The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Mistress Read online

  ‘Enjoy,’ Roberto said happily. ‘I see you are training hard for the race. Now you need to eat.’ He winked at Damon. ‘Anna has the face of an angel, huh? But I tell you, she has a big heart. She’s always busy raising money for different charities. Are you going to watch her run the marathon?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Damon assured the other man, carefully avoiding Anna’s poisonous glare. ‘I’ll be there supporting her the whole way.’

  The thought was enough to ruin Anna’s appetite but she couldn’t leave her meal without hurting Roberto’s feelings and so she picked up her fork. Damon ignored her while he concentrated on his own meal and after a few mouthfuls she found herself slowly start to relax. The food was heavenly and she ate with enjoyment, her senses soothed by the gentle trickling sound of the stream.

  ‘Better than a sandwich?’ The gentle query brought her head up and she discovered that Damon had finished his meal and was quietly watching her.

  ‘Much, although the paperwork is still waiting,’ she admitted with a rueful smile. She was not by nature a sulker and, aided by Roberto’s culinary skill, her anger had gradually melted away. ‘I hadn’t realised how hungry I was,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  It was amazing how two little words could evoke such a fevered reaction within her, she thought despairingly as heat suffused her whole body. She was so agonisingly aware of Damon that it seemed as if nothing else existed. The voices of the other diners faded and the air seemed so still that she was conscious of every breath he took.

  ‘How long do you plan to stay in England?’ she burst out, wincing as her voice sounded over-loud to her ears.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure—it depends on a number of things,’ he replied obliquely, his smile causing Anna’s heart to thud erratically. She felt an irrational urge to snatch his sunglasses from his face in order to read his thoughts but had to content herself with reaching into her bag for her own shades. It might be cowardly but she felt measurably safer with them on. Damon seemed to have the disturbing knack of reading her mind and she preferred to keep her thoughts to herself.

  ‘How about you? Do you have any plans to travel in the near future?’

  ‘I have assignments in New York coming up but I purposefully kept the next couple of weeks clear. Time to prepare for the charity race and time afterwards to recover from it,’ she added with a sudden, disarming grin.

  It was her smile that did it for him, Damon acknowledged silently, his eyes focusing on the tilt of her wide mouth. When she smiled her face lit up and she was transformed from classically beautiful to simply breathtaking.

  He wondered what she would do if he gave into the urge to lean across the table and claim her lips with his own—and to hell with the other diners. Most women of his acquaintance would giggle and lower their lashes, perhaps wind their arms around his neck to respond to his kiss. Anna would undoubtedly throw the coffee-pot at his head, he accepted with a wry smile as he sought to bring his rampaging hormones under control.

  ‘What led you to choose modelling as a career?’ he queried. ‘Apart from the obvious, of course.’

  ‘The obvious?’ Anna frowned, clearly puzzled.

  ‘Your looks—I’m sure I’m not the first man to tell you that the combination of your features is utterly exquisite.’

  The words were uttered with an air of clinical detachment that made Anna shiver. It was true that she received countless compliments—none of which affected her in the slightest. Why then did Damon’s cool assessment send a quiver of fierce pleasure through her?

  She wanted to say something flippant but her mouth was suddenly dry and she reached for her glass of water with a hand that shook slightly.

  ‘I never made a conscious decision to become a model,’ she told him when she could trust herself to speak. ‘When I left school, most of my friends, including Kezia, went to university, but I had no clear idea of what I wanted to do with my life. When I was “spotted”, walking down the Kings Road, it seemed like a godsend—I’d fallen behind with the rent on my bedsit and had no idea how I was going to pay it.’ She shrugged her shoulders expressively. ‘To be honest, I thought I’d give modelling a go for a couple of months, until I was back on my feet financially. I never expected it to become a career.’

  ‘Yet your success is astounding,’ Damon commented. ‘Do you enjoy modelling?’

  ‘I enjoy the money,’ she replied bluntly. ‘I enjoy the fact that I’m financially independent and don’t have to rely on anyone else for anything.’

  For anyone else, read any man, Damon guessed. What had happened in her past to make her so mistrustful of relationships? A broken love affair perhaps—or did her wariness stem from events in her childhood? ‘Financial security is obviously important to you, but isn’t the predicted career-span of even an internationally successful model such as yourself notoriously short?’

  ‘Hopefully I’ll continue to work for a few more years and I already have a significant property portfolio, which I plan to extend. The buy-to-let market in London is booming, as I’m sure you know, and I enjoy being a landlord much more than a tenant.’

  ‘So, behind that angelic face lies the brain of a ruthless businesswoman,’ Damon teased lightly.

  ‘I know what it’s like to be at rock-bottom,’ she replied seriously. ‘The few months between when I left school and was taken on by the modelling agency were hellish. I had no job, no money and often had to rely on friends for somewhere to stay.’

  ‘But surely you could have lived with one of your parents after you’d left boarding-school?’ Damon demanded, unable to disguise his shock. She had been little more than a child and yet it sounded as though her family had abandoned her. No wonder she was so desperate for financial security.

  ‘My father was busy with his new family. We had already grown apart and his wife made it clear that she didn’t view a difficult teenager as a welcome addition to the household,’ Anna revealed, unable to disguise the hint of bitterness in her voice. ‘My mother was married to her second husband by then and…’ she hesitated fractionally before admitting quietly ‘…there were reasons why I had to leave home.’

  Something in her voice caught Damon’s attention. He wanted to ask what those reasons were but even across the width of the table he could feel her tension.

  The sun was shining as brightly as ever but, despite its warmth, Anna shivered. She felt as though a black cloud had settled over her, suffocating her with the disturbing memories she would rather forget. Her stepfather’s sly, leering face filled her mind and she felt the familiar feeling of nausea sweep over her when she remembered his hot breath on her skin…his hands touching her at every casual opportunity.

  ‘Anna, are you all right?’ Damon’s voice seemed to sound from a long way off and she blinked and forced her mind back to the present. He was watching her, his dark brows drawn into a frown of concern.

  ‘I’m fine, just a little tired, that’s all,’ she quickly reassured him, managing a shaky smile. ‘I mustn’t keep you. I’m sure you’re a busy man, Damon,’ she added briskly as she stood up. ‘Thank you again for lunch.’

  ‘Where are you parked? I’ll see you to your car.’ He had already walked round the table to pick up her bag, and before she realised his intention he slid a supporting arm around her waist. ‘You look very pale, pedhaki mou. I don’t think you should drive.’

  ‘I don’t intend to. My flat’s not far from here and I walked through the park this morning. Damon, I’m perfectly okay,’ she said sharply. She was so intent on fighting her reaction to the brush of his thigh against hers that she did not notice that he had led her over to his car.

  ‘Here we are—in you get,’ he said cheerfully.

  She glared at him when he opened the passenger door. ‘I’ve told you, I’ll walk.’

  ‘Do you want to fight about it?’ He stood, blocking her path, his arms folded resolutely across his chest in a stanc
e that told her she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She had lost that sickly pallor, Damon noted with satisfaction. Something had seriously bothered her back there, but now wasn’t the time to try and draw the truth from her. Instead he had hoped to focus her mind back on the present by deliberately provoking her temper and, from the hectic colour staining her cheeks, it appeared that he had succeeded.

  ‘You are the most infuriating man I have ever met,’ she snapped furiously as she conceded defeat and subsided into the car. She turned her head when he slid behind the wheel and pointedly ignored him for the short journey back to her flat. It was only when he turned into the car park and cut the engine that she swung back to face him, her eyes wide and suspiciously bright.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ she demanded huskily, the tremor in her voice causing a peculiar pain in Damon’s stomach. The naked vulnerability in her eyes disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

  ‘A little of your time, a chance to get to know one another better and explore what we started on Zathos,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘We didn’t start anything.’ Her fierce rejection of his words was instant and laced with panic as she fumbled to release her seat belt. ‘Your imagination must have been playing tricks on you, Damon. There was nothing.’

  ‘No?’ He moved before she had time to react, curving his hand around her neck to cup her nape before lowering his head to capture her mouth in a brief, hard kiss.

  The moment he touched her Anna tensed, waiting for the familiar feeling of revulsion to fill her. It didn’t come. Instead of reliving unpleasant memories from the past, her mind seemed to be a blank canvas where nothing existed except the warm pleasure of his mouth on hers. His tongue explored the shape of her lips with delicate precision; an un-hurried, evocative tasting that caused a trembling to start deep inside her. To her astonishment she found herself wanting more, but as she parted her lips he broke the kiss and drew back to stare into her wide, shell-shocked eyes.

  ‘In my imagination?’ he taunted. ‘I don’t think so, Anna. The chemistry between us on Zathos was white hot, and it still burns—for both of us. The question is, what are we going to do about it?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ANNA spent the rest of the day scrubbing and polishing her flat, hoping that frenzied activity would prevent her from thinking about Damon. She could no longer deny that she was attracted to him but fear had seen her flee from his car as if the devil himself were in pursuit.

  The memory of his kiss lingered, however. She couldn’t forget the feel of his mouth on hers, the pleasure his warm, firm lips had evoked, and she was shocked by the realisation that she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

  She spent the evening ploughing through a mountain of paperwork, but, despite the fact that it was past midnight before she crawled into bed, she slept badly for the second night in succession.

  It was Damon’s fault, she thought grumpily the next morning, pulling on her trainers and running gear ready for another session at the sports track. He had stormed into her life like a tornado, ripping down her fragile defences and leaving her emotions in tatters.

  The doorbell pealed as she was gulping down a second cup of coffee and she opened the door to be presented with an exquisite bouquet of cream roses.

  ‘I was told to give you these,’ the delivery boy muttered, handing her two large bottles of spring-water. ‘The Greek bloke said I was to be sure to tell you to take them to the track with you.’ He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. ‘I guess the message means more to you than it does to me.’

  Murmuring her thanks, Anna closed the door and carried the flowers back to the kitchen before ripping open the attached envelope with fingers that shook slightly.

  ‘Keep up with the training—I’m looking forward to seeing you cross the finish line,’ Damon had written, the sight of his bold signature causing her heart to flip in her chest. His arrogance was insufferable, she thought furiously. For a second she seriously debated stuffing the flowers into the rubbish bin. His note was a subtle reminder that he intended to hold her to her agreement to have dinner with him after the charity race, but to her intense irritation she was unable to repress a little shiver of anticipation at the thought of seeing him again.

  The word no did not seem to feature in Damon Kouvaris’s vocabulary, she decided as she rammed the bottles of water into her kit bag. It was about time someone told him he couldn’t always have his own way. But as she inhaled the delicate perfume of the blooms she could not bring herself to destroy them and placed them in a vase on the dining table—a visual reminder of the man she would rather forget.

  He phoned mid-afternoon. She had run a bath—hoping to soothe her aching muscles after her run—and was blissfully immersed in scented bubbles when she heard the telephone. After the tenth ring she could stand it no longer, cursing as she wrapped a towel around her before padding barefoot down the hall, leaving a trail of foam in her wake.

  The caller was annoyingly persistent, which meant that it was probably her mother, she thought grimly. It was less than six months since Judith had phoned from her home in France and dropped the bombshell that she had just married for the third time. Was it too soon for her mother to be ringing to announce her divorce? Anna wondered cynically as she snatched up the receiver.

  ‘Anna, I hope I haven’t disturbed you,’ a familiar, heavily accented voice sounded in her ear, causing goose-bumps to prickle her skin so that she twitched her towel firmly in place.

  ‘I was in the bath,’ she replied shortly, ‘and now I’m dripping water all over the carpet.’

  In his hotel room Damon stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes as he pictured Anna—damp, pink-cheeked and wrapped in a towel. Possibly not even a towel, he mused, feeling the familiar stirring in his loins. Those gorgeous, lissom limbs would be satin-smooth, perhaps glistening with a few stray droplets of moisture. Her blonde hair would be piled on top of her head while stray tendrils framed her face. Hunger flared as he imagined himself releasing the pins so that it fell in a swathe of gold silk over her breasts. ‘I’m sorry. Do you want to go and put something on?’

  ‘It’s all right; I’ve got a towel round me.’

  ‘Ah, bath-sheet or hand-towel?’ he enquired throatily.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Anna inhaled sharply and fought to control the quiver that ran through her at the sound of his sexy drawl. ‘Did you want something, Damon—other than a description of the size of my towel?’

  It was tempting to spell out in glorious detail precisely what he wanted, but Damon restrained himself. ‘I have two tickets for the Royal Ballet tonight. I wondered if you would care to join me?’

  His voice was deliberately light and neutral, as if he feared that she would accuse him of pressurising her. It was tempting, Anna admitted silently. He was tempting. She hesitated, her eyes drawn along the hallway to the dining room, where the roses he had sent her were reflected in the polished mahogany table. She felt as though she were balanced on the edge of a precipice and one wrong move could send her hurtling to her destruction.

  ‘Why did you send me flowers?’ she demanded huskily.

  ‘They remind me of you—fragrant, fragile and infinitely beautiful,’ he replied seriously. ‘Don’t you like them?’

  ‘Of course I do—what woman doesn’t love flowers?’ she whispered as her body reacted to the smoky sensuality of his voice. But the thought of all the other women in his life sent her skidding back down to earth. Damon was well practised in the art of seduction. Did he send flowers to every blonde he was interested in? He must have an enormous florists’ bill, she thought sardonically as common sense reasserted itself.

  ‘I’m afraid I promised to babysit for a friend tonight and I can’t let her down,’ she lied. It seemed a foolproof excuse and she was just congratulating herself on her quick thinking when he spoke again.

  ‘Perhaps I could help out? I’m good with children.’

  Too late she recalled the gentle patience
he’d shown on Zathos towards his little godson Theo. She’d been struck by his natural affinity with children and surprised by the idea that he would make a good father.

  Next thing she would be canonising him, she thought impatiently.

  ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, and I’m sure you don’t want to waste your tickets. You’ll have to flick through your little black book and find another partner for the evening. You must have several willing candidates to choose from,’ she added cattily, dismayed at how much she hated the idea that she was just one in a long list of blondes in his phone book.

  ‘Dozens,’ he assured her blandly, ‘but you’re currently top of the list.’

  ‘Lucky me,’ she replied every bit as blandly, gently placing the phone down before he had the chance to reply, and then spent the next ten minutes hovering in the hallway in case he should ring again. He didn’t, and, berating herself for being a fool, she returned to her rapidly cooling bath water, any idea of relaxing blown to pieces.

  She had been right to turn him down, she assured herself for the hundredth time. Instinct warned her that Damon was out of her league and although he fascinated her, she refused to risk her emotional security on a man who regarded women as nothing more than sexual playmates.

  Several hours later she was beginning to wish she had accepted Damon’s invitation.

  ‘Hey, Anna, why aren’t you drinking?’

  The question was slurred and indistinct and Anna turned her head sharply to avoid a wave of alcoholic fumes. Tonight was rapidly turning into the evening from hell, she brooded darkly when Jack Bailey, star of a series of commercials for a popular brand of jeans, slid into the seat next to her.

  ‘Here, waiter, more champagne,’ Jack demanded. ‘Do you know who this is?’ he asked the waiter in a loud voice that caused heads to turn. ‘This is Anna Christiansen, the most beautiful woman in the world—isn’t that right, Anna?’ He leered at her, his handsome face flushed from the effects of too much wine, and Anna stifled a groan.