to the Lukas she had once known. What had become of him…
Turning off the coastal road, Lukas bumped the bike up the dirt track that lead to Villa Helene and pulled up in front of the entrance in a spray of dry dust.
Quickly dismounting, he held out his hand to her, but there was nothing gentlemanly about the gesture. It was done with an aggressively urgent air. Shepherding her before him, he unlocked the front door—an action that surprised Calista in itself. No one bothered to lock their doors on the island of Thalassa.
Inside, the villa was just as she remembered it. Even the smell was familiar—somehow both comforting and unsettling. She followed Lukas down the cool hallway until they reached the large living room that ran the entire width of the villa. It was still and dark in there, until Lukas strode over to the bi-fold doors, unlocked them and pushed them wide open, undoing the shutters so that the light streamed in.
Calista blinked. The stunning panoramic view of the Aegean Sea appeared before them, but Calista’s focus was solely on the room she now saw so clearly. Or, more specifically, on the sofa in the room. The one she had so recklessly fallen onto with Lukas that evening, in a tangle of fervid, scorching, pumping desire. The one where Effie had been conceived.
‘Drink?’ Lukas grabbed a couple of glasses from the sideboard and reached for a decanter of whisky.
‘No, thank you.’ Calista dragged her burning eyes away from the scene of their complete madness.
‘Mind if I do?’ Pouring himself a generous slug, he knocked it back in one gulp, then poured another.
Clearly he wasn’t waiting for her consent.
Averting her eyes from the sheer brutal beauty of him, Calista quickly scanned the rest of the familiar room; the white walls displaying colourful local artwork, the rustic wooden furniture and the travertine marble flooring. She had always loved this villa. More so than her own family’s, in fact, which Aristotle had massively extended over the years as a succession of different women had needed to be impressed and the urge to display his wealth had become ever more important.
Villa Helene was more modest, more traditionally Greek, with towering walls affording much needed shade and the exterior woodwork painted that particular Mediterranean blue. Not that it lacked any modern comforts, with its large stainless steel kitchen, a beautiful infinity pool that glistened invitingly through the open doors, five bedrooms, a gymnasium and a library. There was even a helipad where, out of the corner of her eye, Calista had noticed a gleaming helicopter, heating up in the sun as they had walked in. So that was how he had got here…
‘So, what is this unfinished business?’ She decided to take the lead rather than wait for Lukas like a fly in his web. She watched as he set down his glass, swallowing hard as he started towards where she stood in the middle of the room. ‘What is it you want to talk about?’
‘The talking can wait.’ He stopped before her, towering over her as he gazed down her flushed face. ‘Right now I am more interested in action.’
With no warning he reached forward, sliding a hand around the back of her neck, lifting the weight of her hair for a second, before dropping it so that it rippled down her back. ‘Right now I want you to kiss me the way you kissed me the last time we were here, agapi mou. Do you remember?’
Calista felt herself sway. His hand was branding the back of her neck…his hot, whisky-tinged breath was shooting sharp waves of longing throughout her body. Of course she remembered. She remembered every minuscule, heart-stopping, life-changing detail. She had been living it for the past five years.
It had been her eighteenth birthday party—a gloriously warm June evening. Calista had finished her exams and finally left the boarding school that she had disliked so much, and she’d been intending to soak up a few weeks of Greek sunshine before returning to the UK to start university.
She had been looking forward to the party—not so much to the actual event, the guest list for which had mostly comprised her father’s business cronies and their families, rather than her friends, although that had partly been her decision. Aristotle had told her to invite as many people as she wanted, offering to pay for their flights from the UK and to put them up at the villa, ‘So they can see the sort of wealth you come from.’ But she hadn’t had that many friends—she’d always been the outsider at school, a motherless red-haired creature with a Greek name—and she hadn’t intended to scare off the couple of friends she had had by subjecting them to the full force of her father.
Because far from wanting to show off Aristotle’s wealth she had been embarrassed by it—or, more precisely, embarrassed by Aristotle. Over the years he had become ever more boorish, more overbearing, and the large quantities of alcohol he’d consumed, along with the banquet-type meals that he demanded every night, had not helped his general health or his temper. It had seemed the larger he’d got, the more obnoxious he’d become.
But there had been one person Calista had wanted to see—Lukas. He had promised her that he would be there, and that alone had been enough to see her struggling to straighten her unruly tumble of red hair, carefully applying some lipstick and eyeliner and easing herself into a short emerald-green silk dress that had hugged her youthful curves in just the right places. Donning a pair of strappy gold sandals, complete with killer heels, she had been ready to go—or, more importantly, ready for Lukas.
Except he hadn’t showed up.
The disappointment had been crushing. Calista’s fragile hopes had been dashed every time another group of guests had appeared and he hadn’t been amongst them. It had seemed as if more and more people had come, spilling out onto the terrace, laughing, drinking, dancing…
Finally Lukas’s father Stavros had arrived, bursting onto the terrace in a highly agitated state, seeking out Aristotle and demanding that he go inside with him so that they could talk in private. Calista hadn’t even had a chance to ask him where Lukas was.
In the end she had decided to take matters into her own hands. Suddenly she had no longer just wanted to see Lukas. Being with him had become an all-consuming compulsion, taking on a frightening urgency that would have seen her do almost anything to achieve her aim.
Which had turned out to be stealing a car. Or rather ‘borrowing it’ from Stavros, who had left the keys of his SUV in the ignition. Calista had only had a handful of driving lessons—she had certainly never passed her driving test—but such had been her determination to see Lukas that she hadn’t been about to let a little thing like that stand in her way.
Somehow she had managed to negotiate the twisty coastal road without tumbling the car off the cliff and then, armed with a bottle of champagne and what she hoped was a winning smile, she had burst into Villa Helene and found Lukas anxiously pacing the floor.
He had looked astonished to see her. ‘Callie! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to find you, of course. It’s my birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘No, I’ve not forgotten. Happy Birthday.’
He’d said the requisite words but there had been none of his usual warmth, no kiss on the cheek or birthday hug.
Instead he had looked distractedly over her shoulder. ‘Have you seen my father?’
‘Yes, he’s at my birthday party. Which is where you should be. You promised, Lukas.’
‘Did
