The Apollonides Mistress Scandal / Rich Man's Vengeful Seduction: The Apollonides Mistress Scandal / Rich Man's Vengeful Seduction

“No, I was fortunate,” she said a trifle huskily as shivers coursed through her.

“Nothing lucky about it,” he said abruptly. “Such an accident should never have happened. Did the police catch the perpetrator?”

“No.” Gemma fidgeted. She hadn’t expected his concern and outrage on her behalf. She folded her arms across her stomach, feeling terrible. Then she recalled her father’s depression, her mother’s tears after Mandy’s unnecessary death. Instantly her heart hardened. “Now can you understand why I need money?”

“What will you do when you finish here?”

“My agent is looking for something for me.” There had been offers, but Gemma hadn’t been in a hurry to take another booking. She hadn’t been sure how long she needed on Strathmos to learn the truth.

“So long as you know that your contract to sing here will not be extended. I don’t want you here.”

Gemma gulped. That was pretty direct. It also meant that she had less than three weeks to find out the truth. “I understand.”

Two days passed without catching sight of Angelo. On Wednesday morning Gemma lounged beside the resort’s heated outdoor pool, soaking up the mild early morning sunshine. She’d heard that Angelo sometimes swam laps after breakfast before the resort guests started to congregate.

Huge sheets of glass shut out the unpredictable autumn wind without obscuring the view of the Aegean. In the centre of the pool a marble quartet of golden winged horses danced under the spray that jetted from three tall fountains. Through half-closed eyes, Gemma could almost imagine the mythical beasts thundering across the heavens, steered by the sun god.

A young poolside waiter had just delivered a tall glass topped with a pink umbrella and a row of cherries on a swizzle stick when a familiar voice shattered the fantasy.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Tensing, Gemma wished she was wearing more than the tiny bikini with the skimpy bandana top. Hidden behind sunglasses, she said, “Don’t you have more important things to do than look for me?”

Angelo waved his hand dismissively. “You told me you are here for the money. Right?”

“Y-es,” she stretched the word out, waiting, wondering why his eyes had turned as hard as stone.

He dropped down on the lounger beside hers; only a low glass-topped table on which her drink stood separated them. Uncomfortably conscious of his closeness, Gemma pushed her sunglasses firmly up her nose, grateful for the protection they offered from his icy scrutiny.

“I’ve just learned you wanted this contract badly enough to take a drop in pay.” His voice was edged in steel. “I want to know why. How could you afford to do that with the medical expenses you cried about only a couple of days ago?”

Raising her shoulder, Gemma dropped it with false aplomb. “I took the drop because I was desperate for money. I needed an income—I haven’t been getting regular work.”

His gaze glittered with suspicion. “You once told me that one of the joys of being an exotic dancer is that there’s always work. So if you were short of work why sing? Why not dance?”

Gemma forced herself not to shudder. She’d never understood why Mandy danced or how she put up with the hoards of leering men—even if the money was good. “Uh—I don’t do that anymore. I love singing.” That, at least, was true. “And singing pays more when I get the right spots, which I’m getting more often. I’m on the rise.”

“What’s this?”

Something in his sharp tone turned her head. He was scowling at the glass the waiter had brought. She frowned, puzzled at his ferocity.

“You can’t drink before you sing.”

“Not even fruit juice?” she asked tartly. He looked unconvinced, so Gemma picked the glass up and thrust it at him. “Here, sniff it.”

“Very clever.” At her baffled frown, he added. “Given that your preferred drink is vodka, sniffing won’t help much. Not with the overpowering flavour of pineapple.”

Of course! Mandy had always been partial to vodka. “My only vice,” Gemma said at last.

“Only vice?” His smile was sharklike. Setting the glass down, he leaned closer.

This close up his eyes were mesmerizing. The vibrant turquoise irises were surrounded by a row of lashes too long for a man. Dark brows arched over the top. No question about it, Angelo Apollonides was the most gorgeous male she had ever set eyes on. Pity he was not her type.

“It’s the only one I can think of right now,” she said carelessly. “If I thought about it very hard, I might discover one or two more.”

His mouth flattened. “Try. I’m sure you will find there are more vices that you will remember. Like lying.”

Gemma’s breath left her in a rush.

“When did I lie?” Did he know? She gave him a searching look as adrenaline started to pump through her. God. What would he do if he discovered—

“When I discovered you’d taken a drop in pay, I thought you lied to me. That you had another agenda. Don’t ever lie to me.”

She almost collapsed from relief. So she glared at him. “I’m not lying. I do need money. My credit card is a little over-extended.” The thirty-thousand dollar debt merited a bigger description than little.

“Too much shopping and partying?”

If he only knew. While Mandy had been a party animal, Gemma preferred spending her spare time outdoors. Walking. Windsurfing. Or simply attending concerts in parks. Simple pleasures, not the sophisticated pursuits his mistresses would enjoy.

She pursed her lips. How could she admit how much money had vanished, and that she had no idea where it had gone? The large cash withdrawals her credit-card statements reflected told her nothing.

“You had no debt three years ago. And some nice pieces of jewellery.” He gave a pointed stare at the ring she wore. The ring Mandy had given her just before she had died and Angelo had claimed to have bought for Mandy in Monaco.

“I don’t know what happened to all that,” she said honestly.

He gave her a searching look. “You don’t remember?”

She nodded.

“I was more than generous,” he said. “I indulged your desire to party, to shop until your cupboards were overflowing. If you’d behaved better, you might not be in this predicament.”

Surely Angelo wasn’t suggesting they might still be together? Not when she knew the kind of man he was. A playboy. A man who traded one beautiful woman for another, as soon as their temporary sell-by date was over.

Her lip curled. “You mean, if I was still your mistress? Putting up with your demands, your—”

“I thought you’d forgotten everything. So how do you remember how demanding I was?” His tone held a sensual rasp, belied by his shrewd gaze.

“I read gossip cuttings. How do you think I learned about our affair?”

He reached out and put finger a finger under her chin. He put enough pressure to tilt her head up, so that he could stare down into her eyes. “So you came here not only to earn money and regain your memory, but to learn more about us?”

The sudden flare of heat that followed in the wake of the touch of that one finger shocked her. No. She was not going to respond to his very obvious attraction. He was the last man on earth to whom she could afford to be attracted.

A spoilt playboy who’d had a fortune handed to him on a plate. A dilettante who destroyed people without compunction. Keeping her voice level she said, “I know exactly what kind of man you are.”

“Do you really?” He raised a dark eyebrow, looming over her.

Too close. Too male. Too…everything.