a minute here.’
Quite unaware that yet another attempt to please Pixie had bombed dismally, Apollo stayed in his office on board until he got word that their guests were arriving.
* * *
‘I promise not to ask any awkward questions,’ Holly whispered as she settled on the end of the bed in Apollo and Pixie’s stateroom. ‘But you don’t look happy and I can’t imagine we’d be getting hauled in last minute if you were. Am I allowed to ask about that?’
Pixie grimaced. ‘No. I’m sorry.’
‘No need to be sorry but you sound attached…and the weird thing is Apollo is sounding attached too—’
‘No, that’s definitely not happening,’ Pixie cut in with confidence.
‘Apollo told Vito he wanted us here because he thought it would please you. Vito’s never known him to make that much effort for a woman.’
Unimpressed, Pixie shrugged and watched Holly pet Hector while Angelo explored the room in the vain hope of finding something to play with. Bending down, she scooped her godson up intending to get reacquainted with the adorable toddler.
‘So, what are you wearing tonight?’ Holly prompted, taking the hint.
Relieved by the change of subject, Pixie showed off her outfit.
‘My goodness, I’ll look so old-fashioned next to you. What time are you getting your hair done?’
‘I’m doing my own hair,’ Pixie countered in surprise.
‘You’ve got a beauty salon on board and you’re still going to do it yourself?’
As soon as Holly had realised that Pixie hadn’t even known the Circe had a full-time grooming parlour for guests and had commented bluntly on Apollo’s deficiencies as a husband and a host, the two women set off on an exploration tour designed to satisfy both and entertain Angelo.
Hours later, after a convivial dinner during which Apollo contrived to ignore the reality that he had a wife seated at the same table, which resulted in Pixie going to even more extreme lengths to ignore him, Pixie emerged on the lower deck, fully dressed and ready to board the motor boat waiting to whisk them out to the island of Corfu.
Apollo studied his wife in consternation, his lean dark face taut and cool. ‘I don’t like the clothing,’ he said baldly.
Vito actually flinched and walked Holly over to the deck rail several yards away.
Pixie jerked a narrow bare shoulder in dismissal of the comment. She wore a skintight cerise-pink leather corset and a fitted black pencil skirt with very high heels. It was young and hip and she didn’t much care what he thought about it. ‘You can command everything else, Apollo, but not what I wear. What’s your objection anyway?’
His strong jaw line squared. ‘You’re showing too much of your body.’
‘I’ve heard you’ve been seen with women who don’t even bother with underwear.’
‘You’re different…you’re my wife,’ Apollo declared grimly. ‘I don’t want other men looking at my wife.’
‘Tough,’ Pixie commented with a combative glint in her grey eyes. ‘You’re a Neanderthal in a suit.’
‘If we didn’t have guests, I wouldn’t allow you off the boat!’ he growled half under his breath.
What a complete hypocrite he was! Pixie thought in wonderment, helpless amusement lacing her defiance. Apollo was a living legend for entertaining women who looked as though they had left half their outfit at home to maximise the exposure of their perfect bodies.
A couple of hours later, amusement had become the last thing on Pixie’s mind. She was huddled in the luxury VIP cloakroom of the club with Holly. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this,’ she muttered apologetically.
‘What? Watching Apollo behave badly? I shouldn’t say it but it’s his favourite pastime.’
Pixie tossed her head, golden blonde hair dancing round her shoulders, her piquant little face vivid with anger and mortification. ‘I can behave badly too…’
Holly pulled a face. ‘But provocation is not the road I would take with Apollo.’
Pixie, however, was past being polite and low-key and sensible. Since their arrival at the nightclub Apollo had been swamped by women. He was extremely well-known on the club circuit and he had not made a single attempt to deter the rapacious females trying to pick him up. Pixie had watched in wooden silence while other women pitched themselves onto her husband’s lap, danced in front of him in very suggestive ways and squeezed up close to him. He had bought them drinks and chatted to them as if Pixie were the invisible woman and she had had enough of his treatment. She had also learned why he made no effort with her. From what she could see by the over-eager girls surrounding him, Apollo had never had to make an effort. He was very hot and very rich and acting like a kid let loose in a candy shop was the norm for him.
Pixie took her cocktail over to the VIP rail and watched the dancers because she loved to dance. Much good it was doing her though, she reflected moodily, wincing at the high-pitched giggling travelling from their crowded table. She wanted to empty entire ice buckets over Apollo and then kick him from one end of Circe to the other. Friends, she had suggested mildly, and this was the answer he was giving her? And why did she care? Why on earth did she care? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and watched a woman run her fingers down his broad chest and her teeth clenched with something that felt very like rage.
‘Would you like to dance?’ a faintly accented and unfamiliar voice said from behind her.
Pixie spun round and found herself virtually eye to eye with a black-haired good-looking young man with very dark eyes and an Eastern cast of feature and she smiled. Vito had asked her to dance and she had said no, recognising pity when she saw it, and she had said no to Holly too, but a total stranger was a perfectly acceptable substitute for a husband who was ignoring her while simultaneously outraging her sense of decency.
‘Yes, thank you…’ Pixie acquiesced, noticing how all four of the bodyguards who had accompanied their party from the yacht all rose as one at a nearby table. With determination she smiled to let them know that she was pleased to have company and not in need of rescue.
‘I am Saeed,’ her companion informed her.
‘I’m Pixie,’ she said cheerfully, preceding him down the stairs, noting that two of Apollo’s bodyguards were now taking up position at the edge of the dance floor alongside two large men of a similar look.
* * *
‘Where’s Pixie?’ Apollo asked Holly abruptly.
‘Dancing,’ Holly announced somewhat smugly.
‘With another man?’ Apollo demanded with savage incredulity and he flew upright.
Vito sprang up as well and accompanied his friend to the rail that overlooked the floor below. ‘You can’t thump him. He holds diplomatic status and he’s half your size. It would make you look bad.’
At
