The Greek's Ultimate Revenge

Her eyes were deepened by make-up, her mouth accentuated with lipstick, the colours toning with the saffron. Her cheekbones seemed higher than they had been—more artful make-up, he surmised. A scent came from her—a light, haunting fragrance.

It caught at him.

She caught at him.

Slowly, he got to his feet.

‘Won’t you sit down?’

Janine took her place. Her breathing was quick, and shallow. It was because she’d been rushing, she told herself. Rushing ever since she’d realised that she’d taken ages and ages in the boutique, trying on just about every evening dress they’d had in her size. The assistant had been very patient, assuring her that the shop would not close until late that night, and that she could take all the time she wanted.

Choosing had been impossible—she didn’t know why, but it had. In the end she’d followed her instinct, not her reason, and gone for the saffron. Her reason had told her that it should be worn by someone with much darker, more dramatic colouring than she possessed, but there had been something about the way the dress felt on her, whispered over her flesh, that had made her know that this was the one she wanted. So eventually, having tried on everything else again, she’d gone back to the saffron.

And now she was getting proof that she’d made the right choice!

With that same quick breathing she settled into her chair. Her dining partner was not wearing a suit, but his open-necked shirt was clearly not off the peg. It clung with tailored perfection to his broad shoulders, smoothing down over his torso, exposing the strong column of his throat.

She dragged her eyes away and let herself meet his gaze. He was sitting looking at her, and appreciating everything he saw!

‘Hi,’ she said idiotically. She had to recover her composure. She had to appear normal. Right now she was having palpitations like some Victorian maiden!

‘Kalispera,’ replied Nikos, his voice soft with amusement.

He liked what he saw—he liked it a lot. Oh, not just the exquisite appearance of this extraordinarily beautiful girl, but the fact that she was so clearly responding to him, and the way he was looking at her.

A waiter was there, hovering discreetly, but attentively.

‘What would you like to drink?’ Nikos asked her.

For a moment she wanted to say Something strong, to calm my nerves, but then she realised that strong liquor was the last thing she should drink right now. So instead she murmured, ‘Oh, orange juice, please.’

He raised a slight eyebrow at this, and she went on lightly, ‘To go with my frock!’

A smile indented his mouth and he nodded, relaying the order to the waiter in Greek—unnecessary though it was, since the hotel staff all spoke English. The man disappeared.

‘It’s extremely beautiful.’ Nikos indicated her dress with a slight inclination of his head.

‘I got it from the boutique just now. That’s why I’m running late!’

She could hear her own breathlessness in her voice. It annoyed her—alarmed her. She was sounding like some wet-behind-the-ears teenage girl on her first date! It was ridiculous.

But the thing was she did feel like a teenager again! Excitement was running through her, and it was because of the man sitting opposite her. She could tell herself all she liked that Stephanos had simply sent him to babysit her, but her body wasn’t taking that on board. Her body was shimmering like a fairy light on a Christmas tree!

‘It was worth the wait,’ said Nikos. He let his eyes wash over her again, to confirm his words.

The waiter’s arrival with her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice was a reprieve, and she sipped eagerly. Then the maître d’ arrived with two large leatherbound menus, bowing copiously to Nikos and running through the specialities of the day in rapid Greek.

Janine gazed down virtually blindly at the menu, forcing herself to read the words. As the maître d’ bowed one last time, and glided away, Nikos listed the day’s catch.

‘Oh, not calamari!’ Janine exclaimed. ‘It’s the suckers on the tentacles. They’re disgusting!’

Nikos laughed. ‘It can be served without those appendages,’ he assured her. ‘Have you not eaten squid yet?’

Janine gave an exaggerated shudder.

‘I’ll stick to real fish, please.’

She settled on red mullet, with a seafood terrine to start, and closed the menu. She gazed out at the gardens.

‘Isn’t it the most beautiful place?’ she sighed. A wonderful feeling of well-being was suffusing her. It was everything—the beautiful gardens, the soft Mediterranean night and, above all, the presence of Nikos Kiriakis sitting opposite her, drawing her eye inexorably to him.

‘The view is certainly quite stunning,’ her companion murmured.

She glanced back to smile at him—and saw that he was not looking out over the gardens at all. Instead, his dark eyes were fixed on her face, and there was an expression in them she’d have had to be blind not to recognise…

She felt the colour run again, and hastily took a drink.

Nikos watched her reach for her glass. For a woman who made her living out of the touch of wealthy men, she really was remarkably unflirtatious. Perhaps, he found himself thinking, that was her allure. That she did not come on to her targets—she let them come on to her.

After all, she was so very much worth coming on to…

Emotions twisted inside him.

She might be sitting there, with a beauty as breathtaking as it was alluring, but it did not—could not—take away what she did, what she used that beauty for. That was what he had to remember. And her looks were of interest to him for one reason only—they would make his seduction of her palatable to him. He would get his revenge for the pain she was causing his sister.

He let his gaze rest on her, with the eyes of a connoisseur. She really was extraordiny. Some women couldn’t make the transition from bikini to evening gown—but she could. By the pool and on the beach, she had looked sexy and sun-kissed. Now she looked graceful and soft, like a gazelle—her slender neck, her parted lips, the soft swell of her breasts beneath the chiffon of her dress.

As he watched he could see her nipples just graze against the filmy material, each one outlined for him.

All he had to do was reach out his hand, and touch with the tips of his fingers. Close his palm over their sweet ripeness…

Like a sheet of flame, desire sucked at him. Wanting to be sated. Now. Right now.

With visible effort he slammed down on his reaction.

He felt shaken.

Just as on the beach, his reaction had come out of nowhere, like a flashflood, thundering suddenly through his veins. Desire—hot, tearing, urgent. And out of control.

With gritted teeth he dragged back control over his body, his reaction. What the hell was he doing?

He was acting like a man besotted, and with some foxy little piece like Janine Fareham.

Yes, that was what he had to remember! That Janine Fareham used men’s desires for her own ends—to buy gowns like the one she was displaying her body in tonight! He let his anger at her, deep and unrelenting and unforgiving, seep back, filling him like a dark tide. That was the only response he should be having to her. Oh, sexual desire, yes—but at his bidding, not hers. Under his control, not hers.

He relaxed again, back in control of his reaction to her.

He would take Janine Fareham, possess her and enjoy her.