Blackmailed Into the Greek Tycoon's Bed Read online

  The speeches and formalities went on for ever, but neither Karin nor Xante seemed to mind. Sitting together, listening, occasionally talking, they truly appeared a couple. Only, just as Karin truly started to relax, the highlight of the night started—the charity auction. Everything seemed to be auctioned, from Caribbean holidays, a luxurious winter retreat at Lake Como and baubles from Tiffany’s that Xante had acquired at a preposterous price for his godchild. And yet all it did was make Karin feel sick. The copious spending, the haemorrhage of money, was all too familiar to her.

  But the lavish spending had been just a pale precursor. When the auctioneer silenced the room, the major prize was announced—for a group of up to twenty to train alongside the English rugby team for a week at Twickenham and have access to the top coaches, trainers and masseurs. A headmaster of a grand all-boys school opened the bidding, and Karin watched as the fever in the room mounted. She could feel that there was more than a desire to obtain the ultimate prize—there was the boast of wealth that she abhorred. Like her parents, like Matthew, who’d thrown money away on things they neither wanted nor needed just because it had to be seen that they could. And when Xante trumped the biddings, when the room burst into applause and congratulated him on the obscene amount he had paid for something he would probably never use, Karin was hard pushed to play the part of the dutiful partner and smile at his excess.

  That she was less than impressed was blatantly obvious; as Xante pocketed the golden ticket he saw her tongue roll in her cheek.

  ‘You don’t seem too pleased.’

  ‘It’s not my concern,’ Karin said tartly.

  ‘No,’ he smiled. ‘It’s not.’

  They sat in tense silence—tense because Xante wasn’t the only one realising how much a partner could change one’s status. Aware of her Ice Queen reputation, usually Karin stood apart at this sort of function, unable to relax and enjoy herself, rigid and awkward. It just compounded the rumours. But just walking in the room tonight she had felt the shift.

  Men had looked at her differently—and the women too. She was invited into their circles in a way she had never been before, moving beyond the awkward, polite small-talk that was her usual fare, and chatting, laughing and joking with these acquaintances as if now they were friends, as if now they wanted to know her.

  For a while she hadn’t been able to put her finger on why she was being treated differently. But, staring over at him—dark, brooding and restless in the chair beside her, his clean-shaven jaw already dusted with the shadow of the morning, his hands tapping an impatient tune with the coaster—Karin got it. It had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Xante.

  Like a rumble of thunder in the distance on a perfect day, there was this dangerous edge to him. His sensual lips barely moved, yet never had a mouth been more expressive. His body was this ripple of energy and tension beneath his immaculate suit, and his eyes when they met hers spoke of sex and sin and wicked, private places—even if his words were supremely polite. And if she were with Xante, if this night were real, then the newspapers had surely misrepresented her and the company tonight had therefore misinterpreted her—because to be with Xante, to be the woman that held him, meant there was surely more to her than met the eye.

  It was with trepidation that she walked to the dance floor with him, as if her awkwardness would reveal their lie.

  But awkwardness Xante could deal with. His teenage years had, after all, been spent in a virtual playground of tourists—women out for two weeks of fun and romance in the Greek summer sun, which Xante had been only too happy to provide. He’d driven them on his battered scooter around the islands, their thighs gripping him as the delicious scent of arousal filled the air; he’d taken them to secluded spots, swearing he would write, would ring, that they were the one…So convincing was he that in those moments Xante had almost believed it to be true. It was the chase Xante had relished, the prize of the most unwitting surrender he had sought—and Karin Wallis, tense and rigid in his arms, provided the challenge he had for so long craved. Women these days were just too eager, too ready to please.

  But not this woman.

  Here on the dimly lit dance floor he held her loosely, feeling her slender, fragile form, his hands low and loose on her waist. He was in no rush. Xante knew exactly what he was doing.

  Karin didn’t!

  All night his eyes had spoken of want, and there had been a raw sexuality to him, this licentious edge that no amount of wealth or trappings could smooth. It had unnerved Karin. Oh, Xante had behaved like the perfect gentleman, and to her surprise he was still doing so now. To her disappointment, perhaps? There was no hint of suggestion in the way he held her; he might as well have been doing a duty-dance with an aunt.

  ‘It shouldn’t go on much longer now,’ Xante said politely to the top of her head.

  ‘Good,’ she said to his chest, yet again there was this surge of disappointment within her that didn’t equate with logic. She didn’t want him to want her, and yet she did.

  His hands on her waist were warm, the subtle scent of him stronger now they were closer, when Karin made her third wish. She wished that this evening were true—that she was the woman who could hold Xante’s attention, was the woman that he bedded; that the papers and their rumours were wrong. She knew what the press said about her, knew people thought her frozen and frigid. But beneath that cool surface, that brittle shell, was a woman who yearned to be held and adored, and till now it had proved impossible. Yet here in the darkness, here in his arms, somehow she was able to forget. She felt as if she were dancing on the edge of the sun, that with one false move, one trip, she would fall right in, would dissolve to a delicious nothing.

  His hands were just a touch lower now, or maybe she was imagining it. But they seemed to have slipped a delicious fraction, warming her lower back, both little fingers just at the start of the curve of her buttocks. She was supremely aware of her body, only not in the horribly awkward way of before. This was different awareness now; the warmth of his hands spread, this swirl of arousal hung heavy between them. Xante’s establishment was way too elegant for something as tacky as a smoke machine, but it was as close as she could come to describing the thick cloak of desire that swirled around them, permeating her skin, her hair, even the air she dragged in. Bubbles fizzed in her veins, little fizzes that buzzed into unfamiliar places. Aware suddenly of her breasts, of their weight peaking in the soft dress, her skin prickling with a need for more contact, low in her stomach she felt an unfamiliar pull, like a string bag tightening. Her body responded as any woman’s would, only as Karin’s surely mustn’t.

  She could smell his cologne more strongly now, and as his cheek grazed hers Karin could feel the scratch of new growth just beneath his firm jaw. She felt the subtle nuzzle of his lips in her hair, on her cheeks, and the whispers of breath dusting her ear as his mouth slowly moved towards hers; it would actually be a relief were he to kiss her.

  Except he didn’t.

  Instead he pulled his head back and pinned her with his eyes, told her without a single word exactly what he wanted to do, exactly the places he would take her to, if only she might come to his bed. The skin felt raw on her cheeks as it burnt with indecent thoughts, wanting so badly to rest her lips on his, to give in to the subtle pressure of his hands and let their bodies mesh. Except to give in now would mean she must reveal herself later, and the glimpse of disappointment that would surely ensue gave her the strength to hold back, to avert her eyes and loosen his embrace.

  He’d almost had her. He’d felt her warm beneath his hands, had seen the naked lust in her eyes, and there had been a rare sense of privilege as he’d witnessed the first stirs of her thaw. But all too soon it had faded. Before the music had ended, he had felt her distance. The lights blazed on, farewells being given, cheeks being proffered and the magic ending. And for Xante the challenge was set.

  And it would be a challenge, Xante thought with relish—a challenge that might take a wh
ile—but he had never lost one yet.

  ‘I will call you a car.’ He watched her rapid blink, knew she was on her guard as she walked swiftly alongside him.

  ‘Xante.’ The captain called them as they walked through the foyer. ‘Karin…Look, I really am sorry about today.’

  ‘Please, don’t worry about it.’ Karin smiled, remembering, as she always did, her manners. ‘If I am going to dash out of fire exits with jewels when the English rugby team are in residence, then I can expect to be tackled.’

  ‘Still. I didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to invite you both to the game next Saturday.’

  ‘Actually…’ There was a slight tinge to Karin’s cheeks as again, unwittingly, the England captain placed her in a rather awkward spot. ‘I’d have loved to—we’d have loved to—but I’m already attending next Saturday’s match. They’re honouring the game’s legends in the pre-match entertainment. I’m to give a speech at the luncheon beforehand.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to choose another date. Xante, you said you were going to try to be in London for the England versus Scotland Six Nations match in February; would that suit you both better?’

  ‘We’d be delighted to attend as your guests.’ Xante duly smiled, but again he was rattled. Tonight he had chatted with royalty, had sat shoulder to shoulder with the aristocracy, and now had been invited as a private guest by the England captain no less. He had enjoyed every moment. But usually he paid for such privilege. With Karin beside him, it had seemed to be an automatic right—and it was vexing.

  ‘It’s okay, Xante.’ She sensed his discomfort as they walked through the foyer and misinterpreted it. ‘I’ve been to plenty of rugby matches in my time. I’m sure you’ll find another blonde to take my place. Anyway I think he’ll have more on his mind on the day than worrying where we are.’

  ‘We’ll sort something out.’ It did briefly enter his head to invite her up for a drink under the guise of collecting her things, but Xante quickly discounted it—he knew what he was doing. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  ‘Sir…’ The night manager was effusive with his apology as they stepped out on the forecourt. ‘There may be some delay on the car; all our drivers are taking guests home.’

  ‘Of course.’ That had been his instruction, after all; it wouldn’t have entered anyone’s head that Xante’s date for the night might be going home!

  It wasn’t just the cold air that had Karin shivering as they stood waiting for the car—Karin was waiting for him to pounce, Xante knew, and all it did was make him smile to himself.

  He liked making her wait.

  ‘Here’s the car now.’ Xante was supremely polite. ‘Thank you for your company.’

  She could scarcely believe he was letting her just walk away—she had tried to steal from him, for heaven’s sake! But she had also felt the tension on the dance floor—or at least she thought she had. Karin blinked, confused now. ‘I can just go?’

  ‘Of course.’ He kissed her on the cheek, politely, nicely, and then he stepped back.

  The driver was holding the car-door open, and for a moment Karin stood there, nonplussed. ‘You’ll call?’ Karin suddenly said, then checked herself. ‘I mean, if you do decide to sell…’

  ‘I doubt I will. Still.’ He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. ‘You can call and register your interest.’

  ‘You know I’m interested.’

  Oh, he knew she was for certain now.

  ‘That is my PA’s card—she is very efficient and keeps track of that sort of thing. Maybe give her a ring tomorrow?’

  He hadn’t even given her his own number.

  He couldn’t, Karin realised, have made it any more clearer that this was goodbye.

  ‘Goodnight, Karin.’

  He watched as she climbed into the car.

  Women were the only area in Xante’s life where he lacked scruples.

  Sex, for Xante, was as essential as coffee in the morning, which he liked smooth, strong and sweet. Oh, he treated women well, lavishing his lovers with gifts and holidays and, so rumour had it, he was generous in the bedroom too. But his heart was strictly off limits.

  As the car slid off into the night, Xante smiled.

  Okay, so tonight he had to sleep alone. But Karin Wallis would soon be in touch and, Xante thought as he headed back in to join the party that was forming in his bar, she’d be well worth the wait.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR Karin there was no comfort in home.

  As the car swept up the drive, Omberley Manor stood elegant, tall and proud. But every light inside was blazing, and even before the driver opened the door and Karin stepped out onto the gravel she could hear the thud of loud music that was ever present at the weekends.

  She didn’t comment to the driver, of course. Karin had long since learnt that to comment constituted an apology of sorts, and the Wallis family didn’t need to do that, didn’t need to justify holding a party on a Friday night, to anyone.

  Except there was a party at this house most nights.

  She pretended to use her key to open the heavy, oak door, but of course it was already open—neither Matthew nor his friends would think of locking it. The house was open to any rich deadbeat who wanted to party till dawn.

  Tripping over bodies, bottles lining the surfaces, it was hard for Karin to comprehend that a short while ago she had been dining in splendour, and even harder to face reality.

  ‘They’ll go soon,’ Matthew said, looking like death as he stumbled along the hallways. His good-looking features had been ravaged from too many years spent living on the wild side.

  But Karin knew they wouldn’t go.

  Friday had already blurred into Saturday, and Karin knew the pattern only too well. Firstly, the apologies that would come on Sunday—or, lately, Monday—and then the massive clean-up that would ensue till the merry-go-round started all over again.

  Karin knew it well because she had lived with it all her life.

  ‘They’ll be gone in the morning, and then I’ll have the place cleaned up.’

  It was so pathetic, she laughed. ‘They’ll go when they’ve drunk what’s left in the cellar and have eaten the food I bought, and have slept in my bed, Matthew.’ She clawed at her scalp for a moment. ‘I can’t live like this.’

  ‘Leave, then,’ Matthew said, quickly forgetting to be contrite, his menacing face right in hers now. ‘I’m sick of your misery, sick of you embarrassing me, always having a go at my friends. If you hate living here so much, just leave.’

  Which was what he wanted.

  Which was what, in weaker moments, Karin wanted too—to just walk away and watch from a safe distance as Matthew eventually sold everything off, and the beautiful stately English home that was falling apart at the seams was finally eroded. To just leave and let go as everything her grandfather had built and achieved finally imploded.

  Ten months.

  She was counting the days, the minutes, till Emily’s schooling ended.

  Emily was attending the same school Karin had. And, though Karin had long ago worked out that money counted for nothing, she knew only too well the humiliation and bullying Emily would suffer if the Wallises’ true status was exposed.

  There had already been gentle nudges about the lateness of the school fees; it was the reason she had agreed to auction yet more stuff. Now, if she could just hold on for ten more months, she would tell Emily as gently as she could the truth about their family.

  There was a couple in her bed again; the musky smell of excess made her want to gag. Barefoot, she ran down the stairs, ignoring some malodorous comment from one of Matthew’s friends sitting on the stairs. His hand caught her bare ankle, his leering mouth repeating his request, and Karin told him exactly where he could go, kicking off his filthy hand and running down the hall, finding the key she kept hidden and heading to the library.

  The only place that remained true to her grandfather.


  Here, just as she’d done when she was younger, was the place she escaped to. When it had been her grandfather’s home, she, her brother and sister would often spend the weekend here. Emily would be tucked up in her cot, Matthew watching television, as their grandmother cooked supper. But Karin had loved the library best. All her grandfather’s rugby trophies and medals had been on display, and she had loved to listen to the tales of his glory days, safe and warm and away from the chaos of home.

  And, after her grandparents had died and her family had moved in, it was here in the library that Karin had often taken refuge, losing herself in a book rather than facing the reality of what lay outside the door.

  She had lived a charmed life, according to the papers—her mother the perfect society wife, a patron of endless good causes and her father a respected member of the bar. Karin had worn the finest clothes and had attended the finest schools. It was the weekends she had dreaded, though.

  The weekends when her parents had ‘let their hair down’. Weekends when she had tried to amuse Emily and shield her from the grown-ups’ goings on.

  ‘Awkward’ had been her mother’s brittle description of her, and Karin had been aware that she was. So, one weekend when Emily had been at a sleepover at one of her friend’s houses, Karin had tried to join in. At seventeen even she had been impressed by the famous actor’s charms, had been embarrassed and shy when he had spoken to her, gulping her fruit juice and cringing as the middle-aged man had toyed with her, wishing she could think of some sophisticated, witty retort that might impress him.