Greek Affairs in his Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger\Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s Bed\Bedded by the Greek Billionaire (20 page)

Here on the dimly lit dance floor he held her loosely, feeling her slender, fragile form, his hands low and loose on her waist. He was in no rush. Xante knew exactly what he was doing.

Karin didn’t!

All night his eyes had spoken of want, and there had been a raw sexuality to him, this licentious edge that no amount of wealth or trappings could smooth. It had unnerved Karin. Oh, Xante had behaved like the perfect gentleman, and to her surprise he was still doing so now. To her disappointment, perhaps? There was no
hint of suggestion in the way he held her; he might as well have been doing a duty-dance with an aunt.

‘It shouldn’t go on much longer now,’ Xante said politely to the top of her head.

‘Good,’ she said to his chest, yet again there was this surge of disappointment within her that didn’t equate with logic. She didn’t want him to want her, and yet she did.

His hands on her waist were warm, the subtle scent of him stronger now they were closer, when Karin made her third wish. She wished that this evening were true—that she was the woman who could hold Xante’s attention, was the woman that he bedded; that the papers and their rumours were wrong. She knew what the press said about her, knew people thought her frozen and frigid. But beneath that cool surface, that brittle shell, was a woman who yearned to be held and adored, and till now it had proved impossible. Yet here in the darkness, here in his arms, somehow she was able to forget. She felt as if she were dancing on the edge of the sun, that with one false move, one trip, she would fall right in, would dissolve to a delicious nothing.

His hands were just a touch lower now, or maybe she was imagining it. But they seemed to have slipped a delicious fraction, warming her lower back, both little fingers just at the start of the curve of her buttocks. She was supremely aware of her body, only not in the horribly awkward way of before. This was different awareness now; the warmth of his hands spread, this swirl of arousal hung heavy between them. Xante’s establishment was way too elegant for something as tacky as a smoke machine, but it was as close as she could
come to describing the thick cloak of desire that swirled around them, permeating her skin, her hair, even the air she dragged in. Bubbles fizzed in her veins, little fizzes that buzzed into unfamiliar places. Aware suddenly of her breasts, of their weight peaking in the soft dress, her skin prickling with a need for more contact, low in her stomach she felt an unfamiliar pull, like a string bag tightening. Her body responded as any woman’s would, only as Karin’s surely mustn’t.

She could smell his cologne more strongly now, and as his cheek grazed hers Karin could feel the scratch of new growth just beneath his firm jaw. She felt the subtle nuzzle of his lips in her hair, on her cheeks, and the whispers of breath dusting her ear as his mouth slowly moved towards hers; it would actually be a relief were he to kiss her.

Except he didn’t.

Instead he pulled his head back and pinned her with his eyes, told her without a single word
exactly
what he wanted to do, exactly the places he would take her to, if only she might come to his bed. The skin felt raw on her cheeks as it burnt with indecent thoughts, wanting so badly to rest her lips on his, to give in to the subtle pressure of his hands and let their bodies mesh. Except to give in now would mean she must reveal herself later, and the glimpse of disappointment that would surely ensue gave her the strength to hold back, to avert her eyes and loosen his embrace.

He’d almost had her. He’d felt her warm beneath his hands, had seen the naked lust in her eyes, and there had been a rare sense of privilege as he’d witnessed the first
stirs of her thaw. But all too soon it had faded. Before the music had ended, he had felt her distance. The lights blazed on, farewells being given, cheeks being proffered and the magic ending. And for Xante the challenge was set.

And it would be a challenge, Xante thought with relish—a challenge that might take a while—but he had never lost one yet.

‘I will call you a car.’ He watched her rapid blink, knew she was on her guard as she walked swiftly alongside him.

‘Xante.’ The captain called them as they walked through the foyer. ‘Karin … Look, I really
am
sorry about today.’

‘Please, don’t worry about it.’ Karin smiled, remembering, as she always did, her manners. ‘If I am going to dash out of fire exits with jewels when the English rugby team are in residence, then I can expect to be tackled.’

‘Still. I didn’t hurt you?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Well, I’d like to invite you both to the game next Saturday.’

‘Actually …’ There was a slight tinge to Karin’s cheeks as again, unwittingly, the England captain placed her in a rather awkward spot. ‘I’d have loved to—we’d have loved to—but I’m already attending next Saturday’s match. They’re honouring the game’s legends in the pre-match entertainment. I’m to give a speech at the luncheon beforehand.’

‘Then we’ll have to choose another date. Xante, you said you were going to try to be in London for the England versus Scotland Six Nations match in February; would that suit you both better?’

‘We’d be delighted to attend as your guests.’ Xante duly smiled, but again he was rattled. Tonight he had chatted with royalty, had sat shoulder to shoulder with the aristocracy, and now had been invited as a private guest by the England captain no less. He had enjoyed every moment. But usually he paid for such privilege. With Karin beside him, it had seemed to be an automatic right—and it
was
vexing.

‘It’s okay, Xante.’ She sensed his discomfort as they walked through the foyer and misinterpreted it. ‘I’ve been to plenty of rugby matches in my time. I’m sure you’ll find another blonde to take my place. Anyway I think he’ll have more on his mind on the day than worrying where we are.’

‘We’ll sort something out.’ It did briefly enter his head to invite her up for a drink under the guise of collecting her things, but Xante quickly discounted it—he knew what he was doing. ‘Let’s get you home.’

‘Sir …’ The night manager was effusive with his apology as they stepped out on the forecourt. ‘There may be some delay on the car; all our drivers are taking guests home.’

‘Of course.’ That had been his instruction, after all; it wouldn’t have entered anyone’s head that Xante’s date for the night might be going home!

It wasn’t just the cold air that had Karin shivering as they stood waiting for the car—Karin was waiting for him to pounce, Xante knew, and all it did was make him smile to himself.

He liked making her wait.

‘Here’s the car now.’ Xante was supremely polite. ‘Thank you for your company.’

She could scarcely believe he was letting her just walk away—she had tried to steal from him, for heaven’s sake! But she had also felt the tension on the dance floor—or at least she
thought
she had. Karin blinked, confused now. ‘I can just go?’

‘Of course.’ He kissed her on the cheek, politely, nicely, and then he stepped back.

The driver was holding the car-door open, and for a moment Karin stood there, nonplussed. ‘You’ll call?’ Karin suddenly said, then checked herself. ‘I mean, if you do decide to sell …’

‘I doubt I will. Still.’ He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. ‘You can call and register your interest.’

‘You know I’m interested.’

Oh, he knew she was for certain now.

‘That is my PA’s card—she is very efficient and keeps track of that sort of thing. Maybe give her a ring tomorrow?’

He hadn’t even given her his own number.

He couldn’t, Karin realised, have made it any more clearer that this
was
goodbye.

‘Goodnight, Karin.’

He watched as she climbed into the car.

Women were the only area in Xante’s life where he lacked scruples.

Sex, for Xante, was as essential as coffee in the morning, which he liked smooth, strong and sweet. Oh, he treated women well, lavishing his lovers with gifts and holidays and, so rumour had it, he was generous in the bedroom too. But his heart was strictly off limits.

As the car slid off into the night, Xante smiled.

Okay, so tonight he had to sleep alone. But Karin Wallis would soon be in touch and, Xante thought as he headed back in to join the party that was forming in his bar, she’d be well worth the wait.

F
OR
Karin there was no comfort in home.

As the car swept up the drive, Omberley Manor stood elegant, tall and proud. But every light inside was blazing, and even before the driver opened the door and Karin stepped out onto the gravel she could hear the thud of loud music that was ever present at the weekends.

She didn’t comment to the driver, of course. Karin had long since learnt that to comment constituted an apology of sorts, and the Wallis family didn’t need to do that, didn’t need to justify holding a party on a Friday night, to anyone.

Except there was a party at this house most nights.

She pretended to use her key to open the heavy, oak door, but of course it was already open—neither Matthew nor his friends would think of locking it. The house was open to any rich deadbeat who wanted to party till dawn.

Tripping over bodies, bottles lining the surfaces, it was hard for Karin to comprehend that a short while ago she had been dining in splendour, and even harder to face reality.

‘They’ll go soon,’ Matthew said, looking like death as he stumbled along the hallways. His good-looking features had been ravaged from too many years spent living on the wild side.

But Karin knew they wouldn’t go.

Friday had already blurred into Saturday, and Karin knew the pattern only too well. Firstly, the apologies that would come on Sunday—or, lately, Monday—and then the massive clean-up that would ensue till the merry-go-round started all over again.

Karin knew it well because she had lived with it all her life.

‘They’ll be gone in the morning, and then I’ll have the place cleaned up.’

It was so pathetic, she laughed. ‘They’ll go when they’ve drunk what’s left in the cellar and have eaten the food I bought, and have slept in my bed, Matthew.’ She clawed at her scalp for a moment. ‘I can’t live like this.’

‘Leave, then,’ Matthew said, quickly forgetting to be contrite, his menacing face right in hers now. ‘I’m sick of your misery, sick of you embarrassing me, always having a go at my friends. If you hate living here so much, just leave.’

Which was what he wanted.

Which was what, in weaker moments, Karin wanted too—to just walk away and watch from a safe distance as Matthew eventually sold everything off, and the beautiful stately English home that was falling apart at the seams was finally eroded. To just leave and let go as everything her grandfather had built and achieved finally imploded.

Ten months.

She was counting the days, the minutes, till Emily’s schooling ended.

Emily was attending the same school Karin had. And, though Karin had long ago worked out that money counted for nothing, she knew only too well the humiliation and bullying Emily would suffer if the Wallises’ true status was exposed.

There had already been gentle nudges about the lateness of the school fees; it was the reason she had agreed to auction yet more stuff. Now, if she could just hold on for ten more months, she would tell Emily as gently as she could the truth about their family.

There was a couple in her bed again; the musky smell of excess made her want to gag. Barefoot, she ran down the stairs, ignoring some malodorous comment from one of Matthew’s friends sitting on the stairs. His hand caught her bare ankle, his leering mouth repeating his request, and Karin told him exactly where he could go, kicking off his filthy hand and running down the hall, finding the key she kept hidden and heading to the library.

The only place that remained true to her grandfather.

Here, just as she’d done when she was younger, was the place she escaped to. When it had been her grandfather’s home, she, her brother and sister would often spend the weekend here. Emily would be tucked up in her cot, Matthew watching television, as their grandmother cooked supper. But Karin had loved the library best. All her grandfather’s rugby trophies and medals had been on display, and she had loved to listen to the tales of his glory days, safe and warm and away from the chaos of home.

And, after her grandparents had died and her family had moved in, it was here in the library that Karin had often taken refuge, losing herself in a book rather than facing the reality of what lay outside the door.

She had lived a charmed life, according to the papers—her mother the perfect society wife, a patron of endless good causes and her father a respected member of the bar. Karin had worn the finest clothes and had attended the finest schools. It was the weekends she had dreaded, though.

The weekends when her parents had ‘let their hair down’. Weekends when she had tried to amuse Emily and shield her from the grown-ups’ goings on.

‘Awkward’ had been her mother’s brittle description of her, and Karin had been aware that she was. So, one weekend when Emily had been at a sleepover at one of her friend’s houses, Karin had tried to join in. At seventeen even she had been impressed by the famous actor’s charms, had been embarrassed and shy when he had spoken to her, gulping her fruit juice and cringing as the middle-aged man had toyed with her, wishing she could think of some sophisticated, witty retort that might impress him.

It had been an Indian summer, and Karin had felt impossibly hot. She’d been able to hear her mother’s laughter coming from the pool and had stumbled outside, hoping the fresh air would clear her head.

And then she had seen her mother topless in the pool and kissing another man.

Despite being appalled, Karin had felt this instant surge of protectiveness for her father, this anger at her
mother, and this overwhelming dread that her father might find out.

And then she had seen him.

Had seen her esteemed, respected father fondling another woman’s breasts as he’d watched his wife. For Karin, it had felt as if the sky was falling, just a stark, absolute, confirmation of her family’s utter depravity.

‘Hey!’ She could still remember the actor’s low drawl in her ear, could still remember the sheer relief of her head on his chest as he had shielded her vision. ‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s not!’ She had wanted to scream, had wanted to race over to her parents and drag her mother out of the pool by her hair. But she’d let him lead her away, let him take her upstairs, and only then had it dawned on her how drunk she was. Her legs hadn’t worked and her head had been spinning—but he hadn’t seemed to mind….

Karin couldn’t bear to think about what had happened next. Instead, as always, she did her best to look on the bright side. If there was any consolation to be had from the fallout of that appalling time, it was that Karin had, for once, asserted herself. Eight years older than her sister, she had been desperate to protect the nine-year-old Emily, and had demanded of her, for once guilt-laced, mother that Emily become a full-time border at the exclusive school. It hadn’t been a complete solution, of course. Emily had often wanted to bring her little friends home, and Karin had always come up with a solution—a holiday invitation from the Wallises was one every little girl craved. So there had been an Easter break in Rome, or the golden beaches of France for summer, or perhaps Christmas in Switzerland.

Life had just been one apparent party when you were a Wallis.

The press were quick to point out that only in the frozen mountains did Karin seem to come alive—printing a beaming photo of her as she’d launched herself off the top of a mountain.

And she had come alive. Away from London and the wreckage of her family, when it was just her, Emily and the crisp white mountains, for a little while she
had
been able to forget. There on the black runs temporary fear replaced constant fear and it felt marvellous.

It had been escape.

A dangerous escape, at times, but at least it had been escape.

Just as her night with Xante had been.

Xante did his level best not to think about her the next morning. Hauling himself out of bed, he showered, dressed and then went down for breakfast, locking the rose back in the display cabinet where it belonged.

He was ravenous, so he pondered the menu instead of her.

He chose pastries and coffee, because that was the Greek way, even though he wanted the full English breakfast.

And he flicked open the paper, fully intending to read about the trouble in the world—except there it was: their chaste kiss as he had said farewell to Karin captured by the press. It seemed ironic for Xante, that for all that he had achieved in his life—all the money that had been raised for charity last night, all the famous
women he had dated and bedded—after a single brief kiss with Karin Wallis he was catapulted onto page two.

He did his level best not to think about her in the ensuing week. And perhaps he’d have managed it, had various members of the English rugby team not at various times enquired as to her whereabouts, telling him over and over how delightful and charming she was. Yes, he could have put her right out of his mind—if his PA hadn’t rung him to discuss a rather exclusive invitation that had been extended to himself and Miss Karin Wallis:
réspondez s’il vous plait

Only without her, Xante was fast realising, he couldn’t.

Still, Xante knew exactly what he was doing. Though it came as no real surprise when on the following Friday Karin rang, the fact she had held out so long meant that there was just a dash of relief there too.

‘Rossi.’ His PA had already informed him who was on the line, but he let Karin introduce herself and then chatter nervously on for a moment.

‘Karin.’ He interrupted her attempt at small talk. ‘What is it you want?’

‘Well, I know you like memorabilia, and I’ve been going through my grandfather’s things, and—’

‘You’re selling the rest of his stuff?’ Xante asked incredulously, though he wasn’t really surprised.

‘I’m not selling it,’ Karin quickly broke in. ‘I wondered if you might be interested in an exchange. There are some beautiful things, valuable things. I just really want the rose. I’ve spoken with Matthew and, even if you were selling it, he’s not that keen on buying it back, and all our money’s tied up in trust. Without his
consent …’ Xante rolled his eyes; her sob story he could well do without, but when her voice suddenly broke
then
he listened. ‘Xante, please. I really need it. The function co-ordinator at Twickenham just reminded me again that I should bring the jewel; how will it look if I tell them I haven’t got it?’

‘Like a rather poor effort from his family,’ Xante said.

‘Quite.’ She was crying in earnest now. ‘There are trophies, photos; there’s even the ball that won—’

‘I will pick you up at eleven,’ Xante broke in.

‘Pick me up?’

‘Karin, I have no intention of attending the car-boot sale you are holding.’ He examined the nails on his free hand. ‘And I have no intention of selling
my
rose. However, I understand your predicament, and I am not leaving for Greece till early Sunday now, so I would be delighted to accompany you. You would hardly expect me to just hand the rose over to you for the day?’

There was the longest pause, but Xante refused to fill it; his final offer was in.

‘I’ll come to the hotel.’ Her voice was strained as she attempted grace. ‘But we have to leave at ten-thirty. I have to be there by eleven.’

‘You can get there when you like, Karin,’ Xante answered coolly. ‘I am not available till then.’

He kept her waiting till ten-past.

Then he walked calmly into the foyer where she sat. Karin jumped like a coiled spring when finally he deigned to appear.

But if she was angry at his timing she didn’t say it.
She kissed him briefly on the cheek and thanked him politely as he handed her the rose. The sobbing woman he had spoken to on the phone yesterday had clearly left the building. Dressed in the palest blue suit, her thick blonde hair for once hanging straight and glossy, she wore a matching coat, the belt loosely tied at the back and her splendid legs accentuated with soft grey stilettos. She looked dressed more for a wedding than for the rugby, and was thoroughly together, mildly bored, even, as she replied in monosyllables to his attempt at chatter when they were in the car. If it had been anyone else, he’d have stopped the car and told her to get out.

It was
his
luxury vehicle they were arriving in, Xante felt like reminding her,
his
rose she was holding,
his
presence that saved her the shame of turning up to the function empty handed, and now she was practically ignoring him. Xante couldn’t stand the English obsession with old-versus-new money. Xante knew his worth and was proud of it, proud of his heritage, and proud too that—unlike this polished, groomed beauty who sat tense and rigid in the car beside him—he would never stoop to stealing. Despite a poor upbringing he had made it, without having everything fed to him on a silver spoon and, unlike Karin, he knew how to enjoy himself.

And there was plenty to enjoy. Mingling with guests, chatting about their mutual passion over a sumptuous luncheon, Xante fitted in well, especially with his prize trophy-date standing beside him. It was the esteemed Karin Wallis who couldn’t relax, who shuffled her food around her plate without actually taking more than a single bite. She was excruciatingly polite, of course, and
technically never put a well-shod foot wrong. But even as her grandfather’s and his team mates’ achievements were lauded, even as she took to the microphone, her smile was frozen. Her speech, though well executed, was so lacking in the passion Xante was sure was there beneath the surface.

Only at the end of her speech did she falter, and only then did Xante feel it was the real Karin Wallis speaking

‘My grandfather,’ she concluded in her prim little voice, ‘lived his life just as he played the sport he loved—with passion, flair and dignity. I am not going to distort his memory and say that he would be humbled by today’s celebration of his achievements—that was not my grandfather’s style. Instead he would have revelled in this day. He would, I know, have loved to be applauded one more time at the ground he called home.’

She returned to her seat to loud applause; applause, Xante realised, that was for her grandfather alone. For that fleeting second he felt he understood her, had glimpsed the pressure of living with and living up to the blaze of glory that surrounded the Wallis name. And when he took her hand and squeezed it, when he told her she had done well, he meant it.