The Greek's Pleasurable Revenge. Andie Brock

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away from humiliation, or a punch on the nose, or both.

      â€˜You haven’t heard the last of this, Kalanos!’ Christos shouted over his shoulder as his brother hastily manoeuvred them away, weaving between the overgrown graves. ‘You are going to pay for this.’

      Calista watched in surprise as her half-brothers disappeared. Weren’t they supposed to have been staying a couple of nights on the island to go through their father’s papers and sort out his affairs? Clearly that was no longer happening. Neither did they seem bothered about leaving her behind to deal with Lukas. It was obviously every man for himself—or herself.

      But it did mean that there was nothing to keep her there any more. Unless she counted the formidably dark figure that was still rooted ominously by her side.

      Realising she was still clutching the single lily in her hand, she stepped towards the grave and let it drop, whispering a silent goodbye to her father. A lump lodged in her throat. Not just for her father—her relationship with him had always been too fraught, too blighted by anguish and tragedy for simple grief to sum it up—but because Calista knew she was not just saying goodbye to Aristotle but to Thalassa, her childhood, her Greek heritage. This was the end of an era.

      She turned to go, immediately coming up against the solid wall of Lukas’s chest. Adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she went to move past him. ‘If you will excuse me I need to be going.’

      â€˜Going where, exactly?’

      â€˜I’m leaving the island with the others, of course. There is no point in me staying here any longer.’

      â€˜Oh, but there is.’ With lightning speed Lukas closed his hand around her wrist, bringing her back up against his broad chest. ‘You, agape, are going nowhere.’

      Calista flinched, her whole body going into a kind of panicky meltdown that sent a flood of fear rippling down to her core. Bizarrely, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation.

      â€˜What do you mean by that?’

      â€˜Just what I say. You and I have unfinished business. And you won’t be leaving Thalassa until I say so.’

      â€˜So what do you intend to do? Hold me prisoner?’

      â€˜If necessary, yes.’

      â€˜Don’t be ridiculous.’

      She hardened her voice as best she could, determined that she would stand up to this new, frighteningly formidable Lukas. Pulling away, she looked pointedly at her wrist until he released it.

      â€˜Anyway, what is this unfinished business? As far as I’m concerned we have nothing to discuss.’

      Her nails dug into her palms at the blatant lie. But he couldn’t be talking about Effie. If he had found out about his daughter he would have blown her whole world apart by now.

      â€˜Don’t tell me you have forgotten, Calista. Because I certainly haven’t.’

      Dark, dark eyes looked down on her, glittering with intent.

      â€˜Let’s just say the image of you lying semi-naked on my sofa, your legs wrapped around my back, has stayed with me all these years. I’ve probably conjured it up more times than I should have. Prison has that effect on you. You have to take your pleasures where you can.’

      Callie blushed to the roots of her hair, grateful for the black veil that still partially obscured her mortified face. That was until Lukas gently, almost reverentially, lifted the fine lace and arranged it back over her head. For one bizarre moment she thought he was going to kiss her, as if she were some sort of dark bride.

      â€˜There—that’s better.’

      He stared at her, drinking her in like a man with the fiercest thirst. She held her breath. Each testosterone-fuelled second seemed longer than the last. She shifted beneath his astonishingly powerful scrutiny, her skin prickling, her heart pounding in her ribcage.

      â€˜I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Calista.’

      Her stifled breath came out as a gasp. She hadn’t expected a compliment—not after all the bullying and the veiled threats. Except this was a compliment deliberately tinged with menace.

      â€˜I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to renewing our acquaintance. I’ve been looking forward to it for almost five long years.’

      No! Calista choked back a silent cry.

      Surely he didn’t think she would repeat that catastrophic error? Panic and outrage stiffened her spine.

      â€˜If you imagine that I am going to go to bed with you again, Lukas, you are sorely mistaken.’

      â€˜Bed...sofa...up against the wall right here in front of your father’s grave, if you like. It’s all the same to me. I want you, Calista. And I should warn you, when I want something I go all out to make sure that I get it.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      LUKAS WATCHED THE alarm on Calista’s face set her delicate features in stone.

      He had been right to declare her beautiful—even if he had only meant to say it in his head. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The intervening years had honed her heart-shaped face, the high cheekbones, the firmly pointed chin. But the small, straight nose was still speckled with a dusting of freckles and her mouth... That was just as he remembered it, wide and full-lipped and deliciously pink—even now, when it was pursed in an attempt at defiance.

      How Aristotle had produced such an exquisite creature as this was almost beyond comprehension. Calista obviously took after her mother, Diana, the actress-cum-model whose beauty had ultimately been her downfall. They certainly shared the same colouring, but whereas Diana had been all leggy height and stunning bone structure, which the camera had loved, Calista was petite, with full breasts and a slim waist leading to curvaceous hips that begged to be traced with the flat of his palm. Lukas could feel that urge powering through him right now, and he responded by reaching for her hand, relishing the soft feel of it beneath his own.

      â€˜This way.’ He started off across the graveyard, pulling Calista behind him, all too aware that he was behaving like some sort of caveman but not caring in the least.

      â€˜Lukas—stop this.’

      No way. Her feeble protestation only made him all the more determined that she was going to come with him—back to his villa and back to his bed. He had waited far too long for this moment to allow any second thoughts to creep in, or even to let common decency stand in his way. Certainly not her breathless objections.

      â€˜Lukas, stop—let me go!’

      They had reached the small copse behind the ancient chapel, where he had left his motorbike. Positioning Calista between it and him, Lukas finally let go of her hand.

      Calista snatched it back,

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