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

“Okay,” she managed as he led her out from behind the inscrutable Hephaestus. Her knees shook. She had never felt less like gambling in her life.

Large double doors opened into the Apollo Club, the casino reserved for A-list clientele. Crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling painted with beasts and heroes from myths Gemma knew well. The ambience in the room warned her that the stakes would be frighteningly high.

Angelo led her to a table with a group of men in tuxedos and two women—a blonde and a brunette—in evening gowns, jewels glittering at their necks and wrists. No voices hummed in here. Only the clatter of chips broke the solemn silence.

Murmuring an order, Angelo placed a wad of notes on the table. An elegant croupier in a long black dress slid several stacks of chips across the baize. Angelo passed the stacks to her, and Gemma realised he’d spent a small fortune for her to fritter away. She started to feel ill. “I can’t gamble that kind of money.”

The look he gave her was more than a little pointed. “It never troubled you in the past.”

Gemma bit her lip. “What if I lose it all?”

Angelo shrugged. “Then I’ll buy more.”

And what would he expect from her then? Sex? Obviously that had happened in the past. Something within her shrivelled at the thought.

“No!” She shoved the chips back at him. “I might have forgotten how to do this, forgotten the rules.”

“Try and we’ll see.”

“Angelo, I don’t want to do this.”

His gaze held hers. After a long moment he said, “All right. We’ll see if we can penetrate that memory another way. Keep these—” he separated a small heap of chips “—in case you decide you want to play later.”

She shook her head and pushed the chips away. “I don’t feel like gambling tonight.”

“Would you like to go for a drink?”

She nodded. This close she could see the laugh lines around his eyes, the glitter in his compelling eyes. He stilled in the act of gathering the chips and stared down at her.

“Gemma?”

With a start, she looked away, breaking the tenuous thread that linked them, and turned her head, searching for the source of the call that cut through the hush of the huge room.

“I thought it was you.” The guy coming towards her was darkly tanned with Gallic features and carefully styled shaggy black hair. Gemma stared at him blankly.

The blonde at their table squealed in delight and grabbed his arm. He bent to kiss her cheek. Her much older companion didn’t look happy.

The hand cupping Gemma’s elbow tensed. “Did you invite him?” Angelo murmured in her ear.

“Invite him?” She swung around to cast Angelo a frown. “What are you talking about? I don’t even know—” She broke off.

“Who he is,” Angelo finished smoothly, and started to laugh, but Gemma noticed his eyes were devoid of humour. “I don’t think Jean-Paul will appreciate being forgotten so soon.”

“Who is he?” Gemma hissed.

“Jean-Paul Moreau.” From Angelo’s air of expectancy Gemma suspected the name was supposed to mean something to her. It didn’t.

She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “So…” she prompted.

“Your lover.” Some ugly emotion flashed over Angelo’s face then his features turned wooden. “The man I threw naked out of my—our—bed three years ago.”

Three

Gemma stared.

Angelo’s shocking revelation was the last thing she’d expected. Yet, judging by his narrow-eyed expression, he clearly believed it to be true.

She tested the discovery against her own belief. No, she couldn’t accept it. Angelo must’ve made some awful mistake.

But before she could question him further, a mist of designer aftershave surrounded her. Then came a whisper of “Cherie, you are more beautiful than ever,” and male lips nudged her cheek.

“Hello—” she tried frantically to remember his name “—Jean-Paul.”

“I thought you were ignoring me, cherie. You stared straight through me earlier. I’m glad to know you remember your old friends.”

Beside her Angelo snorted. Gemma shot him a warning look. She didn’t want Jean-Paul knowing about the amnesia.

At least not yet.

Coming face-to-face with a man Angelo considered her lover had taken her aback. Much as she disliked Angelo, he had no reason to lie to her about the past. She needed to learn more.

With an extravagant flourish Jean-Paul produced a roll of euro notes from inside his jacket and signalled to the croupier. When the chips came, he slipped one pile across to Gemma. “For you, cherie.”

The smile Jean-Paul gave her was disconcertingly intimate. The secretive smile of a man to a woman he knew very, very well.

Gemma could sense Angelo’s silent tension. Her stomach rolled over. “Thanks,” she said stiltedly. Realising that she sounded terse she pointed to the unused chips on the table that Angelo had been in the process of gathering up before Jean-Paul’s arrival. “But I have enough—and we’re going for a drink.”

Jean-Paul’s gaze swept over her, explicit, knowing. Leaning towards her, he whispered, “Cherie, you’re not the kind of woman ever to have enough. Here—” he slid a handful of chips towards her “—have a bet on me.”

“Enough!” Angelo said harshly. A tanned arm hooked around Gemma’s waist from behind, his other hand pushed his chips towards the croupier. “The lady doesn’t want your chips.” Against the length of her spine Gemma could feel Angelo’s body through the thin silk of her dress. It was at once comforting and vaguely threatening. His arm lay coiled around her, under her breasts like a hard band, and awareness of his strength, his power, shivered through her.

It was the sudden ratcheting tension in his body that made her realise that Jean-Paul had moved. Within Angelo’s hold, she twisted around on her stool. The two men faced each other like duelling adversaries.

Jean-Paul’s gaze shifted from Angelo to Gemma and his mouth twisted. “It’s like that, is it? Cherie, don’t be fooled. Apollonides is the same man as three years ago. Work will always be his first mistress. Will that be enough for you this time around? Or will you come searching for warm arms, words of lo—”

“I said enough.” Even Jean-Paul heard the suppressed violence in the whip-crack sound and took a hasty step back. “You go too far, Moreau. If I catch you near Gemma I will have you thrown off the island. Do you understand?”

A Gallic shrug and Jean-Paul smiled. “Keep cool, man. It doesn’t mean a thing—it never did.” But there was a wariness in his dark eyes that hadn’t been there seconds before.

The last thing Gemma wanted was a scene. Already they were attracting the glances of people alerted by the bristling men and hissed words. The two women at their table were staring openly, while the croupier called for bets with a touch of desperation.

“Angelo—”

The arm tightened, cutting off her protest. “Gemma, you will not encourage this man. Moreau, you will keep your distance from Gemma. I’ve told you both before, I don’t share my woman. Understand that.” Releasing his hold on her, Angelo moved between her and Jean-Paul and with a hard glance at her, he added, “Both of you.”

Then, in a swift movement, he swept the euro notes off the table and nodded at the croupier. “Come, Gemma. Let’s go.”

Without a glance in Jean-Paul’s direction, Gemma slid from the stool.