CHAPTER TWO

      LUKAS WATCHED THE alarm on Calista’s face set her delicate features in stone.

      He had been right to declare her beautiful—even if he had only meant to say it in his head. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The intervening years had honed her heart-shaped face, the high cheekbones, the firmly pointed chin. But the small, straight nose was still speckled with a dusting of freckles and her mouth... That was just as he remembered it, wide and full-lipped and deliciously pink—even now, when it was pursed in an attempt at defiance.

      How Aristotle had produced such an exquisite creature as this was almost beyond comprehension. Calista obviously took after her mother, Diana, the actress-cum-model whose beauty had ultimately been her downfall. They certainly shared the same colouring, but whereas Diana had been all leggy height and stunning bone structure, which the camera had loved, Calista was petite, with full breasts and a slim waist leading to curvaceous hips that begged to be traced with the flat of his palm. Lukas could feel that urge powering through him right now, and he responded by reaching for her hand, relishing the soft feel of it beneath his own.

      â€˜This way.’ He started off across the graveyard, pulling Calista behind him, all too aware that he was behaving like some sort of caveman but not caring in the least.

      â€˜Lukas—stop this.’

      No way. Her feeble protestation only made him all the more determined that she was going to come with him—back to his villa and back to his bed. He had waited far too long for this moment to allow any second thoughts to creep in, or even to let common decency stand in his way. Certainly not her breathless objections.

      â€˜Lukas, stop—let me go!’

      They had reached the small copse behind the ancient chapel, where he had left his motorbike. Positioning Calista between it and him, Lukas finally let go of her hand.

      Calista snatched it back, her eyes flashing with fire. ‘Just what the hell do you think you are playing at?’

      â€˜Oh, I’m not playing, Calista. This is no game.’

      â€˜What, then? What are you trying to prove? Why are you behaving like such a...a horrible bully?’

      â€˜Perhaps that’s what I’ve become.’ He gave her a casually brutal stare. ‘Perhaps that’s what four and a half years in prison does to a man.’

      Calista’s expression tightened. ‘I don’t even understand why you aren’t still there. You were sentenced to eight years.’

      â€˜Time off for good behaviour.’ His eyes glittered coldly. ‘You see, I was a very good boy whilst I was in there—as far as the authorities were concerned, that is. Now I intend to make up for it.’

      He watched her swallow.

      â€˜I do hope my early release hasn’t inconvenienced you?’

      â€˜It hasn’t. I couldn’t care less where you are...what you do.’

      â€˜Good. Then get on the bike. We are going to Villa Helene.’

      â€˜No, we are not.’ Her hand flew to her chest. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

      â€˜And there I was, hoping we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way.’

      Easily spanning her waist with his broad hands, Lukas lifted her off her feet and planted her unceremoniously on the pillion seat of the bike. The thin fabric of her skirt rode up over her thighs, pulling seductively taut, while her breasts heaved with indignation.

      Lukas fought down the kick of lust.

      â€˜If you don’t get me off this thing right now I am going to scream.’

      â€˜Feel free.’ He smiled darkly. ‘It won’t make any difference. Your dear brothers, along with the other broken-hearted mourners, are already on their way back to the mainland. No one will hear you.’

      He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes but she didn’t move. Her pride refused to give him the satisfaction. And for some reason that only increased his admiration—and his arousal. Perched on the leather seat of his bike, she looked like some sort of erotic goddess, her back arched in defiance, her glorious Titian hair tumbling over her shoulders. The mourning veil, he noticed, had fallen to the dry ground at his feet.

      â€˜There’s Petros...and Dorcas. They’re still on the island. Villa Melina is still their home.’

      He gave her a telling look. That was something for him to decide—not her. Clearly she was forgetting who called the shots around here.

      â€˜Look...’ She suddenly changed tack, trying for a conciliatory tone. ‘What’s this all about, anyway?’

      â€˜You used to love this bike, Callie, don’t you remember?’ He deliberately used her shortened name, taking them back to the long hot summers of their shared past. ‘You were forever pestering me for a ride.’

      They had both loved this motorbike—the sleek black beast that had been Lukas’s sixteenth birthday present to himself. He’d had other bikes since, and sports cars, luxury yachts, a helicopter—all the extravagant modes of transport that great wealth could afford. But nothing had surpassed the feeling of straddling this powerful beauty all those years ago, made even better by the feel of Callie’s skinny arms clinging to his waist as they had roared off, the sound of her excited squeals in his ear.

      Coming across it in the garage this morning, just where he had left it, he had felt as if he were meeting an old friend. One old friend, at least, that hadn’t let him down. She had obediently started first time after he had charged the battery.

      â€˜I think we’ve both grown up since then.’ Calista tossed back her flame-red hair, all sharp-angled