forward as if to get a better look. ‘They’re quite unusual.’ If it was unusual to expend a fortune on something so gaudy. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything to match them.’
‘They were made to order. Callista, give our guest a closer look. No need to stand on ceremony, girl.’
‘Uncle, I’m sure he doesn’t really want to see—’
‘On the contrary,’ Damon cut across her. ‘I’d very much like to see them up close.’ If the Manolis clan was vulgar enough to flaunt its apparent wealth, he was happy to take advantage of the fact.
He watched a swift unreadable glance pass between Callista and her silent cousin. Then she rose and walked round the table towards him.
Her exquisite body shimmered seductively and his groin tightened. Lamplight caught thousands of tiny silver beads on her dress. Each step accentuated her lithe lines and sultry curves in a shifting play of light. His muscles tensed with the effort of sitting still and not reaching out to touch. To claim her as, even now, he hungered to do.
When she stood before him he caught a waft of scent that he knew retailed for an exorbitant price. He’d bought some as a parting gift for his last mistress.
He got up, annoyance flaring as he realised he preferred the fresh, natural fragrance of her bare skin this afternoon. The artificial scent masked that.
Yet it served to remind him the woman he’d met earlier, the woman he’d been drawn to, was a fake.
Callista stood, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, making the stones flash and glitter. To his mind she’d look better without them. Just bare golden skin to match the dark-honey hair piled up in a chic style behind her head.
Damon reached for one drop earring. She trembled and the stones scintillated. The fine hairs on her arms stood up, signalling her awareness of him. It couldn’t be a chill on a night so warm. Damon’s body stirred, attuned to her tension.
He enjoyed the knowledge that she wasn’t as calm in his presence as she appeared.
‘Remarkable,’ he murmured, stepping in so his body almost touched hers, as if to view the heavy pendant. Instead his eyes traced her décolletage. His palms itched as he remembered the bounty of her breasts in his hands.
‘They are, aren’t they?’ Manolis’ voice had a self-congratulatory ring. ‘Alkis always got his money’s worth.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Damon stared into her sea-green gaze, close enough now for him to note again the gold flecks that had dazzled him earlier.
What had her price been?
He’d realised now, remembered the story. A pity he hadn’t made the connection earlier today. His enquiries about the Manolis family had revealed only a daughter, no scandalous niece.
This was the woman who at nineteen had been the talk of Athens when she married a rich Greek-American more than old enough to be her father. She’d cashed in her youth and good looks for his wealthy lifestyle and prestigious name, selling herself as a trophy wife.
Damon had been in the Pacific at the time, finalising work on a luxury marina complex. On his return everyone had talked of the match. Now he knew why. Callista was stunning, one of the loveliest women he’d met.
His lips twisted wryly. Like her name, Callista was most beautiful. But that gorgeous body hid a strong mercenary streak. A heartlessness that had enabled her to sell herself for a life of pampered luxury.
Deliberately he turned away, catching the startled gaze of the other woman present. ‘But sometimes it’s not fabulous jewels that are most alluring,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Sometimes a more natural style is the most attractive.’
He caught the sound of a hastily stifled gasp beside him. Callista would be used to holding centre stage at the expense of her quiet cousin. She must have read the insult in his words.
‘You’re right, Damon. Absolutely right.’ Manolis boomed in that over-hearty voice as Callista resumed her seat on the other side of the table, her face expressionless. ‘Sometimes true beauty is more subtle.’
Subtlety wasn’t a trait Damon’s host possessed. There was no mistaking his eagerness as he extolled his daughter’s virtues, as if she were a thoroughbred in an auction ring. Nor could Damon miss the younger girl’s embarrassment as her father’s bluff encomiums continued so long.
Damon’s eyes narrowed as he sized up the situation.
Did Aristides think he, Damon Savakis, who could take his pick of women, would be interested in a shy little mouse who couldn’t even look at him without blushing? Under her father’s watchful gaze she stumbled into halting conversation of the blandest sort. Then Manolis began blathering about the importance of family connections, of trust between those who had personal as well as commercial interests in common.
Damon’s lips firmed. So that was the way the wind blew. Manolis hoped Damon would fix his interest on his host’s daughter.
The man was mad.
Or, perhaps, more desperate than he’d realised. Did he know Damon intended to dismantle his company?
Damon’s gaze flicked to Callista. If their passion had meant anything she couldn’t be happy about her uncle’s matchmaking plans. Yet she looked regal and unruffled, if a trifle stiff. Her message was clear: she’d had her little adventure but now it was over.
Had she acted on her own behalf when she offered herself to him today? A rich woman looking for a tumble with what she thought was a working-class lover? His mouth tightened in distaste. He’d met the sort years ago.
Or had Aristides Manolis planned her convenient visits to the isolated cove?
The notion had been at the back of Damon’s mind from the moment he’d found her here, glittering from head to toe like some provocative Christmas gift. The suspicion had made him lash out at her when he arrived, even as he crowded close, unable to keep his distance.
Had Manolis discovered Damon’s early arrival to enjoy a low-key, incognito break while recuperating from flu? Had Manolis decided to soften him up before the negotiations began, using his niece as bait? It was the sort of underhand ploy he’d expect from a man like him.
If so, Manolis had miscalculated badly. While she didn’t mind slumming it with a stranger for hot sex, obviously her aristocratic pride revolted at having to socialise publicly with a man with working-class roots.
Anger seethed beneath Damon’s skin.
Had she bartered her favours to help her uncle, just as she’d bartered her body for a rich husband?
Disgust was a pungent bitterness on Damon’s tongue.
Manolis was desperate. Soon Damon would take over the Manolis family company, lock, stock and barrel. The notion warmed the part of his soul that, despite his enormous success, could never quite let go of the past.
There would be satisfaction in crushing Aristides’ pretensions and obliterating him commercially.
He was minded to leave and delegate the negotiations to his lawyers. Only curiosity had prompted
