Mediterranean Millionaires. Lynne Graham

cried in despair.

      The tension in the atmosphere was electric. At first Hope did not understand its source. There was a warm, heavy feeling low in her tummy, a buzzing vibration of awareness holding her on a dizzy edge. Holding her indeed on the edge of an anticipation that left her mind frighteningly blank.

      ‘And right now…it’s me you want,’ Andreas purred with silken satisfaction, lifting lean brown hands to skim a blunt masculine thumb over the distended buds of her nipples, which were clearly delineated by the thin wrap.

      Hope gasped in helpless response and arched her back. Her entire body felt hot and super sensitive. Recognising her own sexual excitement shook her inside out. ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘In fact you’re begging for it,’ Andreas husked, dropping his hands to her hips and mating his passionate mouth to hers with a bold hunger that in its very intensity was overwhelmingly erotic.

      Fire snaked sinuous seductive forays through her heated flesh. She melted like honey in sunshine, yielding to the plundering thrust of his tongue and the heady intoxication of her own response. In one powerful movement he lifted her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom. As he brought her down on the bed his mouth was still melded to hers with devouring passion.

      Just as swiftly he relinquished his hold on her. Still lost in the fever of her own desire, Hope clung to his shoulders to draw him back to her.

      With cool disdain, Andreas detached her arms from him and straightened to his full commanding height. Proud, dark head high, he stared down at her with icy derision. ‘It’s over. The instant you let Campbell touch you, it was over. I expect my mistress to preserve her affections exclusively for me.’

      Her face drained of colour, Hope thrust herself up into sitting position. ‘I’m not and I never was your mistress!’

      From the doorway, Andreas vented a sardonic laugh that scored her tender skin like a whiplash. ‘Of course you were. What else could you have been to me?’

      Hurt far beyond his imagining, Hope blanked him out and stared into space. She could no longer bear to see him. She listened to his steps recede down the corridor, the distant slam of the front door echoing through the apartment. It was over and he was gone and without apparent regret. He could never have cared a button for her, she thought in an agony of mortified pain.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      FRANTIC to conceal the fact that she had been crying, Hope utilised some eye shadow to draw attention away from her reddened lids. ‘Smile…’ she instructed her flushed and unhappy reflection and she practised curving her mouth up instead of down at the corners.

      It was seven weeks since she had moved into Vanessa’s spare room. Her friend had been marvellous in every way but Hope knew that misery made other people uncomfortable. Vanessa had told her that the end of a relationship was the perfect excuse for a week of tears and laments, but that after that point it was time to move on. Ever since that week had ended Hope had been pretending that she was well over Andreas and miles down the road to recovery.

      Unhappily, however, she was finding that maintaining that pretence was the most enormous strain. She assumed that stress had caused the further bouts of nausea she had suffered. Mercifully that sickness had petered out the previous month and, apart from a rather embarrassing craving for olives at certain times, she was fine. If she had a problem, it was with her state of mind. For so long Andreas had been the centre of her universe. Now every day stretched in front of her like a wasteland. Determined to keep up her spirits, she had concentrated on developing a new and much improved business plan. She had visited various financial institutions and was doing her utmost to win a business loan. So far, admittedly, she had not been lucky, but she kept on telling herself that success lay just round the next corner. In the meantime, to meet her bills, she was working in a shop and selling bags at occasional craft fairs.

      ‘Are you sure you don’t want any lunch?’ Vanessa called from the kitchen.

      Hope emerged from her room. ‘No, I grabbed something earlier,’ she fibbed because her friend had begun to nag her about how little she was eating.

      Vanessa, who ate like a horse and never put on an ounce, strolled into the ultra-modern lounge. In one hand she held a sandwich the size of a doorstep. ‘So, how did you get on with that bank this morning?’

      Hope almost winced. ‘The guy said he’d be in touch but I don’t think I’ll be holding my breath.’

      ‘Let Ben back your business,’ Vanessa urged impatiently. ‘Your funky handbags are a much better risk than the racehorses he keeps on buying!’

      Hope smiled to show that she was appropriately grateful for Ben’s offer of financial assistance. However, her smile was a little tense round the edges, for if being dumped by Andreas had taught her anything it was that caution and common sense should be heeded. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

      ‘Why not? Five different banks have turned down your loan application,’ the redhead reminded her baldly. ‘Ben’s got money to burn and he’s eager to help. In your position I wouldn’t think twice about it.’

      ‘Ben’s your cousin. You see him from a slightly different perspective,’ Hope murmured gently.

      Hope felt that she had learnt the hard way that there was no such thing as a free lunch. She had lived rent-free in Andreas’s enormous apartment and that had come back to haunt her. Instead of maintaining total independence, she had allowed herself to be seduced by the concept of pleasing Andreas and had become, in his eyes at least, a ‘kept’ woman. As a result, Andreas had found it impossible to see her as an equal. Instead he had regarded her as his mistress: an object and a possession rather than a lover whom he respected. Hope now felt that she understood how rich men looked on less financially successful women. At the same time, she was beginning to value Ben’s friendship and did not want to muddy the waters by borrowing money from him.

      Vanessa grinned. ‘Of course. Ben treats me like a mate but he definitely has the hots for you. I think it’s great that he’s finally getting tired of the party girls and wakening up to the idea of a real woman.’

      ‘I don’t think Ben feels that way about me.’ Hope was emanating embarrassment in visible waves. ‘He likes me and, although he shouldn’t, he feels a little guilty that Andreas made wrong assumptions about how well we knew each other.’

      ‘Nah…’ Vanessa elevated a mocking brow in disagreement. ‘Ben’s not that nice. He gets a kick out of having rattled Andreas’s cage. We both think Andreas has acted like a callous bastard. But Ben also genuinely wants a chance with you—’

      ‘Even if that’s true, and I don’t think it is…Ben loves to tease people. Well, I’m not in the notion of anything else right now anyway,’ Hope fielded awkwardly.

      Vanessa fixed exasperated brown eyes on her. ‘Ben won’t be interested for ever. Andreas isn’t coming back, Hope. He’s history.’

      Hope’s creamy skin was pale as milk. ‘I know that—’

      ‘I don’t think you do. Have you any idea how worried I’ve been about you? Instead of living in your little world, you should be facing some hard facts—’

      ‘I think I’ve faced quite a few of those in recent times,’ Hope slotted in ruefully, wishing the other woman would just stand back and give her the time to heal.

      ‘But let’s recap,’ the other woman said with determination. ‘Andreas accused you of sleeping with Ben and he wasn’t interested in letting you defend yourself—’

      ‘He believed his sister,’ Hope countered tightly. ‘I can be very hurt about that but I can’t hate him for trusting his own flesh and blood.’

      ‘I reckon Andreas was ready for a change and his sister’s lies gave him a fast and easy