The Ultimate Revenge

‘Any normal person would’ve asked for an appointment. Ever heard of a phone?’

‘Believe it or not, I much prefer the personal touch—’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ she interrupted snarkily.

‘Maybe curious was too bland a word,’ he went on regardless. ‘Tenacious?’

‘Foolhardy? Reckless?’

He settled on, ‘Intrepid.’ It sounded better to him.

‘Why? What exactly is it you want?’

‘An audience with the all-powerful mystery man himself. One hour with your father.’

‘Impossible,’ she declared, without missing a beat.

There was something no-nonsense about her. She was overtly frank. And, call him a fool, but he believed her. Thinking about it, she didn’t seem the type to waste time messing around. As if her time was at a premium.

He pondered that while he doubled-checked. ‘He isn’t here?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. On this occasion the journey was too far for him to travel.’

She had an odd tone to her voice he couldn’t fathom, but he still trusted her word. Dangerous? Probably. Considering who her father was. Her father who wasn’t here.

‘Pity.’ Or was it? Eventually this woman would lead him directly to Zeus himself, and in the meantime...? The game was afoot and his to master.

A few days or weeks in the company of this woman would be no hardship. He could burrow into her life, find potential weak spots, and seduce her into his bed. Imagine Zeus’s horror when he discovered Nic had tasted his precious daughter. It was too delicious an idea to reject outright. It needed serious consideration.

‘Is it a private matter, or business?’ she enquired.

‘Both.’

‘Then I’m happy to talk to him on your behalf, or deliver any message you wish. You have my word it will be delivered with the utmost secrecy.’

She began to lean towards him and Nic watched, mesmerised, breath held, pulse thumping frenetically, as she came into view inch by delectable inch. It occurred to him then that she was trying to gain his trust by coming out of the shadows, making eye contact, and figured it was entirely too possible that he was underestimating her.

Nic’s eyes strained to focus as she leaned further still, bending that tiny waist, bringing the low, severe slash of her black V-neck shirt into the light, showcasing a deep cleavage of pearly white skin that made his blood hum.

Every blink of his eyes felt lethargic, every punch of his pulse profound, as she came closer...closer—

Dios...

Legs crossed, she sat with her elbow on her bent knee, chin resting on her lightly curled fist; she was the picture of seductive power.

His jaw dropped so fast it almost dented the floor. He felt his IQ dip fifty points. ‘You are...’ Stupefyingly beautiful. ‘Blonde.’

Eyes sparkling with amusement, she tipped her head to one side, as if he’d given her a complex mathematical equation and no calculator.

‘Ten out of ten, Mr Carvalho. What exactly did you expect?’

‘Greek.’ It was the only word he could muster. Pathetic, really, considering his reputation. But holy hell and smoke and fire, the woman looked as if she’d just stepped off a film noir set, playing the leading role of femme fatale. Visually dominant and unrepentant.

Thick flaxen hair the colour of champagne had been swept back from her face and perfectly pinned in a chic 1950s Grace Kelly look. Then again, the image of Grace Kelly aroused words like innocent, serene. Whereas Olympia Merisi exuded danger and sin. A woman who would refuse to be defined by any man or to submit to her sexuality. All mysterious and seductive. The type whose charm ensnared a man in the bonds of irresistible desire.

There was no other word for it—her beauty was otherworldly, almost supernatural. Pale flawless skin that shimmered like a pearl, high slashing cheekbones that any supermodel would weep for, huge, ever so slightly slanted violet-blue eyes thickly rimmed with black kohl, and full pouty lips painted in the deepest shade of unvirtuous red.

She should have been called Aphrodite, as undeniably goddess-like as she was. An enchantress able to weave her magical powers, leaving her morally ambiguous. She was danger personified—and didn’t that just ratchet up his ‘want meter’ into the stratosphere?

This wasn’t a woman you married—hell, no: the very idea was ludicrous. This was a woman you bedded. Found ecstasy in her body over and over, until neither of you could walk, talk or summon the energy to breathe.

Hauling in damp air, he silently prayed for his arousal to subside, wishing he’d felt one zillionth of this visceral attraction for the petite q he’d earlier declined.

‘Your mother...? Norwegian? Swedish?’ With that natural colouring she had to be.

If Nic had blinked he would have missed it. That pained pinch of her mouth, that subtle flinch of her flesh. It didn’t take a genius to work out that her mother was a touchy subject.

‘French,’ she said, in a tone so cold it was a welcome blast of air-con sizzling over his hot, damp skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Nic shrugged. What was a couple of thousand miles? ‘European. Close enough.’

Her displeased pout told him to drop it, and even he knew some battles weren’t worth fighting. So he did. Well, sort of...

‘Please allow me to apologise for waking you earlier, querida. Or maybe you should thank me. Your dreams seemed too dark to be pleasant.’

Right there. Ah, yes. She might ooze power and control, but beneath all those chilly layers she was still a woman, swayed by emotions, capable of vulnerability. This was going to be child’s play.

‘What haunts your sleep, Olympia?’ And since when had he ever been interested enough in a woman to care?

‘A mere headache.’

Poised and graceful as a ballerina, she stood and pirouetted on her heels, turning her back on him. No doubt to soothe the raw nerve he’d struck. But what really bothered him was the weird, not to mention scary idea that he wanted to take it back, soothe her pain himself.

Instead his eyes followed her like a heat-seeking missile, and he detonated at the sight of the tight curves forming her lush heart-shaped bottom and the perfectly straight black seams splicing down her sheer stockings.

Every thought in his head exploded with the extra blast of heat to his groin.

Holy smoke. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t wait to taste her. To get up close and personal with that stunning hourglass figure. To mould his hands to her flesh, sip at her skin for days. And he would. There was no woman in the world he couldn’t beguile and lure into his bed.

After she’d taken a turn around the chair she came to stand in front of him. Up close and personal.

Nic ground his back teeth, scrambling for a reprieve from the sexual tension that choked the air around them and took his hard-on from uncomfortable to agonising.

Turned out the fates had had their eye on the ball the entire time—because if there was one sure-fire way to rid him of lust they’d found it.

Olympia bent slightly at the waist—to look into his eyes or to endeavour to intimidate him, he wasn’t sure and didn’t particularly care—and he reckoned he was so far gone he would have begged for her mouth right there and then. If a large black diamond teardrop, spectacular and rare, edged with twenty-four brilliant-cut white diamonds totalling fifty-two carats, with a net worth of approximately forty-six point two million dollars, hadn’t chosen that precise moment to tumble from the sumptuous lace confection encasing her breasts.

Nic jerked as if that bruiser bodyguard was back with a fist in his guts. One punch and a tsunami of anger and hate and pain threatened to pull him under, drag him into the depths of hell. His chest felt crushed and toxic adrenaline rushed through his body, hardening his wide shoulders, searing down his arms, until he was able to contort his wrists and almost pull free of the ropes. Just a few seconds more.

He wanted to rip that platinum chain from around her neck, tear those jewels from the warm cavern of her skin. Just as Zeus’s henchman had ripped it from his mother’s lifeless body.

O Coracao da Tempestade. The heart of the storm. The Santos diamonds.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. So many memories. So much heartache. So much pain.

Nic had always surmised that Goldsmith owned the jewels, along with the rest of the company. The thought that they’d been separated thoughtlessly, like meaningless pieces of chattel, had broken his heart. He could only presume that when Zeus had sold off Santos he must have kept the diamonds to gift to his pampered daughter like some kind of obscene trophy.

Did she know how her father had come to own them?

A shudder racked his entire body and he broke out in a cold sweat.

Dios, did she know they were smothered in blood?

If she did he would make her life a living hell.

The fist gripping his heart threatened to squeeze the life out of him. It took everything he had to remain calm, not to jump to conclusions or lose the hold on his temper.

Gracefully she straightened before him, and the vigilance narrowing those striking violet eyes told him she was well aware that the Lobisomem now sat before her, struggling to stay leashed.

Not any more.

The rope finally fell away from his wrists and it took all his remaining strength to keep hold of the bonds, control his face into an impassive blank slate so she would be none the wiser. Timing was everything, and he hadn’t bided his for years only to trip over his anger and fall at the first hurdle.

Nic discreetly cleared his throat and turned his voice to a rich, evocative volume that would diffuse her doubt.

‘Apologies, querida, my mind wandered. While I appreciate your offer to relay my business to your father, I stand firm. Let us say the topic is of a delicate nature.’

Olympia took another step back and he dug his nails into his palms to stop himself reaching out, gripping her waist, hauling her into his lap, punishing that seductive temptation of a mouth, taking his revenge on her glorious body.

Instead he carried on—as if his heart wasn’t tearing apart. ‘I don’t know you well enough to discuss it with you. I’m sure you understand.’

Stalemate. He knew it. She knew it.

Agitation leached from her. ‘No’ was clearly not a word she was used to hearing.

‘Then I can’t help you any further, Mr Carvalho. As for this evening—I’m sure you understand there has been a breach of trust, and as you’re unwilling to explain yourself your membership will be placed under review. I can—’

‘However,’ he continued, as if she’d never spoken, knowing it would rile her, determined to gain the upper hand, ‘if I had the opportunity to get to know you I might change my mind. Spend a few days with me, bonita. I’d love the chance to put things right between us. To prove I’m not so bad after all.’

She crossed her arms over her ample chest and arched one flaxen eyebrow. ‘You think me a fool, Mr Carvalho. The way to my father is not via my bed.’

Brainy and beautiful.

‘Maybe not, but I guarantee you would enjoy the ride. You’re tempted—admit it.’

‘As much as I am tempted to skydive from thirty-thousand feet without a parachute.’

He grinned—he couldn’t help it. Despite her unfortunate parentage and the bauble now nestled back in her deep cleavage he kind of liked her. Such a shame she wore a harbinger of tragedy around her delicate throat. He wondered then if she truly knew of its origins, because surely no woman in their right mind would wear it if they were well-versed in the omen it carried. The wrath of his ancestors. Strange, he’d never really believed in any of it. Until now. Because clearly Nicandro had been led to it—to her—to wreak his revenge.

He wanted it back. And he would have it. After he’d taken her. After he’d slid the diamonds from her throat in a slow, erotic seduction she would never forget.

Nic ignored the remnants of his Catholic morality—the stuff that still percolated inside whatever passed for his soul these days—which were suggesting he wasn’t being strictly fair, involving her. Odds were she was as crooked as her father.

‘I could have you in a heartbeat,’ he declared. Exaggeration on his part—she would be hard work. She was feisty and wilful and brimming with self-determination—which would make her final moments of surrender all the more delicious, precious.

‘You will never have me, Nicandro.’

By the time he’d figured out those were her parting words he was wrestling with a bout of what was surely affront—because the little vixen was halfway to the door.

Nic lurched from the chair and reached the door before she did, slamming his palm flat on the dense block of wood. If she was shocked he’d torn from his hold she covered her surprise quickly enough—simply froze to the spot like an ice sculpture and peered at him the way someone would a cockroach.

‘Want to bet?’ he said, making his voice smooth, richer than cognac and twice as heady.

A cold front swept over him, pricking his skin through the superfine material of his shirt.

‘Anyone ever tell you that you’re supremely arrogant?’

‘Often. I’m not averse to hearing compliments, Olympia. And nor do I imagine are you. You really are stunning, querida.’

Up close she was even more exquisite. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

‘Save it, Romeo. You may be infamous for your limitless wants and desires, but I’m afraid you’ve reached your limit with me.’

He might have believed her if he hadn’t trailed the back of his index finger down her bare arm excruciatingly slowly and relished the shimmy rustling over her body. Impossible as it was, her infinitesimal gasp and the ghostly pinch of her brow gave him the notion that she hadn’t known a simple touch could affect her in such a tremendous way.

‘You’re scared. Maybe even petrified. Afraid I will prove you wrong? Or fearful you’ll enjoy every minute of it?’ He was baiting her, but there was one advantage to toying with an intelligent woman: he knew exactly what buttons to push.

‘I fear no one. Least of all you.’

That haughty retort hung in the air, coaxing another smile from him. She was sewn up tighter than a drum.

‘Prove it. Spend two weeks in my company. If you win and evade my bed I will desist in my attempts to meet with your father and resign my membership from Q Virtus with no fanfare. You have my word.’

Because her evasion would never, ever happen.

Those big violet eyes narrowed on his. ‘Together with a full explanation? Because I know there’s more to you than meets the eye and far more to this meeting you desire with Zeus. I want to know why.’

It occurred to him then that she must work for her father in some way. Must have come in his place this weekend. She might have already put two and two together and suspect he was at the root of the dissent at the club. Not that she could prove it.

‘Of course I’ll tell you everything you want to know. However, if you lose, and I take your body as mine, have you at my mercy, you’ll arrange a meeting with Zeus and take me to him.’

Two days and she’d succumb. Three at the most.

For long moments she simply stared at him, and it was shocking to admit but he’d have given half of Manhattan to know what she was thinking. He’d never given much credence to the term ‘closed book’, but this intriguing package was still wrapped in Cellophane.

Finally she gave a heavy sigh, as if she really didn’t have much of an alternative. As if he’d pushed her into a corner with his refusal to tell her anything and she had nowhere else to go but to follow him.

What had he said? Child’s play.

‘All right. Here’s the deal. Zeus will be in Paris in eight days. If you win, I guarantee you’ll meet at a specified time and place. You have my word.’

A smile—so small yet inordinately confident—curved her luscious lips. He wished she’d do it more often—it made his heart trampoline into his throat.

So bold she was, so sanguine, so sure he would fail and she would be the victor. He almost felt sorry for her.

‘But when you lose I will have you on your knees, Nicandro.’

‘If I lose I’ll go down with pleasure, Olympia.’

Eyes locked, they stared at one another. Neither giving an inch. And he’d swear the air sparked with electricity, tiny arrows of fire that bounced from one point of contact to another. One strike of a match and they’d blow sky-high.

‘Then you have a deal...Nic...’

Welcome to three days of torture.

Even the way she purred his name like that, drawing out the N, made him hard.

‘Splendid. And every deal should be sealed, don’t you agree?’

Without giving her time to bat an eyelash he slowly lowered his mouth to hers. There was no better place to start the war, and his body begged for just one kiss, one taste.

Gossamer-light, Nic brushed his lips across hers and lavished the corner of her mouth with a lush velvet kiss. Electricity hissed over his skin, his blood seared through his veins on a scream of satisfaction, and before he knew it he stepped closer. Her breasts crushed against his chest and he fingered her sweet waist while he swept his tongue across the seam of her lips, demanding entry, commanding more.

Dizzy, as if she’d put him under some kind of spell, his mind stripped itself clean and he nipped at the plump flesh and sucked gently, desperate to be inside her warm heaven. She tasted of sweet, hot coffee liqueur, and if she’d just let him in...

After a few more seconds he drew back. Frowned.

Passive, emotionless—she hadn’t moved one muscle and her skin was like ice, her blood-red lips equally devoid of warmth. Even her violet-blue stare was cold and vacant.

The shock of it made his tone incongruous. ‘Olympia, you are frozen, querida.’ A coil of serpents in the pit of his stomach couldn’t have unsettled him more.

Lifting her chin she gifted him a small smile. Except it wasn’t cold—it was sad.

‘I am frozen...querido. Inside and out. Ah, Nicandro, you really have no idea who you are playing with, do you?’

Her hand to the handle now, she hauled the door wide and he floundered for a beat, stepping backwards, his foot crushing the small black sensor pad she’d tossed at him earlier.

The inevitable crack snapped him back to his wits. ‘Hold up there, ice queen. The petite q. She was innocent in all this. Promise me the girl will—’

‘Be removed from the premises. Good evening, Nicandro.’

Next thing he knew she was gone—the razor-sharp tap-tap of her towering heels vibrating in the void around him.

‘You really have no idea who you are playing with, do you?’

Wasn’t that the truth?

CHAPTER THREE

PIA PULLED THE double doors to her suite closed behind her and fought the urge to slump against the carved wood. Bad enough that she raised her fingertips to the corner of her mouth to chase the faint echoes of his kiss, shimmering over her lips like an iridescent butterfly.

Old habits truly did die hard, because for the first time in years she was second-guessing herself—and that really didn’t bode well. Suddenly spending time with Nicandro Carvalho seemed like a bad, bad idea. But what alternative did she have? Wait it out until he struck again? God only knew what havoc he’d wreak next, and she could not let that happen. Not in her world.

‘Pia?’

She jumped clean off the floor, then flushed guiltily like an idiotic schoolgirl who’d just had her first kiss from a long-time crush and her big brother had been spying on her. She didn’t want to think how close to the truth that was.

‘Where did you come from? I thought you were escorting our nefarious burglar to his suite?’

Jovan watched her warily from where he sat looking incongruous—his large frame stiff and upright—perched on the edge of her delicate gold silk daybed.

‘Mission accomplished.’

Oh.

Pia’s eyes shuttered at the concern marring his face. He wanted to ask if she was okay but he wouldn’t. He didn’t like making her feel weak. Emotional. Not when she was supposed to be a machine. But therein lay the problem. Machines didn’t tremble with the touch of man’s hand, at his finger breezing down her arm. Machines didn’t suffer a glitch after a soft evocative kiss from his warm lips. And machines certainly didn’t stare into his eyes and feel something close to longing, wishing for the impossible.

For one heart-stopping moment she would have done anything to kiss him back. Anything to feel his scorching heat melt some of the ice inside of her—ice that was so terribly, terribly cold. But Pia knew that surrendering to meaningless brief moments could shower you in a lifetime of regret, and he’d chosen the one route to her bed with a guaranteed outcome of failure and causing her maximum levels of pain.

He was using her. To get to Zeus. To Q Virtus. Ignorant of the fact he’d already been in Zeus’s company for most of the evening. If it wasn’t so humiliating and didn’t exhume such loathsome feelings of worthlessness she would laugh. Sorry, Nic, I’ve already learned my lessons in love. Pia could spot a seduction routine a mile off and erect her barricades with ease.

Being used for the Merisi fame and fortune years ago had thrown her hard-earned self-respect to the wolves—with a little help from her father’s constant stream of berating anger during the miserable aftershocks of her affair.

‘Women are weak fools with vulnerable hearts, Olympia. You think he wanted your body? Your mind?’ he’d hollered, as if the idea that any man could desire her for simply being Pia was unfathomable. ‘True lust is greed for money and power. Surrender to a man and he will strip you of your fortune and glory and leave you as nothing more than a whore in his bed. Trust no man. Not even me.’

That her hollow, cold flesh should now answer to the practised tongue of a Don Juan with criminal tendencies who was quite possibly trying to take her down could only be the cruel joke of a universe that despised her.

Now she had to drag him across Europe for the next few days, on a schedule that was impossible to change, trying to delve into the intricacies of his mind while he tried to delve into her knickers.

Not in a million years.

She’d just have to keep her head on straight and her eyes on him. The man could hardly kick up a storm if she was watching over his shoulder, and it would give her plenty of time to unearth what game he was playing and why.

The anxiety of it all—the possibility that she was in danger of having everything she’d worked so hard for taken away—made her feel sick to the stomach. And that’s not the only thing that has you rattled, a little voice said. She told that voice to hush up.

‘You look tired, Pia,’ Jovan said.

She was. Bone-deep tired. But machines weren’t supposed to get tired. So instead of crawling into bed she tried to pretend that she didn’t ache all over, lifted her chin, strode towards her office and got back to business.

‘I’m fine. You worry too much.’

That wasn’t fair. He cared about her and she would be for ever grateful for that small mercy in her life. It would have all been so easy if there’d been flames of attraction between them, but there wasn’t so much as a flicker—never mind the high-voltage current that was still racing through her body from—

No, no, no. She was not going there.

‘Get Laurent from Paris on the phone and tell him I’ve found him a new concierge. Then ask Clarissa Knight to pack her bags and come to my office. She’s wanted to be based near her mother for months and this is the perfect opportunity. With a bit of luck she’ll find some fresh eye-candy in days, and Mr Carvalho will be reduced to a distant memory. Just make sure Mr I’m-Sex-Incarnate-and-I-Know-It doesn’t see her leave.’

It was far too dangerous to keep her here, bewitched under Carvalho’s spell. No doubt he’d promise her the world for more secrets, and if the girl thought Pia was casting her out of a job and had convinced herself in love with the Brazilian bad-boy anything was possible.