Blackmailed Into The Greek Tycoon's Bed

‘There is a beauty salon downstairs; I will have some clothes sent over from a boutique.’ He gave a thin smile at her raised eyebrows. Clearly, she thought, this man was used to grooming women. ‘I will take you to my suite.’ He must have seen her tense, because he answered her unspoken thoughts straight away. ‘I will shower and change in here. I will come for you at seven.’

As easy as that, he sorted it. He took her along the corridor, and she entered a vast, luxury suite. One of the perks of living in a five star hotel, Karin realised, was that one was always ready for unexpected guests. Her heels sank into the thick carpet, her eyes taking in the gleaming furnishings. Karin was used to being surrounded by nice things, and shouldn’t really have been so overwhelmed, but it only highlighted what her home was lacking. These things were tended to and lovingly polished; the thick, heavy drapes no doubt didn’t shoot a layer of dust when drawn, like the ones at home.

‘I’ll ring the boutique; they will send someone over. If you don’t mind organising your appointment at the salon?’

‘Will I get a booking?’ Karin glanced at her watch. Four p.m. on a Friday afternoon wasn’t exactly the ideal time to book in for a complete overhaul.

‘You are ringing from my room,” Xante said. ‘Nothing will be too much trouble.’

And then he left.

Karin half-expected a puff of smoke to linger in his absence. If only she had three wishes!

Well, not spending the night in jail might count as one, Karin conceded as she rang down to the salon and was told that someone would be with her within the hour.

The boutique was just as rapid to cooperate, despatching a choice selection of clothes, along with an assistant. Karin declined the assistant’s help, and tried on the dresses in the privacy of the spacious bathroom, selecting a heavy, blush-coloured velvet that fitted like a glove. When Karin’s hair had been blasted into submission, her face, hands and feet all painted and pretty, she accepted that, given how frugally she’d tried to live these past couple of years, she’d just maybe unwittingly got her second wish.

The beautician held up her gown. She was now coiffed and made up; time was moving on. ‘Let me help you into your dress.’

‘I can manage from here, thank you,’ Karin said primly.

‘But the zip…’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Karin’s crisp voice was non-negotiable. Finally alone, dressed in the hotel’s bath-robe, Karin stared at her reflection and hardly recognised herself. She’d always been more into books than make-up, and her dress style was usually conservative at best. With good reason.

But she knew tonight she’d attract stares. She always had, in some respects. That wasn’t vanity talking; her face and name were recognisable even when she made no effort. But with her hair so spectacularly pinned, and her make-up skilfully applied, she was honest enough with herself to know that she looked good. Attractive, even. Sexy, perhaps…

It wasn’t the stares that worried her, though, it was Xante.

She’d never had such a violent attraction to a man; even David, who she had been with for months, had never affected her in that toe-curling way Xante had. In that instant, when he had first come over before her foolish actions, there had been this shock of attraction, which now as the hour approached she couldn’t erase from her mind.

Karin swallowed down a rush of nerves that swarmed like butterflies in her throat as she peeled off her dressing gown.

Trying not to look in the mirror, she pulled on the French-lace panties and lacy, strapless bra she had chosen. They were beautiful, the black lace against the sheer pink, the little beads in the centre. But Karin loathed them. Their beauty and fragility only accentuated the unsightly thick scarring that laced an ugly network on her lower chest, thick bubbles of skin where the hot metal of the car wreckage had seared her flesh. The surgeon had told her, when her wounds had settled, that something possibly could be done to disguise them—only nothing ever had been.

Her parents had been loath to discuss the circumstances of the car accident and push for further treatment, and in turn Karin had been reluctant to show her body and live the nightmare again. It had been far easier just to cover the scars and pretend they didn’t exist.

Except they did exist.

And, no matter what the self-help books had said about the topic—that she should love herself and the rest would follow; that a loving man would accept her, faults and all—it actually didn’t work like that. Because she’d trusted David, had told him her past when he’d insisted on hearing it, had shown him her scars when he’d assured her it wouldn’t change anything. Only it had.

Over and over, despite repeated, desperate attempts, he had rejected her in the most intimate way possible.

Karin and her dashing army captain, society’s rising golden-couple, had, as the papers had said, ‘amicably’ parted. Yet there had been nothing amicable about the fresh batch of scars David had left her with—emotional scars, that were as deep and as raw as the ones on her body.

A thick, mascara-laced tear slid down her cheek, and Karin quickly dabbed at it. No one must ever guess that for now her life was anything but perfect.

For Emily’s sake.

So she pulled on the dress and stood, seemingly resplendent, draped in full-length blush-velvet that hugged her curves, the heavy halter-neck jacking up her bosom. Her cleavage was only slightly revealed, but with bare arms too it felt as if acres of flesh were on show; all Karin felt was exposed.

Hearing the knock on the door, Karin took a deep breath and held it as Xante entered the room. She stared into those black eyes and felt a flutter of something unfamiliar deep inside. Her own arousal unnerved her. She’d never found it easy to look a man in the eye, only with Xante she wanted to, and that was what scared her. His dark, brooding good looks did nothing to soothe her; she could almost smell the testosterone in the air that surrounded them. Karin knew that, despite the luxury suite and the designer suit, despite all the trappings, Xante was a bad boy made good. Instantly she was on the defensive. She picked up a small, jewelled bag and dropped her lip gloss in before giving him a brittle smile.

‘Right; let’s get this over with.’

‘Karin…’ His low voice, his thick accent, seemed to stroke her inside, turning her into a mess of nerves. But she hid it well, meeting his eyes with icy defiance. ‘We can have a long, miserable night exchanging barbs, resenting every minute we are together, or we can try and enjoy this evening.’

She gave a terse nod.

‘You look very beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’ How clipped and formal she sounded, compared to his languorous ease. Utterly comfortable dressed to the nines, he was a man completely at ease with his potent sexuality, and Karin would have killed for just an ounce of his confidence. ‘So do you.’ Her words were wooden, her smile forced, and, closing her bag, she crossed the room and walked out to the mirrored lift.

Even if it was more for the guests’ benefit than hers, she was rather grateful when his hand found hers. Hot and warm, it closed around hers, and she gripped him back.

‘You’ll be fine.’ Just as the lift hit the lobby, he turned and smiled at her, and offered her reassurance— the same smile that had greeted her when they’d first met, a smile that wasn’t mocking or superior, just welcoming.

As the lift door opened and they stepped out as a couple, Karin was careful not to make her third wish.

Xante Rossi was no doubt used to dating the world’s most beautiful women. If he’d known her past, if he knew her present, he would never truly want her.

It was imperative she keep her distance.

Removing her hand, she turned her attention to the guests and did what she always did when duty called— she sparkled.

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE time seven p.m. came round, Xante was seriously questioning his decision to have Karin escort him tonight.

He had looked her up, of course. Xante had already known about her grandfather’s achievements—Henry Wallis’s stunning rugby-career was legendary—but he had found himself reading further on and discovering more. Henry had an only child—a son, George—who’d had a charmed life too; attending the best schools, studying and attaining a law degree, then being called to the bar. The Wallis name had continued to shine brightly; George had married the stunning society-beauty Sophia, and together they had produced three ravishing blonde children. They had been the talk of London. Sophia had been a high-profile patron of many charities, quietly supporting her husband’s non-existent career—to Xante’s trained eyes, anyway. An invitation to a famous Wallis party had been, Xante had read with an ironic smile, an invitation to join the elite of London society.

Yet even fairy tales had their dark side. There had been the odd salacious article that had always been quickly refuted by the Wallis family’s spin-doctors. George Wallis had been furthering his studies, or working on an international case, not drowning in alcohol and debt. But the occasional chink had certainly appeared in the solid Wallis armour. Still, all had been forgiven when two years ago their charmed, golden lives had come to an untimely end as the result of a boating accident. Their only son Matthew had taken it badly but, given the circumstances, the press had forgiven his errant ways. Karin, it would seem, had dealt with her grief by roaming the globe in search of freezing winters or searing summers, skiing in Switzerland or lying on a beach in the south of France, as the youngest Wallis, Emily, completed her studies at boarding school.

The Wallis family’s debauched ways had once briefly impinged on Xante—it had been one of his company’s boats that the Wallises had died in. It had taken less than five minutes to access their files to find that, in the aftermath of the accident, insurance investigators had questioned the mechanical safety of the boat. His lawyers in turn had accessed the coroner’s report and uncovered a few other salient facts, and in no uncertain terms his team had informed the investigators of the boating company’s impeccable safety-record. It had also been pointed out that both the boat’s occupants’ blood and drug-alcohol readings would have rendered a walk in the park dangerous.

Ah, yes; reading between the lines, as Xante always did, Karin’s appalling behaviour this morning now made sense. The whole Wallis family had feasted like pigs in a trough on her grandfather’s success—had stuffed themselves till the table had lain bare—and still Karin was greedy for more.

Yes, Xante had been irritated and less than impressed as he had sharply rapped on the door to his own suite, eager to get this night over with and to relegate Karin Wallis to the past.

And then he saw her, and again rationale was lost.

Her slender, willowy figure was draped in blush-pink velvet, her pale arms and creamy décolletage mocking, laughing, spitting a hundred times over at the fake-bronze limbs that usually embraced him. She wore no jewellery, except for two diamond studs; she needed nothing else. Her long blonde hair was piled high, sleek and elegant, and all Xante wanted to do was take it down, to unravel it clip by hidden clip.

Kneed in the groin with longing for a moment, all he could do was stay still, to compose himself for a quiet moment as he acknowledged her beauty. He remembered in that moment all that had first captivated him about Karin, and chose to forget their sullied meeting for this one night, to push aside all he knew of her—to just revel in the woman she was.

Walking to the lift, he could feel her tension, despite the cool demeanour. And when his hand located hers Xante expected her to sharply pull away. Instead he was rewarded with the sweet feel of the pressure of her fingers, and then everything changed.

Karin Wallis was his guest this evening, and with every unfolding moment Xante was discovering the difference that made. Her company was engaging, quietly informed; she chatted easily with the most esteemed guest and their partners. And, when the players realised who she was, she was accepted into the fold in a way Xante could never be.