Читать книгу The Apollonides Mistress Scandal / Rich Man's Vengeful Seduction: The Apollonides Mistress Scandal / Rich Man's Vengeful Seduction - Laura Wright, Laura Wright - Страница 9

Three

Gemma stared.

Angelo’s shocking revelation was the last thing she’d expected. Yet, judging by his narrow-eyed expression, he clearly believed it to be true.

She tested the discovery against her own belief. No, she couldn’t accept it. Angelo must’ve made some awful mistake.

But before she could question him further, a mist of designer aftershave surrounded her. Then came a whisper of “Cherie, you are more beautiful than ever,” and male lips nudged her cheek.

“Hello—” she tried frantically to remember his name “—Jean-Paul.”

“I thought you were ignoring me, cherie. You stared straight through me earlier. I’m glad to know you remember your old friends.”

Beside her Angelo snorted. Gemma shot him a warning look. She didn’t want Jean-Paul knowing about the amnesia.

At least not yet.

Coming face-to-face with a man Angelo considered her lover had taken her aback. Much as she disliked Angelo, he had no reason to lie to her about the past. She needed to learn more.

With an extravagant flourish Jean-Paul produced a roll of euro notes from inside his jacket and signalled to the croupier. When the chips came, he slipped one pile across to Gemma. “For you, cherie.”

The smile Jean-Paul gave her was disconcertingly intimate. The secretive smile of a man to a woman he knew very, very well.

Gemma could sense Angelo’s silent tension. Her stomach rolled over. “Thanks,” she said stiltedly. Realising that she sounded terse she pointed to the unused chips on the table that Angelo had been in the process of gathering up before Jean-Paul’s arrival. “But I have enough—and we’re going for a drink.”

Jean-Paul’s gaze swept over her, explicit, knowing. Leaning towards her, he whispered, “Cherie, you’re not the kind of woman ever to have enough. Here—” he slid a handful of chips towards her “—have a bet on me.”

“Enough!” Angelo said harshly. A tanned arm hooked around Gemma’s waist from behind, his other hand pushed his chips towards the croupier. “The lady doesn’t want your chips.” Against the length of her spine Gemma could feel Angelo’s body through the thin silk of her dress. It was at once comforting and vaguely threatening. His arm lay coiled around her, under her breasts like a hard band, and awareness of his strength, his power, shivered through her.

It was the sudden ratcheting tension in his body that made her realise that Jean-Paul had moved. Within Angelo’s hold, she twisted around on her stool. The two men faced each other like duelling adversaries.

Jean-Paul’s gaze shifted from Angelo to Gemma and his mouth twisted. “It’s like that, is it? Cherie, don’t be fooled. Apollonides is the same man as three years ago. Work will always be his first mistress. Will that be enough for you this time around? Or will you come searching for warm arms, words of lo—”

“I said enough.” Even Jean-Paul heard the suppressed violence in the whip-crack sound and took a hasty step back. “You go too far, Moreau. If I catch you near Gemma I will have you thrown off the island. Do you understand?”

A Gallic shrug and Jean-Paul smiled. “Keep cool, man. It doesn’t mean a thing—it never did.” But there was a wariness in his dark eyes that hadn’t been there seconds before.

The last thing Gemma wanted was a scene. Already they were attracting the glances of people alerted by the bristling men and hissed words. The two women at their table were staring openly, while the croupier called for bets with a touch of desperation.

“Angelo—”

The arm tightened, cutting off her protest. “Gemma, you will not encourage this man. Moreau, you will keep your distance from Gemma. I’ve told you both before, I don’t share my woman. Understand that.” Releasing his hold on her, Angelo moved between her and Jean-Paul and with a hard glance at her, he added, “Both of you.”

Then, in a swift movement, he swept the euro notes off the table and nodded at the croupier. “Come, Gemma. Let’s go.”

Without a glance in Jean-Paul’s direction, Gemma slid from the stool.

The hand that came down on her shoulder was possessive, a warning. His woman. Angelo had warned Jean-Paul—and her—that he had no intention of sharing his woman, clearly not for the first time. Did that mean he still considered her his woman?

A frisson of dark emotion speared her. Gemma wasn’t sure what to make of his claim and kept silent as they left the gaming room.

By the time they exited the elevator a floor down and walked out the hotel into the starry night, the anger inside Angelo was still simmering. Maintaining a terse silence, he strode along the path lit by decorative Victorian-style lamps. He was aware of the anxious glances Gemma kept casting him as she hurried along beside him, her high heels clicking against the terra-cotta flagstones.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

He shrugged. “It had to happen sooner or later. And it’s only a matter of time before it happens again…before another man rises from the ashes of your past.”

“I don’t remember him,” she said quickly.

Too quickly? “Meaning, you won’t remember the others, either?” He shot her a derisive smile. “Poor bastard. I can almost feel pity for him.”

Yet he had to admit he found it immensely satisfying that she didn’t remember the Frenchman. Especially after…

Hell!

“I knew about Jean-Paul, saw you both in my bed with my own eyes.” His tone took on a dark edge. “I can give you details of how you were straddling him, your knees around his hips, your bare breasts bouncing and the satin sheets—my satin sheets—crumpled around you. Your skin like a pearl against—”

“Stop.” Gemma came to a jarring halt. “I don’t want to hear this.” Her head bent, she stared at the shadowy footpath and tension hunched her bare shoulders. She shivered as a sharp gust of sea-wind cut through the night.

“If I tell you what I saw, what I can still see so clearly, it might help you remember.” He knew his bitterness was showing. But he wanted to hurt her, cut to the heart of her. Humiliate her as he’d been humiliated. “How many more men like Jean-Paul will there be? Men that I don’t know of? Men that you don’t remember?”

Gemma shivered again.

Angered by her lack of response, he said, “Tell me, Gemma, how many more?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a very small voice.

“Look at me.” His hands closed on her shoulders. Her skin was like ice. He swung her round and her eyes snapped open revealing her bewilderment as she stumbled on her high heels.

“Careful!” He tightened his grip and couldn’t help noticing how soft her skin felt.

She ducked away. Her heel gave and she almost fell.

With an exasperated imprecation he yanked her upright. “Are you okay?”

“No thanks to you.” She wrenched herself free. “If you hadn’t grabbed me like some Neanderthal I’d have been fine.”

“Neanderthal?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or to swear at the crack. “Neanderthal?”

Gemma’s heart sank as she absorbed his outrage. Then she stiffened as her own indignation kicked in. It was his doing that she’d nearly fallen. He’d spun her round. Ever since Jean-Paul’s arrival he’d been acting like a jealous jerk. She didn’t have to put up with it.

Tossing back her hair, she lifted her chin. “Yes. Neanderthal. You know—some primitive three-hundred pound gorilla type.” Her heart was galloping as she stared at him defiantly, waiting for his response.

For a moment he simply stood there. Then he gurgled something that sounded like gorilla and his arms shot out.

She gave a squeak. And then it was too late.

He had her in a hard hold, his fingers imprinted on her shoulders, and his lips slanted across hers, grinding down against the softness cooled by the night breeze. She wriggled and murmured a protest.

He raised his head, and she gulped a much-needed breath. “So I’m a gorilla, am I?”

Hastily she shook her head. A mad urge to laugh bubbled through Gemma. Then his mouth was back, open and hungry on hers, and all coherent thought left her. His tongue stroked the soft, tender skin inside her cheeks. Heat sliced through her, a restless yearning started to build. The desire he’d ignited when he’d kissed her in the alcove returned in full force. Gemma’s head spun. What the hell was happening to her?

His arms tightened, drawing her up against him. He was already aroused.

The realisation sent a wave of reckless euphoria coursing through her. Her bones softened, and in her lower body the heat started to spread. Her hips seemed to have developed a life of their own and moved in slow circles against him. Angelo groaned.

His hot breath rushed into her mouth and the intimacy turned her knees to liquid. Gemma staggered backward, her heels digging into the turf, and Angelo followed, his thighs moving against hers in an erotic dance, their mouths devouring each other.

The roughness of a tree trunk stopped Gemma backing up. Angelo didn’t pause until he had her plastered against the trunk, his body reamed up against hers in the dark space under the wide canopy of branches, his hands twisted in the tangled mass of her hair. Her nipples pebbled, aching under the press of his body. Here, in the silent darkness, the golden glow of the lamplight seemed far away.

The pressure on her mouth gave a little and then the tip of his tongue started to outline her lips, slowly, deliberately, his hands holding her head, positioning her for maximum impact.

It was teasing, frustrating. She wanted him to kiss her. Intimately. “More.” The demand was torn from her. She butted her hips forward, finding the length of his erection and started to rock back and forth. She wanted more of his mouth, more of his touch…more… of the intense want ripping through her.

But he kept the tongue strokes light and toying and she writhed against him.

When Angelo finally lifted his head, Gemma moaned a protest. In the stillness of the night the sound of their breathing was hoarse and ragged. His fingers fiddled at her nape and a moment later she felt the straps of her halter dress and the bra beneath give.

A warm hand slipped under the fabric and stroked the bare flesh of her breast. His fingers brushed the nub; sensation shot through her and she gasped, arching against the tree. He repeated the motion. She tensed as a rush of heat pooled beneath her panties.

“Ghhh.” The sound that escaped her was foreign, incomprehensible even to her own ears. Rising on tiptoe, Gemma rocked harder, rubbing herself against his solid flesh, concentrating on that sensitive part of her—the part that touched him, aroused him, despite the rasp of the fabric that separated them. Then his leg moved, bracing his weight, so that the hardness in the front of his trousers fitted in the space between her legs.

Her eyes tightly closed, her head flung back, Gemma focused on the fingertips massaging her nipple, on the sensation spreading out hotter and hotter from the junction between her legs.

She started to pant and the desperate heat climbed higher…higher…within her. She rocked faster still, rubbing against him, and he responded, his hips moving back and forth, the friction building—building until Gemma knew that she was poised on the lip of the void.

The taunting, teasing touch on her nipples tightened. And when his tongue entered her mouth in wild, consuming thrusts a bolt of electric sensation shot through Gemma.

Turned on beyond belief, Gemma gasped, a wild, keening sound. Her body tightened, the sensitive point at the apex of her legs caught fire and the convulsions began.

She sagged against the tree, spent and dizzy, her pulse pumping furiously through her head. Her legs had turned to water, and she suspected that had the tree not supported her she would’ve collapsed.

Angelo lifted his head and withdrew his hand from her breast. Her body cooled as he stepped away, his expression unfathomable in the criss-cross shadows of the branches.

“Maybe that will help you remember!”

God, how she hated him. At his awful words she fumbled for the straps behind her neck, but her fingers were shaking so much she couldn’t tie them. Finally, with an impatient mutter Angelo stepped forward. But this time he kept his body from touching hers, and unexpectedly Gemma ached for the loss. The pull of the straps tightening as he knotted them was unbearably intimate and Gemma searched desperately for something to say to break the ghastly, growing silence.

What was there to say to the man who’d pleasured her so thoroughly without taking the time to remove her dress or her panties? Hell, despite her dislike and distrust, she’d let him do what he wanted, touch where he wanted without a murmur.

She shuddered with shame.

Telling herself she despised him didn’t help. She’d driven him on, rubbing herself against him like… Oh, God! She flushed at the memory of what she’d done… her lack of restraint. Fully clad, Angelo had touched her with only with his mouth and the fingertips of one hand and brought her more ecstasy than she could ever remember experiencing.

She wanted to run. To hide. Before her composure gave way.

“I’ll find my way from here. You don’t have to come any farther.” Then she closed her eyes as she replayed her own words and waited for him to point out that he hadn’t come. Yet.

“I will walk you to your unit.” His voice was colder than winter. “The sooner your contract ends and you leave Strathmos, the better for both of us.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” Gemma blurted out, her eyes stinging. “Leave me alone. I don’t want your company.”

Once inside her unit, Gemma flipped the kettle on with hands that trembled, and blinked away the tears that blurred her vision. Feeling utterly wretched, she craved a mug of camomile tea to soothe her shattered nerves while the aftershocks of their terrifyingly passionate encounter quaked through her.

She couldn’t stay.

She would leave Strathmos tomorrow, catch the first ferry out—even if it meant breaking her contract and putting her professional reputation on the line. She could not do this.

Never had it crossed her mind that she would melt under Angelo Apollonides’s touch, press her body up against his, encourage his kisses. He was a suave playboy. No one knew better than she.

Oh, God. How had she gotten herself into this fix? Distraught, Gemma speared her shaky fingers through her hair.

She needed to get a grip. Fighting for control, she tried to think analytically about what had happened out there, under the cold stars. Okay, so she’d provoked him. Intentionally. But she hadn’t expected him to react so fiercely, to move so quickly. His cool eyes, his mocking smile, his legion of beautiful cookie-cutter lovers had indicated Angelo wasn’t a man given to impulse. That devastating kiss—and what had followed—stunned her.

He was far more dangerous than she’d ever known.

When the kettle clicked off, she reached into the cupboard for a mug and poured boiling water over the teabag. Why had she risked all the ground she’d made by provoking him? What had she hoped to gain? What was it about Angelo that made her itch to disconcert him? To prove to him she wasn’t the woman he thought he was?

Cradling the mug between her hands, she propped her elbows on the bench top. The photo at the end of the bench top mocked her.

Setting her tea down, she picked up the photo. It looked like such an idyllic family. Mum and Dad flanking their smiling, all-grown-up daughter against a backdrop of lovingly tended rosebushes. Tears pricked again. Gemma craved a dose of her mother’s kind common sense. Checking her watch she calculated that in New Zealand it would be morning. She picked up the handset from the wall and punched in the familiar number of her childhood home.

“Hello?”

Despite the distance her mother’s voice was clear and familiar.

Gemma swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s me, Mum.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so glad you’ve called. I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“I should’ve called sooner.” Gemma had known her parents were worried. She’d been avoiding their concern. “But you know I had to come.”

“Yes.” Her mother’s voice held a touch of resignation. “Has it helped?”

The grief counsellor had supported Gemma’s determination in the face of her parents’ objections. Closure came in strange ways. And that’s what this trip was about, closure. “I don’t know. Mum, I’m so confused.” Gemma thought of Angelo’s effect on her, how he only had to touch her to send her up in flames and gulped. “Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.” But tomorrow that would end. She would leave…and never see Angelo Apollonides again. It was for the best—even if it meant she’d never know the truth…

“How is Dad?”

“Fine.”

“No, I mean, how is he handling my coming to Strathmos? He was very upset when I left.”

Her mother sighed. “He’s worried. And it’s opened up the memories about your sister’s death. He’s afraid of what might happen to you.”

“Tell him I’m fine…and I love him.”

“He’s gone back to therapy. The doctor says he’s over the worst of the depression. For him, like you, the hardest part was not knowing why Mandy died.”

“Double trouble, that’s what Dad used to call us.” Staring at the photo, Gemma searched the face of her twin for answers. Mandy had died, unhappy and lost. But no one knew why. Only Angelo could provide the answers that would let her father—and Gemma herself—find a little peace.

Closure.

That’s what they all needed.

And that was why she could not tell Angelo to go to hell and walk away. Cold seeped in, chilling her all the way to her soul.

She could not leave tomorrow.

“Oh, sweetheart. Come home.”

“I can’t.” Her lips barely moved. “I have to find out what happened to Mandy. For all our sakes. Then we can get on with our lives.”

“Oh, Gemma. Your sister wouldn’t want you to suffer like this, she’d want you to remember the special times you had together.”

“I know. But I need to understand what happened to her…what this bastard did to her and why she reacted like she did. Dad and you need to know, too.”

“Your father and I don’t want you meddling with this man.” Her mother’s voice was anxious. “He’s wealthy, powerful. He could hurt you.”

Like he hurt Mandy.

Gemma knew what her mother was thinking. But the words remained unspoken.

“Mum…” Gemma’s voice trailed away. She thought of what had just happened between her and Angelo. If her parents knew about that…they’d be on the next flight out to rescue her.

“Have you spoken to him? What did he say?”

Reluctant to admit that she hadn’t confronted Angelo about Mandy’s death, and even more loath for her mother to discover that Angelo believed she was Mandy, Gemma spoke in a rush. “I wanted to find out what kind of man he is first.”

“And what kind of man is he?”

Compelling. Passionate. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Gemma, be careful.” The sigh came over the miles. “You’re not Mandy. Chasing after trouble was her speciality, not yours. You were always the sensible one, Gemma.”

Her mother was right, Mandy had always been a little…wild. Taking Gemma’s passport and credit card to Strathmos and assuming Gemma’s identity was only one of the pranks Mandy had played.

Oh, Mandy, what happened on Strathmos?

Gemma couldn’t help thinking about the familiarity in the Frenchman’s tone earlier, his easy kiss. She remembered Angelo’s hard gaze, the coiled tension in his muscled body. She remembered the taste of his mouth—hot and seductive against hers—the thrill of his body pressing into hers and her pleasure as she came apart under his touch.

Once again confusion and turmoil wrestled within her. God! How could she teach the bastard the lesson he deserved if she desired him?

And how could she face him again?

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut. How on earth could she have reacted like that to the man who had destroyed her sister?