Blackmailed Into The Greek Tycoon's Bed. Carol Marinelli

careful in all the acquisitions I make. This is all rather worrying; my buyer is normally meticulous with his background checks.’ He stood up and headed over to a filing cabinet, chatting politely, but all the while twisting the knife. ‘You reported the theft of the rose to the police, I assume?’

       Bastard!

      The word boiled inside her. Sitting up in the chair, she lifted her head, her chin set in defiance; she refused to let him see her shame.

      He handed her a sheet of paper, but Karin didn’t take it. She didn’t even look at it; she knew exactly what was written there. ‘Is that your signature?’

      ‘I thought I was signing just for the painting,’ Karin attempted, but she knew it was hopeless. What would he care that Matthew had duped her? Why sit and shame herself further by admitting that she was trying to run a stately home on an assistant’s wage, and that they’d agreed to sell the painting to pay for Emily’s school feels because there was no money left?

      ‘So it wasn’t, as you earlier said, stolen?’ Xante persisted.

      ‘Clearly not.’

      ‘So it is mine?’

      She ground her teeth together. It wasn’t his; technically, legally, it was his, but still she couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

      ‘It is mine, Karin,’ he answered when she didn’t. ‘You sold it, and just because you’ve suddenly changed your mind, just because you’re a spoilt little rich girl used to taking whatever she wants and getting her own way, it doesn’t alter the fact that the rose now belongs to me. Had you chosen to discuss this rationally, then maybe we could have come to some agreement.’

      Xante stared at the rose on his desk, and wondered what had possessed her to part with it in the first place. He couldn’t believe the beautiful, elegant woman that had walked into his hotel less than an hour ago had so easily fooled him.

      ‘I made a mistake today.’ Her voice was as clear as a bell now. Karin was frantically trying to regain control, to salvage what she could from this appalling situation, but she refused to bow to tears. She was sitting straight in the chair, her hands neatly in her lap, staring back at him as if she were the one conducting the interview. ‘The rose means a lot to the Wallis family; there is a lot of history behind it. I don’t expect you understand.’

      ‘Why?’ A small coil of black smoke seemed to be rising inside him. Any sympathy that had doused his anger evaporated, as so coolly she stared back at him.

      ‘There’s a lot of tradition.’

      ‘Karin.’ He halted her there and then. ‘Greeks have tradition and history too, but in any culture a thief is a thief.’

      ‘Will you press charges?’

      ‘I am not going to waste the police’s time again.’

      ‘What about the rose?’ Karin asked, but Xante just smiled.

      ‘Ah, that’s right, you have a function next Saturday.’ He appeared to think about it, his shrewd eyes narrowing for a moment, and then he merely shrugged. ‘I will make a deal with you. You give me your number, and if it goes back on the market you’ll be the first to know.’

      It was pointless, because she couldn’t afford it anyway, but rather than admit that she duly wrote her number down.

      ‘Well, thank you.’ She couldn’t believe she was getting away so lightly, but even as she made to stand she soon realised her mistake.

      ‘I haven’t finished yet, Karin.’

      ‘I don’t see that there’s anything else to discuss…’

      ‘Oh, but there is.’ There were several women waiting for Xante’s summons, all vying for their place on his arm tonight—but Xante suddenly felt it appropriate that he arrive tonight with Henry Wallis’s granddaughter on his arm. He told himself it had nothing to do with the instant flare of approval he had seen in the England captain’s eyes when he had realised who Karin was.

      ‘There is a formal dinner here tonight in aid of charity.’ He watched a frown deepen between her brows—a rare pleasure to observe these days compared to the botoxed dates that usually graced his arms. ‘Given I have just implied to everyone that you are my mistress, there is no other way.’

      ‘You want me to go to dinner with you?’

      ‘No,’ Xante corrected. ‘There was someone I wanted to take to dinner tonight, but due to the circumstances, unfortunately, it now has to be you.’

      ‘But why would you take me? I tried to steal…’

      ‘You would have to be extremely stupid to try again. Anyway, you have left me with no choice. There is no question of my going alone and, thanks to your performance downstairs, it is now assumed we are an item.’

      ‘And it’s just dinner?’ Karin checked.

      ‘In a moment you will no doubt go to tidy yourself…’ Xante mocked her with a black laugh. ‘And, when you do, please consider my vantage point when you posed that question. I can assure you, dinner will more than suffice!’

      ‘I’ll go home and get ready.’

      He halted her as she stood. ‘Forgive me if I appear mistrusting, but you will get ready here, I think.’

      ‘I didn’t exactly come dressed for a five-star ball!’

      ‘There is a beauty salon downstairs; I will have some clothes sent over from a boutique.’ He gave a thin smile at her raised eyebrows. Clearly, she thought, this man was used to grooming women. ‘I will take you to my suite.’ He must have seen her tense, because he answered her unspoken thoughts straight away. ‘I will shower and change in here. I will come for you at seven.’

      As easy as that, he sorted it. He took her along the corridor, and she entered a vast, luxury suite. One of the perks of living in a five star hotel, Karin realised, was that one was always ready for unexpected guests. Her heels sank into the thick carpet, her eyes taking in the gleaming furnishings. Karin was used to being surrounded by nice things, and shouldn’t really have been so overwhelmed, but it only highlighted what her home was lacking. These things were tended to and lovingly polished; the thick, heavy drapes no doubt didn’t shoot a layer of dust when drawn, like the ones at home.

      ‘I’ll ring the boutique; they will send someone over. If you don’t mind organising your appointment at the salon?’

      ‘Will I get a booking?’ Karin glanced at her watch. Four p.m. on a Friday afternoon wasn’t exactly the ideal time to book in for a complete overhaul.

      ‘You are ringing from my room,” Xante said. ‘Nothing will be too much trouble.’

      And then he left.

      Karin half-expected a puff of smoke to linger in his absence. If only she had three wishes!

      Well, not spending the night in jail might count as one, Karin conceded as she rang down to the salon and was told that someone would be with her within the hour.

      The boutique was just as rapid to cooperate, despatching a choice selection of clothes, along with an assistant. Karin declined the assistant’s help, and tried on the dresses in the privacy of the spacious bathroom, selecting a heavy, blush-coloured velvet that fitted like a glove. When Karin’s hair had been blasted into submission, her face, hands and feet all painted and pretty, she accepted that, given how frugally she’d tried to live these past couple of years, she’d just maybe unwittingly got her second wish.

      The beautician held up her gown. She was now coiffed and made up; time was moving on. ‘Let me help you into your dress.’

      ‘I can manage from here, thank you,’ Karin said primly.

      ‘But the zip…’

      ‘I’ll be fine.’ Karin’s