ‘What sort of proof?’

      ‘The sort of proof which will convict him.’

      ‘I don’t believe you.’

      ‘He was seen on my boat last night,’ he said.

      ‘So?’

      He gave her a hard look. ‘My boat is now at the bottom of Parsley Bay.’

      ‘I hardly see that someone stepping on to a boat immediately makes them responsible for sinking it,’ she said. ‘Or at least not someone with the small body mass index of my brother.’

      ‘Very funny.’ His eyes challenged hers.

      ‘What about fingerprints?’ she asked. ‘Got any of those?’

      He