The Greek Millionaire's Mistress

“Then can we just sit and get to know one another better? You said earlier that you wouldn’t be where you are today if it weren’t for Angelo Tyros, and I’ve been wondering what you meant by that.”

He shrugged his impeccably tailored shoulders regretfully. “Much though I’d prefer to watch the sun come up with you at my side, I’m afraid I must deny myself the pleasure. I’m officially working and shouldn’t be gone from the party too long.”

Well, so much for finding her irresistible! As long as she was willing to let him seduce her, he had all the time in the world to spare, but the minute she called a halt to the physical side of things, duty called him elsewhere—probably to one of those women she’d earlier noticed salivating over him as if he were a particularly mouthwatering slice of baklava!

“Thanks for reminding me that I’m slacking off, too,” she said, not quite able to keep the sting out of her voice. “I’m being paid to produce an article about the rich and famous, and could be missing all kinds of delicious goings-on downstairs.”

He started to speak, but she was in no mood to listen because her little bubble of happiness had burst and left her flat with disillusionment. She’d been out of circulation too long, that was the trouble. Adopting the role of parent to her poor, lost mother had blunted her social skills, and left her so hungry for a touch of glamour, a soupçon of romance, that she’d lost all perspective the very second Mikos had spared her a second glance.

How could she have been so naive? Sophisticated men like him weren’t interested in cosy chats by moonlight. She ought to be grateful he hadn’t laughed in her face at the mere idea!

Swallowing the absurd lump in her throat, she swept to the elevator and pressed the call button. Mercifully the doors slid open promptly, offering a fast escape. But not quite fast enough. Mikos was right on her heels, ushering her into the car with such charming continental gallantry that it took every iota of willpower for her to maintain a stony-faced mask of indifference.

“I have offended you,” he observed ruefully, as the doors ghosted shut.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, and wished he’d stop staring at her. Didn’t he know that people in elevators were supposed to look at the illuminated numbers on the directory panel, and never at other passengers?

“If that is true,” he replied, after a lengthy pause, “then once things start to quieten down a little, perhaps you’ll join me for a late snack?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and faked a long yawn. “Oh, I doubt that. I’m pretty tired already, and won’t be hanging around once I’ve collected enough material to complete my article.”

“I see.” Another silence followed, this one more protracted, then, “You have a room here, at the Grande Bretagne, do you, Gina?”

She thought of the Grande Bretagne, newly restored to its nineteenth century grandeur, and laughed, a brittle humorless sound that echoed harshly in that confined space. “Hardly! I’m a working woman, remember?”

“But you have adequate accommodation in a decent neighborhood?”

“I’m at the Topikos, just a couple of blocks from the Hilton.” It was nothing splashy, and certainly didn’t compare to the Grande Bretagne, but her room was clean and comfortable, came with its own bathroom and was affordable.

“Then I’ll arrange for a car to take you home when you’re ready to leave.”

“No need,” she said. “It’s not far. I can walk, or take a taxi.”

“I will not allow any such thing. Please let me know when you’ve had enough of the party.”

Fat chance! she almost told him. Fortunately the elevator sighed to a stop and the second the doors slid open, the din from the party swam through, drowning out any possibility of further conversation.

Once inside the ballroom, she waggled her fingers in farewell. “See you later,” she mouthed, and promptly put as much distance between him and her as possible.

Sadly he made no attempt to stop her. Instead, with the careless elegance only the very rich and self-assured dared assume, he sauntered across the imposing lobby and struck up a conversation with a man seated in an alcove.

Well, if Mikolas Christopoulos wasn’t going to give her access to Angelo Tyros, she’d have to do it on her own. Refusing to admit the bitter taste in her mouth sprang from a disappointment that had to do with more than thwarted ambition, she made her way unimpeded to the head table, only to suffer another setback. There was no sign of the Greek billionaire.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?” she asked a woman still seated there.

“A little, yes.”

“Then can you tell me where I might find Mr. Tyros? I was hoping he’d grant me an interview.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “You’re too late, Kyria! Even if he’d have agreed to speak to you, which is doubtful, Angelo left some time ago. He is eighty, after all!”

Oh, great! Just wonderful!

No denying her letdown this time. It burned her throat raw.

She’d started out on such a high note. Been greeted on her arrival at the Grande Bretagne by a cloaked doorman who’d ushered her into the lobby as if she were royalty. Somehow caught the eye of the most attractive man in the room, who’d singled her out for his undivided attention, only to dump her as soon as he realized she wasn’t up for a quick grope between the potted palms. And matters had gone steadily downhill ever since. All in all, the evening had been a complete bust.

Discouraged and exhausted suddenly, she circled back to the ballroom’s exit, grateful to see that although the faithful four continued to stand guard against gatecrashers, Mikos was nowhere in sight.

At least, that was her assumption until, when she was halfway across the Persian carpet adorning the lobby, a hand closed over her shoulder and that dark, rich voice that had so nearly seduced her on the roof, murmured in her ear, “And just where do you think you’re going, Ms. Hudson?”

CHAPTER TWO

SHE’D thought she was tired, that falling into bed and sleeping without fear of what she might wake up to was exactly what she both needed and wanted. But the sun was well-risen and already flushing the tall buildings of downtown Athens with color when she finally arrived back at her hotel room, just after eight o-clock the next morning.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she’d told Mikos, pushing aside yet another pesky photographer and making her determined way through the rotating doors of the Grande Bretagne to the street outside, “but I’m heading back to my hotel.”

Undeterred, he’d followed her. “We decided you’d let me know when you were ready to do that.”

“No,” she corrected him stonily. “You decided, not I.”

He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers imperiously. That, it seemed, was all it took for a small black Mercedes limousine to materialize from the shadows and cruise to a stop at the curb. “Just as well one of us has some sense then, isn’t it?” he said, and held open the rear door in refuse-me-at-your-peril invitation.

Although she’d have loved to defy him and stalk haughtily off into the night under her own steam, in truth she was glad of the excuse to be off her feet. Strappy rhinestone sandals might exemplify the ultimate in elegant evening accessories, but they didn’t lend themselves to hiking. Not only that, she hadn’t worn three inch heels in years, and her feet were aching unmercifully. So she swallowed her pride and slithered into the back seat in a flurry of violet silk chiffon. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate your consideration.”

“Parakalo! Don’t mention it,” he returned.

Assuming she’d seen the last of him, she leaned forward to give the uniformed chauffeur the name of her hotel, then realized that Mikos had also climbed into the car with every sign of remaining there.

Rattled, she gasped, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting an end to this nonsense,” he replied, then switched to Greek in a brief conversation with the driver, at the conclusion of which the man nodded compliantly, raised the smoked-glass panel between him and his passengers and eased the car into the traffic still clogging the road.

Gina wasn’t familiar with the layout of Athens, but one glance out of the dark-tinted side window was enough to tell her they weren’t headed toward her hotel. “In case you’re not aware, your driver’s going the wrong way,” she informed Mikos.

“He’s going precisely the right way,” he drawled, unbuttoning his dinner jacket and stretching out his long legs. “I suggest you relax and enjoy the ride.”

For a moment, she was tempted. What woman wouldn’t be, especially one who’d been deprived of the so-called “finer things in life” for far too long? She was ensconced in black leather upholstery as plush and soft as polished marshmallows, in a limousine that purred like a well-bred cat and traveled over the surface of the road as smoothly as a sleek length of satin floating on air.

The neck of a bottle of champagne—Bollinger, she noticed—poked out of a silver ice bucket in the built-in bar. Crystal flutes sparkled in the subdued glow of the rear interior lights. The man seated next to her was sexy and gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome. Worldly, sophisticated and charming.

Then it occurred to her that she was headed toward an unknown destination, in a car with a comparative stranger, and could be in very serious trouble. Women traveling alone in foreign lands had been known to disappear without trace, never to be seen again, precisely because they’d behaved as rashly as she just had.

“If you’re thinking of kidnapping me,” she said, sounding distressingly terrified, “you should know that you won’t be able to raise a ransom worth spit. I have no value, monetary or otherwise, to a living soul.” Except, she added silently, to my mother who hasn’t a clue where I am, or what sort of trouble I might be facing. And if even if she had, she couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

“Kidnap you?” He stifled a grin, though not quite soon enough for it to pass unnoticed. Teeth like his, she thought sourly, were a dentist’s worst nightmare. Straight, white and flawless, they’d push the poor man to the brink of bankruptcy before he’d find reason to tamper with them. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, it might not be such a bad idea.”

“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing!” she spat.

He angled a long, assessing glance her way. “I find you many things. Amusing, certainly, agapiti mou, but also intriguing, ingenuous—”

“I find you insufferable!”

This time, he laughed out loud, an eruption of sound rumbling rich and low as an earthquake from deep inside his chest. “At least I’ve made some sort of impression,” he said dryly, removing the champagne from the ice bucket.

His hands, darkly tanned against the white cuffs of his dress shirt, were well-shaped, with long, capable fingers. Spellbound, she watched as they stripped the foil from the neck of the bottle and removed the cork with the kind of negligent ease that suggested he was no stranger to the task. The wine foamed in the flutes, tiny volcanoes of bubbles exploding to the surface in effervescent glee.

“What shall we drink to, Gina?” he asked, offering a glass to her.

Exercising a mind of their own that was completely at odds with how common sense dictated they should respond, her fingers reached out and circled the slender stem. “You decide.”

“How about, to getting to know more about one another?”

“When I suggested that, little more than an hour ago, you claimed you had more pressing matters to attend to.”

“I’ve changed my mind since then.”

“You’re not the only one! I now know more than I care to about the kind of man you are,” she replied, “and if you think that by getting me in the back seat of this…this sexmobile, I’m going to lie down and let you have your way with me, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

At first, he seemed bereft of speech. He covered his mouth with his hand, and from the way his champagne trembled in its glass, it was plain enough that he was convulsed with more laughter, albeit silent this time. Finally making an effort to control himself—and not very well at that, judging by the amusement quivering in his voice—he said, “I assure you, I have far too much respect for you to entertain any such notion.”

“Oh.” She digested that for a second, then turned to him, puzzled. “Well then, what do you want?”

“To explain myself to you.”

“You didn’t have to go to such extreme lengths to do that.”

“Really? Are you saying that if I’d tried to speak my mind as you left the hotel, you’d have stopped in midflight and listened?”

“Probably not,” she had to admit. “I was pretty ticked off with you.”

“Exactly! And that’s what encouraged me to spirit you away like this. If you hadn’t cared that our rendezvous on the hotel roof came to such an abrupt end, I wouldn’t have bothered wasting any more of your time, or mine. But…” He fixed her in his gaze and shrugged his broad, beautiful shoulders. “You did care, didn’t you? You felt it, too—that spark of attraction between us, so powerful it defies all reason?”

Mesmerized, she nodded, such a maelstrom of emotion rushing through her at the message she read in his eyes that it took her a moment to pose the question that had gnawed at her for hours. “But in that case, why did you suddenly—?”

“Put an end to things, before they went too far?”

She nodded again.

“Because,” he said, removing her glass before she dropped it, and placing it beside his on the built-in shelf at his side, “I pride myself on being a civilized man who is long past the age where hasty fumbling in a public place is an acceptable way to treat a lady. But you, Gina, you aroused such a hunger in me that I wasn’t sure I could control myself if I remained alone with you any longer.”

At that, a lovely warmth spread through her. “I thought it might be because you’re married.”

“I am not, nor have I ever been married.”

“Oh,” she said, those same bubbles which had streamed so exuberantly in her champagne flute chasing now through her blood.

“Nor,” he continued, “do I plan to seduce you in the back seat of this car. If we are to make love—and that is by no means certain—it will be at a place and time of both our choosing.” His teeth gleamed in another smile. “But if you’ll permit it, I’d very much like to kiss you again.”

Heart stammering with pleasure, she whispered, “I think that can be arranged.”

He took her face between his hands and very slowly let his breath feather over her closed eyes, and her lashes, and down her face to her jaw, before making his deliberate way to her mouth. Once there, his lips closed over hers lightly, decorously even, yet spoke a silent language that promised a depth of passion completely foreign to anything she’d known before.

How easily he made her ache and want and need! Desire gnawed at her, raw and merciless. She felt herself melting, as she had when he’d kissed her on the hotel roof. Heat swirled through her blood. Pooled hot and heavy in the pit of her stomach. Sprang moist as dew in the secret folds of her femininity.

Stop being such a gentleman! she almost begged aloud. Stop holding back!

She was ravenous for him. Wanted him to touch her all over. Wished he’d lower her dress from her shoulders, raise its hem to her waist. Slide his hand inside her underwear. Cup the fullness of her breasts in his palms. Discover the tight buds of her nipples, the hot, tingling flesh between her legs.

More, she wanted to touch him. Run the tips of her fingers down his chest and past the flat planes of his belly. Stray lower into forbidden territory and explore the aroused shape of him. Test its smooth, naked weight in her hand. He would be big and powerful, just like the attraction flaring between them. He would be like no other man she’d ever met. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

Her realizing the direction of her thoughts was the only thing that prevented her from acting on her impulses.

Horrified at how close she’d come to embarrassing herself, she pulled away, shocked to the core.

What was wrong with her, that she was behaving like a…a floozy and practically throwing herself at a stranger? Had she been bitten by some exotic foreign bug and contracted brain fever? Admittedly she wasn’t a complete innocent where sex was concerned. She’d lost her virginity at twenty-two to Paul Johnson, her then-fiancé, who’d eventually changed his mind about marrying her when he’d realized it meant taking on her mother, too. But she’d never been “easy,” never cheapened herself with loose behavior.

Of course, some people might say she hadn’t had much choice in the matter because, after Paul broke things off and she went back to the island for good, her social life had pretty much hit rock bottom, especially when it came to dating. The limited number of eligible men she’d met there weren’t interested in a woman forever preoccupied with the doings of a sixty-year-old child.

But this was Athens, Greece, and incredible, beautiful Mikos Christopoulos had kissed her twice, and in doing so had awakened all the pent-up female needs and yearnings she’d suppressed for over five years, and set them free with a vengeance.

It had nothing to do with attraction, although Mikos surely was the most attractive man to walk the earth. It had to do with hunger; with the basic need to be acknowledged as a woman who amounted to more than a daughter and caregiver. But for her to give in to it like this? Never!

“Oh, my…!” she gasped, putting more distance between him and her, and sitting on her hands to keep them from wandering where they most definitely didn’t belong. “I think that’s enough for now.”

He didn’t attempt to dissuade her. If anything, he seemed almost relieved that she’d called a halt to things. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, reaching for the bottle and topping up their champagne.

Bewildered by the mixed messages he was sending—so hot for her one minute, yet able to cool his ardor so effectively the next—she gestured at the luxurious appointments of the limousine. “This isn’t exactly how I expected the evening to end, when I came to the party tonight.”

“Exactly what did you expect, Gina?”

“Why, that I’d go back to my hotel as soon as I’d gathered enough information.”

“Information?”

“For my magazine article.”

“Ah, yes, the magazine article,” he echoed suavely.

Too suavely.

“Yes,” she said, brought up short by the veiled cynicism she detected in his voice. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she lied, taking umbrage at his answering her question with one of his own. “But you sound awfully suspicious suddenly.”

“Do I?” He flicked a glance her way, then turned his attention to the bubbles rising in his glass as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever come across.

“Yes,” she said again, and when he made no attempt to deny the fact, continued, “Are you?”

He deliberated at length before replying, “Let me put it this way. I’m not a man easily swayed by a beautiful face or an alluring body. It takes more than that to capture my interest. But I’m so strongly drawn to you that I’m at a loss to know how to deal with it.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be at a loss about anything or anyone.”

“Normally I’m not. But I’d be lying if I said I find this situation normal. In truth, I consider it to be quite extraordinary.”

“And you don’t like not being in charge.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I am, as you say in your part of the world, a control freak. It’s what makes me so good at my job.”

“Which is what, exactly? You told me you work for Mr. Tyros, but you never said what it is you do.”

“I’m in management. An executive vice president, in fact.”

Which told her precisely nothing. Well, I didn’t think you were a janitor! she almost retorted, struck by the sense that he’d edited his answer very carefully.

Realistically she supposed it wasn’t surprising. Likely no employee of a high-powered tycoon like Angelo Tyros, was at liberty to share top-level information with an outsider, and she only had to remember his imperious commandeering of the limousine to recognize that Mikos was very top-level indeed. “Do you like your job?” she asked him instead.

The interior car lights were dim, but not enough to hide the grimace that passed over his face. “Not always,” he admitted. “But then, who does? Take you, for instance. Are you entirely happy with what you do every day?”

She turned and looked out of the window, her reasons for coming to Greece suddenly back in the forefront of her mind where they rightly belonged.

Ms. Hudson…Gina, this is very awkward, but I’m quite sure I left my earrings on the dresser before we went out this morning, and they’re not there now….

Gina, is that you? I just caught your mother down on the beach, waist-deep in the water…in November, Gina…!

Seen Maeve? Not since this morning, Gina, no. When did you realize she was missing…?

How did one rate a labor of love, she wondered, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. She hated what had happened to her mother. Hated the slow slipping away of the woman who’d once been the mainstay of her life. So, to answer his question, no, she wasn’t happy with what she had to do every day. But not for the reasons he might think.

Turning to face him again, she said, “Some days are better than others. I guess that’s true of every job.”

“Tell me about that.”

“What?”

“Your job. You said you live on one of the Gulf Islands.”

“That’s right.”

“Isn’t that rather inconvenient? If my memory serves correctly, they lie quite some distance from the mainland. I’d have thought that rather limiting for a writer interested in covering the international social set.”

“Many people commute from the islands to Vancouver. I can make it by seaplane in twenty minutes, if I need to.”

“But what made a young woman like you decide to live at home again?”

“How do you know I live at home?”

“You told me so, when we were dancing.”

Oh dear! She’d have to keep a tighter rein on her tongue or he’d definitely become suspicious. Or was it just that he was killing time in idle conversation and hoping she wouldn’t notice that they’d left the city behind and were approaching a bridge spanning a stretch of dark water? A lake? The sea? And if the latter, which one?

Her earlier fears resurfacing suddenly, she said, “Why don’t you tell me where you’re taking me?”

“To a place where we can be alone.”

“We’re already alone.”

“Not quite.” He glanced meaningfully at the smoked glass partition separating them from the driver. “My work is such that I’m seldom able to escape it, but tonight…” He traced the tip of his forefinger lightly over her lower lip, leaving it throbbing for more. “Tonight, I’m playing hooky. With you.”

Soon, they’d crossed the bridge and were passing through a fair-size town where lamps still shone from many houses. “Are we still on the mainland?”

“No. We’re on Evia, our second largest island after Crete. Many Greeks consider it to be the most beautiful, but because it lies so close to the mainland, it’s often overlooked by tourists and, as a result, has retained much of its traditional customs and charm.”

“Is it where you have your weekend place?”

He folded his fingers around hers. “No,” he said again.

The blood raced through her veins, not only because the simple touch of his hand on hers electrified her senses, but also from growing apprehension. Too soon, the lights of the town faded into the night. About fifteen minutes later, they passed through a village. Not long after that, the car cruised to a stop on a deserted stretch of coast road far from any sign of civilization. “Come,” Mikos said, drawing her out of the vehicle, the very second the driver raced around to hold open the door.