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

This time she was prepared. “Yes. There was some anterograde amnesia. I remember waking up in hospital. I don’t remember the accident itself—or getting to the hospital. The specialists did say that the events I could no longer recall before the accident might return as time passed. But to date they haven’t. I lost several weeks of my life.” She delivered the explanation as she’d prepared it.

“Was there any other damage?” His fingers brushed her shoulder. Despite the thick protection of the Neoprene wet suit, Gemma felt as though she’d been scorched.

“No, I was fortunate,” she said a trifle huskily as shivers coursed through her.

“Nothing lucky about it,” he said abruptly. “Such an accident should never have happened. Did the police catch the perpetrator?”

“No.” Gemma fidgeted. She hadn’t expected his concern and outrage on her behalf. She folded her arms across her stomach, feeling terrible. Then she recalled her father’s depression, her mother’s tears after Mandy’s unnecessary death. Instantly her heart hardened. “Now can you understand why I need money?”

“What will you do when you finish here?”

“My agent is looking for something for me.” There had been offers, but Gemma hadn’t been in a hurry to take another booking. She hadn’t been sure how long she needed on Strathmos to learn the truth.

“So long as you know that your contract to sing here will not be extended. I don’t want you here.”

Gemma gulped. That was pretty direct. It also meant that she had less than three weeks to find out the truth. “I understand.”

Two days passed without catching sight of Angelo. On Wednesday morning Gemma lounged beside the resort’s heated outdoor pool, soaking up the mild early morning sunshine. She’d heard that Angelo sometimes swam laps after breakfast before the resort guests started to congregate.

Huge sheets of glass shut out the unpredictable autumn wind without obscuring the view of the Aegean. In the centre of the pool a marble quartet of golden winged horses danced under the spray that jetted from three tall fountains. Through half-closed eyes, Gemma could almost imagine the mythical beasts thundering across the heavens, steered by the sun god.

A young poolside waiter had just delivered a tall glass topped with a pink umbrella and a row of cherries on a swizzle stick when a familiar voice shattered the fantasy.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Tensing, Gemma wished she was wearing more than the tiny bikini with the skimpy bandana top. Hidden behind sunglasses, she said, “Don’t you have more important things to do than look for me?”

Angelo waved his hand dismissively. “You told me you are here for the money. Right?”

“Y-es,” she stretched the word out, waiting, wondering why his eyes had turned as hard as stone.

He dropped down on the lounger beside hers; only a low glass-topped table on which her drink stood separated them. Uncomfortably conscious of his closeness, Gemma pushed her sunglasses firmly up her nose, grateful for the protection they offered from his icy scrutiny.

“I’ve just learned you wanted this contract badly enough to take a drop in pay.” His voice was edged in steel. “I want to know why. How could you afford to do that with the medical expenses you cried about only a couple of days ago?”

Raising her shoulder, Gemma dropped it with false aplomb. “I took the drop because I was desperate for money. I needed an income—I haven’t been getting regular work.”

His gaze glittered with suspicion. “You once told me that one of the joys of being an exotic dancer is that there’s always work. So if you were short of work why sing? Why not dance?”

Gemma forced herself not to shudder. She’d never understood why Mandy danced or how she put up with the hoards of leering men—even if the money was good. “Uh—I don’t do that anymore. I love singing.” That, at least, was true. “And singing pays more when I get the right spots, which I’m getting more often. I’m on the rise.”

“What’s this?”

Something in his sharp tone turned her head. He was scowling at the glass the waiter had brought. She frowned, puzzled at his ferocity.

“You can’t drink before you sing.”

“Not even fruit juice?” she asked tartly. He looked unconvinced, so Gemma picked the glass up and thrust it at him. “Here, sniff it.”

“Very clever.” At her baffled frown, he added. “Given that your preferred drink is vodka, sniffing won’t help much. Not with the overpowering flavour of pineapple.”

Of course! Mandy had always been partial to vodka. “My only vice,” Gemma said at last.

“Only vice?” His smile was sharklike. Setting the glass down, he leaned closer.

This close up his eyes were mesmerizing. The vibrant turquoise irises were surrounded by a row of lashes too long for a man. Dark brows arched over the top. No question about it, Angelo Apollonides was the most gorgeous male she had ever set eyes on. Pity he was not her type.

“It’s the only one I can think of right now,” she said carelessly. “If I thought about it very hard, I might discover one or two more.”

His mouth flattened. “Try. I’m sure you will find there are more vices that you will remember. Like lying.”

Gemma’s breath left her in a rush.

“When did I lie?” Did he know? She gave him a searching look as adrenaline started to pump through her. God. What would he do if he discovered—

“When I discovered you’d taken a drop in pay, I thought you lied to me. That you had another agenda. Don’t ever lie to me.”

She almost collapsed from relief. So she glared at him. “I’m not lying. I do need money. My credit card is a little over-extended.” The thirty-thousand dollar debt merited a bigger description than little.

“Too much shopping and partying?”

If he only knew. While Mandy had been a party animal, Gemma preferred spending her spare time outdoors. Walking. Windsurfing. Or simply attending concerts in parks. Simple pleasures, not the sophisticated pursuits his mistresses would enjoy.

She pursed her lips. How could she admit how much money had vanished, and that she had no idea where it had gone? The large cash withdrawals her credit-card statements reflected told her nothing.

“You had no debt three years ago. And some nice pieces of jewellery.” He gave a pointed stare at the ring she wore. The ring Mandy had given her just before she had died and Angelo had claimed to have bought for Mandy in Monaco.

“I don’t know what happened to all that,” she said honestly.

He gave her a searching look. “You don’t remember?”

She nodded.

“I was more than generous,” he said. “I indulged your desire to party, to shop until your cupboards were overflowing. If you’d behaved better, you might not be in this predicament.”

Surely Angelo wasn’t suggesting they might still be together? Not when she knew the kind of man he was. A playboy. A man who traded one beautiful woman for another, as soon as their temporary sell-by date was over.

Her lip curled. “You mean, if I was still your mistress? Putting up with your demands, your—”

“I thought you’d forgotten everything. So how do you remember how demanding I was?” His tone held a sensual rasp, belied by his shrewd gaze.

“I read gossip cuttings. How do you think I learned about our affair?”

He reached out and put finger a finger under her chin. He put enough pressure to tilt her head up, so that he could stare down into her eyes. “So you came here not only to earn money and regain your memory, but to learn more about us?”

The sudden flare of heat that followed in the wake of the touch of that one finger shocked her. No. She was not going to respond to his very obvious attraction. He was the last man on earth to whom she could afford to be attracted.

A spoilt playboy who’d had a fortune handed to him on a plate. A dilettante who destroyed people without compunction. Keeping her voice level she said, “I know exactly what kind of man you are.”

“Do you really?” He raised a dark eyebrow, looming over her.

Too close. Too male. Too…everything.

She backpedaled. “I don’t remember anything, but I know how you make me feel.”

“And how is that?” The pressure of the pad of his index finger lessened. The tip trailed down her throat and settled just below the tender hollow at the base of her neck. The touch felt like a brand.

Oh, no. She spotted the trap too late. She swallowed. “Repelled.”

He bared his teeth in triumph at the tiny give away as her throat moved. “Ah, you tempt me to prove you a liar.”

Gemma gave an uneasy laugh. “Perhaps I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

His pupils expanded. “Go on.”

“I came here to ask for your help.” She sucked in a breath. “I woke alone in a hospital in London with no memory of how I got there, who I’d been with at the time of the accident or where I’d been.”

His hand dropped away.

Gemma could breathe again.

Until he spoke. “You weren’t able to track down information from the people with you at the time of the accident?”

She had to be careful. She couldn’t afford to trip herself up. “The only clue about where I’d been was a bunch of old pay slips from Palace of Poseidon.” She’d found them in her sister’s things. “Later I found out that I’d worked here…that we’d had an affair.”

More lies. It hadn’t been later. Mandy had e-mailed her from Strathmos, crowing about the fabulously wealthy man she’d landed.

Gemma stared at him defiantly. “That’s why I’m here. I thought if I came…back…met you, I might remember something about—” she paused “—my past.”

His expression altered subtly. He came closer. “Is it working?”

“No.” Her voice turned husky. She picked up a towel and draped it over her bare, exposed tummy. “I had hoped by staying on Strathmos some things might come back to me. But they haven’t.” She paused for a beat, peered up at him over the top of her sunglasses. “But perhaps if you helped, if you let me ask you some questions, maybe something you say might act as a trigger. And the past might come back to me.”

She waited, holding her breath, her blood hammering in her head, causing it to ache with tension. What had Angelo done to reduce Mandy from a confident, somewhat reckless party girl to a pale, shaking ghost of her former self?

She had to find out.

At last he gave a curt nod. “But if it doesn’t work, that’s it. Okay? You leave as soon as your contract is complete.” He rose to his feet. “We’ll start tonight, after your show.”

“I’d rather meet in the mornings.”

“I’m a busy man. If you want my help then you’ll have to meet me tonight. In my suite.”

“No.” Gemma shook her head emphatically, her hair swirling around her face. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him. The attraction he held terrified her. While she desperately wanted to know what he’d done to her twin, she was not about to let him destroy her in the process. “I’ll meet you after the show in the Dionysus bar.”

For a moment Gemma thought she’d lost him. Then he said, “You’re on.”

Five

When Gemma hurried into the Dionysus bar later that night it was buzzing. She hesitated, scanning the press of people, until Angelo rose from a table near the window. Outside, the resort’s landscaped gardens were lit by floodlights. Beyond them she could see the lights of vessels winking out on the dark sea.

“Sorry I’m late,” she gasped. “I had to shower and change.” She indicated to the shimmery wraparound dress that she’d slipped on.

“No problem.” He pulled out a chair for her. “How did the performance go?”

“Good. It never fails to put me on a high.”

Angelo beckoned to a waiter. “What can I order for you to drink?”

“A white-wine cooler would be good—with lots of sparkling water, ice and a little lime, please.”

He gave her a long look. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Your performance is over. You can have something more…robust if you want.”

The euphoria left her. She sagged into the chair. “I don’t drink much of the hard stuff. But thanks.”

Gemma watched him as he spoke to the waiter. What had his relationship with her sister been like? Mandy had always loved to party…and the kind of men she’d picked tended to have no problem with that. But Angelo seemed almost disapproving. Not what she’d expected from his playboy personna at all.

When he turned back, Gemma—unable to let his comment pass—said, “Strange for an hotelier to be watching his guests’ liquor consumption.” With a sweep of her arm, she encompassed the full-to-capacity bar. “Can’t be good for business.”

“You’re not a guest, you’re an employee,” he said quellingly. “And you don’t have a great track record.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Be grateful that you don’t remember.”

“But I want to know.”

“You’re better served moving on from those events. It’s enough for you to know that you had a…problem.”

A problem that he had exacerbated?

Gemma studied his expression. To be fair, it didn’t look like he’d approved of Mandy’s antics…whatever they had been. Was it possible that he’d had nothing to do with Mandy’s slide from grace?

He forced me. I loved him. I wanted to please him. I was ready to do whatever he wanted. And it made me feel good. I’m so sorry for failing you all.

The memory of Mandy’s words caused Gemma to steel herself. No. Angelo was not uninvolved. He’d destroyed her twin.

But before she could tell him what a low-life skunk she considered him, their drinks arrived.

Angelo passed a long glass to her. “So what do you want to ask me?”

She stared at him blankly.

“That’s why we’re here, remember?” His smiled was sardonic. “So that you can ask me questions, to try and jolt your memory.”

Oh, yes. She gave herself a gentle shake. Nothing would be served by telling him what she thought of him. Better to focus on what she’d come here for—to learn what had happened to Mandy…to find a way to make Angelo pay.

Gemma took a sip of her drink. It was cool and refreshing. “You wanted to know why I need money. In addition to the medical expenses—” she broke off, reluctant to perpetuate that lie, then blurted out, “I want to know why there was thirty thousand owing on my credit card. Do you know where it went?”

“I have no idea.”

“I drew cash out with my credit card and ran through it in your casinos, didn’t I?” She was pushing him now, but she wanted answers. She wanted him to confess what he’d gotten Mandy into. “Your casinos. Your fault I’m thirty-thousand in the red.”

“You liked to gamble…I didn’t force you. But I wouldn’t call you an addict.”

Gemma flinched. “But it would’ve been more than I could afford.”

“Your chips went on my account. It didn’t cost you a euro. You must have accumulated your debts—” he picked the word with fastidious care “—after you left me.”

“So where I did I go from Strathmos?”

He lifted a negligent shoulder. “I have no idea.”

“Nor did you care—certainly not enough to buy me a ticket to make sure I reached home safely.”

A frown creased his brow, he picked up his drink and leaned back. “I’m a generous man. I gave you a more than a plentiful allowance while you lived with me. Gold cards, a supply of cash that you ran through like water.” There was distaste in his tone now. “You could have saved that for a rainy day.”

Gemma opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. His words held the unmistakeable ring of truth.

“I regret the hit-and-run left you floundering for your memory.” The sympathy in his eyes faded as he continued, “But you’re an adult. You’ve worked in nightclubs in London, Paris. You considered New Zealand a backwater. I assumed you’d simply find another big city, another big-spending benefactor to fund your love of the high life.”

She blinked. While he’d clearly enjoyed having Mandy in his bed, it didn’t sound like he’d held her twin in high regard. Poor Mandy.

He set his glass down. “After I found you with Moreau I didn’t give a damn where you were going. Right then I hoped you’d drown in the sea. You’d betrayed me, in the worst way that a woman can betray a man. I couldn’t wait to see the back of you.”

Gemma flinched at his bitter words. Yet under the white-hot anger she suspected that Angelo was telling the truth. He didn’t know where Mandy had gone after leaving him. Could that mean that she’d misjudged him? Had he had nothing to do with Mandy’s problems? Had they only started after her sister left Strathmos?

Her shoulders sagged. She’d had such high hopes that Angelo would provide the key to the puzzle. Then she thought about what he’d said, and lifted her head. “Did I leave the island with Jean-Paul?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible. I wanted him out my sight, too.”

Perhaps the Frenchman could provide a clue to what had happened. Angelo’s face had tightened at the mention of the other man. She changed the subject. “You said that you inherited a string of family hotels from your grandfather. How did they transform into this?” Gemma gestured to the bar and, beyond it, the resort.

“On my twenty-first birthday, I inherited three islands and a chain of three-star holiday hotels geared to foreign budget tourists. My grandfather had been ill for a while. The hotels were shabby, showing their age. While they were well booked over the summer months, they were deserted in winter. I knew I could do more. I wanted resorts where occupancy was guaranteed all year round.”

“That’s why you went for casinos?”

He nodded. “But I wanted more than glamorous casinos. I wanted places where everyone in the family would have a good time. That meant themed resorts, cinemas, a variety of shows that would draw people back again.”

“You achieved everything you set out to do.”

He nodded. “It took a while. I first worked at upgrading the hotels I had. I knew the first spectacular resort had to be built here at Strathmos. It was my dream. I hadn’t been back to the island since I left as an eighteen-year-old. Once I got it up, Poseidon was born.”

“And now Poseidon’s resorts are associated with worlds of fantasy.” She tried to hide her admiration by giving the words a bite. “The Golden Cavern. The Never-Ending River.” She named some famous drawcards.

His gaze narrowed. “You remember? You remember visiting them with me?”

The damned amnesia. She’d nearly given herself away. Slowly she shook her head. “I told you, I tried to put together the missing parts of my memory so I read up about our relationship in the tabloids. There were bits about Poseidon’s Resorts, too. Like their fantasy themes and what they’re worth today. About how innovative you were.” And on the Internet there had been endless details about the wealthy, powerful and good-looking Angelo Apollonides, Mr. Eligible Bachelor Billionaire of the Year. But she wasn’t telling him any of that. The last thing she wanted was for him to think he interested her. Gemma shifted, uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading.

She could barely hide her relief when the duty manager arrived and whispered into Angelo’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I am needed. And we’ve barely gotten started.”

“Don’t worry. We can talk again some other time.”

“Shall I order you another drink?”

“No, I’m done.” She pushed the empty glass aside. “I might wander over to one of the coffee bars. And then I’ll make my way back to my room. I can use an early night. Don’t worry about me.”

He rose and gave her a slow smile. “I find that I can’t help worrying about you.” And her heart twisted.

And then he was gone.

Still thinking about that delicious smile—and her reaction to it—Gemma picked up her purse and threaded her way through the packed bar to the exit—where she almost ran into Jean-Paul.

“Steady, cherie.” He caught her by the elbows. “Can I buy you a drink?” His dark eyes lingered on her appreciatively.

Sensitive to Angelo’s accusation that Mandy had cheated on him with the Frenchman, and Angelo had warned her in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, Gemma’s first response was to refuse. But what if Mandy had left Strathmos with Jean-Paul? Gemma hesitated, then thrust her scruples aside.

She needed to talk to this man.

“I’d love a drink.” She gave him a bright smile to make up for her hesitation. He was back in minutes with two glasses.

“What is it?” she asked, eyeing the clear liquid uneasily.

“Surely you didn’t think I could forget, cherie? You’re the only woman I ever knew who drank triple vodka and tonic like water.” He gave her a very knowing smile. “The secret of your success, you called it. And what made you so exciting.”

Angelo strode out of the Apollo Club. It hadn’t taken long to calm two furious patrons after an accusation of cheating in the discreet back room where a poker game with extremely high stakes was being played.

In the elevator he greeted an American IT billionaire and his wife who came to the Palace every few months.

Hurrying out the elevator, he glanced at his watch. Gemma should be back in her unit by now. Downstairs, he stopped beside a porter kiosk and called reception requesting to be put through to her room. It rang unanswered.

Perhaps she was still in one of the coffee shops.

He made his way to the entertainment complex. He didn’t find her in the first coffee shop. Nor in large alcove with soft armchairs where a pianist played Chopin. But as he passed the Dionysus Bar he caught a glimpse of copper flame.

Gemma.

Frowning, he ground to a halt and looked again.

It was Gemma. And she was not alone. Jean-Paul Moreau was standing beside her barstool, his arm resting on the bar beside his drink, looking utterly enthralled by her.

What the hell was she doing with Moreau?

He’d warned her to keep away from the man. The silver dress she wore showed off her curves and her hair was a vivid flag of colour against the pale fabric. Seated on the barstool, her sleek legs were shown off to maximum advantage.

Three years ago he’d felt nothing except anger and disgust for Gemma and he’d hardly thought of her in the intervening years. So what the hell had changed? Why could he not stop noticing every detail about her? Especially given that it was clear that nothing had changed—she still hankered after Moreau.

He gave a grim smile when she jumped as he stopped beside her.

“Angelo! I thought you were—”

“Busy?” he finished, and gave Moreau a cool nod.

“Well…yes.”

“I sorted the problem out and came back to finish our conversation.”

“Oh.” Her eyes went round. She glanced in Moreau’s direction.

Trying to work out how to dump the Frenchman, Angelo suspected.

“Another vodka?” Moreau offered.

Vodka? Angelo narrowed his gaze. A flush rose in her cheeks. Guilt. “I thought you didn’t drink much of the hard stuff any more? In fact, I seem to remember mention of a hot drink in a coffee shop after I left you earlier.”

“Gemma is of age,” Moreau interjected. “She can drink whatever she desires.”

“I told her to stay away from you.” Angelo shot the Frenchman a killing look. Then he said to Gemma, “What the hell does it matter? Have another goddamned vodka with him.”

Deeply disappointed he turned and walked away. He told himself he didn’t care what she did. Gemma Allen was bad news. A liar. A faithless little cheat. The anger she’d ultimately caused him three years ago had not been worth the pleasure she’d given him in bed.

And she hadn’t changed. The sooner he put her out of mind the better.

“Angelo…”

His long, angry strides had already carried him out the bar, across the entertainment complex and he was headed for the lobby to the elevators that would take him to his penthouse.