not sharing her desire for a repeat performance.
Obviously, as a woman, you couldn’t win, she thought gloomily. Too much experience, like Isabelle, made you a slut. Too little made you boring.
Alone on the terrace, she released her death grip on the towel and allowed it to slide to the floor. Her costume had almost dried in the heat, and she ran a finger over her thigh, wondering if her body felt different on the outside—because it certainly felt different on the inside.
For the first time in her life she’d discovered what it was like to completely lose control, and the feeling was exciting and terrifying at the same time.
Uncomfortable thoughts from her childhood drifted into her head but she pushed them away again instantly, just not able to go there at this moment.
One thing she did know was that the sex had changed everything. She’d agreed to accept his hospitality only because he’d convinced her that his father’s recovery depended on her presence. She’d been comfortable with it because there had been nothing personal in the invitation.
But now everything had changed.
And it was perfectly obvious what she had to do.
SERIOUSLY distracted, Angelos took his business call, snapped the head off the person on the other end of the phone and then instructed his PA in Athens not to put through any more calls.
At that moment he wasn’t interested in talking to his senior management team. Nor was he interested in talking to any of the businessmen who clamoured for his attention on an almost hourly basis.
There were urgent matters demanding his attention. But for the first time in his life he didn’t even care.
He should have been thinking about work, but all he could think about was sex.
Sex with Chantal.
Cursing softly in Greek, he paced the length of his office. His entire body was burning and unfulfilled and all he wanted to do was stride back onto the terrace, drag her somewhere extremely private and indulge in a repeat performance—complete with several encores.
Never in his life had he been so hot for a woman, and he didn’t understand it because she possessed none of the qualities that he admired.
True, she was beautiful, but she was also dishonest—and she’d admitted as such. All right, so she wasn’t Isabelle Ducat. She’d hadn’t chosen to make a living out of divorce. But she had taken a ticket that wasn’t hers, and she hadn’t corrected him when he’d assumed her to be the owner of the ticket.
She’d posed as someone else, apparently more than comfortable to perpetrate that particular untruth. That fact alone should have been the sexual equivalent of sitting in a bath of ice cubes, because he hated deception.
He might have felt more kindly towards her had she just admitted that a few weeks in Greece with a billionaire had sounded like fun. Instead of which she’d insisted that she’d agreed to accompany him out of concern for his father.
So why, knowing all that, was his libido raging madly out of control?
Why did he feel like a teenager whose hormones were well and truly in control?
With a humourless laugh he forced himself to accept the obvious.
Because the sex had been nothing short of stupendous. That was why.
Deceitful she might be, but she’d also been a virgin, and the fact that he was her first lover had given him an incredible buzz.
Which meant that clearly he wasn’t as modern in his attitudes as he liked to think.
He narrowed his eyes and ran through the facts logically.
All right, so she hadn’t told him the truth. But she was right that he was the one who had insisted that she come. And, had she told him the truth about her identity, would it have changed anything?
No. He still would have wanted her to come for the sake of his father.
So what difference did any of it make?
She was here now, wasn’t she?
The chemistry between them was amazing.
What was the problem?
She was here for a free holiday with a billionaire, so why not give her that holiday? And if it cost him a few dresses and the odd diamond necklace, so what?
They’d share incredible sex during the night, and during the day he’d arrange for her to spend as much time shopping as she could handle. She was using him for money, so why shouldn’t he use her for sex?
Unable to concentrate, and deciding to abandon all further thoughts of work for the day, he strode into the suite of rooms that his father occupied when he was staying in the villa. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Better by the hour.’ Costas Zouvelekis was already dressed, ready for dinner. ‘What did you do with your afternoon?’
Angelos stilled as erotic images flew into his brain. What had he done with his afternoon? He’d had the most incredible sex of his life.
In a public place.
He ran a hand over the back of his neck, seriously discomforted by the thought of what his father might have seen if he’d woken early from his rest and decided to relax by the pool. ‘I worked.’
‘Did you? Well, I hope you didn’t leave Chantal on her own for too long. She’s a woman worth guarding.’
‘From whom? There is no one else here.’
‘From boredom,’ Costas said dryly, as he adjusted his shirt. ‘When women become bored, they stray.’
Stray?
Angelos reflected silently on the fact that the last time he’d seen Chantal she’d been so shattered after his lovemaking that she hadn’t seemed capable of moving her lips, let alone her legs.
‘She isn’t going to stray.’ Why would she? He was in a position to give her the fantasy, and he had enough experience of her sex to know what she’d want. Jewels, dresses, handbags with strange names that were only available for a price, an unreasonable number of shoes, probably still more shoes—
He gave a faint smile. As long as he didn’t have to be part of the selection process, he was more than happy to fund a seriously extravagant shopping spree.
Clearly she wasn’t used to a life of luxury.
It would be fun to spoil her.
Never, ever become involved with a gorgeous Greek billionaire.
Having made herself sign off on that promise, Chantal snapped the suitcase shut and placed it on the floor. In the spacious, elegant room it looked laughably out of place.
Determined
