and, beyond it, the resort.
“On my twenty-first birthday, I inherited three islands and a chain of three-star holiday hotels geared to foreign budget tourists. My grandfather had been ill for a while. The hotels were shabby, showing their age. While they were well booked over the summer months, they were deserted in winter. I knew I could do more. I wanted resorts where occupancy was guaranteed all year round.”
“That’s why you went for casinos?”
He nodded. “But I wanted more than glamorous casinos. I wanted places where everyone in the family would have a good time. That meant themed resorts, cinemas, a variety of shows that would draw people back again.”
“You achieved everything you set out to do.”
He nodded. “It took a while. I first worked at upgrading the hotels I had. I knew the first spectacular resort had to be built here at Strathmos. It was my dream. I hadn’t been back to the island since I left as an eighteen-year-old. Once I got it up, Poseidon was born.”
“And now Poseidon’s resorts are associated with worlds of fantasy.” She tried to hide her admiration by giving the words a bite. “The Golden Cavern. The Never-Ending River.” She named some famous drawcards.
His gaze narrowed. “You remember? You remember visiting them with me?”
The damned amnesia. She’d nearly given herself away. Slowly she shook her head. “I told you, I tried to put together the missing parts of my memory so I read up about our relationship in the tabloids. There were bits about Poseidon’s Resorts, too. Like their fantasy themes and what they’re worth today. About how innovative you were.” And on the Internet there had been endless details about the wealthy, powerful and good-looking Angelo Apollonides, Mr. Eligible Bachelor Billionaire of the Year. But she wasn’t telling him any of that. The last thing she wanted was for him to think he interested her. Gemma shifted, uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading.
She could barely hide her relief when the duty manager arrived and whispered into Angelo’s ear.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I am needed. And we’ve barely gotten started.”
“Don’t worry. We can talk again some other time.”
“Shall I order you another drink?”
“No, I’m done.” She pushed the empty glass aside. “I might wander over to one of the coffee bars. And then I’ll make my way back to my room. I can use an early night. Don’t worry about me.”
He rose and gave her a slow smile. “I find that I can’t help worrying about you.” And her heart twisted.
And then he was gone.
Still thinking about that delicious smile—and her reaction to it—Gemma picked up her purse and threaded her way through the packed bar to the exit—where she almost ran into Jean-Paul.
“Steady, cherie.” He caught her by the elbows. “Can I buy you a drink?” His dark eyes lingered on her appreciatively.
Sensitive to Angelo’s accusation that Mandy had cheated on him with the Frenchman, and Angelo had warned her in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, Gemma’s first response was to refuse. But what if Mandy had left Strathmos with Jean-Paul? Gemma hesitated, then thrust her scruples aside.
She needed to talk to this man.
“I’d love a drink.” She gave him a bright smile to make up for her hesitation. He was back in minutes with two glasses.
“What is it?” she asked, eyeing the clear liquid uneasily.
“Surely you didn’t think I could forget, cherie? You’re the only woman I ever knew who drank triple vodka and tonic like water.” He gave her a very knowing smile. “The secret of your success, you called it. And what made you so exciting.”
Angelo strode out of the Apollo Club. It hadn’t taken long to calm two furious patrons after an accusation of cheating in the discreet back room where a poker game with extremely high stakes was being played.
In the elevator he greeted an American IT billionaire and his wife who came to the Palace every few months.
Hurrying out the elevator, he glanced at his watch. Gemma should be back in her unit by now. Downstairs, he stopped beside a porter kiosk and called reception requesting to be put through to her room. It rang unanswered.
Perhaps she was still in one of the coffee shops.
He made his way to the entertainment complex. He didn’t find her in the first coffee shop. Nor in large alcove with soft armchairs where a pianist played Chopin. But as he passed the Dionysus Bar he caught a glimpse of copper flame.
Gemma.
Frowning, he ground to a halt and looked again.
It was Gemma. And she was not alone. Jean-Paul Moreau was standing beside her barstool, his arm resting on the bar beside his drink, looking utterly enthralled by her.
What the hell was she doing with Moreau?
He’d warned her to keep away from the man. The silver dress she wore showed off her curves and her hair was a vivid flag of colour against the pale fabric. Seated on the barstool, her sleek legs were shown off to maximum advantage.
Three years ago he’d felt nothing except anger and disgust for Gemma and he’d hardly thought of her in the intervening years. So what the hell had changed? Why could he not stop noticing every detail about her? Especially given that it was clear that nothing had changed—she still hankered after Moreau.
He gave a grim smile when she jumped as he stopped beside her.
“Angelo! I thought you were—”
“Busy?” he finished, and gave Moreau a cool nod.
“Well…yes.”
“I sorted the problem out and came back to finish our conversation.”
“Oh.” Her eyes went round. She glanced in Moreau’s direction.
Trying to work out how to dump the Frenchman, Angelo suspected.
“Another vodka?” Moreau offered.
Vodka? Angelo narrowed his gaze. A flush rose in her cheeks. Guilt. “I thought you didn’t drink much of the hard stuff any more? In fact, I seem to remember mention of a hot drink in a coffee shop after I left you earlier.”
“Gemma is of age,” Moreau interjected. “She can drink whatever she desires.”
“I told her to stay away from you.” Angelo shot the Frenchman a killing look. Then he said to Gemma, “What the hell does it matter? Have another goddamned vodka with him.”
Deeply disappointed he turned and walked away. He told himself he didn’t care what she did. Gemma Allen was bad news. A liar. A faithless little cheat. The anger she’d ultimately caused him three years ago had not been worth the pleasure she’d given him in bed.
And
