Читать книгу The Greek's Pleasurable Revenge - Andie Brock - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

PUSHING HIMSELF AWAY from the wall with the palms of his hands, Lukas caged Calista between his locked arms. He wasn’t going to give her any more space—not yet. Not while his breath was still heaving in his lungs, his heart hammering in his chest. He stared down at the top of her head, registering the way her slight figure shook, even though she had returned both feet to the floor, rearranging the skirt of her dress as if to pretend nothing had happened.

Well, it had. He had exacted his revenge.

All the hours he had spent plotting and scheming had finally come to fruition. Exactly as he had planned. Exactly on his terms. All done in the name of retribution.

At least that was what he had told himself. But, in truth, lying awake at night and reliving that fateful evening they had spent together had become something of an obsession. And conjuring up Calista’s image had not been purely about revenge—far from it. It had become his guilty pleasure. The soft swell of her breasts, the silky touch of her pale skin, her fresh scent, her sweet breath... The memory had transported him from the dismal walls of his cell to a very different place indeed.

He had lost count of the number of times he had travelled the length of her body in his mind, leaving no part of her soft curves untouched by his attentions, and his own body had responded in the most carnal way as he’d listened to the dry snoring of his cellmate in the bunk above him and cursed to hell the situation he had found himself in.

But now he was free. Now he had achieved his goal.

So why wasn’t he feeling it? Why wasn’t he getting the satisfaction he so badly craved? Why wasn’t it enough?

The sex itself had more than lived up to its promise. Just like the first time, there had been something about the connection between them—the chemistry, the fit—that had taken it beyond just sex to another level, as if they had been created solely for the gratification of each other. Not in an easy, comfortable way—not in the way of friends or gentle lovers—but with a wild, dramatic energy.

Like asteroids colliding in the vastness of space, their paths predetermined by a higher being, they had exploded against one another, set each other alight. And ultimately they had blown each other apart.

He could take her again—right here and now—he felt himself harden at the thought of it. In fact he could take her over and over again—keep her here in his villa until he had got her out of his system once and for all. After all, didn’t she deserve it after the way she had treated him?

He was halfway to crazily convincing himself it was a good idea when he stopped, looking down at himself. A thirty-one-year-old man, standing there with his pants around his ankles. A man whose desire for the woman in front of him was dangerously close to being out of control.

Perhaps he needed to take a step back to examine his motives. And fast.

Dropping his arms, he wrenched off the condom and quickly disposed of it, then saw to his pants and trousers, buttoning the waistband as he turned away.

‘Do you want that drink now?’ He spoke over his shoulder, not wanting to look at Calista for fear of what he might see in her eyes. He needed another drink before he could do that.

‘Lukas...?’

She whispered his name like a baffled question. The way she might speak to a person she had come across after a very long time—someone who had changed so irrevocably, so much for the worse, that she couldn’t be sure it was him. Well, this was him now. And she had better get used to it.

With two glasses of whisky in his hand he turned, bracing himself for what he would see. But still she got to him, those green eyes of hers instantly finding their target, making the glasses clink together in his hand. It was a look of turmoil—of confusion and hurt and something Lukas refused to acknowledge, let alone try to analyse.

He had made her feel bad. But hadn’t that been his intention? He refused to let his conscience prick him now.

Striding towards her, he handed her a glass, noticing the way her hand shook as she reached for it, immediately raising it to her lips to take a sip. The whisky seemed to restore her, and the flush of colour in her cheeks lessened from feverish red to a gentle pink.

‘Yes, Calista?’ He returned her question with the mocking sarcasm built up over five bitter years. He saw her flinch.

‘Whatever has happened to you?’

‘Let me see...’ He pretended to consider. ‘Lies, betrayal, deceit, the death of my father, and...oh, yes, four and a half years rotting in an Athens jail.’

He watched as she shook her head. ‘I have no idea who you are any more, Lukas. Do you know that?’

‘No? Well, maybe that makes two of us.’ He took a deep slug of whisky. ‘And yet still you let me push you up against a wall and have my way with you. Why is that, do you suppose?’

‘I... I don’t know.’

‘Still you come apart at the very first touch of my hands, urging me on as if you can’t get enough of me, screaming my name as you take what you so badly need from me.’

This felt better—dishing out the punishment he knew she deserved.

‘And you are still dressed in black, your dear, departed father scarcely cold in his grave. It’s hardly becoming, is it, Calista? It’s hardly fitting behaviour for a grieving daughter.’

‘No, it’s not. It should never have happened. And, believe me, I regret it now.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen again.’ He closed the space between them with one menacing step. ‘Because you and I both know, Calista, that I can have you any time I want, any place I want.’

He watched the way his words inflicted pain, sawed away at her just the way he’d intended them to. But with the pain came adrenalin, swiftly followed by that glorious flash of temper.

‘So that’s what all this is about, is it?’ She threw back her shoulders, her hair rippling down her back. ‘You have lured me here to prove that you can have sex with me in some sort of pathetic attempt to get your own back?’

‘Something like that.’

She opened her mouth, but for a second words failed her. ‘You are a despicable, vile creature—do you know that? A lousy piece of—’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He shut her down with a bored flick of his wrist. ‘I’m sure I’m all that and more. You can call me all the names you want, if it makes you feel better, but it won’t change the facts. And do you know what the worst of it is?’

He let his eyes drift lazily over her outraged face.

‘You didn’t even put up a fight. I had been looking forward to the challenge, the thrill of the chase, to working out how I was going to win you over. But in the end it was so easy it was almost pathetic.’

It was as if he’d punched her. The shock of his words made her fold at the stomach, reach for the back of a chair beside her to stop herself from falling. Raking in a breath, she pulled herself upright. Then, shooting him one last look of utter revulsion, she turned to go.

With lightning speed Lukas reached the doorway before her, easily barring her way. ‘Not so fast.’

‘I would like you to move, please.’ Her voice was brittle with anger and hurt.

‘Uh-uh. You will leave when I say so.’

‘Is this part of your master plan?’ She put her hands on her hips, as if to try and anchor herself. ‘To hold me against my will? Keep me here as your prisoner so that you can prove just what a detestable macho bully you have become?’

‘And supposing I did?’ Lukas arrowed her a lethal look. ‘You and I both know what would happen. You would be all over me, Calista. Oh, you might pretend to be outraged...put up a display of resistance in the name of decorum. But in truth I would only have to click my fingers and you would be mine. Writhing beneath me, on top of me, down on me, begging for my attentions and then screaming for more. Look how you behaved just now. It’s pitiful, really. I should feel sorry for you.’

Slap.

The weight of Calista’s palm connected with the side of his jaw with an impressive crack.

He had seen it coming. He could have stopped it. Spending time amongst some of Greece’s most notorious criminals had honed his instincts, taught him to read the situation before it happened. Lukas had always had fast reactions—now they were razor-sharp. But for some reason he had let it happen. For some reason he had wanted to feel it—that burn, that most primitive connection—to show that he was alive. To show that he could get to her. And the sting from her palm had set his heart racing.

Calista Gianopoulous—the young woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind, whose betrayal had consumed him so obsessively that it had become part of the fabric of who he was. Now he had her where he wanted her. Now her humiliation was in his grasp. And he could squeeze as tightly as he wished.

He studied her intently, standing there with her chin held high, her breasts heaving seductively beneath the demure black dress, pulling the fabric tight with every gasping, defiant breath. Her eyes flashed with a green so intense, so wild, it was as if she had been stripped of her sanity.

He should be feeling vindicated, triumphant. But he didn’t feel either of those things. Instead he was simply consumed with the overwhelming need to possess her body again. His only conscious thought was how utterly magnificent she looked.

He let a second of silence pass and tried to pull himself together, waiting to see what she would do next—almost willing her to strike him again so that this time he could intercept it, grasp her wrist and feel that physical connection between them again, see where it might lead. But instead she let her hand drop by her side, lowering the tawny sweep of her lashes. The pink pout of her lower lip, he noticed, had started to quiver.

‘Resorting to violence, Calista?’ He gave a derisive laugh. ‘I would never have thought it of you.’

‘It’s no more than you deserve.’

‘No? Maybe not. But if we’re dishing out home truths, perhaps it’s time that you took a look at yourself.’

Her head came up and there was fear in her eyes. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Oh, come on, Calista, let’s drop the pretence. You see, I know.’

‘Kn...know what?’

If Lukas had had any doubt about her part in his downfall it was well and truly dispelled now. Guilt was written all over her pretty face—not just written, but spelled out in big, bold capitals. She positively shook with it, her hands trembling as she raised them to her mouth, her legs looking as if they wouldn’t be able to hold her up much longer.

He let out a grim laugh. ‘Do you really need me to spell it out for you?’

‘Lukas... I...’

‘Because I will if you want.’

Taking a couple of steps away he then turned, his eyes pinning her to the spot, as if they were in a courtroom.

‘Let me take you back to the night of your eighteenth birthday party. The night my father discovered that the police had boarded one of the ships and found it was loaded with arms. While Stavros was over at Villa Melina, trying to find out what the hell was going on, your father dispatched you to “entertain” me. And you did a magnificent job—I have to say that.’

He paused, his whole body brittle with seething contempt.

‘Aristotle must have been very proud of you. While my father was suffering a heart attack you were in full seduction mode...while people were mobilising a helicopter to get him to the mainland we were in the throes of passion. And by the time they got him there it was too late.’

‘No, Lukas.’ Calista bit down hard on her quivering lip. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Oh, but it was, Calista. It was exactly like that. Before my father had the chance to confront yours, to defend himself, he conveniently had a heart attack and died. I bet Aristotle couldn’t believe his luck.’

‘That’s...that’s an awful thing to say.’

‘It was an awful deed.’ He mocked her use of the totally inadequate word. ‘Not only was he profiting from his vile trade in arms, but when he got caught out he set up my father to take the blame. He betrayed his oldest friend. It doesn’t get much more awful than that.’

‘No! I don’t believe you!’ Calista let out a cry of anguish. ‘My father had nothing to do with the arms-smuggling. And he would never have betrayed Stavros.’

‘And I don’t suppose he was responsible for getting me arrested and banged up in jail for four and a half years either?’ Lukas gave a harsh laugh.

‘No! I don’t believe that either. How would that even have been possible?’

‘Remarkably easily, as it turned out. It seems your father had villainous friends in remarkably high places. Or should I say low places?’

‘No! You’re making all this up.’

‘Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you didn’t know.’ Lukas ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. ‘No doubt you have tried to dress it up over the years—reshape your traitorous actions to ease your conscience, help you sleep at night. But the fact is you betrayed me in the same way your father betrayed my father. You traded your innocence for my guilt. I just hope it was a price worth paying.’

Calista turned away from him, stumbling across the room towards the open doors of the terrace. She clearly couldn’t face him—well, that was hardly surprising. He stared at her silhouette, dark against the azure blue of the sea meeting the sky. He could feel the thrum of his pulse in his ears, a tightness in his chest that had yet to be released.

He wasn’t done with her yet.

‘So you see, agape mou, this is my little payback. My turn to let you see what it’s like to be used. To be taken advantage of. To have your body violated by someone for their own gain.’

Closing the gap between them, he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her so that she couldn’t avoid the hard, dark glitter of his eyes.

‘So tell me, Calista. How does it feel?’

* * *

Calista tried to swallow past the shock that was blocking her throat. Her heart was thudding wildly in her chest, her palm still stinging from where it had connected with Lukas’s jaw. But her brain had gone into slow motion, struggling to process all the terrible things he had said.