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

“What?” He swung around, glaring down at her as a bolt of sensation shook him as she caught his sleeve. He didn’t want this attraction. Not to this woman.

She released him. “Forget it.”

“No, you’re here now. So talk.”

“I wanted to explain why I had a drink with Jean-Paul.”

Her eyes were wide and dark. Gentle and pleading. He looked past her, clenching his jaw. All she wanted was his help to regain her memory. Nothing more. Better he remember that. “Drink with whom you please.”

“I wanted to find out if he knew anything about the thirty thousand—”

“Forget about trying to find out what happened to the damned money. It’s gone. Put your stupidity behind you. So you have some debt, so what? You’re young, you can work it off.” A pause, then he added softly, “On your back if need be.”

Gemma’s expression changed. He saw the fury, the darkness in her eyes as she registered the taunt. Her hand came up. She swung wildly. Angelo ducked, she missed. A glass vase from the glass table beside the elevator crashed to the ground. A party of guests took one horrified look at them and hurried past. Gemma barely noticed. Angelo knew he should rush after them, offer them a free night, gambling chips. Damage control.

But he didn’t.

Right now Gemma had his full attention.

“How dare you?” She hissed. “How dare you say that, you…you…”

“Gorilla? Neanderthal?” Behind him the elevator opened. He took a deft step backward. “Who knows, I might even be convinced to consider taking you back to my bed and if you’re very, very good—maybe I’ll help clear that debt.” And he hit the button for the roof garden.

She rushed forward, balling her fists and swung again. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last—”

“Neanderthal in the world?” he finished with a hard laugh, and caught her flailing hands. “You might not be so lucky then. You’ve done it before, why the scruples now?”

He felt her stiffen with outrage. He secured her arms behind her back and pulled her up against him and his mouth slanted across hers.

She tensed.

The elevator shot upward. As his tongue delved into her mouth, Angelo felt her give and lean into him and the familiar arousal shafted through his lower body.

How could he have forgotten how soft her skin was? How full of life her red hair was? Or the little moaning noises she made into his mouth as she pressed against him? He couldn’t remember her feeling…tasting…this good.

Hell, so maybe he had amnesia, too.

Distantly he heard the ping of the elevator door opening and the sound of talking and laughter. The rooftop garden was occupied.

Releasing her hands he pressed the ground-floor button and then they were sinking. Her tongue stroked against his, hot and deliberate. The fire inside went wild. He released her hands and cupped her buttocks, pulling her towards him. She came eagerly, rising on tiptoe, her body soft, melting against him like warm golden honey, and he ached with want.

He was tempted to yank open the bow on that wraparound dress, unfurl her, rub his hand between her legs to check if she was damp enough to take him and slide into her slippery warmth. Only the knowledge of where they were stopped him.

An elevator. Hell. Given how annoyed she’d been minutes ago, she’d slap him for sure. Hard. Even if only after he’d driven them both to completion, tasted her satisfied sighs. No, better to take it slow.

Instead he slid his hands up…over the feminine curves of her bottom to her waist and back down again tracing the tiny string of an excuse for underwear she wore. Heard her breath catch…and hold. Taking advantage of her expectancy, he fingered the thong through her dress.

She wriggled against him, and he drove his tongue deep into her mouth, giving her a taste of what he wanted, what he really craved. She arched against him and he felt his erection leap.

The car shuddered to a stop. He lifted his head. “Carry on like that and I’ll forget my good intentions. I’ll hit the button for my suite. Three steps and we’ll be in the dining room. Three minutes and we can both be naked. Is that what you want?”

“No.” She shook her head wildly, her face shocked and pale. “I don’t want this…you.” She stumbled backwards out of the confined space, her hands covering her eyes. “God, what am I doing?”

He followed more slowly. Putting an arm around her shoulder he guided her away from the public lobby. Out of sight. “What we’ve done many times before?” he said helpfully. Her hands dropped away from her face and she bit her lip, her teeth white against the bee-stung bottom lip as she glared at him. But something in her eyes, a deep agonised confusion made him stretch his hand out. “Hey, it’s okay, I know you don’t remember. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.” It was a wail. Then her head was back in her hands, her fingers knotting through the long dark red curls. “It matters more than I can tell you.”

“It doesn’t.” He stroked her shoulder and noticed absently that his hand was trembling. “I’ll tell you something, it’s even better now than it ever was in the past. It’s more…I can’t explain. But I can’t seem to get enough of you. The taste of you, the feel of your body up against mine. I want you, Gemma. Badly.”

“Believe me, that’s not good.” The smile she gave him was wan.

“It will be very good,” he promised, “you’ll see.”

“I can’t.” Her expression grew resolute. “Angelo, I can’t make love to you—”

Irritation twisted inside Angelo. He wanted her. He wasn’t accustomed to women saying no. “Why? You want to.”

“That’s arrogant.” But true. She was terrified she was going to cave in to his demand. She drew a ragged breath. There was one thing he would understand. “I can’t make love with you until my memory returns.”

He cursed.

“Who knows,” she added, “there might be someone else—”

“Someone so important that you don’t remember him?” he sneered. “Someone like Jean-Paul Moreau?”

That only made her expression harden. “That’s it. Good night. I’m finished with trying to talk to you. I’m going to bed. Alone.”

Six

The ringing of the phone woke Gemma. Any plans she’d harboured to sleep late on Thursday—her day off—fell apart when Mark Lyme, the manager of the entertainment complex, told her that Lucie had come down with a flu-like virus. Immediately Gemma offered to take over some of Lucie’s performances and arranged a time to meet with Mark to discuss a suitable program.

The Dionysus was a very different set-up to the Electra Theatre, and it had been years since she’d worked in a bar environment. Most of the day was spent putting together the program with Mark and Denny, another performer, for the first fill-in performance early that evening.

The substitute show was rough and ready but it was enough to satisfy the crowd. They sang a couple of duets, Denny told some jokes and they invited some of tourists to sing along karaoke-style.

Gemma caught a brief glimpse of Angelo in the back of the bar halfway through the evening. He was waiting for her and she found herself accepting his invitation to dinner. At first she fretted that he might try to kiss her…seduce her…but her worries proved to be unfounded. Angelo behaved like the perfect gentleman.

Lying in bed that night, Gemma covered her eyes and moaned out loud. She was so confused. Who was the real Angelo Apollonides?

By Friday Lucie’s temperature was raging and Dr. Natos, the resort doctor, had prescribed bed and rest.

Gemma and Denny met for another rehearsal. During a brief break, she found Angelo at her elbow, holding two paper cups. “Coffee? I’m sure you could use it.”

“What’s that saying about not trusting Greeks who come bearing gifts?” She slanted him a provocative glance.

“Hardly a gift. Consider it an apology.”

After a moment’s pause she took the paper cup. “An apology?”

He looked abashed. “For my behaviour the other night. I should have apologised over dinner yesterday. But I didn’t.”

“Oh.” She took a sip. It was strong and sweet and pungent.

He frowned. “I’m confused.”

That made two of them! She slanted him a wary glance. “Why?”

“I had no intention of having anything to do with you. But I keep thinking you’ve changed. Then something happens—like seeing you with Jean-Paul—and I think I’m wrong. You’re still the same.” He raked his fingers through his golden hair. “Have you changed?”

She shut her eyes. God. How on earth was she supposed to respond to that? Not honestly. It was too late for that. She had to soldier on. And then there was the fact that she wasn’t ready to face the rage and scorn in his eyes when he discovered her treachery. Not yet.

She’d tell him when she was about to leave. When her contract had ended. And she had uncovered the truth about Mandy. Whatever that might be.

He waved a hand. “Forget it. That’s a stupid question. Sit down, you could probably use the break.”

Gemma followed him dragging her feet as he led her to the cluster of seating in a small lobby.

His cell phone rang. Fishing it out his pocket, he studied the caller ID. “My mother,” he said. “Excuse me.”

Angelo could feel Gemma’s eyes resting on him as he responded to his mother’s well wishes. He listened with half an ear to a story about the car her latest husband had bought, laughed when expected. Conscious of keeping Gemma waiting, he cut the conversation short.

“For a playboy, you have a good relationship with your mother,” Gemma said, her eyes curious.

He didn’t rise to the bait. “Even playboys have mothers. And, despite all the wealth in the world, her life has not been easy,” he answered guardedly. “She fell pregnant with me when she was very young. The man abandoned her. I never met him.”

Not my father, but the man, Gemma noticed.

“Oh.”

It must have been hell for a young boy.

“So is today your birthday?”

“Yes—I’m blessed with two celebrations in one month. Last week it was my name day.”

“Name day? What’s that?”

“A day all people bearing the name of a particular saint celebrate. So on the eighth of November anyone called Angelo celebrates. My mother thought I was an angel when I was born.” He gave her a sardonic smile.

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