leading software companies and build a reputation as a canny entrepreneur. His nose for success was only rivalled by his company’s groundbreaking IT solutions. News of his fallibility would crack that image and damage his company’s position.
Damn Carter. Where was he hiding?
Alexei slammed to a halt as he heard a vehicle through the open window.
At last. The ace up his sleeve.
Alexei breathed deep, easing cramped lungs, assuring himself that now, finally, he had the upper hand.
He crossed to the window and watched as the four-wheel drive pulled up. The driver’s door opened but before Henri could get out the front passenger door swung open and someone alighted.
Alexei’s brow twitched into a frown. That couldn’t be her. He waited for the rear door to open but it stayed steadfastly shut. Henri walked ponderously to the rear of the vehicle and pulled out a single suitcase of candy pink.
That was all. One suitcase and one passenger, though not the passenger he expected.
Alexei’s frown became a scowl. The call from Paris had assured him that she’d been collected from her apartment and deposited on his jet. Yet surely this wasn’t Carter’s daughter. He’d expected a fashion tragic with mountains of luggage.
His gaze rested on the svelte figure of a woman who stood, hands on her hips and head back, surveying his home. Far from being addicted to high-end fashion as he’d been led to believe, she wasn’t dressed in designer casuals for a tropical island holiday, but for...what? A yoga class? An artist’s garret?
Understanding took root. That was it.
Carter, when he’d raised the preposterous idea of a match between Alexei and his daughter, had waxed voluble about the girl he’d never mentioned in years of employment. He’d wittered on about her beauty and charm, her sweet disposition and eagerness to please. And her aspirations to be an artist in between shopping. She lived in Paris, playing at an artistic career, no doubt funded by the money Carter had embezzled from Alexei.
Pain radiated from Alexei’s jaw down his neck to his tight shoulders.
He yanked his thoughts from Carter’s crimes to the man’s daughter.
She took her pretensions seriously. Or perhaps the outfit was for his benefit, though surely it wasn’t designed to please a man. Flat black shoes, black leggings and an oversized black T-shirt that gaped over one shoulder.
Definitely not Alexei’s style. He preferred a woman who dressed like a woman.
Yet even as he dismissed Carissa Carter as not his type, his gaze lingered on the length of shapely legs silhouetted in black. Long legs, the sort of legs he’d enjoy wrapped around his waist during sex.
His gaze flicked higher, skimming her slight figure. He supposed, in the right gear, she’d be a perfect clothes horse, but personally he preferred a woman whose curves were more abundant.
Then the tilt of her head altered and he found himself face-to-face with her.
She was too far away for him to make out her features properly. Just good bone structure and dark hair pulled ruthlessly back into a bun. He had the impression of a wide, mobile mouth, but he wasn’t paying attention. His thoughts were on the sudden throb pulsing through his belly.
It couldn’t be attraction. Not for the daughter of a criminal. A woman whose lifestyle had probably fed her father’s depredations. He had no proof Carissa Carter knew of her father’s crimes, but she’d benefited. Maybe she’d been in on the scheme, eager to fund her easy life in Paris. Alexei couldn’t trust her. He’d play the part of eager suitor, pretending he was in the market for a wife.
As if he needed a third party to find him a woman!
He stared back at her, expecting her to duck her head and pretend not to see him.
Instead she stood motionless, watching as if he were under the microscope. It was a curious feeling. Alexei was used to people inclining their heads in agreement or deference. Except women, who tended to stare.
Carissa’s bold regard was something altogether different. It sent heat skittering down his spine, drawing every sense to hyperalert.
Finally, after she’d looked her fill, she turned to Henri. Alexei caught a flash of white teeth as she smiled but it was the coltish grace of her movements that held his attention. There was a fluidity to her supple body that reminded him of a Russian ballet dancer with whom he’d once shared a fiery affair. Alexei recalled not only the dancer’s grace but her athleticism and body awareness that had taken sexual pleasure to a new level.
He watched Carissa Carter saunter towards his house. Shoulders back, head up, yet she didn’t march. Instead that loose-limbed stroll was a symphony of sensual femininity.
For his benefit?
Of course.
His guest might play at being the bohemian artist, but if she was her father’s daughter, she’d have her eye on the main game, getting Alexei’s money.
For the first time since he’d learned of Carter’s betrayal, Alexei smiled.
He didn’t want the woman here, except as bait to draw her father. The fact she’d accepted his summons told him she’d sell herself into marriage with a man she didn’t even know. Though she knew the size of his bank balance. That regularly featured in rich lists around the world.
It could be amusing watching her try to seduce him.
MINA KNEW ABOUT WEALTH. She’d been born royal. But her family riches and privilege were tied to duty, responsibility and service. The palace where she’d grown up had been the nerve centre for her country’s administration.
This was pure sybaritic indulgence.
As if it wasn’t enough to own a tropical island rimmed with beaches so white they looked like sugar frosting, Alexei Katsaros’s home was the last word in luxury. The pool wrapped around the house so every room looked out on water. There was a bar actually in the pool too, so he and his guests wouldn’t have to stir from the water to get a drink.
Four-poster daybeds were scattered around the pool, their gauzy hangings romantic and alluring. Her artist’s eye appreciated the cushions in turquoise, teal and jade that reflected the vibrant shades of the tropical garden and the sea beyond. Then there were the sculptures in pale stone, which she glimpsed through the greenery. She itched to detour and investigate.
Forcibly she yanked her attention back to the house. The huge entry door stood open. Beside her, Henri waited for her to precede him.
Strange, this momentary hesitation.
All the way from Paris she’d been buoyed by indignation on Carissa’s behalf. Now though, Mina knew an uncharacteristic moment of doubt. A wariness at odds with her practice of facing problems head-on.
Her impulsiveness, her father would have said.
