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

Yet he had to admit he found it immensely satisfying that she didn’t remember the Frenchman. Especially after…

Hell!

“I knew about Jean-Paul, saw you both in my bed with my own eyes.” His tone took on a dark edge. “I can give you details of how you were straddling him, your knees around his hips, your bare breasts bouncing and the satin sheets—my satin sheets—crumpled around you. Your skin like a pearl against—”

“Stop.” Gemma came to a jarring halt. “I don’t want to hear this.” Her head bent, she stared at the shadowy footpath and tension hunched her bare shoulders. She shivered as a sharp gust of sea-wind cut through the night.

“If I tell you what I saw, what I can still see so clearly, it might help you remember.” He knew his bitterness was showing. But he wanted to hurt her, cut to the heart of her. Humiliate her as he’d been humiliated. “How many more men like Jean-Paul will there be? Men that I don’t know of? Men that you don’t remember?”

Gemma shivered again.

Angered by her lack of response, he said, “Tell me, Gemma, how many more?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a very small voice.

“Look at me.” His hands closed on her shoulders. Her skin was like ice. He swung her round and her eyes snapped open revealing her bewilderment as she stumbled on her high heels.

“Careful!” He tightened his grip and couldn’t help noticing how soft her skin felt.

She ducked away. Her heel gave and she almost fell.

With an exasperated imprecation he yanked her upright. “Are you okay?”

“No thanks to you.” She wrenched herself free. “If you hadn’t grabbed me like some Neanderthal I’d have been fine.”

“Neanderthal?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or to swear at the crack. “Neanderthal?”

Gemma’s heart sank as she absorbed his outrage. Then she stiffened as her own indignation kicked in. It was his doing that she’d nearly fallen. He’d spun her round. Ever since Jean-Paul’s arrival he’d been acting like a jealous jerk. She didn’t have to put up with it.

Tossing back her hair, she lifted her chin. “Yes. Neanderthal. You know—some primitive three-hundred pound gorilla type.” Her heart was galloping as she stared at him defiantly, waiting for his response.

For a moment he simply stood there. Then he gurgled something that sounded like gorilla and his arms shot out.

She gave a squeak. And then it was too late.

He had her in a hard hold, his fingers imprinted on her shoulders, and his lips slanted across hers, grinding down against the softness cooled by the night breeze. She wriggled and murmured a protest.

He raised his head, and she gulped a much-needed breath. “So I’m a gorilla, am I?”

Hastily she shook her head. A mad urge to laugh bubbled through Gemma. Then his mouth was back, open and hungry on hers, and all coherent thought left her. His tongue stroked the soft, tender skin inside her cheeks. Heat sliced through her, a restless yearning started to build. The desire he’d ignited when he’d kissed her in the alcove returned in full force. Gemma’s head spun. What the hell was happening to her?

His arms tightened, drawing her up against him. He was already aroused.

The realisation sent a wave of reckless euphoria coursing through her. Her bones softened, and in her lower body the heat started to spread. Her hips seemed to have developed a life of their own and moved in slow circles against him. Angelo groaned.

His hot breath rushed into her mouth and the intimacy turned her knees to liquid. Gemma staggered backward, her heels digging into the turf, and Angelo followed, his thighs moving against hers in an erotic dance, their mouths devouring each other.

The roughness of a tree trunk stopped Gemma backing up. Angelo didn’t pause until he had her plastered against the trunk, his body reamed up against hers in the dark space under the wide canopy of branches, his hands twisted in the tangled mass of her hair. Her nipples pebbled, aching under the press of his body. Here, in the silent darkness, the golden glow of the lamplight seemed far away.

The pressure on her mouth gave a little and then the tip of his tongue started to outline her lips, slowly, deliberately, his hands holding her head, positioning her for maximum impact.

It was teasing, frustrating. She wanted him to kiss her. Intimately. “More.” The demand was torn from her. She butted her hips forward, finding the length of his erection and started to rock back and forth. She wanted more of his mouth, more of his touch…more… of the intense want ripping through her.

But he kept the tongue strokes light and toying and she writhed against him.

When Angelo finally lifted his head, Gemma moaned a protest. In the stillness of the night the sound of their breathing was hoarse and ragged. His fingers fiddled at her nape and a moment later she felt the straps of her halter dress and the bra beneath give.

A warm hand slipped under the fabric and stroked the bare flesh of her breast. His fingers brushed the nub; sensation shot through her and she gasped, arching against the tree. He repeated the motion. She tensed as a rush of heat pooled beneath her panties.

“Ghhh.” The sound that escaped her was foreign, incomprehensible even to her own ears. Rising on tiptoe, Gemma rocked harder, rubbing herself against his solid flesh, concentrating on that sensitive part of her—the part that touched him, aroused him, despite the rasp of the fabric that separated them. Then his leg moved, bracing his weight, so that the hardness in the front of his trousers fitted in the space between her legs.

Her eyes tightly closed, her head flung back, Gemma focused on the fingertips massaging her nipple, on the sensation spreading out hotter and hotter from the junction between her legs.

She started to pant and the desperate heat climbed higher…higher…within her. She rocked faster still, rubbing against him, and he responded, his hips moving back and forth, the friction building—building until Gemma knew that she was poised on the lip of the void.

The taunting, teasing touch on her nipples tightened. And when his tongue entered her mouth in wild, consuming thrusts a bolt of electric sensation shot through Gemma.

Turned on beyond belief, Gemma gasped, a wild, keening sound. Her body tightened, the sensitive point at the apex of her legs caught fire and the convulsions began.

She sagged against the tree, spent and dizzy, her pulse pumping furiously through her head. Her legs had turned to water, and she suspected that had the tree not supported her she would’ve collapsed.

Angelo lifted his head and withdrew his hand from her breast. Her body cooled as he stepped away, his expression unfathomable in the criss-cross shadows of the branches.

“Maybe that will help you remember!”

God, how she hated him. At his awful words she fumbled for the straps behind her neck, but her fingers were shaking so much she couldn’t tie them. Finally, with an impatient mutter Angelo stepped forward. But this time he kept his body from touching hers, and unexpectedly Gemma ached for the loss. The pull of the straps tightening as he knotted them was unbearably intimate and Gemma searched desperately for something to say to break the ghastly, growing silence.

What was there to say to the man who’d pleasured her so thoroughly without taking the time to remove her dress or her panties? Hell, despite her dislike and distrust, she’d let him do what he wanted, touch where he wanted without a murmur.

She shuddered with shame.

Telling herself she despised him didn’t help. She’d driven him on, rubbing herself against him like… Oh, God! She flushed at the memory of what she’d done… her lack of restraint. Fully clad, Angelo had touched her with only with his mouth and the fingertips of one hand and brought her more ecstasy than she could ever remember experiencing.

She wanted to run. To hide. Before her composure gave way.

“I’ll find my way from here. You don’t have to come any farther.” Then she closed her eyes as she replayed her own words and waited for him to point out that he hadn’t come. Yet.

“I will walk you to your unit.” His voice was colder than winter. “The sooner your contract ends and you leave Strathmos, the better for both of us.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” Gemma blurted out, her eyes stinging. “Leave me alone. I don’t want your company.”

Once inside her unit, Gemma flipped the kettle on with hands that trembled, and blinked away the tears that blurred her vision. Feeling utterly wretched, she craved a mug of camomile tea to soothe her shattered nerves while the aftershocks of their terrifyingly passionate encounter quaked through her.

She couldn’t stay.

She would leave Strathmos tomorrow, catch the first ferry out—even if it meant breaking her contract and putting her professional reputation on the line. She could not do this.

Never had it crossed her mind that she would melt under Angelo Apollonides’s touch, press her body up against his, encourage his kisses. He was a suave playboy. No one knew better than she.

Oh, God. How had she gotten herself into this fix? Distraught, Gemma speared her shaky fingers through her hair.

She needed to get a grip. Fighting for control, she tried to think analytically about what had happened out there, under the cold stars. Okay, so she’d provoked him. Intentionally. But she hadn’t expected him to react so fiercely, to move so quickly. His cool eyes, his mocking smile, his legion of beautiful cookie-cutter lovers had indicated Angelo wasn’t a man given to impulse. That devastating kiss—and what had followed—stunned her.

He was far more dangerous than she’d ever known.

When the kettle clicked off, she reached into the cupboard for a mug and poured boiling water over the teabag. Why had she risked all the ground she’d made by provoking him? What had she hoped to gain? What was it about Angelo that made her itch to disconcert him? To prove to him she wasn’t the woman he thought he was?

Cradling the mug between her hands, she propped her elbows on the bench top. The photo at the end of the bench top mocked her.

Setting her tea down, she picked up the photo. It looked like such an idyllic family. Mum and Dad flanking their smiling, all-grown-up daughter against a backdrop of lovingly tended rosebushes. Tears pricked again. Gemma craved a dose of her mother’s kind common sense. Checking her watch she calculated that in New Zealand it would be morning. She picked up the handset from the wall and punched in the familiar number of her childhood home.

“Hello?”

Despite the distance her mother’s voice was clear and familiar.

Gemma swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s me, Mum.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so glad you’ve called. I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“I should’ve called sooner.” Gemma had known her parents were worried. She’d been avoiding their concern. “But you know I had to come.”

“Yes.” Her mother’s voice held a touch of resignation. “Has it helped?”

The grief counsellor had supported Gemma’s determination in the face of her parents’ objections. Closure came in strange ways. And that’s what this trip was about, closure. “I don’t know. Mum, I’m so confused.” Gemma thought of Angelo’s effect on her, how he only had to touch her to send her up in flames and gulped. “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.” But tomorrow that would end. She would leave…and never see Angelo Apollonides again. It was for the best—even if it meant she’d never know the truth…

“How is Dad?”

“Fine.”

“No, I mean, how is he handling my coming to Strathmos? He was very upset when I left.”

Her mother sighed. “He’s worried. And it’s opened up the memories about your sister’s death. He’s afraid of what might happen to you.”

“Tell him I’m fine…and I love him.”

“He’s gone back to therapy. The doctor says he’s over the worst of the depression. For him, like you, the hardest part was not knowing why Mandy died.”

“Double trouble, that’s what Dad used to call us.” Staring at the photo, Gemma searched the face of her twin for answers. Mandy had died, unhappy and lost. But no one knew why. Only Angelo could provide the answers that would let her father—and Gemma herself—find a little peace.

Closure.

That’s what they all needed.

And that was why she could not tell Angelo to go to hell and walk away. Cold seeped in, chilling her all the way to her soul.

She could not leave tomorrow.

“Oh, sweetheart. Come home.”

“I can’t.” Her lips barely moved. “I have to find out what happened to Mandy. For all our sakes. Then we can get on with our lives.”

“Oh, Gemma. Your sister wouldn’t want you to suffer like this, she’d want you to remember the special times you had together.”

“I know. But I need to understand what happened to her…what this bastard did to her and why she reacted like she did. Dad and you need to know, too.”

“Your father and I don’t want you meddling with this man.” Her mother’s voice was anxious. “He’s wealthy, powerful. He could hurt you.”

Like he hurt Mandy.

Gemma knew what her mother was thinking. But the words remained unspoken.

“Mum…” Gemma’s voice trailed away. She thought of what had just happened between her and Angelo. If her parents knew about that…they’d be on the next flight out to rescue her.

“Have you spoken to him? What did he say?”

Reluctant to admit that she hadn’t confronted Angelo about Mandy’s death, and even more loath for her mother to discover that Angelo believed she was Mandy, Gemma spoke in a rush. “I wanted to find out what kind of man he is first.”

“And what kind of man is he?”

Compelling. Passionate. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Gemma, be careful.” The sigh came over the miles. “You’re not Mandy. Chasing after trouble was her speciality, not yours. You were always the sensible one, Gemma.”

Her mother was right, Mandy had always been a little…wild. Taking Gemma’s passport and credit card to Strathmos and assuming Gemma’s identity was only one of the pranks Mandy had played.

Oh, Mandy, what happened on Strathmos?

Gemma couldn’t help thinking about the familiarity in the Frenchman’s tone earlier, his easy kiss. She remembered Angelo’s hard gaze, the coiled tension in his muscled body. She remembered the taste of his mouth—hot and seductive against hers—the thrill of his body pressing into hers and her pleasure as she came apart under his touch.

Once again confusion and turmoil wrestled within her. God! How could she teach the bastard the lesson he deserved if she desired him?

And how could she face him again?

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut. How on earth could she have reacted like that to the man who had destroyed her sister?

Four

Gemma tossed and turned for most of the night. Several times she jerked awake from confusing dreams of what had happened in her sister’s life. Beneath it all festered an uneasiness about the disturbing passion that had flared between herself and Angelo. Just before dawn the pitter-patter of rain against the window pane lulled her into a restless sleep.

In the morning she clambered out of bed, crossed to the window and hitched the curtain back. No sun peeked through the cloud cover. The trees outside swayed in the wind. But at least the rain had subsided. With her morning free of rehearsals and her next show scheduled for later that evening, Gemma decided to make for the beach to go windsurfing. That was one place where wet and wind wouldn’t matter. And it would certainly shake the dark mood that gripped her and take her mind off Mandy, Jean-Paul and… Angelo.

Pulling on a sleek black maillot, she called reception to check that no storms were forecasted, then grabbed her wet suit out of the cupboard and trod into a pair of ancient sneakers. A couple of bananas, a bottle of water and a towel, and she was ready to go.

The beach was deserted. To Gemma’s relief, there were no whitecaps on the water. A gust of wind tugged at her hair as she hauled a windsurfing board out of the stack. Dragging the board into the sea, she waded calf-deep into the water and waited with both hands on the boom. When a puff of wind came, she pushed the mast straight up and stepped onto the centre of the board. Shifting her feet, Gemma adjusted the sail and, looking upwind, she turned the board to the open sea.

The sail filled and she took off, the wind rushing past her ears. She barely noticed the rain and her worries evaporated as she raced across the water.

She welcomed the freedom.

A couple of hours later Gemma became aware of another windsurfer on the water, coming towards her through the rain. Leaning her mast back, the nose of her board started to turn upwind across the face of the wind, away from the intruder. But the other windsurfer gained on her, trespassing on her solitude.

A quick glance at her watch showed that she still had lots of time before her show. It wasn’t often that she had the sea to herself. Why would she go in simply because someone was crowding her? There was a whole sea for the two of them. If she tacked away, perhaps the other windsurfer would get the hint.

But the larger black-and-white sail continued to bear down on her. Glaring at him—it was undoubtedly a male figure—Gemma’s annoyance grew when she recognised the windsurfer.

Angelo.

Setting a course upwind, Gemma decided to force him to yield to her. A glint of white as his teeth flashed. He knew what she was up to.

Determined to get ahead, she started to work every ounce of speed out of her rig. The board responded willingly and elation swept through her.

Then she saw thatAngelo had taken up her challenge.

For a moment she thought that they might collide. She faltered, her board wobbled and her nerve almost gave in, before he gave way, falling back to sail in her wake. Her sail shivering under the pressure of the wind, she skimmed across the water, while her heart beat rapidly at the near miss—and the euphoria that came from racing the wind…and besting Angelo.

Angelo stared after Gemma not sure whether to whistle in admiration or holler at her recklessness. She was going full tilt, not giving an inch. He pointed his board to a destination upwind of where she was headed, and he set off after her.

The breeze blew on his face, lighter on the inside near the shore. He came down the line he’d planned, unfazed by the rain, tacking with speed and closing his distance on Gemma.

She turned, glancing over her shoulder as he gained on her. He could see the determination in her stance. This was no beginner. She was going to give him a good run.

They battled it out downwind. Her jaw was set. She wasn’t giving an inch. She wanted to win. Despite the rain, her hair streamed behind her like a bright banner, a lithe graceful figure in tune with the elements.

Never had he wanted her as much as he did at the moment. She looked elemental and a little elusive. Not the sure thing he’d always considered her.

Working furiously, Angelo finally notched ahead and threw a triumphant smile over his shoulder, confident that the race was done.

The next instant the wind dropped and the rain eased. Both boards slowed. Angelo bit back a curse at being deprived of a clear victory. He dropped down to straddle the board and, glancing sideways, saw that Gemma had dropped onto her stomach and was already paddling with her arms and making for the shore.

Pacing himself, he kept abreast of her, his powerful arms stroking through the water. But she didn’t look at him, she kept her gaze firmly ahead.

In the shallows, keeping her face averted, Gemma leapt off the board, dragging it in behind her, intensely conscious of Angelo following close behind.

Flutters of apprehension started deep in her stomach, and the battle of the last half hour between them was forgotten as the memory of what had happened between them last night rose in her mind.

She didn’t know how she was going to face him.

The attendant, now at his post, came running to take the board. She gave a brief, abstracted smile of thanks. Her saturated sneakers squishing with water, she hurried to where she’d dropped her towel and water bottle earlier. Collapsing onto a damp wooden bench, she uncapped the bottle and took a long sip, her heart banging against her ribs as Angelo approached.

He stopped beside her. She stilled, then took another sip, pretending to ignore him, while every nerve ending quivered warily at his closeness.

“You never told me you could windsurf.”

The rasp of the zip sounded loud in the silence. Gemma was achingly aware of his peeling off his wet suit and slinging it over the back of the bench. Underneath he wore a pair of boardshorts that rode low on his hips. The unwelcome memory of last night clear in her mind, Gemma tried not to notice that his stomach was taut and tanned, the defined muscles revealing that he worked out regularly—or led a very active lifestyle.

Gemma whipped her gaze away and shrugged. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I would’ve thought I had.” Why had Mandy not told him? Especially as it was clear it was something Angelo excelled at. Her parents had paid for lessons for both her and Mandy to learn to windsurf down at Buckland’s Beach, near their childhood home. Mandy had been more interested in flirting with the youths in the class than learning to sail. Deciding to distract him with flattery Gemma added, “You’re good. Those were some great moves out there.”

But Angelo didn’t bite. “So, when are you leaving?”

Gemma drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m not.” His expression never altered, but she sensed his sudden tension.

“Last night you said you were going, why have you changed your mind?”

Even though his tone remained even, his eyes told a different story. Her gaze fell before his challenging stare, landing on his legs. His thighs were solid, the skin darkened to a deep bronze by the Greek sun. She felt herself flush and quickly looked away over the sea. She didn’t want this awful awareness of this man. “Because my reputation would be mud in entertainment circles if I walked away from my contract.”

“I would see to it that didn’t happen.”

He wanted her gone that much? Gemma swallowed, then said baldly, “I can’t go, I need the money.”

A coolness entered his voice. “Is this where I’m supposed to offer to pay you to leave?”

“No!” Gemma jerked her head up to stare at him, horrified by the conclusion he’d drawn. “But I’ve got a contract and I’m entitled to payment for doing my job. I need it.”

“What do you need the money for?” Angelo dropped down beside her and his arm stretched along the back of the bench, so that it rested behind her head.

She thought furiously. “Medical expenses,” she said at last, trying to ignore his arm. It wasn’t easy. “From the…er…car accident.” She swallowed again and stared out over the sea.

“That’s what caused your amnesia?”

Damn. What to say now?

The silence stretched. He was waiting for her reply. Gemma discovered she wasn’t crazy about lying to him. Strange, because she’d never thought it would worry her in the least. Not after what he’d done.

“Witnesses say it was a hit and run,” she expanded, sticking to the story she’d originally planned. “Luckily when I came round in hospital I remembered who I was. But I don’t remember anything about you, about Strathmos…or anything that happened for a while after I left Strathmos.”

“So you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia. You lost the events immediately before the accident.”

Retrograde amnesia? Gemma blinked. “Uh…yes.” His interest took her aback. She gave him a weak smile. “Have you been doing research?”

“A little. Did you experience any memory loss after the accident?”