Greek Mavericks: Winning The Enigmatic Greek. Tara Pammi

members of the family. Because there was a lot of money sloshing around the Kavakos empire and he knew how women acted around money. An early lesson in feminine greed had changed his life for ever and that was why he never took his eye off the ball. His attitude meant that some people considered him controlling, but Ariston preferred to think of himself as a guiding influence—like a captain steering a ship. And in a way, life was like being at sea. You steered clear of icebergs for obvious reasons and women were like icebergs. You only ever saw ten per cent of what they were really like—the rest was buried deep beneath the self-serving and grasping surface.

      His eyes didn’t leave the blonde as he walked towards them, knowing that if she was going to be a problem in his brother’s life he would deal with it—and quickly. His lips curved into the briefest of smiles. He would have her dispatched before she even realised what was happening.

      ‘Why, Pavlos,’ Ariston said softly as he reached them and he noticed that the woman had instantly grown tense. ‘This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you here so soon after the opening night. Have you developed a late-onset love of photography or are you just homesick for the island on which you were born?’

      Pavlos didn’t look too happy to be interrupted—but Ariston didn’t care. Right then he couldn’t think about anything except what was happening inside him. Because, infuriatingly, he seemed to have developed no immunity against the green-eyed temptress he’d last seen when she was eighteen, when she’d thrown herself at him with a hunger which had blown his mind. Her submission had been instant and would have been total if he hadn’t put a stop to it. Displaying the sexist double standards for which he had occasionally been accused, he had despised her availability at the same time as he’d been bewitched by it. It had taken all his legendary self-control to push her away and to adjust his clothing but he had done it, though it had left him hard and aching for what had seemed like months afterwards. His mouth tightened because she was nothing but a tramp. A cheap and grasping little tramp. Like mother, like daughter, he thought grimly—and the last type of woman he wanted his brother getting mixed up with.

      ‘Oh, hi, Ariston,’ said Pavlos with the easy manner which made most people surprised when they learned they were brothers. ‘That’s right, here I am again. I decided to pay a second visit and meet up with an old friend at the same time. You remember Keeley, don’t you?’

      There was a moment of silence while a pair of bright green eyes were lifted to his and Ariston felt the loud hammer of his heart.

      ‘Of course I remember Keeley,’ he said roughly, aware of the irony of his words. Because for him most women were forgettable and nothing more than a means to an end. Oh, sometimes he might recall a pair of spectacular breasts or a pert bottom—or if a woman was especially talented with her lips or hands, she might occasionally merit a nostalgic smile. But Keeley Turner had been in a class of her own and he’d never been able to shift her from the corners of his mind. Because she’d been off-limits and forbidden? Or because she had given him a taste of unbelievable sweetness before he’d forced himself to reject her? Ariston didn’t know. It was as inexplicable as it was powerful and he found himself studying her with the same intensity as the nearby people peering at the photos which adorned the gallery walls.

      Petite yet impossibly curvy, her thick hair hung down her back in a curtain of pale and rippling waves. Her jeans were ordinary and her thin sweater unremarkable yet somehow that didn’t seem to matter. With a body like hers she could have worn a piece of sackcloth and still looked like dynamite. The cheap, man-made fabric strained over the lushness of her breasts and the blue denim caressed the curves of her bottom. Her mouth was bare of lipstick and her eyes wore only a lick of mascara as they studied him warily. Hers was not a modern look—yet there was something about Keeley Turner... An indefinable something which touched a sensual core deep inside him and made him want to peel her clothes from her body and ride her until she was screaming his name. But he wanted her gone more than he wanted to bed her—and maybe he should set about accomplishing that right now.

      Deliberately excluding her from the conversation, Ariston turned to his brother and summoned up a bland smile. ‘I wasn’t aware you two were friends.’

      ‘We haven’t actually seen each other for years,’ said Pavlos. ‘Not since that holiday.’

      ‘I suspect that holiday is an event which none of us particularly care to revisit,’ said Ariston smoothly, enjoying the sudden rush of colour which had made her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. ‘Yet you’ve stayed in touch with each other all this time?’

      ‘We’re friends on social media,’ Pavlos elaborated, with a shrug. ‘You know how it is.’

      ‘Actually, I don’t. You know my views on social media and none of them are positive.’ Ariston made no attempt to hide his frosty disapproval. ‘I need to talk to you, Pavlos. Alone,’ he added.

      Pavlos frowned. ‘When?’

      ‘Now.’

      ‘But I’ve only just met up with Keeley. Can’t it wait?’

      ‘I’m afraid it can’t.’ He saw Pavlos shoot her an apologetic glance as if to apologise for his brother’s bullish behaviour but social niceties didn’t bother him. He’d worked hard for most of his life to ensure that Pavlos was kept away from the kind of scandals which had once engulfed their family. He’d been determined he wouldn’t go the same sorry way as their father. He’d made sure that he’d attended a good boarding school in England and a university in Switzerland, and he had carefully influenced his choice of friends—and girlfriends. And this pretty little tramp in her cheap dress and come-to-bed eyes was about to learn that his baby brother was strictly off-limits. ‘It’s business,’ he added firmly.

      ‘Not more trouble in the Gulf?’

      ‘Something like that,’ Ariston agreed, irritated at his brother’s attitude and wondering why he’d forgotten you didn’t talk family business in front of strangers. ‘We can use one of the offices here at the gallery—they’re very accommodating,’ he added smoothly. ‘The owner is a friend of mine.’

      ‘But Keeley—’

      ‘Oh, don’t worry about Keeley. I’m sure she has the imagination to take care of herself. There’s plenty for her to look at.’ Ariston turned to give her a hard version of a smile, noticing that her knuckles had suddenly whitened as she clutched her thin shawl. For the first time he spoke directly to her, dropping his voice to a silken murmur which his business rivals would have recognised as being a tone you didn’t mess with. ‘And plenty of men hanging around who would be all too happy to take my brother’s place. In fact, I can see a couple watching you right now. I’m sure you could have a lot of fun with them, Keeley. You really mustn’t let us keep you any longer.’

      Keeley felt her face freeze as Ariston spoke to her, wishing she could come up with a suitably crushing response to throw at the powerful Greek who was looking at her as if she was a stain on the pale floorboards and talking to her as if she was some kind of hooker. But the truth was that she didn’t trust herself to speak—afraid that her words would come out as meaningless babble. Because that was the effect he had on her. The effect he had on all women. Even when he was talking to them—or should she say at them?—with utter contempt in his eyes, he could reduce them to a level of longing which wasn’t like the stuff you felt around most men. He could make you have fantasies about him, even though he exuded nothing but darkness.

      She’d seen the way her own mother had looked at him. She could see the other women in the gallery watching him now—their gazes hungry but wary—as if they were observing a different type of species and weren’t sure how to handle him. As if they realised they should stay well away but were itching to touch him all the same. And she could hardly judge them for that, could she? Because hadn’t she flung herself at him? Pressed her body hard against his and longed for him to take away the aching deep inside her. Behaved like a cheap little fool by misinterpreting a simple gesture on his part and managing to make a bad situation even worse.

      The last time she’d seen him her life had pretty much imploded and eight years later she was still