There was no baiting amusement in Leo’s curt voice now. Merely mounting irritation. He picked up his coffee cup and drank, then set it down again. His eyes rested on the woman sitting opposite him.

She was reading a book. A thick paperback that was absorbing all her attention. But then everything and anything absorbed her attention except him. Of him she took no notice whatsoever. She was shutting him out of her existence. She never looked at him, or met his eye, or talked in anything other than the briefest, tersest replies.

She’d been like that since he’d sent for her.

The fact that he’d had to do so had been a source of irritation in itself. He’d come out of his shower to find his bed empty. She’d simply disappeared. It hadn’t bothered him. He’d assumed she’d merely gone back to her own room to shower and dress.

But she still hadn’t appeared even when he’d despatched one of the staff to tell her that breakfast would be on the terrace. He’d eaten on his own, then sent for her again.

That time she’d come down.

And had stalked stiff-backed across to the table just as she had done the night before. As if she’d never spent the night in his bed.

She’d been wearing dark glasses, completely concealing her eyes. Dark glasses, and her hair back in its punishing knot, and wearing tight black leggings and a long-sleeved sweat top. Completely inappropriate for a hot tropical day.

She’d sat down, totally ignoring him, and turned instead to the maid, requesting a pot of hot water and some fruit.

Then she’d twisted her chair slightly towards the sea view, crossed her long legs, opened her book and started reading.

He might not have been there.

For a minute Leo had looked at her, disbelievingly.

Then he’d spoken.

‘Kalimera, Anna,’ he’d said, in a studied tone.

She’d ignored him.

‘Are you always unsociable in the mornings?’ His tone had been even more studied.

No answer.

‘Anna—’

There had been an edge in his voice then.

She’d turned her head towards him.

He’d been unable to see her eyes. The dark glasses were very effective.

Irritatingly so.

‘Yes?’

Her tone had been quelling.

‘Tell me—’ he’d kept his tone light, civil ‘—what would you like to do today?’

‘Nothing, thank you.’

‘There must be something you would like to do,’ he’d persisted, with punishing politeness.

But she’d said, ‘No, thank you.’ In the same tone of complete indifference. And she’d gone on doing so to everything he’d suggested.

Now he just sat here, glaring at her, her nose still buried in her book.

Every last vestige of Leo’s good mood vanished.

The maid came out again, placing the requested items on the table. Anna lifted her head out of her book briefly and smiled her thanks. A brief smile, but a smile all the same.

Leo was pretty sure it was the first smile he’d ever seen from her.

It did something strange to him.

He pushed the strangeness aside, watching as she took a teabag from where she’d been using it as bookmark, placed it in a teacup and poured fresh hot water over it. A tangy, herbal scent came off it as it infused.

‘Do you not drink coffee?’ he asked.

‘Very seldom.’ She picked up a teaspoon and poked the teabag.

Then she forked a slice of fresh pineapple and placed it on her plate. She started cutting it up, lifting small slices to her mouth.

Silently, Leo slid the basket of fresh breads across to her.

‘No, thank you,’ she said.

‘Are you on a diet?’ he enquired.

‘I’m always on a diet,’ she answered, continuing with her pineapple.

‘You hardly need to lose weight.’ His eyes ran over her slim, elegant body.

She turned her head to him then.

‘That’s because I’m always on a diet,’ she replied caustically.

She went back to eating her pineapple, then took two slices of papaya, ate those, and pushed her plate away.

‘What would you like to eat next?’ Leo enquired with punishing civility.

‘Nothing, thank you.’ She picked up her teacup and took a small sip of the hot herbal tea. Then she placed it back on its saucer and resumed reading.

Leo looked at her fulminatingly.

What the hell was she playing at? Pretending last night had never happened? Pretending she’d never cried out, eyes distended with passion, hands clutching at him, shuddering with orgasm in his embrace?

Evidently, yes.

He stared at her balefully. Hell, she should be purring by now! Her body languorous and sensual from its sating last night. She should have undulated towards him wearing something skimpy, like a bikini with a chiffon sarong caressing her hips, wafting up to him, hair cascading down her back, mouth beestung. She should have leant down, draping her arms around his shoulders, murmuring amorously to him, lowering her mouth to his to greet him…

Instead she was sitting ramrod-straight, answering in terse, caustic monosyllables or totally ignoring him.

Christos, who the hell was she to ignore him? Did she really think she’d prefer a police cell to his bed? Obviously not, or she wouldn’t have accepted the bargain he’d offered her. She wanted to save her precious skin, all right, and she hadn’t been fussy about how she was going to do that. Well—he glared at her—she could damn well earn her parole, just the way he’d told her when he’d caught her red-handed with his rubies.

By working very, very hard to please him.

He took a mouthful of coffee and then pushed the cup away.

‘Anna—’

The edge was back in his voice.

She looked up.

‘Yes?’

He rested his eyes on her. For a moment he said nothing. He thought he saw something flicker in her face, then it was gone.

‘Lose the attitude,’ he said softly. ‘If you’d rather go back to a police cell in Austria, you only have to say. But if you don’t, then I suggest you remember what you are here to do, hmm?’

Something changed in her face then, all right. It seemed to blanch even whiter than its usual paleness. Then it was gone again. She set her book down.

‘You want sex again?’

The question was delivered in such a deadpan voice that Leo just stared. Distaste knifed through him.

‘Spare me your crudities,’ he said coldly.

The look came in her face again, then disappeared.

‘Well, what do you want, then?’ she demanded.

There was belligerence in her voice. It set Leo’s back up.

‘You can start,’ he said tersely, ‘with some civility.’

A choke sounded from her.

‘Civility?’ She echoed the word as if he’d said DIY brain surgery.

Leo’s mouth tightened.

‘We will be here together for at least three weeks—I have no intention of putting up with your ill-humour for that duration.’

She seemed to have gone pale again.

‘Three weeks?’ she echoed faintly. ‘I can’t stay here that long!’

Anger shot through him again.

‘You think your time in jail would be less?’ he riposted sarcastically.

‘I’ve got assignments booked.’

‘I will have them cancelled.’

She leant forward.

‘No, you will not. I will not have my professional reputation compromised by you high-handedly cancelling my assignments!’

Once more Leo was reduced to just staring at her.

‘Your…professional…reputation…?’ he echoed. ‘I don’t believe I just heard you say that! You, Anna Delane, are a thief! You have committed a criminal act. I could have you slung in jail. And you dare, dare to talk to me of your “professional reputation”?’

Leo pushed his chair back and stood up, his hand slashing through the air.

‘Enough! I don’t want to hear one more insolent word from you.’ He relapsed into Greek, and vented his feelings in several choice expletives. Then he stalked away, his mood as black as thunder.

Behind him, Anna Delane sat very, very still.

She wouldn’t crack. She wouldn’t. She would not give him that satisfaction.

Satisfaction.

The word jibed at her with cruel taunting. She could still see it now, etched on her memory, the triumphant satisfaction on his face as she’d opened her eyes to look down at the man who had just done what he had to her.

Self-hatred lacerated through her. How could she have betrayed herself like that? How could she have responded to him, been stroked and caressed and kissed into arousal as she had let herself be?

Until she was helpless, mindless, beyond all control, all salvation.

Beyond anything except the fire that had swept through her body, flamed it to an ecstasy that she had never known existed.

Nothing had ever been like this—nothing.

It had been incredible, ecstatic, exquisite—a stormfire of sensation that had burnt her flesh to the core in a sensual pleasure so intense she had not known it was possible to exist.

I never knew—I never knew it could be like this…

And in that same moment of exultant realisation she had known exactly why she so feared Leo Makarios—just why he was so dangerous to her. She had opened her eyes and realised, with a sickening, ravening horror, what she had done, what she had let him do. What she had wanted him to do!

And he had known it. Wanted her to want it, and what he could make her feel. She had seen the triumph in his eyes.

Self-hatred lashed through her again.

Oh, God, she’d walked to his bed like an ignorant, arrogant fool! Thinking she could stay detached, controlled. Uninvolved with what was going to happen to her. She had prayed for strength, but she had been weak—devastatingly, sickeningly weak.

So pathetically weak she hadn’t been able to resist. Not a single touch or caress; not even a single kiss! Leo had melted her into his arms and she had been able to do nothing, nothing, to hold back from him!

A shaft of fear went through her.

Three weeks, he’d said. Oh, God, she couldn’t last three days here!

Or three nights…

She sat staring out over the beautiful vista of sea and sand as if she were staring at a desert of thorns.

He would do to her again tonight what he had done last night. She knew it. Knew it with a sick, dull certainty. He would take her to bed and stroke, caress and kiss her body until she could fight it no longer. Until her control was stripped from her just as he stripped the clothes from her body, and that mortal, consuming fire would ignite in her again—until she was aching for him…

Anna could feel her body start to respond, feel a prickling in her skin even at the memory of the night that had passed.

Agitatedly she got to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest, crushing down the sensation that was starting to lick at her body. The hunger that was coming to life again, the throb between her aching thighs…

She had to keep busy! Had to do something, anything, to distract her body. She’d already done her morning stretches and skincare routine, using them to blank out her mind as best she could, when she had finally stirred from her exhausted slumber to wake to lacerating consciousness. Sick with horror, she’d bolted from the bedroom, hearing the shower in the en suite bathroom, knowing she had to get away before he emerged.

Emerged to enjoy his triumph over her.

She’d stuck in her room, body aching, trembling with overstimulation, wanting only to sink into permanent oblivion—anything other than face up to what she had done.

But there had been no oblivion—only a maid, insistent, not once but twice, that Mr Makarios was waiting for her on the terrace.

So she had put her armour on. Like one going into battle. Her exercise outfit was hardly the thing to wear in the Caribbean, but it was the only daywear she had brought with her that was not designed for the Alps in winter. She’d tied up her hair, put on the concealing veil of her dark glasses, and gone down to face up to what she had done.

Taking refuge from it the only way she knew how.

And she’d nearly cracked.

So very nearly.

As she’d walked up to him and seen him sitting there, lounging back, the strength of his body exposed in a close-hugging polo shirt, in hip-lean shorts, seen the long, strong sinews of his thighs, the smooth, muscled forearms, seen him watching her approach through lazy, heavy-lidded eyes, she had felt her insides start to dissolve.

He had just looked so devastating!

Something had turned over inside her, melting through her.

And then another emotion had taken its place. A familiar one—a safe one. The safest she could ever have in his company.

Anger.

That was what she had to feel in his presence—nothing but anger. It was the only way she could endure what lay ahead.

In the night, she knew, with bitter self-hatred, she would succumb—could do nothing else, was helpless to resist.

But in the day—

In the day the object of her hatred could be someone other than herself. It could be the man who had done to her the thing she could never, ever forgive herself for.

Leo Makarios—the man she both hated and desired.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LEO slewed the Jeep to a halt in front of the villa in the golden light of the westering sun. His muscles ached, but at least his black mood had gone. He’d spent the day on the island’s eastern coast, punishing it out of him by wave-sailing the rough Atlantic swell. He’d thought of doing what he’d done yesterday—inspecting his property developments taking shape on the southern shores—but everything was going to schedule and there was nothing more there to occupy him. Besides, he hadn’t come here to work. He’d come here to relax.

Unwind.

Enjoy some well-earned R&R with a beautiful woman to warm his bed…

His face darkened momentarily as he tossed the Jeep’s keys at one of the outdoor staff and headed indoors. All day he’d deliberately kept Anna Delane out of his head. He didn’t want to think about her.

Now he wondered idly how she’d spent the day. Still sulking?

A smile twisted at his mouth as he sprinted lithely upstairs.

She wouldn’t be sulking for long. He’d make sure of it.

There was no way a thieving piece like Anna Delane was going to get the better of him. His smile deepened.

He would start again on her, right now.

He’d just thought of an excellent way to do so.

A massage, personally administered, was exactly what he wanted.

And after the massage…

Anna lay in Leo Makarios’s arms. She was facing away from him, drawn back against his body by his heavy, restraining arm. His thigh was heavy across hers.

She stared out across the room.

It had happened again.

The fire had burnt through her, burnt away every last vestige of her self-control, her self-respect.

A massage. She had been summoned to give him a massage.

Like a slave girl!

She’d done it, too. Because what would have been the point of objecting? She’d been brought here for this purpose—the price of keeping her out of jail, keeping Jenny safe. And if a massage was what the man who thought her a thief wanted, then a massage was what he would have.

And what came after.

It had taken very, very little time for her kneading hands to be caught, stilled. For him to turn over with lithe, muscled grace onto his back, for him to draw her down on him again and then, with sudden avid hunger, to tip her over until he was over her. His mouth had been on hers, his hands on her body, peeling the clothes from her as if he were peeling a ripe, luscious fruit for his delectation.

And she had let him. Once more she had let him. Helpless to resist, helpless to do anything except let her body ignite from his, catch the hunger of his kisses, the ardency of his caressing.

Until she had burned with him in the same hot, fierce flame, crying out, her hair whipping, consumed absolutely by the sensation obliterating all sense from her, obliterating everything but its own desperate, urgent need for satiation.

Then afterwards, as the tumult had died, draining away like an inferno that had consumed its own fuel, he had lifted himself from her, rolling to his side, drawing her back against him, smoothing her hair, murmuring to her words she did not understand, his breath warm on her neck, his hands warm on her body.

And now she lay there, her body’s conflagration slowly ebbing to its last cooling embers, exhausted, sated, feeling his chest rise and fall heavily behind her spine, knowing her lungs too were replenishing their air, her heart gradually slowing.

She lay staring out into the dusky room, hearing only the susurration of his breathing, only the low hum of the airconditioning.

Her mind seemed suspended, incapable of operation. She couldn’t think, or feel, or make any conscious use of words or thoughts.

She seemed to be somewhere else.

Someone else.

And there was nothing, nothing she could do.

Leo lay, Anna enfolded in his arms. His body was warm, inert. So was hers. They were incapable of movement, both of them, he knew. The exhaustion that followed the little death had overtaken them both.

It felt good to hold her like this, spooned back against him.

It was as if she belonged to him.

His mind shifted. Where had that thought come from?

He did not want Anna Delane to belong to him. What would he want that for? She was a thief. A beautiful, desirable thief. But a thief for all that.

He did not want to get involved with her.

But then, he never wanted to get involved with any of the women he slept with. They kept to their own lives and he to his. He felt no desire for more.

Good sex was all he asked for, and a woman who knew not to make a nuisance of herself.

Let alone think she could steal a fortune from him with impunity.

Like the woman in his arms now.

He smoothed the hair back from her face a moment. Her eyes were open, but looking blankly ahead of her. He found himself wondering what she was thinking. What went on in her head?

He frowned. He never cared what went on in a woman’s head. It was of no interest to him.

Was any other person of any interest to him? he found himself thinking.

His father had died of a heart attack seven years ago, and his mother had moved to Melbourne to be with relatives. But he’d never been close to either of his parents. He’d seen little of his father while he was growing up, because his father, like his grandfather, had devoted his life to making the Makarios fortune. His mother had played her part by being a society hostess, assiduously cultivating anyone and everyone who could be useful to Makarios Corp. Which meant that her son had been handed over to nannies and teachers.

Possibly the closest person to him was Markos, with whom he’d shared some of his schooling, but now, as adults, they met up only sporadically. Both led the highly peripatetic lives of the very rich, each running their own separate portions of the vast Makarios corporation which inevitably took them in different physical directions much of the time.

He had an extensive staff, of course, ranging from key executives to a team of personal assistants. And he had friends. Of course he had friends. Every man in his position had friends. Usually far too damn many.

But were any of them close to him?

Was he interested in any of them other than for what use they were to Makarios Corp? None sprang to mind.

Impatiently, he put the thoughts from him. His life was good—very good. Makarios Corp was riding high, he was riding high. He was in the prime of life, fit and healthy, and he knew without false modesty that he’d been blessed with a physical appearance that would be enviable even in a poor man. Combine that with his riches and he was a man other men envied and women wanted.

Anna Delane didn’t…

The words stole into his head before he could stop them.

Anna Delane didn’t want you—she threw you from her bedroom. Screeched her head off at you. Rejected you royally!

Deliberately he made himself stroke her arm, slowly, possessively. She wasn’t rejecting him now—but the choice had been between him or jail…no wonder she hadn’t rejected him! he thought bitterly.

Leo’s jaw tightened.

Anna Delane would not have gone on rejecting him. He’d have seen to that. If he hadn’t caught her red-handed with the Levantsky bracelet he’d still have pursued her. Whatever hypocritical reason she’d had for rejecting him that evening, he’d have got her in the end. Women didn’t hold out on him. His usual problem was quite the opposite—fending them off. No, he’d have got Anna Delane in his bed. Thief or no.

It was a pity she was a thief…

Again, the words stole into his brain before he could stop them. They annoyed him. Obviously he’d have preferred her not to be a thief—after all, she’d come far too damn close to walking off with the Levantsky bracelet!—but that was the only reason for his preference. It would have made no other difference. The end result would have been the same. Her in his bed, a few weeks together, and then he’d tire of her.

His hand moved slowly up her arm again, enjoying her soft, silken skin.

He felt his body begin to stir.

No chance of tiring of her yet.

He shifted his weight onto his elbow, and cupped her chin, turning her head towards him. His mouth lowered to hers.

It felt good. Arousing.

Yes, definitely no chance of tiring of her yet.

Carefully, Anna smoothed total sunblock over her legs. Even though she spent as much time as she could in the shade, and put sunblock on religiously, she still seemed to be browning. She frowned. It was a damned nuisance. Her white skin was one of her selling points, and she guarded it assiduously. OK, so she could have stayed indoors every day, but she couldn’t bear to. It was bad enough just getting through the days, without being denied the run of the gardens and the beach. Or the pool.

Thank God for the pool. Swimming up and down occupied hours of her time, and a swimsuit was something she never travelled without. Although she had enough evening outfits—brought for her time at the Schloss—daywear suitable for the Caribbean climate was more of a problem. By dint of washing her exercise outfit daily, and wearing the jade-green silk trouser suit during the day, she was just managing to cope. She could also, during the day, wander round with just a towel wrapped round her like a sarong. That was because—and she thanked all the gods there were—Leo Makarios was never around in the daytime.

Maybe he sleeps in his earth-filled coffin in daytime? she thought acidly.

The reality, she knew, was more prosaic. He took himself off on the water. He seemed, thankfully, to have a whole range of ways of enjoying himself out at sea. Sometimes she saw him on a windsurf board, racing across the bay in a crosswind; sometimes—according to her cautious enquires of the house staff—he went to the Atlantic coast for stronger winds and wave-sailing and kite-surfing. Often he disappeared off in a variety of sailing craft. He seemed to have a whole collection in a boathouse further along the beach. She saw him skimming along in a one-handed dinghy, or on windier days taking a catamaran out, spinnaker billowing. He went off diving, too, some days, and she watched the staff lug oxygen tanks on board the inflatable dive boat, then him heading out to the reefs.

Whatever took him out to sea, she was just grateful.

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