The Billionaire's Trophy Read online

  A knock sounded on the door and Emmie sat up to see a young blonde woman looking in at her. ‘Do you feel well enough for a visitor?’ she asked with a smile. ‘I’m Bastian’s sister, Nessa.’

  ‘Of course, come in,’ Emmie encouraged awkwardly, thinking that she would never have known to look at brother and sister that they were even distantly related, for Nessa was small, curvy and blonde.

  ‘I’ve never seen my brother move so fast in his life as when he dived into the pool.’

  ‘Sorry for all the fuss.’ Emmie sighed ruefully. ‘Who knocked into me?’

  ‘One of my teenaged cousins. His parents are really embarrassed and they wanted to come up and apologise because it could have been a serious accident,’ Nessa pointed out. ‘We’re very lucky that Bastian realised you’d hit your head going into the water.’

  ‘I’m all right though. Accidents happen,’ Emmie responded lightly.

  ‘How’s your head?’ Nessa asked ‘Do you mind if I stay a while?’

  ‘I have a bump, that’s all. Of course you can stay,’ Emmie answered, charmed by Nessa’s smiling friendliness.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Bastian’s sister prompted worriedly, touching Emmie’s hand. ‘My goodness, your skin is icy cold! Get into bed and warm up. I’ll get you a drink!’

  Emmie scrambled below the duvet and rested her head back on the piled up pillows, very much appreciating Nessa’s kind-heartedness because it made her feel less of a nuisance. ‘You should be with your guests,’ she said guiltily.

  ‘Technically they’re Bastian’s guests because this is his house but they’re all family,’ Nessa told her, disappearing through one of the doors and reappearing with a glass, which she thrust into Emmie’s hand. ‘Drink it. I’m sure I read some place that it’s good for someone in shock.’

  Emmie drank and then began to cough as brandy burned the back of her throat, for she really hadn’t expected to be given an alcoholic drink. The rich liquid raced like a flame though down into her chilled tummy.

  ‘So, tell me about you and Bastian...’ Nessa perched on the bed beside Emmie, bright brown eyes leaping with warmth and curiosity. ‘I was over the moon when I realised he’d met someone else, and so quickly too...like magic—’

  ‘Oh, yes, pure magic,’ Emmie agreed uneasily, thinking how very young and refreshingly unspoilt Nessa seemed.

  ‘You are so beautiful!’ Nessa commented with satisfaction. ‘Lilah will tear her hair out when she sees you—’

  ‘As long as it’s not mine. I don’t want to upset anyone—’

  ‘I know she’s one of my bridesmaids but she’s treated my brother very badly,’ Nessa proclaimed, condemnation tightening her pretty face. ‘He deserved better and she should have dropped out of my wedding, not insisted on carrying out her role when it’s no longer appropriate.’

  ‘Perhaps Lilah didn’t want to let you down,’ Emmie suggested, sipping at the brandy while appreciating that Bastian’s sister was not at all attached to her brother’s former fiancée.

  ‘No, she wants Bastian back,’ Nessa contradicted, her conviction sending a current of alarm through Emmie. ‘She doesn’t know my brother as well as she thinks she does though. He’s tough—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He had to be tough. By the time he was eighteen years old he had lived through four divorces and three stepmothers. People don’t understand what he went through and what all that did to him,’ Nessa declared, fiercely defensive of her half sibling. ‘My mother was the only one who didn’t treat him badly.’

  ‘That’s something to be grateful for,’ Emmie soothed, curious but keen to stem the flood of information, which she did not feel entitled to receive because she knew Bastian wouldn’t appreciate her knowing such private stuff.

  ‘Bastian’s never had a family life. He doesn’t know what one is.’

  ‘Childhood can be challenging,’ Emmie commented vaguely, touched by Nessa’s innocence, comprehending why her brother was prepared to go to such lengths to ensure she wasn’t upset on her wedding day.

  Nessa grimaced. ‘Well, I was lucky. I was spoilt rotten by my mum. But Bastian didn’t have an easy time.’

  ‘He’s a very confident, private man,’ Emmie remarked with gentle emphasis.

  ‘That’s why I’m telling you this—so that you understand him better. I mean, if you’re waiting for him to tell you anything, you’ll wait for ever.’ Nessa pulled a comic face on the score of her brother’s reticence. ‘The minute I heard you worked with him I knew you would be a normal woman and that’s exactly what I think he needs.’

  The two women were interrupted by another knock on the door, telegraphing the arrival of the doctor with Bastian in tow.

  ‘You don’t need to stay,’ Emmie informed Bastian with a stiff smile.

  ‘I’m afraid I do. Dr Papadopoulos doesn’t speak any English.’

  Suppressing the suspicion that she would never ever get the last word with Bastian, Emmie nodded agreement, poker-faced. Bastian translated the doctor’s questions and then Emmie’s head was examined. The older man finally said that he thought that there wasn’t much wrong with her that couldn’t be cured by a good night’s sleep. He then gave her painkillers for her headache and departed.

  ‘I’ll get up now,’ Emmie told Bastian before he could leave with the doctor.

  ‘You heard the doctor...rest,’ Bastian spelt out grittily, noting that the mascara streaks on her cheeks suggested that she had been crying and was probably not half as composed as she would like him to believe. ‘I would have been happier if he had agreed you needed to be checked out at the nearest hospital.’

  ‘I’m OK...and this household doesn’t need all that fuss the night before Nessa’s wedding,’ Emmie reasoned, knowing that that would carry more weight with him than any other argument.

  ‘You could go home and try to sue me,’ Bastian commented grimly.

  Emmie groaned out loud. ‘I’m not going to sue anyone. I’m not like that.’

  His face remained impassive.

  Alone again and too warm now in the robe, Emmie took it off, stripped off her damp underwear and slid back naked into the comfortable bed. A little nap would brighten her up, she told herself, but Bastian’s remark, his concern that she might try to sue him for her accident, had troubled her. What sort of a life had he had and what sort of experiences that even a minor mishap taking place in his home could make him that cynical and distrustful? After all, she had suffered no lasting injury. Was he so used to being targeted by greedy people? That accustomed to those who tried to take advantage of his wealth?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TWO HOURS LATER, Emmie wakened from a restful doze. Her head no longer throbbed and she felt a good deal stronger and calmer. While she slept her suitcase had arrived and she opened it up and pulled out clothes for the evening ahead. Apparently there was to be some sort of a party to which the locals were invited. She showered and washed her tangled hair, drying it carefully and renewing her make-up. The party dress was fuchsia pink with a jewelled neckline and short full skirt that swirled with every step she took in the toning shoes. She was ready for anything and prepared to be a pleasant companion, she told herself staunchly while she walked down the magnificent staircase.

  In the hall below, Bastian was engaged in greeting dinner guests with his grandfather, Nessa and her bridegroom, Leonides. He frowned in surprise when he saw Emmie actually up and out of bed. And then ten seconds later, overpowered by one of the curious contradictions that continually afflicted him in her radius, he wanted to sweep her straight back between the sheets with him for company. In all his many years of freedom he had never met a woman who could hold a candle to Emmie Marshall with her golden hair bouncing on her slim shoulders, her big blue eyes bright as stars while a natural smile flashed like sunshine across h
er succulent pink mouth when Nessa saw her and grinned. Well, his sister certainly liked her; in fact Nessa was behaving rather as though he had got engaged again. It would do no harm to depress his sister’s expectations a little after the honeymoon and mention with regret that he had moved on. As he would have to move on, he told himself impatiently, and stop fantasising about riding Emmie’s perfect body with her legs locked round his waist, her beautiful face aglow with desire. His tall, well-built body already tense, Bastian shifted restively at the charge of unholy lust firing his every hormone to a needy flame. He had never wanted any woman as badly as he wanted Emmie at that moment.

  ‘So, you’re Emmie...’ A tall white-haired elderly man greeted her with a pleasant smile and a handshake. ‘I’m relieved that Bastian didn’t succeed in drowning you in his pool on your first visit,’ he confided. ‘I’m his grandfather, Theron Christou.’

  During the meal that followed, Emmie struggled to eat. Nessa had insisted that she sit beside her and Leonides while Bastian was at the head of the table next to his grandfather. Even though she was hungry she was hopelessly on edge, her fingers curving to her wine glass for something solid to hold onto because every time she glanced up she met black-fringed dark golden eyes that sent her thoughts and her speech into a complete loop even as her heart hammered and her mouth ran dry, leaving her thirsty, constantly sipping and yet still overheated. She could not control the slow burn that travelled to her feminine core every time she met Bastian’s stunning eyes and, even worse, she could not suppress the sense of intense longing that constantly gripped her. This wasn’t her, this was not the woman she was, she argued angrily with herself. She had never been the type to get over-excited by a man or whose body yearned for the touch of one. Indeed she had often thought such promptings belonged more to fantasy than reality and now all of a sudden she was finding out how naïve she had been.

  After dinner, the guests moved to a large room, furnished with a buffet, a bar and a DJ where many of the islanders were already arriving with gifts and good wishes for the bridal couple. Bastian banded a guiding arm to her waist and introduced her to what seemed like dozens of people. Her head swam with names unattached to faces, and the lush scent of his cologne spiced with clean, warm male set up gooseflesh across her skin. She had never been so aware of a man, of every fluid movement of his lean, hot body, the rich timbre of his dark accented drawl above her head, the ridiculously arousing feel of the long fingers flexing against her hipbone. Her breasts were full and taut below her clothing, the tips swollen and tingling, and down below in a place she rarely thought about she was tender and embarrassingly damp. It was sheer insanity to react that way to Bastian Christou but every time she connected with his lustrous dark eyes, rational thought vanished.

  Desire could make anyone stupid, she reasoned as the evening marched on with the bride and groom very much the centre of attention. Bastian was a gorgeous guy and inexperience made her vulnerable to his indescribably potent sexual charisma. Maybe she had set the bar too high before taking a lover because she had wanted to find trust, honesty and caring with one special man. Maybe if she had been a little more sophisticated she could have laughed and ignored Bastian. As it was, she was wickedly, weakly conscious of his every move, every word, every glance and it felt as if she had a bomb ticking down to detonation inside her.

  ‘Let’s dance,’ Bastian breathed above her head, guiding her onto the crowded floor, and she shivered, feet hesitant to follow because she didn’t want to slow dance with him, didn’t want to take that risk of getting physically closer. But it was getting late and soon she would be able to retire to bed, duty done, she reckoned, as bendy and inviting as a concrete post when he tilted her hips towards his and closed his strong arms around her.

  Momentarily she shivered with reaction, blindsided by the hard muscular steel of him against her softer curves, helplessly intoxicated by that sheer masculinity laced with the intimacy of his evocative scent. He tipped up her head and kissed her before she knew what he was doing, and the kiss from those firm male lips cut through her like a knife blade slashing through butter, burning and arousing wherever it touched. As her nipples constricted into stiff, straining buds a sliding sensation curled low in her pelvis, leaving her knees trembling and an inarticulate sound breaking from her throat.

  Bastian lifted his proud dark head. ‘I want you, moraki mou,’ he husked.

  The compelling beauty of his face at that instant inflamed her. She didn’t feel like herself any more: she felt wild, hungry, out of control, all the things she never allowed herself to be. That thought kicked off alarm bells in the back of her head but her body and the unquenchable craving for him that she couldn’t fight held her fast, pinned as close to him as his own skin. He was as turned on as she was and that knowledge was strangely soothing. The brutally hard ridge of his erection against her stomach was inescapable and shamelessly thrilling on a level she refused to think about.

  ‘You set me on fire,’ he growled almost accusingly. ‘I don’t do one-night stands—’

  ‘Neither do I,’ she sliced in breathlessly.

  Dark eyes smouldered brilliant gold over her flushed face. ‘Tonight we break the rules—’

  ‘No...’ she framed feverishly and then he kissed her again, his hard mouth stealing her protest with a passionate intensity she could not resist.

  He guided her through the crush of party-goers with a word here, a wave there, smoothly ensuring that nobody intercepted them and slowed their progress. She mounted the stairs by his side, ever so slightly dizzy, lower limbs a little clumsy and, away from the music, the noise and the bright lights, suddenly conscious that she was not quite sober. How much wine had she drunk? And she had not eaten much at dinner, she recalled vaguely. Drinking on an empty tummy after that huge brandy Nessa had pressed on her—how foolish could a woman be? But the burn of that scorching kiss was still on her swollen mouth, firing an unbearable ache between her legs and destroying her self-discipline.

  A lean brown hand closing round hers, he pulled her into the bedroom she had vacated earlier. His hands cradled her face, glittering dark eyes heavily lidded with desire. ‘Once we get back to London this didn’t happen. It will be our secret,’ he told her arrogantly.

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ she faltered, taken aback by that ruthless assurance that warned her there would be no future beyond the next dawn. ‘I’m not cheap—’

  His fingertips grazed her delicate jawbone. ‘You want me.’

  Madly, insanely, crazily, she acknowledged, still fighting to think straight.

  One night, Bastian was bargaining with himself, one rare night of self-indulgence that smashed his usual boundaries. She wasn’t cheap? He had got that unsavoury message, wished he hadn’t and wanted the strength of mind to evict her from his bedroom but he could no longer fight his devouring hunger for her. He pulled off his jacket with impatient hands and ripped loose his collar before he reached for her and crushed her succulent mouth below his again. Gathering her up to him, he brought her down on the bed, stretching down a hand to flip off her high heels.

  His hard, demanding mouth and the plunging stab of his tongue were like a drug Emmie craved, a need as powerful and natural as taking a next breath. In a minute she promised herself that she would stop him, call a halt, assert logic, but with every demanding kiss he demolished her mental misgivings. She was flat on the bed, rejoicing in his weight, which seemed to answer some of the longing clawing at her, when he lifted her up and ran down the zip of her dress.

  ‘Bastian...we—’ mustn’t, she intended to say but he enveloped her in the folds of her dress as he trailed it off over her head.

  ‘We must,’ he contradicted, second-guessing her words while burying his carnal mouth against the pulse beating raggedly at her collarbone, licking the salt from her skin with a wicked tongue, tracing a trail down to the shallow valley between her small high
breasts, fingers already dealing with her bra, everything moving so fast she couldn’t keep track of it or call a pause.

  ‘I want to be sensible,’ she argued frantically, spooked by the out-of-control feeling she was experiencing.

  ‘Sensible?’ he exclaimed with incredulity, straddling her prone length to rip off his shirt with positive violence, buttons flying in all directions. ‘There’s nothing sensible about feeling like this. Some actions are driven by instinct, koukla mou.’

  Either instinct or appreciation kept her still, her dazed blue gaze welded to the smooth muscular planes of his magnificent brown torso. Heat hummed at the heart of her and the ache stirred again stronger than ever. Her bra was gone and she hadn’t even noticed it going, was suddenly much more aware of the burn of his eyes over her bare breasts, the devastating touch of expert fingers rubbing against the unbearably swollen tips. Her spine bowed, her body reaching upward in a helpless arch as long fingers grazed down her leg and came to a sudden stop to retrace their path over the roughened stretch of skin he had detected.

  ‘What’s this?’ he breathed, glancing down.

  Emmie froze, more naked and vulnerable in that moment than she would have been had she wakened to find herself walking nude down a street, and she turned paper pale. ‘I had surgery...years ago...there was something wrong with my leg,’ she explained jerkily. ‘You see, I’ve got some ugly scars. I’m not perfect—’

  ‘I don’t want or need perfect,’ Bastian declared hungrily, running a caressing but unconcerned hand over the marks he had discovered.

  ‘But I do want you,’ he breathed thickly, eyes hot gold below sooty lashes. ‘I’m as hard as a rock.’

  Her pallor receded, her face burning with sudden colour as he sprang off the bed and shed his tailored trousers, the male bulge of arousal prominent in his fitted boxers. Shyness and uncertainty and apprehension engulfed her. She didn’t know what to do or how to behave and yet still he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. That lithe tawny body called to hers on a visceral level. Desire, she was discovering, incited much more overwhelming responses than she could ever have guessed. She had never dreamt she could want to touch a man so badly.