Andreas’s brain froze for a second as his ears registered the words that had poured from his mouth. Why had he said that? Now she looked horrified and embarrassed. For some reason he had let his guard slip. He never discussed his family history or alluded to his personal life.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said. “My parents were quite well off as it happens.”
He omitted to mention that his mother’s inherited wealth had not extended to the emotional indulgence he had craved as a small boy. His only friend and ally had been his dependent little sister, Callista, and his father had possessed a very warped work ethic for someone who lived so happily off his wife’s fortune.
“Even if most of it went to imported alcohol and cigars.”
He hesitated for a moment, years of practicing courtroom mind games enabling him to mask his distaste with an impassive face.
Kizzy watched with astonishment as Andreas turned on his heel and walked briskly away. Her eyes skimmed the broadness of his shoulders as he cast aside the tie he had been crushing in his fist. His jacket followed—a slick of blue hurled dismissively onto the cream seats of a luxurious bank of sofas, its red silk lining slithering down like a stain on the immaculate leather.
For a moment Kizzy almost felt sorry for the man she had kissed and pity for the boy Andreas had once been, a small, skinny boy with dark hair and deep, sad eyes. But her empathy quickly faded when she recalled the beggar boy in Rhodes.
If Andreas was so obviously bitter about his own childhood, how could he have chased that poor child away? Was it shame? Revulsion? Or maybe just cold, greed and a desire to establish himself on the social ladder?
And what the hell had she been thinking?
Kizzy tried to analyze why she had allowed herself to crumble so effortlessly into his calculated embrace.
The answer seemed simple enough. Though the man didn’t need to try too hard with his money and looks, Andreas Lazarides was still a master of seduction, and he’d used that skill on her to devastating effect.
He must think her the easiest pushover he’d ever encountered.
She could only hope she was still in the running for a job after this shameful episode—a job that didn’t involve her seeing too much of Andreas Lazarides on a day-to-day basis.
If it wasn’t all so hideous, she might be tempted to laugh at her ridiculous naïveté when it came to men. She’d slipped into Andreas’s arms without a speck of resistance, and he’d thrust her away once he’d proved his point. And his point was? That she was easy—far too easy to keep a man used to sophisticated women content for more than five minutes. She’d not even managed to keep his interest for one!
At least her mother had more of an excuse for being downtrodden and needy—she’d suffered her noxious marriage to at least achieve something. It had nothing to do with desire and attraction. It was for the security of bricks and mortar, a meal on the table, a place in a decent school. Her mother had sacrificed everything beautiful in her life to ensure what she assumed would be the best upbringing she could achieve for her illegitimate daughter: an address, an education, and a position in society, however lowly.
“Kizzy Dean, you really should be ashamed of yourself,” she whispered into the breeze, and then looked quickly around to make sure no one had heard.
…
“That was a lot quicker than I expected,” Kizzy informed the first officer who had been giving her a brief tour of the vast, luxurious yacht. “So we’re almost there?”
He nodded nervously and seemed keen to be elsewhere.
Kizzy thought he was almost as on edge as she was, but that was hardly surprising. Andreas could be an utter beast. Or maybe word had already spread around the ship about her—that she was trouble. However, no amount of unpleasantness from Andreas or stinging embarrassment over their earlier entanglement could detract from the beautiful sight unfolding before her eyes.
The yacht whispered effortlessly into a horseshoe bay of clear, sapphire water gradually deepening to a purple glaze with the fading light. An ancient, burnt ocher fortification dominated the apricot-pink skyline like a brooding volcano, floodlights at its base illuminating the surrounding scrub in such a way that it seemed to be crackling with fire. Clinging to the dry, rocky slopes, a jumbled myriad of white sugar-cube-like buildings took on muted tones of platinum and blue, reflecting the wash of the Aegean and exuding a welcoming coolness as they glowed and twinkled.
Kizzy felt pleasure flood her body. The whitewashed village seemed to have been cast upon the harsh slopes and allowed to tumble to the water’s edge like celestial dice.
A ripple of excitement made her heart beat a little faster, the sparkling, bejeweled vista reminding her of what it was like to be a small child. It looked like fairyland—a picture-perfect, Christmas fairyland!
She closed her eyes for a moment to savor the whisper of waves breaking on the beach but opened them quickly when her ears registered the distant bleat of a goat. Kizzy spotted its proud, male horns and lithe body, an inky silhouette fixed between the gray tangle of rocks and astonishing orange-purple skyline.
“Beautiful.”
Kizzy’s body jerked with surprise at the sound of Andreas’s voice, behind her. His deep tones reverberated through her body, and he was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.
“Yes,” she replied tensely, trying to quell the breathlessness that his sudden proximity was causing. “It’s the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he murmured softly as his hands slipped around her waist. “Utterly beguiling.”
Chapter Four
“This is where the billionaire lifestyle stops for a while,” Andreas announced as they walked along a wooden jetty in the dusk.
Kizzy looked back at the yacht dominating the bay with its luxurious white and gold sparkle. She could hardly believe she had been on board only a few minutes earlier, feeling the hum of the engines beneath her feet and the thunder of her heart as Andreas had touched her again.
The curve of her waist, where his hands had held her, still bore the memory of his touch. Her skin burned with pleasure at how wonderful it had felt to be so physically close to him. To be held by anyone was an unusual experience for her—but by Andreas Lazarides?
It was a sensation she had better not get used to, she told herself firmly.
He was Greek, for goodness’ sake! Warm European cultures touched each other frequently; even men openly kissed one another in greeting. She was being ridiculous, allowing herself to imagine that Andreas could have any interest in her as a woman.