Proof Of Their Forbidden Night. Chantelle Shaw
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was inexplicable the way her pulse quickened and her breasts rose and fell jerkily when she was anywhere near Andreas. Worse was the realisation that he knew the effect he had on her. He smiled, baring his teeth and reminding her of a wolf that had cornered its prey. Isla considered walking as quickly as her skyscraper stiletto heels would permit, back inside the villa where Stelios was chatting with some of his dinner guests. But before she could move Andreas stepped towards her and she found herself edging up against the stone balustrade.
In the moonlight he seemed even bigger and distinctly menacing as his muscular, whipcord body loomed over her. There was nothing she could do but brazen it out and she forced herself to tilt her head and meet his hard stare.
‘I have a feeling that you were not paying me a compliment when you called me clever,’ she remarked, pleased that she sounded composed when she felt anything but.
His eyes narrowed, but not before she’d glimpsed a flash of surprise at her challenging tone. ‘There are words to describe women like you and none of them are complimentary.’
Isla blinked, taken aback by the ferocity in Andreas’s low voice. The contemptuous curl of his lips caused a stab of hurt beneath her breastbone. Her treacherous heart hammered when he lifted his hand and ran his forefinger over the rubies at her throat.
‘Very pretty,’ he said, still in that harsh tone that seemed to come from deep within him. But although he touched the blood-red stones strung alternately between sparkling diamonds, his eyes were on her face and his expression made her shiver and burn simultaneously. She held her breath when he moved his hand up to one of her ears and flicked his finger against the huge ruby surrounded by diamonds dangling from her earlobe. ‘Was this jewellery, and the shiny bauble on your finger, your price for agreeing to marry my father?’
‘I don’t have a price.’
He gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Tell me, Isla, why would a beautiful young woman choose to become engaged to an elderly billionaire if not for financial gain?’
Her temper flared at his implication that she was a fortune hunter. ‘Do you think I’m a gold-digger?’
‘Well done. I said you were clever,’ he mocked.
The condemnation in Andreas’s eyes was unjust. For a moment Isla was tempted to defend herself by explaining the truth about her relationship with his father. But she’d given her word to Stelios that she would keep his secret. A secret which was going to have huge implications for his family and possibly for his oil refining business. As yet Andreas was unaware that Karelis Corp was threatened by a hostile takeover bid from another company. Soon he would learn that her engagement to his father was intended to make Stelios appear strong and in control of the company, and Andreas might even thank her.
‘Your father and I have an understanding...’
He swore, his voice low but no less savage. ‘Does Stelios know about us?’
‘Us?’ Isla’s brows lifted and she injected cool disdain into her tone. ‘There has never been us.’
‘We shared a scorching kiss at my father’s house in London. Theos! The chemistry between us was explosive,’ Andreas reminded her.
Heat spread across Isla’s face. She needed no reminding of her uncharacteristically wanton behaviour. She had declined Stelios’s invitation to join him and Andreas when she’d served coffee in the drawing room. Making the excuse that she was doing some baking, she had carefully not met Andreas’s speculative gaze. But later he had returned the tea tray to the kitchen.
‘Thanks. You can leave the cups in the sink,’ she told him in a dismissive voice, hoping he would take the hint and return to his father. Her heart-rate quickened when he lounged against the kitchen counter.
‘So you weren’t lying,’ he murmured, watching her take a tray of madeleines out of the oven. ‘I assumed you’d said you were busy in the kitchen because you wanted to avoid me.’
‘I never tell lies,’ she said crisply, focusing her attention on lifting the delicate little cakes onto a cooling rack rather than look at Andreas. But she was fiercely aware of him, casually dressed in jeans that hugged his lean hips and a black T-shirt moulded to his muscular torso. His rampant masculinity disturbed her and the sensual musk of his aftershave in the warm kitchen assailed her senses.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps you can explain why my father has fallen asleep in his armchair in the middle of the day. I know he is not getting any younger, but he has always had the energy of a man half his age.’
Weeks of gruelling chemotherapy had drained Stelios’s strength, but Isla couldn’t reveal to Andreas that his father was undergoing treatment for cancer. So much for her boast that she did not tell lies, she thought ruefully. ‘Your father has been working hard recently,’ she murmured. ‘Why on earth would I want to avoid you?’
She had asked the question to distract attention away from Stelios’s health—and her ploy worked. Andreas moved closer and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slid his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his.
‘You tell me, omorfia mou. Do you think I haven’t noticed the hungry looks you send me every time I pay my father a visit?’
‘I don’t...’ she began, her face flaming with embarrassment that Andreas had guessed her fascination with him. It was so unlike her. She was always guarded with men, determined to protect her heart against the pain of rejection that she’d felt so deeply in the past. Andreas’s sexy laugh sent a tremor through her and, fool that she was, Isla ignored her common sense which told her to step away from him.
‘Yes, you do,’ he drawled. ‘What’s more, you want me to kiss you.’
Her heart leapt into her throat. ‘I do not...’ she whispered, but her denial died away as he lowered his head until his lips were centimetres above hers and his warm breath grazed her skin.
‘Liar.’
He had kissed her then. Although kiss was not an apt description of the way he had claimed her mouth with an arrogant possession that should have appalled her. Instead she had capitulated to his mastery, unable to resist his fiery passion and the bold sweep of his tongue between her lips.
The kiss was unlike anything Isla had ever experienced before. She had been kissed by other men—a few, although she could count on one hand the number of dates she’d been on that had got as far as a fumbling kiss at the end of the evening, she thought ruefully. When Andreas kissed her, she discovered a deeply sensual side to her nature that shocked her. But, before she had a chance to explore how he made her feel, he snatched his mouth from hers and stepped away from her so abruptly that she grabbed hold of the kitchen counter to support her legs that had turned to jelly. Andreas’s hard-boned face gave no clue to his thoughts and he walked out of the kitchen without a word.
Isla felt humiliated by his rejection, which brought back painful memories of when she’d been a teenager and had introduced herself to her father. With hindsight, perhaps she had been naïve to hope that David Stanford would be delighted to meet the daughter he’d abandoned when she was a few months old. But his insistence that there was no place for her in his life had been a brutal end to her hopes of having a relationship with her father. Isla had vowed then never to allow herself to be hurt by any man ever again.
She was jolted back to the present when she felt the pressure of Andreas’s hard thigh against hers. She hadn’t been aware that he’d moved, but now she found herself trapped against the balustrade. Her breath hitched in her throat when he ran his finger lightly down her hot cheek. She realised that she had been staring at his sensual mouth while she’d relived the kiss they had shared in London. The gleam in his eyes told her he had read her thoughts.
‘Tell me about your romance with my father,’ he demanded in a cynical voice. ‘It seems very sudden. A few weeks ago you were employed as his housekeeper and you were quite happy to kiss me.’
‘The kiss was a mistake that