Mistresses: Blackmailed With Diamonds / Shackled with Rubies. Robyn Donald
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he was Ares, she thought to herself with a flicker of trepidation. The Greek god of war. Handsome, but vain and cruel. Priorities in all the wrong places.
‘Why would you even suggest this? Why would a woman like you—’ his dark eyes swept over her in a disparaging look ‘—possibly want to marry me?’
‘I don’t want to marry you.’ Angie kept her voice calm. ‘I’m sure that comes as a surprise to you, given your natural arrogance, but it’s the truth. I have absolutely no wish to marry you. In fact, since we’re going for honesty here, I probably ought to confess that I find the prospect of spending time with you extremely distasteful.’ She saw him straighten his shoulders. Saw the disbelief in his eyes.
‘Women are queuing up to spend time with me.’
‘Well, you’re very rich,’ Angie muttered, ‘and that has to be advantageous for someone so mercenary and totally lacking in interpersonal skills.’ Something flashed in his eyes and for a brief terrifying moment she wondered whether she’d gone too far. Then the breath hissed through his teeth.
‘If that is truly your opinion of me, then why would you make such a ridiculous suggestion?’
‘Marriage, you mean? Because to force you to marry me would be the sweetest revenge.’ Wondering what on earth had come over her, she ploughed on. ‘You can’t stand me, can you? It pains you to even be near me. You can’t wait to remove me from your life. Well, it isn’t going to happen. You gave my sister a two-year contract with your company, so let’s switch the agreement. Two years, Nikos. You have to agree to stay married to me for two years.’
His jaw was clenched tight and she knew he was struggling not to release a stream of invective. ‘You too would be in this marriage that you propose.’
‘But the fundamental difference between us is that I have absolutely no interest in marrying anyone else so I might as well marry you. It would be entertaining, I think, to cramp your style and watch you squirm.’
He stared at her with incredulity. ‘You ask for the impossible.’
‘Nothing is impossible if you want it badly enough. Just how badly do you want your precious jewel, Nikos?’
He studied her for a long intense moment. ‘I have extremely powerful reasons for wanting that jewel.’
‘I’m sure you do. And all of them are financial.’
A muscle twitched in his cheek. ‘You don’t understand anything about the situation, but if marrying you is the only way that the jewel can be returned to me, then I agree to your terms. Fortunately for you I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you twenty-four hours to rethink your offer. I advise you to think hard.’
‘Offer?’ Dizzy with shock that he’d accepted her suggestion, she gave a humourless laugh, squashing down the sudden impulse to run and hide. ‘It wasn’t an offer, Mr Kyriacou, it was a threat.’
‘Yes.’ His smile was dangerous. ‘But a threat to whom, agape mou? Ask yourself that while you are lying there congratulating yourself on victory. Twenty-four hours. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Why did she suddenly have the feeling that he was the one in control?
His assumption that she’d be sitting around waiting for him outraged her. ‘I’m not in tomorrow. Actually, I have a date,’ she said on impulse and then winced, reluctant to examine the motives that had driven her to refer to her colleague as a ‘date’. ‘I’m going to a lecture on the protogeometric art of Crete at the museum with a special friend.’
He studied her for a moment and a faintly derisive smile touched his hard mouth. ‘You really know how to let your hair down, don’t you, Dr Littlewood? You’re a regular party animal. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Without giving her the opportunity to argue, he turned and strode out of the house, slamming the door behind him and leaving her boiling with frustration.
The restaurant was cheap, the meat tough and badly cooked and Angie prodded the food on her plate, trying to show interest in Cyril’s earnest summary of the lecture they’d just attended.
Why was she finding it so hard to concentrate? And why, all of a sudden, was she noticing things about him that she’d never noticed before? Things that she’d never considered to be important. Like the fact that his hair was slightly too long and untidy, his beard decidedly goaty and his checked shirt a painful clash with the ancient herringbone jacket that was probably a throwback to his university days. And, as for the way he ate—
She looked away from his open mouth, slightly revolted that his desire to talk appeared to be in no way impeded by his appetite. Suddenly she found herself comparing Cyril’s complete lack of social grace with Nikos Kyriacou’s smooth sophistication. An image of glossy dark hair and an arrogant stare filled her brain and she caught herself with a faint frown of annoyance. Why was she wasting a single thought on the man? Appearance didn’t matter to her. She didn’t judge people on such shallow terms. All right, so she couldn’t imagine Nikos Kyriacou eating with his mouth open and he certainly was astonishingly handsome but he was also a nasty person.
Possibly aware that he was losing her attention, Cyril leaned towards her as he talked, spraying food over the tablecloth, stabbing with a fork to illustrate the point he was making, and she shrank away slightly, reminding herself that he had an amazing intellect. It was only when Cyril stuttered to a halt in mid sentence and stared in astonishment at a point behind her left shoulder that she turned and saw Nikos Kyriacou standing by their table.
In a restaurant full of students and academic types watching their budget, he looked entirely out of place in his immaculate dark suit and silk shirt. Like a dish of caviare placed among plates of mass produced frozen pizza, she reflected absently, or a bottle of vintage champagne lined up alongside jugs of pond water. Just in a completely different class. Not that he was paying any attention to those around him. The focus of that hard, cold stare was her.
She shifted slightly under his unflinching scrutiny, aware that they were suddenly the subject of intense speculation by other diners.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Twenty-four hours are up,’ he reminded her in silky tones, enviably indifferent to the interest of those around him. On the tables closest to them, people had actually stopped eating, obviously aware that this was something worth watching.
‘I’m on a date.’
His gaze flickered to Cyril and there was sympathy and amusement in his eyes. ‘You find her company pleasurable?’
Cyril’s cheeks turned a mottled puce colour. ‘Dr Littlewood has the keenest brain I’ve ever encountered,’ he stuttered, dropping his fork and paper napkin simultaneously. ‘Her research into the methods used by—’
‘I’m sure her conversation can be very stimulating,’ Nikos drawled in a bored tone, silencing him with a lift of his bronzed hand, ‘although, speaking personally, the ability to converse about ancient pots isn’t at the top of the list of qualities I demand in a woman. In fact, when I’m on a “date” I don’t care if we don’t talk at all.’
The implication of his words wasn’t lost on Cyril and the mottled puce colour deepened and spread into his hair.
Completely mortified, Angie half rose to her feet. ‘Fortunately not everyone is like you.’ She kept her voice low, determined not to be overheard by the people at the next table. ‘You’re disgusting, do you know that?’
His features were impassive. ‘That’s no way to speak to your husband, agape mou. You need to learn some respect.’
She stilled. ‘You’re not my—’
‘No, I’m not.’ A faint smile touched his hard mouth. ‘But I will be.’
Her heart stumbled. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘No—’