The Greek's Pleasurable Revenge. Andie Brock

      ‘In that case let me reassure you that nothing will happen between us unless you want it to.’

      Was that true? It should be. His well-rehearsed plan had always been to trick her into wanting him, just the way she had him. But if she carried on looking at him the way she was now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hang on to his control.

      He studied her from beneath lowered lashes, lazily, slowing himself down. Unless he was very much mistaken there was something else in that fiery look of hers. For all her prim deportment, her expression of outrage, her feisty comebacks, something simmered beneath the surface. Something that looked remarkably like sexual arousal. Yes. He would have her screaming his name with pleasure before the day was through. And then revenge would be his.

      Swinging his leg over the bike, he turned the key in the ignition, gripping the handlebars and feeling the mechanical vibrations rumble through him.

      ‘I’d hang on if I were you.’ Speaking over his shoulder he twisted the throttle and the engine roared in reply. ‘Let’s let this old girl off the leash and see what she can do.’

      And with a sudden jolt and a screech they were off.

      * * *

      Calista had no choice but to wrap her arms around Lukas’s waist as they sped away from the cemetery, leaving its occupants in blissful peace as Lukas navigated the bike onto the coastal road that wound its way round the island. She leant her body into his, the wind whipping her hair back from her face, drying the breath in her throat as she clung on for dear life.

      He was driving deliberately fast, she knew that, trying to frighten her, make her squeal. Well, she wasn’t nine years old any more, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of behaving as if she was. In fact as soon as they got to the villa she would show him that she didn’t intend to take any more of his bullying ways.

      The stunning Greek scenery flashed past, the dramatic coastline with its towering cliffs and secluded coves stretching before them. Screwing up her eyes against the glare of the sun sparkling on the sea, Calista knew it wasn’t fear she was feeling anyway. It was exhilaration. She felt alive, invigorated, realising how good it was to be back on Thalassa. More than that, realising how much she had missed it.

      She adjusted her position slightly and felt Lukas’s body respond, the broad width of his back heating against the crush of her breasts, the muscles of his waist shifting beneath the grip of her hands. A dangerous shudder of pleasure went through her. The island wasn’t the only thing she had missed. And she was going to have to be very careful about that.

      The twisty road took them past the turning for Villa Melina, her family villa, and continued east across the top of the island in the direction of Villa Helene—home to Lukas and his father, Stavros, now deceased.

      It was a road Calista knew well—probably a distance of six miles or so. She had cycled it many times as a child, frequently seeking out the company of Lukas and his kindly father in preference to her own curmudgeonly father and boring half-brothers, with whom she’d had absolutely nothing in common. But she’d never paid much attention to the names of the two villas before—Melina, the name of Aristotle’s first wife and Helene, Lukas’s mother. She hadn’t known either woman, but it was obvious now she thought about it that the villas had been named after them.

      What she hadn’t known—what no one had known by the look of it—was that Thalassa had actually belonged to them. No one except Lukas, of course, who had used that information to buy the entire island—presumably as a way of getting back at her family. She had no idea what had happened to the Lukas she had once known. What had become of him…

      Turning off the coastal road, Lukas bumped the bike up the dirt track that lead to Villa Helene and pulled up in front of the entrance in a spray of dry dust.

      Quickly dismounting, he held out his hand to her, but there was nothing gentlemanly about the gesture. It was done with an aggressively urgent air. Shepherding her before him, he unlocked the front door—an action that surprised Calista in itself. No one bothered to lock their doors on the island of Thalassa.

      Inside, the villa was just as she remembered it. Even the smell was familiar—somehow both comforting and unsettling. She followed Lukas down the cool hallway until they reached the large living room that ran the entire width of the villa. It was still and dark in there, until Lukas strode over to the bi-fold doors, unlocked them and pushed them wide open, undoing the shutters so that the light streamed in.

      Calista blinked. The stunning panoramic view of the Aegean Sea appeared before them, but Calista’s focus was solely on the room she now saw so clearly. Or, more specifically, on the sofa in the room. The one she had so recklessly fallen onto with Lukas that evening, in a tangle of fervid, scorching, pumping desire. The one where Effie had been conceived.

      ‘Drink?’ Lukas grabbed a couple of glasses from the sideboard and reached for a decanter of whisky.

      ‘No, thank you.’ Calista dragged her burning eyes away from the scene of their complete madness.

      ‘Mind if I do?’ Pouring himself a generous slug, he knocked it back in one gulp, then poured another.

      Clearly he wasn’t waiting for her consent.

      Averting her eyes from the sheer brutal beauty of him, Calista quickly scanned the rest of the familiar room; the white walls displaying colourful local artwork, the rustic wooden furniture and the travertine marble flooring. She had always loved this villa. More so than her own family’s, in fact, which Aristotle had massively extended over the years as a succession of different women had needed to be impressed and the urge to display his wealth had become ever more important.

      Villa Helene was more modest, more traditionally Greek, with towering walls affording much needed shade and the exterior woodwork painted that particular Mediterranean blue. Not that it lacked any modern comforts, with its large stainless steel kitchen, a beautiful infinity pool that glistened invitingly through the open doors, five bedrooms, a gymnasium and a library. There was even a helipad where, out of the corner of her eye, Calista had noticed a gleaming helicopter, heating up in the sun as they had walked in. So that was how he had got here…

      ‘So, what is this unfinished business?’ She decided to take the lead rather than wait for Lukas like a fly in his web. She watched as he set down his glass, swallowing hard as he started towards where she stood in the middle of the room. ‘What is it you want to talk about?’

      ‘The talking can wait.’ He stopped before her, towering over her as he gazed down her flushed face. ‘Right now I am more interested in action.’

      With no warning he reached forward, sliding a hand around the back of her neck, lifting the weight of her hair for a second, before dropping it so that it rippled down her back. ‘Right now I want you to kiss me the way you kissed me the last time we were here, agapi mou. Do you remember?’

      Calista felt herself sway. His hand was branding the back of her neck…his hot, whisky-tinged breath was shooting sharp waves of longing throughout her body. Of course she remembered. She remembered every minuscule, heart-stopping, life-changing detail. She had been living it for the past five years.

      It had been her eighteenth birthday party—a gloriously warm June evening. Calista had finished her exams and finally left the boarding school that she had disliked so much, and she’d been intending to soak up a few weeks of Greek sunshine before returning to the UK to start university.

      She had been looking forward to the party—not so much to the actual event, the guest list for which had mostly comprised her father’s business cronies and their families, rather than her friends, although that had partly been her decision. Aristotle had told her to invite as many people as she wanted, offering to pay for their flights from the UK and to put them up at the villa, ‘So they can see the sort of wealth you come from.’ But she hadn’t had that many friends—she’d always been the outsider at school, a motherless red-haired creature with a Greek name—and she hadn’t intended to scare off the couple