in his grave. Itâs hardly becoming, is it, Calista? Itâs hardly fitting behaviour for a grieving daughter.â
âNo, itâs not. It should never have happened. And, believe me, I regret it now.â
âOh, Iâm sure you do. But that doesnât mean it wonât happen again.â He closed the space between them with one menacing step. âBecause you and I both know, Calista, that I can have you any time I want, any place I want.â
He watched the way his words inflicted pain, sawed away at her just the way heâd intended them to. But with the pain came adrenalin, swiftly followed by that glorious flash of temper.
âSo thatâs what all this is about, is it?â She threw back her shoulders, her hair rippling down her back. âYou have lured me here to prove that you can have sex with me in some sort of pathetic attempt to get your own back?â
âSomething like that.â
She opened her mouth, but for a second words failed her. âYou are a despicable, vile creatureâdo you know that? A lousy piece ofââ
âYeah, yeah.â He shut her down with a bored flick of his wrist. âIâm sure Iâm all that and more. You can call me all the names you want, if it makes you feel better, but it wonât change the facts. And do you know what the worst of it is?â
He let his eyes drift lazily over her outraged face.
âYou didnât even put up a fight. I had been looking forward to the challenge, the thrill of the chase, to working out how I was going to win you over. But in the end it was so easy it was almost pathetic.â
It was as if heâd punched her. The shock of his words made her fold at the stomach, reach for the back of a chair beside her to stop herself from falling. Raking in a breath, she pulled herself upright. Then, shooting him one last look of utter revulsion, she turned to go.
With lightning speed Lukas reached the doorway before her, easily barring her way. âNot so fast.â
âI would like you to move, please.â Her voice was brittle with anger and hurt.
âUh-uh. You will leave when I say so.â
âIs this part of your master plan?â She put her hands on her hips, as if to try and anchor herself. âTo hold me against my will? Keep me here as your prisoner so that you can prove just what a detestable macho bully you have become?â
âAnd supposing I did?â Lukas arrowed her a lethal look. âYou and I both know what would happen. You would be all over me, Calista. Oh, you might pretend to be outraged...put up a display of resistance in the name of decorum. But in truth I would only have to click my fingers and you would be mine. Writhing beneath me, on top of me, down on me, begging for my attentions and then screaming for more. Look how you behaved just now. Itâs pitiful, really. I should feel sorry for you.â
Slap.
The weight of Calistaâs palm connected with the side of his jaw with an impressive crack.
He had seen it coming. He could have stopped it. Spending time amongst some of Greeceâs most notorious criminals had honed his instincts, taught him to read the situation before it happened. Lukas had always had fast reactionsânow they were razor-sharp. But for some reason he had let it happen. For some reason he had wanted to feel itâthat burn, that most primitive connectionâto show that he was alive. To show that he could get to her. And the sting from her palm had set his heart racing.
Calista Gianopoulousâthe young woman he hadnât been able to get out of his mind, whose betrayal had consumed him so obsessively that it had become part of the fabric of who he was. Now he had her where he wanted her. Now her humiliation was in his grasp. And he could squeeze as tightly as he wished.
He studied her intently, standing there with her chin held high, her breasts heaving seductively beneath the demure black dress, pulling the fabric tight with every gasping, defiant breath. Her eyes flashed with a green so intense, so wild, it was as if she had been stripped of her sanity.
He should be feeling vindicated, triumphant. But he didnât feel either of those things. Instead he was simply consumed with the overwhelming need to possess her body again. His only conscious thought was how utterly magnificent she looked.
He let a second of silence pass and tried to pull himself together, waiting to see what she would do nextâalmost willing her to strike him again so that this time he could intercept it, grasp her wrist and feel that physical connection between them again, see where it might lead. But instead she let her hand drop by her side, lowering the tawny sweep of her lashes. The pink pout of her lower lip, he noticed, had started to quiver.
âResorting to violence, Calista?â He gave a derisive laugh. âI would never have thought it of you.â
âItâs no more than you deserve.â
âNo? Maybe not. But if weâre dishing out home truths, perhaps itâs time that you took a look at yourself.â
Her head came up and there was fear in her eyes. âWhat do you mean by that?â
âOh, come on, Calista, letâs drop the pretence. You see, I know.â
âKn...know what?â
If Lukas had had any doubt about her part in his downfall it was well and truly dispelled now. Guilt was written all over her pretty faceânot just written, but spelled out in big, bold capitals. She positively shook with it, her hands trembling as she raised them to her mouth, her legs looking as if they wouldnât be able to hold her up much longer.
He let out a grim laugh. âDo you really need me to spell it out for you?â
âLukas... I...â
âBecause I will if you want.â
Taking a couple of steps away he then turned, his eyes pinning her to the spot, as if they were in a courtroom.
âLet me take you back to the night of your eighteenth birthday party. The night my father discovered that the police had boarded one of the ships and found it was loaded with arms. While Stavros was over at Villa Melina, trying to find out what the hell was going on, your father dispatched you to âentertainâ me. And you did a magnificent jobâI have to say that.â
He paused, his whole body brittle with seething contempt.
âAristotle must have been very proud of you. While my father was suffering a heart attack you were in full seduction mode...while people were mobilising a helicopter to get him to the mainland we were in the throes of passion. And by the time they got him there it was too late.â
âNo, Lukas.â Calista bit down hard on her quivering lip. âIt wasnât like that.â
âOh, but it was, Calista. It was exactly like that. Before my father had the chance to confront yours, to defend himself, he conveniently had a heart attack and died. I bet Aristotle couldnât
