The Greek's Blackmailed Mistress Read online

  Xan Ziakis had won, Elvi reflected wretchedly, because her family was falling apart before her very eyes. From the kitchen she could hear the distressing noise of her mother and her brother having a major row as Sally tried to dissuade him from his plans and he fought back loudly. She pulled the business card out of her bag and reached for her phone. She didn’t want to speak to a man she hated, a man who was forcing her into a choice that went against everything she had ever valued, so she texted him instead.

  Rethink on mistress as you forecast. Need to discuss conditions of servitude.

  Across London, Xan checked his phone and laughed out loud, something he didn’t do very often and which spooked him with its unfamiliarity. He had won. He always won, he reminded himself with satisfaction. But even so there was a sweeter taste to this victory than most.

  Meet you for dinner at eight...

  And he gave her the address, telling her to ask for his table.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ELVI WENT INTO her slender wardrobe to withdraw a pair of black velour leggings and a black, rather glittery festive top she had received for Christmas the year before. The outfit would have to do because she didn’t have anything else to wear.

  ‘Where on earth are you going dressed like that?’ Sally Cartwright demanded boldly as her daughter passed through the kitchen, wearing actual lip gloss and mascara to her mother’s wonderment.

  ‘I’ve got a date for dinner,’ Elvi admitted, having reasoned that she had to make a start on her cover story.

  ‘A...date?’ her mother exclaimed in astonishment.

  ‘Yes, he’s handsome, he’s rich, he can give me a good time, what’s not to like?’ she asked the older woman wryly. ‘I’m twenty-two and I never go out. Isn’t it time I got a life?’

  ‘Of course, it is,’ Sally agreed uneasily. ‘I was only surprised, not questioning you.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’ll be back tonight,’ Elvi announced uncomfortably, her face flaming, but she had to work on her cover story.

  ‘Elvi...?’ her mother pronounced in a shaken tone, but she compressed her lips and said nothing more, accepting that her daughter was an adult woman.

  Only Elvi felt nothing like an adult woman as she entered an exclusive restaurant, maddeningly conscious that she was underdressed, and where she was looked up and down in open dismissal before the mention of Xan’s name produced a very different reaction and suddenly she was ‘Madam...’ and being escorted by the head waiter to the promised table where Xan was already seated, perusing the extensive wine list.

  Xan leapt upright. He was a four-letter word of a man but someone some time had trained him well in courtesy, Elvi acknowledged, bending to set down her bag before deigning to take a seat in the chair pulled out for her occupation.

  Xan was transfixed by his view of her. She was very poorly clothed, but the instant she bent down and he caught a glimpse of her rounded derriere outlined in clinging velour he became a spontaneous fan of clingy leggings that outlined the female form. A bottom as deliciously curvy and ripe as a peach met his attention and the stirring at his groin was even more immediate. He asked himself how he could possibly have reached thirty years of age without appreciating that he found curvaceous women more sexually appealing than their thinner cousins. Or was it only her? Something weird about her? That mane of long hair?

  ‘Elvi,’ he murmured in welcome. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘I don’t drink. Water, please,’ she told him, settling into her seat, seemingly unaware that he was riveted to his, locked there by the equally clingy glittery top that showcased her breasts. The smooth pale expanse of soft firm flesh and only the merest hint of cleavage sent the pulse below his belt to throbbing discomfort and a level of arousal that set his even white teeth on edge, because he was neither a horny teenager nor a sex-starved man and anything excessive in any personal field set off Xan’s caution alarm.

  She didn’t drink. That didn’t bother Xan at all because he had had the experience of several women who liked to drink a little too much and turned into public embarrassments. An alcoholic in the family, he recalled; naturally she was careful. He ordered wine for himself and ordered meals for both of them, as was his habit with companions.

  Elvi sipped her water and watched food selections she hadn’t ordered brought to the table with great pomp and ceremony. She wasn’t that surprised by his failure to offer her a personal choice or a menu. He was a control freak. He was accustomed to commanding what other people did, even, it seemed, what they ate. He would probably be hell in bed, she found herself thinking ruefully, imagining what that innate selfishness would translate to in terms of sex with another person. But then what did she know about it? Maybe that was the norm for a rich man like him. A woman of her status was simply a new toy for him to play with, nothing more.

  Elvi cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘So, this arrangement...how long would it last exactly?’

  ‘Three months,’ Xan heard himself declare, although he had never before mentioned anything longer than two. He was being practical, he told himself, ensuring he could keep her until he got bored, and he could get bored the very first month, couldn’t he? That had happened on a couple of occasions and could well happen with her.

  Elvi studiously stared down at her water. ‘And how often...er, would I...see you?’

  ‘I doubt if there’s a virile man in the world who would answer that question in advance,’ Xan quipped, amusement flashing through him as he wondered how many one-night stands she had enjoyed. At her age, that was the norm, wasn’t it? Or was it? He had no idea because he had never made use of that kind of freedom, reluctant to follow in the footsteps of a father who had been a notorious womaniser and playboy. He had never slept around, never been attracted by indiscriminate casual sex with strangers.

  Elvi reddened, heat coursing through her as she met brilliant dark eyes alive with the kind of powerhouse energy he had kept in abeyance during that interview in his office. Stupid question, she conceded uneasily, insanely aware of the tightening of her nipples and the bizarre flush of warmth rising from her pelvis. Both sensations were unhappily familiar, echoes of what she had felt every time she’d seen Xan walk past her months earlier. She hadn’t known attraction could make her feel like that about a man and she hadn’t appreciated the yearning sense of vulnerability it infused her with.

  ‘I will provide you with an apartment and a new wardrobe. You need clothes,’ Xan intoned with a casualness that shot her straight back out of her reverie.

  An apartment. Elvi swallowed hard, reminding herself that it would only be for a few months and that she could hardly act the mistress while sharing a bedroom with her adoptive mother.

  ‘Why do I need you to buy me clothes?’ she queried rather sourly.

  ‘When I need a partner to attend a social engagement, you will be my companion,’ Xan informed her, startling her afresh because she had assumed that being a mistress was a very discreet role in a back room some place where she would be hidden from public view.

  ‘Not sure I would be up to that challenge,’ Elvi admitted ruefully. ‘You live in a very exclusive world.’

  ‘You would merely be on my arm,’ Xan told her as if she were a man bag. ‘You wouldn’t even need to speak. I would handle conversation—’

  ‘Like you handled ordering my meal for me?’ Elvi gently nudged her untouched plate away another few inches. ‘If you had asked, I would’ve told you that I don’t eat fish—’

  ‘Fish is healthy,’ Xan informed her smoothly.

  ‘But you’re not my doctor or my dietician and I am not so stupid that I require your guidance. I hate fish,’ Elvi spelled out with emphatic cool.

  Xan shrugged a broad shoulder, impervious to her reproof. ‘So, order something else.’

  ‘I’m really not hungry,’ Elvi told him truthfully. ‘As I said in my text, I’m
only here to hear the conditions.’

  ‘Of servitude,’ Xan reminded her silkily. ‘I like that word. It has a lovely medieval ring to it.’ He removed something from an inside pocket and set it down beside her hand: it was a key with a label attached. ‘The apartment key and the address. Do you require assistance to move in?’

  ‘How soon will you withdraw the theft charge?’ Elvi pressed anxiously. ‘And no, no assistance required. I don’t have much stuff.’

  ‘The day you move in, the charge will be withdrawn,’ Xan supplied. ‘I will not do anything before that. You could still back out—’

  Elvi tensed. ‘And if I gave you my word of honour that I wouldn’t?’

  A cool smile curved his wide sensual lips. ‘I wouldn’t trust it. Women can be unpredictable—’

  ‘As can men.’ Elvi grasped the apartment key as though it were a stinging nettle and thrust it hurriedly into her bag. ‘I’ll move in tomorrow. What about my job?’

  ‘You quit. When I want you, I naturally want you to be available,’ Xan pointed out smoothly.

  ‘I’ll need to work a notice period,’ she protested.

  ‘No, you simply leave,’ Xan contradicted arrogantly. ‘From this moment on, you’re my responsibility—’

  Elvi froze as if he had struck her. ‘Servitude is biting right now,’ she conceded between gritted teeth. ‘I don’t like depending on anyone outside my family.’

  ‘But now and first and foremost, you’ve got me and my demands to consider. I will deliver if you do,’ Xan completed levelly. ‘I will treat you like a princess.’

  Yes, once upon a time, princesses had had to get into bed with strangers as well, Elvi thought mutinously, although at least they had been married off first. Not that she wanted to be married to him, which would probably be even worse than being owned by him, because that was how he was making her feel. Like a new possession, a thing, an object, rather than a person.

  ‘I’m really not going to be very suitable for purpose,’ she warned him tightly.

  ‘Then you’ve been with the wrong men,’ Xan assured her with unblemished confidence, his flawless cheekbones slashing taut to accentuate the brilliance of his stunning brown eyes and their black lashes.

  * * *

  Her face burning at that recollection, Elvi climbed into bed in the dark, striving not to wake her mother up.

  ‘Elvi...?’ the older woman whispered. ‘Did you have a nice evening?’

  Remembering her fib about having a date, Elvi grimaced. ‘Yes.’ She hesitated and then pressed ahead. ‘I’ve been thinking of moving out and in with a...er...a flatmate,’ she selected the final word abruptly.

  Silence greeted her from her mother’s direction and she wasn’t surprised because she knew that her sudden announcement would shock Sally. Even more, though, did Elvi hate the necessity of telling lies because she knew that she could not possibly tell the truth.

  ‘Anyone I know?’ Sally prompted.

  ‘No. A friend of Joel’s but if I want to move in I have to move in tomorrow,’ Elvi completed. ‘I’m sorry it’s such short notice—’

  ‘No, don’t apologise. You’re twenty-two, Elvi, and naturally you would like some independence and freedom. I had those things at your age—why shouldn’t you? Please don’t sound so apologetic about it,’ Sally Cartwright responded a shade shakily. ‘You stayed with us all the years Daniel and I needed you, so, although I’ll miss you, I’m certainly not about to try and make you change your mind.’

  Relieved by that exchange, Elvi lay still until a tiny sniff alerted her to the reality that her mother was crying and she slid straight out of bed and wrapped her arms around the older woman as well as she could with the duvet separating them. ‘I love you,’ she framed, feeling ridiculously guilty about moving out even though she knew she didn’t want to move but had to for Xan Ziakis’s benefit.

  ‘Things will settle down again. This is only a rough patch,’ the older woman told her more cheerfully. ‘I’ll find work. Daniel will start classes and we’ll all go back to normal again. We only have to be patient and strong.’

  * * *

  The next morning, Daniel accompanied Elvi to the Tube station with her single suitcase. ‘You’re moving in with a man, aren’t you?’ he shot unexpectedly at his sister, and when she glanced up with pink cheeks and a look of guilt, he laughed. ‘Yeah, thought so. Mum’s worried some smartass is taking advantage of you—’

  ‘I’m not stupid,’ Elvi declared, but saw no reason to add any further details when she was sure she would be moving back home again within a couple of months, if not sooner.

  ‘Well, you are rushing into this too fast, but that’s your business,’ her sibling conceded, halting to pass her the case, which was too old to have handy wheels attached. ‘Look after yourself, sis, and make sure you visit us when I’m not working.’

  Tears were prickling in Elvi’s eyes by the time she boarded the train and she gave herself an urgent reality check, reminding herself of the theft charge that would be dropped and the sheer guilt and strain that would drop away and allow her mother and brother to continue their lives without further harm. It would be worth it, she told herself urgently, absolutely worth anything she had to do to achieve that desirable result.

  The apartment in an elegant building overlooking the Thames was much larger and fancier than she had dimly expected. She wandered around barefoot on opulent marble floors, viewing the beautiful and immaculate living area with its leather sofas and contemporary paintings. She walked out onto the balcony to take in the busy view of the river before entering a kitchen equipped with every necessity as well as a fully stocked fridge and freezer. She marvelled at the two separate opulent bathrooms she discovered off the very spacious bedroom, as well as a dressing room fitted with loads of closet space. It was a property prepared for the sort of woman who took a great deal of interest in her appearance, she reasoned with raised brows, noting the number of mirrors and racks for shoes and handbags. She was starting to unpack her case when the doorbell pinged.

  A svelte older woman carrying garment bags greeted her. ‘I’m Sylvia. Mr Ziakis asked me to choose an outfit for you to wear tonight.’

  So, it begins, Elvi acknowledged ruefully, her new life as an object. Xan hadn’t bothered to tell her personally that he planned to take her somewhere that very evening and how had he even known she had moved in? Were there secret cameras installed? she wondered apprehensively.

  ‘Nothing will be a perfect fit until I take your measurements,’ Sylvia announced, unfurling a measuring tape. ‘Could we take this into the bedroom? It would be more comfortable for you to try on the dresses I’ve brought for you to choose from.’

  Elvi wasn’t comfortable in any way having to strip down to her underwear for a complete stranger but she compressed her lips and did what she had to do, barely pausing to glance at her reflection in blue dress after blue dress.

  ‘Only blue?’ she queried.

  ‘Mr Ziakis specified blue,’ she was told as Sylvia whisked the tape over her figure and jotted down measurements on her tablet. ‘Seems to be his new favourite colour, at least for you—’

  ‘You’ve done this before for him with other women, haven’t you?’ Elvi commented.

  ‘Every service that my company offers Mr Ziakis is completely confidential,’ Sylvia countered with perfect diplomacy.

  Elvi wasn’t listening. Xander Ziakis was evidently a serial womaniser, given to keeping mistresses whom he placed in an apartment and dressing them from head to toe in his choice of colour and fashion. She was appalled and soon wondering how many other women had lived in the apartment before her and whether he had cared in any way about a single one of them. When he had said he was more about the physical than the cerebral, he hadn’t been joking. Her attention strayed to the vast divan bed she had studiously ignored since her arrival and she breathed in dee
p, striving not to think about the sex aspect.

  After all, thinking about it wasn’t going to make it go away and dwelling on something she couldn’t avoid would be foolish. She tried on the half-dozen dresses and vanished into one of the bathrooms to find the right size for the fancy lingerie Sylvia had placed on the bed. She chose the dress that fitted the best and hid the most, not being a fan of her own cleavage. Her back and arms and legs would be on show and that was quite enough, in her opinion. She had to practise walking in the very high heeled sandals and they pinched her toes horribly. It was a very great shame that wearing a designer outfit that probably cost hundreds if not thousands of pounds had never been on her bucket list, she conceded ruefully.

  What on earth did Xan want with a young woman like her? For goodness’ sake, she was a shop girl, or had been until she’d quit earlier that day in a very uncomfortable phone call to her employer. She was ordinary, not special, not a beauty, no great wit. What did Xan see in her that was so desirable he would go to such lengths to have her?

  She looked in the mirror. Her body—what a lowering thought that was, she reflected unhappily. He didn’t know her, wouldn’t waste time even trying to get to know her; he only wanted to have sex with her, and the fancy apartment and the ridiculously big wardrobe Sylvia had insisted she would need were simply the luxury trappings that she was expected to be delighted to receive. She had no doubt that other women had enjoyed those benefits from sharing their bodies with a very, very rich man but, unfortunately for her, she wasn’t one of them. She felt cheapened by living in an apartment Xan owned, wearing clothes and eating food provided by him. It felt too much like being paid for sex. But that was the arrangement she had agreed to, she reminded herself, and she did not see that she could do much about it.