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The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel
Lucy Gordon
An innocent for the Greek Lysandros Demetriou: shipping magnate and Athens’ most sought-after bachelor. Glamorous women compete for this tycoon’s attention, but his focused ruthlessness ensures none outstays her welcome! Until Petra Radnor whirls into his life. Her beauty is a lure Lysandros cannot resist – she awakens something within him that he’s kept hidden for years.When their scorching passion shows no sign of burning out, Lysandros has to decide whether his desire for Petra is a temporary craving or a lifelong obsession…The Greek Tycoons Legends are made of men like these!


Under the cover of darkness, he pulled her into his arms.
‘Now!’ he said.
Pleasure and relief went through her. She had wanted this so much, and now everything in her yearned towards him. His kiss was everything she’d wanted since their meeting. Nothing else in her life had been like it. Nothing else ever would be.
‘What have you done to me?’ he growled. ‘Why can’t I stop you doing it?’
Lysandros felt as if he were awaking from a dream, or sinking into one. He wasn’t sure which. Her plea of ‘kiss me’ was entrancing, yet something deep inside him was drawing away. He tried to fight it. He wanted her, but so much that it alarmed him.
Impulse had made him call her tonight. Impulse had made him drag her away from their unwanted companions. Impulse, the thing he’d battled for years, was turning him into its creature.
Her creature! The words screamed at him. A puppet dancing on the end of her chain. And she knew it.
‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling him draw away.
‘This place is very public. I think we should both—go home.’
She stared at him, trying to believe what he was doing, feeling the anger rise within her. He was telling her the magic was over. He’d banished it by an act of will, proving that his control was still strong, although he’d brought her to the edge of losing hers.

THE GREEK TYCOONS
Legends are made of men like these!
Modern
Romance are proud to introduce you to…The all new Greek Tycoons
Modern day magnates As gorgeous and god-like as their mythological ancestors, they put the ‘man’ into Romance!
This month
The Greek Tycoon’s Achilles Heel
by Lucy Gordon
Meet Lysandros Achilles Demetriou as he faces his only weakness—English beauty Petra Radnor!
In June 2010
The Power of the Legendary Greek
by Catherine George
Lukas is the wing-heeled Perseus whose life takes a different turn when the intriguing Isobel James washes up on his beach!
Lucy Gordon also writes for Mills & Boon® Romance!

The Greek Tycoon’s Achilles Heel
by

Lucy Gordon



MILLS & BOON®
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
I’ve really enjoyed the chance to write about Achilles, because of all the charismatic Greek heroes he’s the one whose story still speaks to us down the centuries. His name lives in the phrase ‘Achilles heel’ meaning a secret weakness through which even the strongest person can be overcome.
Legend says that, to protect her baby son, his mother dipped him into the River Styx, which lay between earth and the underworld, knowing that the water would make him invulnerable.
But she held him by the heel, leaving a place where the water had not touched him. Years later it was an arrow in the unprotected heel that brought him down.
Achilles was a powerful man, bold, adventurous, fearing nothing. Yet it’s his hidden frailty that had caused his name to survive, perhaps because it’s something we can all feel in ourselves.
Lysandros knew that his own weakness was emotion. Once he’d yielded to it so completely that it nearly destroyed him. Determined never to succumb again, he imprisoned his heart behind bolts and bars so that nobody should suspect the truth.
But Petra knew from the start that under his hard exterior was a man of deeper feeling than he would ever admit. The question was, would he allow her close enough to heal him, or turn away into a bleak, unfeeling wilderness? Until the last moment, neither of them could know.
Warm wishes,
Lucy Gordon
Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, where romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.
Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America RITA
Award. You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com
Lucy Gordon also writes for Mills & Boon® Romance!

PROLOGUE
THE lights of the Las Vegas Strip gleamed and glittered up into the night sky. Down below, the hotels and casinos rioted with life and money but the Palace Athena outshone them all.
In the six months since its opening it had gained a reputation for being more lavish than its competitors, and today it had put the seal on its success by hosting the wedding of the beautiful, glamorous film star, Estelle Radnor.
The owner of the Palace, no fool, had gained the prestige of staging her wedding by offering everything for free, and the gorgeous Estelle, also no fool where money was concerned, whatever might be said of her taste in men, had seized the offer.
The wedding party finished up in the casino, where the bride was photographed throwing dice, embracing her groom, throwing more dice, slipping an arm around the shoulders of a thin, nondescript young girl, then throwing more dice. The owner watched it all with satisfaction, before turning to a young man who stood regarding the performance sardonically.
‘Achilles, my friend—’
‘I’ve told you before, don’t call me that.’
‘But your name has brought me such good luck. Your excellent advice on how to make this place convincingly Greek—’
‘None of which you’ve taken.’
‘Well, my customers believe it’s Greek and that’s what matters.’
‘Of course, appearance is everything and what else counts?’ the young man murmured.
‘You’re gloomy tonight. Is it the wedding? Do you envy them?’
‘Achilles’ turned on him with swift ferocity. ‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘All I feel is boredom and disgust.’
‘Have things gone badly for you?’
A shrug. ‘I’ve lost a million. Before the night’s out I’ll probably lose another. So what?’
‘Come and join the party.’
‘I haven’t been invited.’
‘You think they’re going to turn away the son of the wealthiest man in Greece?’
‘They’re not going to get the chance. Leave me and get back to your guests.’
He strolled away, a lean, isolated figure, followed by two pairs of eyes, one belonging to the man he’d just left, the other to the awkward-looking teenager the bride had earlier embraced. Keeping close to the wall, so as not to be noticed, she slipped away and took the elevator to the fifty-second floor, where she could observe the Strip.
Here, both the walls and the roof were thick glass, allowing visitors to look out in safety. Outside ran a ledge which she guessed was there for workmen and window cleaners, but inaccessible to customers unless they knew the code to tap into the lock.
She was staring down, transfixed, when a slight noise made her turn and see the young man from downstairs. Moving quietly into the shadows, she watched, unnoticed, as he came to stand nearby, gazing down a thousand feet at the dazzling, distant world beneath.

Up here there were only a few lamps, so that customers could look out through the glass. She had a curious view of his face, lit from below by a glow that shifted and changed colour. His features were lean and clean-cut, their slight sharpness emphasised by the angle. It was the face of a very young man, little more than a boy, yet it held a weariness—even a despair—that suggested a crushing burden.
Then he did something that terrified her, reaching out to the code box and tapping in a number, making a pane of glass slide back so that there was nothing but air between him and a thousand foot drop. Petra’s sharp gasp made him turn his head.
‘What are you doing there?’ he snapped. ‘Are you spying on me?’
‘Of course not. Come back in, please,’ she begged. ‘Don’t do it.’
He stepped back into comparative safety, but remained near the gap.
‘What the hell do you mean, “don’t do it”?’ he snapped. ‘I wasn’t going to do anything. I wanted some air.’
‘But it’s dangerous. You could fall by accident.’
‘I know what I’m doing. Go away and let me be.’
‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘I have as much right to take the air as you. Is it nice out there?’
‘What?’
Moving so fast that she took him by surprise, she slipped past him and out onto the ledge. At once the wind attacked her so that she had to reach out and found him grasping her.
‘You stupid woman!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not the only one who can have an accident. Do you want to die?’
‘Do you?’
‘Come inside.’
He yanked her back in, stopping short in surprise when he saw her face.

‘Didn’t I see you downstairs?’
‘Yes, I was in the Zeus Room,’ she said, naming the casino. ‘I like watching people. That place is very cleverly named.’
‘You know what Zeus means, then?’ he asked, drawing her away to where they could sit down.
‘He was the King of the Greek gods,’ she said, ‘looking down on the world from his home on the top of Mount Olympus, master of all he surveyed. That must be how the gamblers feel when they start playing, but the poor idiots soon learn differently. Did you lose much?’
He shrugged. ‘A million. I stopped counting after a while. What are you doing in a casino, anyway? You can’t be more than fifteen.’
‘I’m seventeen and I’m…one of the bridal party.’
‘That’s right,’ he said, seeming not to notice the way she’d checked herself at the last moment. ‘I saw her embracing you for the camera. Are you a bridesmaid?’
She regarded him cynically. ‘Do I look like a bridesmaid?’ she demanded, indicating her attire, which was clearly expensive but not glamorous.
‘Well—’
‘I don’t really belong in front of the cameras, not with that lot.’
She spoke with a wry lack of self-pity that was attractive. Looking at her more closely, he saw that she wore no make-up, her hair was cut efficiently short, and she’d made no attempt to enhance her appearance.
‘And your name is—?’ he queried.
‘Petra. And you’re Achilles. No?’ The last word was a response to his scowl.
‘My name is Lysandros Demetriou. My mother wanted to call me Achilles, but my father thought she was being sentimental. In the end they compromised, and Achilles became my second name.
’ ‘But that man downstairs called you by it.’
‘It’s important to him that I’m Greek because this place is built on the idea of Greekness.’
To his delight she gave a cheeky giggle. ‘They’re all potty.’
They took stock of each other. He was as handsome as she’d first sensed, with clean cut features, deep set eyes and an air of pride that came with a lifetime of having his own way. But there was also a darkness and a brooding intensity that seemed strange in this background. Young men in Las Vegas hunted in packs, savouring every experience. This one hid away, treasuring his solitude as though the world was an enemy. And something had driven him to take the air in a place full of danger. ‘Demetriou Shipbuilding?’ she asked.
‘That’s the one.’
‘The most powerful firm in Greece.’ She said it as though
reciting a lesson. ‘What they don’t want isn’t worth having. What they don’t acquire today they’ll acquire tomorrow. If anyone dares to refuse them, they wait in the shadows until the right moment to pounce.’
He grunted. ‘Something like that.’
‘Or maybe you’ll just turn the Furies onto them?’
She meant the three Greek goddesses of wrath and ven geance, with hair made of snakes and eyes that dripped blood, who hounded their victims without mercy.
‘Do you have to be melodramatic?’ he demanded.
‘In this “pretend” Greek place I can’t help it. Anyway, why aren’t you in Athens grinding your enemies to dust?’
‘I’ve done with all that,’ he said harshly. ‘They can get on without me.’
‘Ah, this is the bit where you sulk.’
‘What?’

‘During the Trojan war Achilles was in love with this girl. She actually came from the other side, and was his prisoner, but they made him give her back, so he withdrew from the battle and sulked in his tent. But in the end he came out and started fighting again. Only he ended up dead. As you could have done on that ledge.’
‘I told you I wasn’t planning to die, although frankly it doesn’t seem important one way or the other. I’ll take what comes.’
‘Did she do something very cruel?’ Petra asked gently.
In the dim light she could barely see the look he turned on her, but she sensed that it was terrible. His eyes were harsh and cold in the gloom, warning her that she’d trespassed on sacred ground.
‘Stop now!’howled the Furies. ‘Run for your life before he strikes you dead.’
But that wasn’t her way.
‘She?’ he asked in a voice that warned her.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm, whispering, ‘I’m sorry. Shouldn’t I have said that?’
He rose sharply and strode back to the gap in the glass wall and stood gazing out into the night. She followed cautiously.
‘She made me trust her,’ he whispered.
‘But sometimes it’s right to trust.’
‘No,’he insisted. ‘Nobody is ever as good as you think they are, and sooner or later the truth is always there. The more you trust someone, the worse it is when they betray you. Better to have no illusions, and be strong.’
‘But that would be terrible, never to believe in anything, never to love or hope, never be really happy—’
‘Never to be wretched,’ he said harshly. ‘Never to be alive,’ she said with gentle urgency. ‘It would be a living death, can’t you see that? You’d escape suffering, but you’d also lose everything that makes life worth living.’
‘Not everything. There’s power. You’d gain that if you did without the other things. They’re only weaknesses.’
‘No,’ she said, almost violently. ‘You mustn’t give in to that way of thinking or you’ll ruin your life.’
‘And what do you know about it?’ he demanded, angry now. ‘You’re a child. Has anyone ever made you want to smash things and keep on smashing until nothing is left alive—including yourself?’
‘But what do you gain by destroying yourself inside?’ she demanded.
‘I’ll tell you what you gain. You don’t become—like this.’ He jabbed a finger at his heart.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Young as he was, he lived on the edge of disaster, and it would take very little to push him over. That was why he dared to stand here, defying the fates to do their worst.
Pity and terror almost overwhelmed her. Part of her wanted to run for her life, get far, far away from this creature who might become a monster if something didn’t intervene. But the other part wanted to stay and be the one to rescue him.
Suddenly, without warning, he did the thing that decided her, something terrible and wonderful in the same moment. Lowering his head, he let it fall against her shoulder, raised it, dropped it again, and again and again. It was like watching a man bang his head against a brick wall, hopelessly, robotically.
Appalled, she threw her arms around him and clutched a restraining hand over his head, forcing him to be still. His despair seemed to reach out to her, imploring her comfort, saying that only she could give it to him. To be needed so desperately was a new experience for her and, even in the midst of her dismay, she knew a kind of delight.
Over his shoulder she could see the drop, with nothing to protect him from it. Nothing but herself. She gripped him tight, silently offering him all she could. He didn’t resist, but now his head rested on her shoulder as though the strength had drained out of him.
When she drew back to see his face the bitter anguish had gone, leaving it sad and resigned, as though he’d found a kind of peace, albeit a bleak and despairing peace.
At last Lysandros gave her a faint smile, feeling deep within him a desire to protect her as she had tried to protect him. There was still good in the world. It was here in this girl, too innocent to understand the danger she ran just by being here with him. In the end she would be sullied and spoiled like the rest.
But not tonight. He wouldn’t allow it.
He tapped a number into the code pad and the glass panel closed.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, leading her away from the roof and down into the hotel.
Outside her door he said, ‘Go inside, go to bed, don’t open this door to anyone.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to lose a lot more money. After that—I’m going to do some thinking.’
He hadn’t meant to say the last words.
‘Goodnight, Achilles.’
‘Goodnight.’
He hadn’t intended what he did next either, but on impulse he leaned down and kissed her mouth gently.
‘Go in,’ he said. ‘And lock your door.’
She nodded and slipped inside. After a moment he heard the key turn.
He returned to the tables, resigned to further losses, but mysteriously his luck turned. In an hour he’d recovered every penny. In another hour he’d doubled it.
So that was who she was, a good luck charm, sent to cast her spell and change his fortunes. He only hoped he’d also done something for her, but he would probably never know. They would never meet again.
He was wrong. They did meet again.
But not for fifteen years.

CHAPTER ONE
THE Villa Demetriou stood on the outskirts of Athens on raised ground, from which the family had always been able to survey the domain they considered theirs. Until now the only thing that could rival them had been the Parthenon, the great classical temple built more than two thousand years before, high on the Acropolis, far away across the city and just visible.
Recently a new rival had sprung up, a fake Parthenon, created by Homer Lukas, the one man in Greece who would have ventured to challenge either the Demetriou family or the ancient gods who protected the true temple. But Homer was in love, and naturally wished to impress his bride on their wedding day.
On that spring morning Lysandros Demetriou stood in the doorway of his villa, looking out across Athens, irritated by having to waste his time at a wedding when he had so many really important things to deal with.
A sound behind him made him turn to see the entrance of Stavros, an old friend of his late father, who lived just outside the city. He was white-haired and far too thin, the result of a lifetime of self-indulgence.
‘I’m on my way to the wedding,’ he said. ‘I called in to see if you fancied a lift.’
‘Thank you, that would be useful,’ Lysandros said coolly. ‘If I arrive early it won’t give too much offence if I leave early.’
Stavros gave a crack of laughter. ‘You’re not sentimental about weddings.’
‘It’s not a wedding, it’s an exhibition,’ he said sardonically. ‘Homer Lukas has acquired a film star wife and is flaunting her to the world. The world will offer him good wishes and call him names behind his back. My own wish for him is that Estelle Radnor will make a fool of him. With any luck, she will.
‘Why did she have to come to Athens to get married, anyway? Why not make do with a false Greek setting, like that other time?’
‘Because the name of Homer Lukas is synonymous with Greek shipbuilding,’ Stavros said, adding quickly, ‘after yourself, of course.’
For years the companies of Demetriou and Lukas had stood head and shoulders above all others in Greece, or even in the world, some reverently claimed.
They were opponents, foes, even outright enemies, but enemies who presented a civilised veneer to outsiders because it was profitable to do so.
‘I suppose it might be a real love-match,’ Stavros observed cynically.
Lysandros raised his eyebrows. ‘A real—? How many times has she been married? Six, seven?’
‘You should know. Weren’t you a guest at one of the previous weddings, years ago?’
‘Not a guest. I just happened to be in the Las Vegas hotel where it was held and watched some of the shenanigans from a safe distance. And I returned to Greece the next day.’
‘Yes, I remember that. Your father was very puzzled—pleased, but puzzled. Apparently you’d told him you wanted nothing more to do with the business now or ever again. You vanished for two years, but suddenly, out of the blue, you just walked in the door and said you were ready to go to work. He was even afraid you wouldn’t be up to it after…well…’
He fell silent, alarmed by the grim look that had come over Lysandros’s face.
‘Quite,’ he said in a quiet voice that was more frightening than a shout. ‘Well, it’s a long time ago. The past is over.’
‘Yes, and your father said that all his fears were groundless because when you returned you were different, a tiger who terrified everyone. He was so proud.’
‘Well, let’s hope I terrify Homer Lukas. Otherwise I’m losing my touch.’
‘Perhaps you should be scared,’ Stavros said. ‘Such threats he’s been uttering since you recently bilked him and his son of billions. Stole billions, according to him.’
‘I didn’t steal anything, I merely offered the client a better deal,’ Lysandros said indifferently.
‘But it was at the last minute,’ Stavros recalled. ‘Apparently they were all assembled to sign the contracts, and the client had actually lifted the pen when his phone rang and it was you, giving him some information that you could only have acquired “by disgraceful means”.’
‘Not as disgraceful as all that,’ Lysandros observed with a shrug. ‘I’ve done worse, I’m glad to say.’
‘And that was that,’ Stavros resumed. ‘The man put the pen down, cancelled the deal and walked out straight into your car, waiting outside. Rumour says Homer promised the gods on Olympus splendid offerings if only they would punish you.’
‘But I’ve remained unpunished, so perhaps the gods weren’t listening. They say he even uttered a curse over my wedding invitation. I hope he did.’
‘You’re really not taking anyone with you?’
Lysandros made a non-committal reply. He attended many weddings as a duty, sometimes with companions but never with one woman. It would interest the press too much, and send out misleading signals to the lady herself, which could cause him serious inconvenience.
‘Right, let’s get going,’ Stavros said.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to catch you up later,’ Lysandros excused himself.
‘But you just said you’d go with me—’
‘Yes, but I’ve suddenly remembered something I must do first. Goodbye.’
There was a finality in the last word that Stavros dared not challenge.
His car was waiting downstairs. In the back sat his wife, who’d refused to come in with him on the grounds that she hated the desolate house that seemed to suit Lysandros so perfectly.
‘How can he bear to live in that vast, silent place with no family and only servants for company?’ she’d demanded more than once. ‘It makes me shiver. And that’s not the only thing about Lysandros that makes me shiver.’
In that, she knew she was not alone. Most of Athens would have agreed. Now, when Stavros had described the conversation, she said, ‘Why did he change his mind about coming with us?’
‘My fault. I stupidly mentioned the past, and he froze. It’s almost eerie the way he’s blotted that time out as though it never happened, yet it drives everything he does. Look at what happened just now. One minute he was fine, the next he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.’
‘I wonder why he’s really going to leave early.’
‘He’ll probably pass the time with a floozy.’
‘If you mean—’ she said a name, ‘she’s hardly a floozy. Her husband’s one of the most influential men on the—’
‘Which makes her a high class floozy, and she’s keeping her distance now because her husband has put his foot down. Rumours reached him.’
‘He probably knew all the time,’ his wife said cynically. ‘There are men in this city who don’t mind their women sleeping with Lysandros.’
Stavros nodded. ‘Yes, but I gather she became too “emotional”, started expecting too much, so he dropped the husband a hint to rein her in if he knew what was good for him.’
‘Surely even Lysandros wouldn’t be so cruel, so coldblooded—’
‘That’s exactly what he is, and in our hearts we all know it,’ Stavros said flatly.
‘I wonder about his heart,’ she mused.
‘He doesn’t have one, which is why he keeps people at a distance.’
As the car turned out of the gate Stavros couldn’t resist looking back to the house. Lysandros stood there at the window, watching the world with a brooding air, as though it was his personal property and he had yet to decide how to manage it.
He remained there until the car had vanished through the gates, then turned back into the room, trying to clear his mind. The conversation had disturbed him and that must be quickly remedied. Luckily an urgent call came through from his manager at the port of Piraeus, to say that they were threatened with union trouble. Lysandros gave him a series of curt orders and promised to be there the next day.
Today he would attend Homer Lukas’s wedding as an honoured guest. He would shake his rival’s hand, show honour to the bride, and the watching crowds would sigh with disappointment not to see them at each other’s throats, personally as well as professionally.
Now, more than ever, his father’s advice rang in his head.
‘Never, never let them know what you’re thinking.’
He’d learned that lesson well and, with its aid, he would spend today with a smile on his face, concealing the hatred that consumed him.
At last it was time for his chauffeur to take him to the Lukas estate. Soon he could see Homer’s ‘Parthenon’, in which the wedding was to take place, and it loomed up high, proclaiming the residence of a wealthy and influential man.
A fake, he thought grimly. No more authentic than the other ‘Greek setting’ in Las Vegas.
His thoughts went back to a time that felt like another world and through his mind danced the girl on the roof, skinny, ordinary, yet with an outspoken innocence that had both exasperated and charmed him. And at the last moment, when she’d opened her arms to him, offering a comfort he’d found nowhere else in the world and he’d almost—
He slammed his mind shut. It was the only way to deal with weakness.
He wondered how she’d come to be one of the wedding party; probably the daughter of one of Estelle Radnor’s numerous secretaries.
She might be here today, but it was probably better not to meet again after so long. Time was never kind. The years would have turned her into a dull wife with several children and a faithless husband. Where once she had sparkled, now she would probably seethe.
Nor had he himself been improved by time, he knew. A heaviness had settled over him, different from the raging grief that had possessed him in those days. That had been a matter of the heart and he’d dealt with it suitably, setting it aside, focusing on his head, where all sensible action took place.
He’d done what was right and wise, yet he had an uneasy feeling that if he met her now she would look right through him—and disapprove.
At last they arrived. As he got out of his car and looked around he had to admit that Homer had spent money to great effect. The great temple to the goddess Athena had been recreated much as the original must have looked when it was new. The building was about seventy metres by thirty, the roof held aloft by elegant columns. Marvellous statues abounded, but the greatest of all was the forty-foot statue of Athena, which had mysteriously developed the face of Estelle Radnor.
He grimaced, wondering how long it would be before he could decently depart.
But, before he could start his social duties, his cellphone shrilled. It was a text message.
I’m sorry about what I said. I was upset. You seemed to be pulling away when we’d been growing so close. Please call me.
It was signed only with an initial. He immediately texted back.
No need to be sorry. You were right to break it off. Forgive me for upsetting you.
Hopefully that would be an end to it, but after a moment another text came through.
I don’t want to break off. I really didn’t mean all those things. Will I see you at the wedding? We could talk there.
This time it was signed with her name. He responded.
We always knew it couldn’t last. We can’t talk. I don’t wish to subject you to gossip.
The answer came in seconds.
I don’t care about gossip. I love you.
Madness seemed to have come over her, for now she’d stepped up the intensity, signing your own forever, followed by her name. His response was brief.
Please accept my good wishes for the future. Make sure you delete texts from your phone. Goodbye.
After that he switched off. In every way. To silence a machine was easy. It was the switching off of the heart and mind that took skill, but it was one he’d acquired with practice, sharpening it to perfection until he would have guaranteed it against every female in the world.
Except perhaps one.
But he would never meet her again.
Unless he was very unlucky.
Or very lucky.
‘You look gorgeous!’
Petra Radnor laughed aside the fervent compliment from Nikator Lukas.
‘Thank you, brother dear,’ she said.
‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your brother.’
‘You will be in a couple of hours, when your father has married my mother.’
‘Stepbrother at most. We won’t be related by blood and I can yearn after you if I want to.’
‘No, I think you’ll be the brother I’ve always wanted. My kid brother.’
‘Kid, nothing! I’m older than you.’
It was true. He was thirty-seven to her thirty-two, but there was something about him that suggested a kid; not just the boyish lines of his face but a lingering immaturity that would probably be there all his life.
Petra liked him well enough, except for his black moods that seemed to come from nowhere, although they also vanished quickly.
He admired her extravagantly, and she justified his admiration. The gaunt figure of her teen years had blossomed, although she would always be naturally slender.
She was attractive but not beautiful, certainly not as the word was understood among her mother’s film-land friends. She had a vivid personality that gleamed from her eyes and a humour that was never long suppressed. But the true effect was often discovered only after she’d departed, when she lingered in the mind.
To divert Nikator’s attention, she turned the conversation to Debra, the starlet who would be his official companion.
‘You two look wonderful together,’ she said. ‘Everyone will say what a lucky man you are.’
‘I’d rather go with you,’ he sighed.
‘Oh, stop it! After all the trouble Estelle took to fix you up with her, you should be grateful.’
‘Debra’s gorgeous,’ he conceded. ‘At least Demetriou won’t have anything to match her.’
‘Demetriou? Do you mean Lysandros Demetriou?’ Petra asked, suddenly concentrating on a button. ‘The Lysandros Demetriou?’
‘There’s no need to say it like that, as though he was important,’ Nikator said at once.
‘He certainly seems to be. Didn’t he—?’
‘Never mind that. He probably won’t have a woman on his arm.’
‘I’ve heard he has quite a reputation with women.’
‘True. But he never takes them out in public. Too much hassle, I guess. To him they’re disposable. I’ll tell you this, half the women who come here today will have been in his bed.’
‘You really hate him, don’t you?’ she asked curiously.
‘Years ago he was involved with a girl from this family, but he ill-treated her.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know the details. Nobody does.’
‘Then maybe she ill-treated him,’ Petra suggested. ‘And he reacted badly because he was disillusioned.’
He glared at her. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, suddenly confused. A voice had whispered mysteriously in her mind, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. It came from long ago, and haunted her across the years. If only—
She tried to listen but now there was only silence.
‘She fled, and later we heard that she was dead,’ Nikator continued. ‘It was years ago, but he knew how to put the knife in, even then. Be warned. When he knows you’re connected with this family he’ll try to seduce you, just to show us that he can do it.’
‘Seduce?’ she echoed with hilarity. ‘What do you think I am—some helpless maiden? After all this time around the film industry I’ve learned to be safely cynical, I promise you. I’ve even been known to do a bit of “seducing” myself.’
His eyes gleamed and he reached out hopeful hands. ‘Ah, in that case—’
‘Be off,’ she told him firmly. ‘It’s time you left to collect Debra.’
He dashed away, much to her relief. There were aspects of Nikki that were worrying, but that must wait. This was supposed to be a happy day.
She checked her camera. There would be an army of professional photographers here today, but Estelle, as she always called her mother, had asked her to take some intimate family pictures.
She took one last look in the mirror, then frowned at what she saw. As Nikator had said, she looked gorgeous, but what might be right for other women wasn’t right for Estelle Radnor’s daughter. This was the bride’s big day, and she alone must occupy the spotlight.
‘Something a little more restrained, I think,’Petra murmured.
She found a darker dress, plainer, more puritanical. Then she swept her luxuriant hair back into a bun and studied herself again.
‘That’s better. Nobody will look at me now.’
She’d grown up making these adjustments to her mother’s ego. It was no longer a big deal. She was fond of Estelle, but the centre of her life was elsewhere.
The bride had already moved into the great mansion, and now occupied the suite belonging to the mistress of the house. Petra hurried along to say a last encouraging word before it was time to start.
That was when things went wrong.
Estelle screamed when she saw her daughter.
‘Darling, what are you thinking of to dress like that? You look like a Victorian governess.’
Petra, who was used to her mother’s way of putting things, didn’t take offence. She knew by now that it was pointless.
‘I thought I’d keep it plain,’ she said. ‘You’re the one they’ll be looking at. And you look absolutely wonderful. You’ll be the most beautiful bride ever.’
‘But people know you’re my daughter,’ Estella moaned. ‘If you go out there looking middle-aged, what will they say about me?’
‘Perhaps you could pretend I’m not your daughter,’ Petra said with wry good humour.
‘It’s too late for that. They already know. You’ve got to look young and innocent or they’ll wonder how old I am. Really, darling, you might try to do me credit.’
‘I’m sorry. Shall I go and change?’
‘Yes, do it quickly. And take your hair down.’
‘All right, I’ll change. Have a wonderful day.’
She kissed her mother and felt herself embraced as warmly as though there’d never been an argument. Which, in a sense, was true. Having got her own way, Estelle had forgotten it had ever happened.
As she left the room Petra was smiling, thinking it lucky that she had a sense of humour. Thirty-two years as Estelle Radnor’s daughter had had certain advantages, but they had also demanded reserves of patience.
Back in her room, she reversed the changes, donning the elegantly simple blue silk dress she’d worn before and brushing her hair free so that it fell gloriously about her shoulders. Then she went out into the grounds where the crowds were gathering and plunged into introductions. She smiled and said the right things, but part of her attention was elsewhere, scanning the men to see if Lysandros Demetriou had arrived.
The hour they had spent together, long ago, now felt like a dream, but he’d always held her interest. She’d followed his career as far as she could, gathering the sparse details of his life that seeped out. He was unmarried and, since his father’s death had made him the boss of Demetriou Shipbuilding, he lived alone. That was all the world was allowed to know.
Occasionally she saw a photograph that she could just identify as the man she’d met in Las Vegas. These days his face looked fearsome, but now another face came into her mind, a naïve, disillusioned young lover, tortured out of his mind, crying, ‘She made me trust her,’ as though that was the worst crime in the world.
The recent pictures showed a man on whom harshness had settled early. It was hard to realise that he was the same person who’d clung to her on that high roof, seeking refuge, not from the physical danger he’d freely courted, but from the demons that howled in his head.
What had become of that need and despair? Had he yielded to the desire to destroy everything, including his own heart?
What would he say to her if they met now?
Petra was no green girl. Nor was she a prude. In the years since then she’d been married, divorced, and enjoyed male company to the full. But that encounter, short but searingly intense, lived in her mind, her heart and her senses. The awareness of an overwhelming presence was with her still, and so was the disappointment she’d felt when he’d parted from her with only the lightest touch of the lips.
Now the thought of meeting Lysandros Demetriou again gave her a frisson of pleasurable curiosity and excitement. But strangely there was also a touch of nervousness. He’d loomed so large in her imagination that she feared lest the reality disappoint her.
Then she saw him.
She was standing on the slope, watching the advancing crowd, and even among so many it was easy to discern him. It wasn’t just that he was taller than most men; it was the same intense quality that had struck her so forcefully the first time, and which now seemed to sing over the distance.
The pictures hadn’t done him justice, she realised. The boy had grown into a handsome man whose stern features, full of pride and aloofness, would have drawn eyes anywhere. In Las Vegas she’d seen him mostly in poor light. Now she could make out that his eyes were dark and deep-set, as though even there he was holding part of himself back.
Nikator had said no woman would be with him, and that was true. Lysandros Demetriou walked alone. Even in that milling crowd he gave the impression that nobody could get anywhere near him. Occasionally someone tried to claim his attention. He replied briefly and passed on.
The photographer in Petra smiled. Here was a man whose picture would be worth taking, and if that displeased him at first he would surely forgive her, for the sake of their old acquaintance.
She took a picture, then another. Smiling, she began to walk down until she was only a few feet in front of him. He glanced up, noticed the camera and scowled.
‘Put that away,’ he said.
‘But—’
‘And get out of my sight.’
Before she could speak again he’d passed on. Petra was left alone, her smile fading as she realised that he’d looked right through her without a hint of recognition.
There was nothing to do but move on with the crowd and take her place in the temple. She tried to shrug and reason with herself. So he hadn’t recognised her! So what? It had been years ago and she’d changed a lot.
But, she thought wryly, she could dismiss any fantasies about memories reaching over time. Instead, it might be the chance to have a little fun.
Yes, fun would be good. Fun would punish him!
The music started as the bride made her entrance, magnificently attired in fawn satin, looking nowhere near fifty, her true age.
Petra joined the other photographers, and forgot everything except what she was meant to be doing. It was an ability that had carried her through some difficult times in her life.
Lysandros was seated in the front row. He frowned at her as if trying to work something out, then turned his attention to the ceremony.
The vows were spoken in Greek. The bride had learned her part well, but there was just one moment when she hesitated. Quickly, Petra moved beside her, murmured something in Greek and stepped back. Lysandros, watching, frowned again.
Then the bride and groom were moving slowly away, smiling at the crowd, two wealthy, powerful people, revelling in having acquired each other. Everyone began to leave the temple.
‘Lysandros, my friend, how good to see you.’
He turned and saw Nikator advancing on him, arms outstretched as though welcoming a long-lost friend. Assuming a smile, he returned the greeting. With a flourish Nikator introduced his companion, Debra Farley. Lysandros acted suitably impressed. This continued until everyone felt that enough time had elapsed, and then the couple moved on.
Lysandros took a long breath of relief at having got that out of the way.
A slight choke made him turn and see the young woman with the luscious fair hair. She was laughing as though he’d just performed for her entertainment, and he was suddenly gripped by a rising tension, neither pleasure nor pain but a mysterious combination of both, as though the world had shifted on its axis and nothing would ever be the same again.

CHAPTER TWO
‘YOU did that very convincingly,’ Petra said. ‘You should get an Oscar.’
She’d spoken in Greek and he replied in the same language.
‘I wasn’t as convincing as all that if you saw through me.
’ ‘Oh, I automatically disbelieve everyone,’ she said in a teasing voice. ‘It saves a lot of time.’
He gave a polite smile. ‘How wise. You’re used to this kind of event, then? Do you work for Homer?’ He indicated her camera.
‘No, I’ve only recently met him.’
‘What do you think of him?’
‘I’ve never seen a man so in love.’ She shook her head, as if suggesting that this passed all understanding.
‘Yes, it’s a pity,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t think the bride’s in love with him, surely? To her, he’s a decoration to flaunt in her buttonhole, in addition to the diamonds he’s showered on her. The best of her career is over so she scoops him up to put on her mantelpiece. It almost makes me feel sorry for him, and I never thought I’d say that.’
‘But that means someone has brought him low at last,’ she pointed out. ‘You should be grateful to her. Think how much easier you’ll find it to defeat him in future.’
She was regarding him with her head on one side and an air of detached amusement, as though he was an interesting specimen laid out for her entertainment. A sudden frisson went through him. He didn’t understand why, and yet—
‘I think I can manage that without help,’ he observed.
‘Now, there’s a thought,’ she said, apparently much struck. ‘Have you noticed how weddings bring out the worst in people? I’m sure you aren’t usually as cynical and grumpy as now.’
This was sheer impertinence, but instead of brushing her aside he felt an unusual inclination to spar with her.
‘Certainly not,’ he said. ‘I’m usually worse.’
‘Impossible.’
‘Anyone who knows me will tell you that this is my “sweetness and light” mood.’
‘I don’t believe it. Instinct tells me that you’re a softie at heart. People cry on your shoulder, children flock to you, those in trouble turn to you first.’
‘I’ve done nothing to deserve that,’ he assured her fervently.
The crowd was swirling around them, forcing them to move aside. As they left the temple, Lysandros observed, ‘I’m surprised Homer settled for an imitation Parthenon.’
‘Oh, he wanted the original,’ she agreed, ‘but between you and me—’ she lowered her voice dramatically ‘—it didn’t quite measure up to his standards, and he felt he could do better. So he built this to show them how it ought to have been done.’
Before he could stop himself he gave a crack of laughter and several people stared at the sight of this famously dour man actually enjoying a joke. A society journalist passing by stared, then made a hasty note.
She responded to his laughter with more of her own. He led her to where the drinks were being served and presented her with a glass of champagne, feeling that, just for once, it was good to be light-hearted. She had the power of making tension vanish, even if only briefly.
The tables for the wedding feast were outside in the sun. The guests were taking their places, preparing for the moment when the newly married couple would appear.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said.
‘Just a minute. You haven’t told me who you are.’
She glanced back, regarding him with a curious smile. ‘No, I haven’t, have I? Perhaps I thought there would be no need. I’ll see you later.’
Briefly she raised her champagne glass to him before hurrying away.
‘You’re a sly devil,’ said a deep voice behind him.
A large bearded man stood there and with pleasure Lysandros recognised an old ally.
‘Georgios,’ he exclaimed. ‘I might have known you’d be where there was the best food.’
‘The best food, the best wine, the best women. Well, you’ve found that for yourself.’ He indicated the young woman’s retreating figure.
‘She’s charming,’ Lysandros said with a slight reserve. He didn’t choose to discuss her.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll back off. I don’t aspire to Estelle Radnor’s daughter.’
Lysandros tensed. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t blame you for wanting to keep her to yourself. She’s a peach.’
‘You said Estelle Radnor’s daughter.’
‘Didn’t she tell you who she was?’
‘No,’ Lysandros said, tight-lipped. ‘She didn’t.’
He moved away in Petra’s direction, appalled at the trap into which he’d fallen so easily. His comments about her mother had left him at a disadvantage, something not to be tolerated. She could have warned him and she hadn’t, which meant she was laughing at him.
And most men would have been beguiled by her merriment, her way of looking askance, as though that was how she saw the whole world, slightly lopsided, and all the more fun for that.
Fun. He barely knew the word, but something told him she knew it, loved it, even judged by it. And she was doubtless judging him now. His face hardened.
It was too late to catch her; she’d reached the top table where the bride and groom would sit. Now there would be no chance for a while.
A steward showed him to his place, also at the top table but just around the corner at right angles to her—close enough to see her perfectly, but not talk.
She was absorbed in chatting to her companion. Suddenly she laughed, throwing back her head and letting her amusement soar up into the blue sky. It was as though sunshine had burst out all over the world. Unwillingly he conceded that she would be enchanting, if—if he’d been in a mood to be enchanted. Fortunately, he was more in control than that.
Then she looked up and caught his eye. Clearly she knew that her little trick had been rumbled, for her teasing gaze said, Fooled you!
He sent back a silent message of his own. Wait, that’s all. Just wait!
She looked forward to it. Her smile told him that, causing a stirring deep within him that he had to conceal by fiercely blanking his face. People sitting close by drew back a little, wondering who had offended him.
There was a distant cheer and applause broke out as Mr and Mrs Homer Lukas made their grand entrance.
He was in his sixties, grey-haired and heavily built with an air of natural command. But as he and his bride swept into place it suited him to bend his head over her hand, kissing it devotedly. She seemed about to faint with joy at his tribute, or perhaps at the five million dollar diamond on her finger.
The young woman who’d dared to tease Lysandros joined in the applause, and kissed her mother as Estelle sat down. The crowd settled to the meal.
Of course he should never have mistaken her for an employee. Her air of being at home in this company ought to have warned him. And when she moved in to take close-up photographs both bride and groom posed at her command.
Then she posed with the happy couple while a professional photographer took the shots. At this point Nikator butted in.
‘We must have some of us together,’ Lysandros could just hear him cry. ‘Brother and sister.’
Having claimed a brother’s privilege, he snaked an arm about her waist and drew her close. She played up, but Lysandros spotted a fleeting look of exasperation on her face, and she freed herself as soon as possible, handing him back to Debra Farley like a nurse ridding herself of a pesky child.
Not that he could blame Nikator for his preference. In that glamorous company this creature stood out, with her effortless simplicity and an air of naturalness that the others had lost long ago. Her dress was light blue silk, sleeveless, figure-hugging, without ornament. It was practically a proclamation, as though she were saying, I need no decoration. I, myself, am enough.
No doubt about that.
As the party began to break up he made his way over to her. She was waiting for him with an air of teasing expectancy.
‘I suppose that’ll teach me to be more careful next time,’ he said wryly.
‘You were a little incautious, weren’t you?’
‘You thought it was a big joke not to tell me who you were while I said those things about your mother.’
‘I didn’t force you to say them. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you take a joke?’
‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t find it funny at all.’
She frowned a little, as though confronting an alien species. ‘Do you find anything funny—ever?’
‘No. It’s safer that way.’
Her humour vanished. ‘You poor soul.’
She sounded as though she meant it, and the hint of sympathy took him aback. It was so long since anyone had dared to pity him, or at least dared to show it. Not since another time—another world—long ago…
An incredible suspicion briefly troubled his mind. He ordered it gone and it obeyed, but reluctantly.
‘If you feel I insulted your mother, I apologise,’he said stiffly.
‘Actually, it’s me you insulted.’
‘I don’t see how.’
She looked into his face with a mixture of incredulity, indignation, but mostly amusement.
‘You really don’t, do you?’ she asked. ‘All this time and you still haven’t—you really haven’t—? Well, let me tell you, when you meet a lady for the second time, it’s considered polite to remember the first time.’
‘For the second—? Have we ever—have we—?’
And then the suspicion wouldn’t be banished any longer. He knew.
‘It was you,’ he said slowly. ‘On the roof—in Las Vegas—’
‘Boy, I really lived in your memory, didn’t I?’
‘But—you’re different—not the same person.’
‘I should hope not, after all this time. I’m the same in some ways, not others. You’re different too, but you’re easier to spot. I was longing for you to recognise me, but you didn’t.’ She
sighed theatrically. ‘Hey ho! What a disappointment!’
‘You didn’t care if I recognised you or not,’ he said flatly.
‘Well, maybe just a little.’
An orchestra was getting into place and the dancing area was being cleared, so that they had to move to the side.
He was possessed by a strange feeling, of having wandered into an alien world where nothing was quite as it looked. She had sprung out of the past, landing in his path, challenging him with memories and fears.
‘Even now I can’t believe that it’s you,’ he said. ‘Your hair’s different—it was cut very short—’
‘Functional,’ she said at once. ‘I was surrounded by film people making the best of themselves, so I made the least of myself as an act of adolescent defiance.’
‘Was that all you could think of?’
‘Consider my problem,’ she said with an expansive gesture. ‘The average teenager goes wild, indulges herself with wine, late nights, lovers—but everyone around me was doing that. I’d never have been noticed. So I cut my hair as badly as possible, bought cheap clothes, studied my school books and had early nights. Heavens, was I virtuous! Boring but virtuous.’
‘And what happened?’ he asked, fascinated.
She chuckled. ‘My mother started to get very worried about my “strange behaviour”. It took her a while to accept the fact that I was heading for the academic life.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I’ve made my career out of ancient Greece. I write books, I give lectures. I pretend to know a lot more than I actually do—’
‘Like most of them,’ he couldn’t resist saying.
‘Like most of them,’ she agreed at once.
‘Is your mother reconciled?’
‘Oh, yes, she’s terribly impressed now. She came to one of my lectures and afterwards she said, “Darling that was wonderful! I didn’t understand a word.” That’s her yardstick, bless her. And in the end it was me who introduced her to Homer.’ She looked around. ‘So you could say I’m to blame for all this.’
It was time for the dancing. Homer and Estelle took the floor, gliding about in each other’s arms until the photographers had all had their fill.
‘Aren’t you taking any pictures?’ he asked.
‘No, mine’s just the personal family stuff. What they’re doing now is for the public.’
Nikator waved as he danced past with Debra in his arms. Petra sighed.
‘He may be in his late thirties but he’s just a silly kid at heart. What it’ll be like when he takes over the firm I can’t—’ She broke off guiltily, her hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Don’t worry. You didn’t say anything the whole world doesn’t already know. It’s interesting that you’re learning already.’
There was a sardonic edge to his voice, and she didn’t have to ask what he meant. The two great families of Greek shipbuilding survived by getting the edge on each other, and inevitably that included spying. The kind of casual comment that others could risk might be dangerous.
The dance ended and another one began. Debra vanished in the arms of a powerful producer, and Nikator made his way in Petra’s direction.
‘Oh, heavens, dance with me!’ she breathed, seizing Lysandros and drawing him onto the floor.
‘What are you—?’ Somehow he found his arms around her.
‘Yes, I know, in polite society I’m supposed to wait for you to ask me,’ she muttered, ‘but this isn’t polite society, it’s a goldfish bowl.’
He felt she couldn’t have put it better.
‘But your fears may be misplaced,’ he pointed out. ‘With you being so boring and virtuous he probably wasn’t going to ask you at all.’
‘He has peculiar tastes.’ She added hurriedly, ‘And I didn’t say that, either.’
She was like quicksilver in his arms, twisting and turning against him, leading him on so that he moved in perfect time with her and had to fight an impulse to tighten his grip, draw her against his body and let things happen as they would. Not here. Not now. Not yet.
Petra read him fairly accurately, and something thrilled in her blood.
‘Don’t you like dancing?’ she asked after a while.
‘This isn’t dancing. It’s swimming around that goldfish bowl.’
‘True. But we annoyed Nikator, which is something gained.’
She was right. Nikator’s expression was that of a child whose toys had been snatched away. Then Lysandros forgot everything except Petra. Her face was close to his and the smile in her eyes reached him directly.
‘What will you do after this?’ he asked.
‘Stay here for a few days, or weeks. It’s a chance for me to do some research. Homer has great contacts. There’s a museum vault that’s never opened for anyone, but he’s fixing it for me.’
He glanced down at the slender, sensual body moving in his arms, at the charming face that seemed to smile more naturally than any other expression, and the blue eyes with their mysterious, tantalising depths, and he knew a sense of outrage. What was this woman doing in museums, investigating the dead, when everything in her spoke of life? She belonged not in tombs but in sunlight, not turning dusty pages but caressing a man’s face and pressing her naked body against his.
The mere thought of her nakedness made him draw a sharp breath. The dress fitted her closely enough to give him a good idea of her contours, but it only tempted him to want more. He controlled his thoughts by force.
‘Is visiting museums really your idea of being lucky?’ he asked slowly.
‘I’m going to see things that other scholars have been struggling to see for years. I’ll be ahead of the game.’
‘But isn’t there anything else you want to do?’ he asked.
‘You mean, what’s a woman doing worrying her little head about such things? Women are made for pleasure; serious matters should be left to men.’
Since this came dangerously near to his actual thoughts he was left floundering for a moment. He wished she hadn’t used the word ‘pleasure’. It was a distraction he could do without.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he managed to say at last, ‘but when life offers you so many more avenues—’
‘Like Nikator? Yes, I could throw myself into his arms, or anything else he wanted me to throw myself into—careful!’
‘Sorry,’ he said hastily, loosing his fingers, which he’d tightened against her instinctively.
‘Where was I? Ah, yes, exploring avenues.’
‘Forget Nikator,’ he snapped. ‘He’s not an avenue, he’s a dead end.’
‘Yes, I’d managed to work that out for myself. I’m not seventeen any more. I’m thirty-two, in my dotage.’
In her dotage, he thought ironically, with skin like soft peach, hair like silk and eyes that teased, inviting him just so far and warning him against going any further. But she was right about one thing. She was no child. She’d been around long enough to discover a good deal about men, and he had an uneasy feeling that she could read more about him than he wanted her—or anyone—to know.
‘If you’re fishing for compliments you picked the wrong man,’ he said.
‘Oh, sure, I’d never come to you for sweet nothings, or for anything except—yes, that would be something—’ She hesitated, as though trying to phrase it carefully. ‘Something you could give me better than any other man,’ she whispered at last.
He struggled not to say the words, but they came out anyway. ‘And what’s that?’
‘Good financial advice,’ she declared. ‘Aha! There, I did it.’
‘Did what?’
‘I made you laugh.’
‘I’m not laughing,’ he said through twitching lips.
‘You would be if you weren’t trying so hard not to. I bet myself I could make you laugh. Be nice. Give me my little victory.’
‘I’m never nice. But I’ll let you have it this once.’
‘Only this once?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.
‘I prefer to claim victory for myself.’
‘I could take that as a challenge.’
Then there was silence as their bodies moved in perfect time, and she thought that yes, he was a challenge, and what a challenge he would be; so different from the easy-going men with whom she’d mostly spent her life. There was a darkness about him that he made little attempt to hide, and which tempted her, although she knew she was probably crazy.
‘Do your challenges usually work out as you plan?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him. ‘I won’t settle for anything less than my own way.’
‘I’m exactly the same. What a terrible battle looms ahead.’
‘True,’ she said. ‘I’m trembling in fear of you.’
He didn’t speak, but a slow smile overtook his face—the smile of a man who didn’t believe her and was planning a clever move.
Petra had a strange feeling that the other women on the dance floor were staring at her. Most of them had slept with Lysandros, she’d been warned, and suddenly she knew it was true. Their eyes were feverish, full of memories, hot, sweet and glorious, followed by anguish. Mentally they raked her, undressed her, trying to imagine whether she would please him.
And that was really unnerving because she was trying to decide the same thing.
They spoke to her, those nameless women, telling her that he was a lover of phenomenal energy, who could last all night, untiring, driving her on to heights she’d never reached before, heights she wanted to discover.
There was one woman in particular whose greedy gaze caught her attention. Something about the extravagantly dressed, petulant creature made Petra wonder if this was the most recent of Lysandros’s conquests—and his rejections. Her eyes were like the others, but a thousand times more bitter, more murderous.
Then Lysandros turned her in the dance, faster and faster, taking her to a distant place where there was only the whirling movement that shut out the rest of the world. She gave herself up to it completely, wanting nothing else.
Would she too lie in his arms in a fever of passion? And would she end up like the others, yearning wretchedly from a distance?
But something told her that their path together wouldn’t be as simple as that.
Suddenly they were interrupted by a shout from a few yards off. Everyone stopped dancing and backed away, revealing the bride and groom locked in a passionate embrace. As befitted a glamorous couple, the kiss went on and on as the crowd cheered and applauded. Then some of the others began to embrace. More and more followed suit until it seemed as though the whole place was filled with lingering kisses.
Lysandros stood motionless, his arm still around her waist, the other hand holding hers. The space between them remained barely a centimetre. It would take only the slightest movement for him to cover that last tiny distance and lay his lips on hers. She looked up at him, her heart beating.
‘What a performance!’ he exclaimed, looking around and speaking in disapproving tones. ‘I won’t insult you by subjecting you to it.’
He released her, stepping back and giving her no choice but to do the same.
‘Thank you,’ she said formally. ‘It’s delightful to meet a man with a sense of propriety.’
She could have hit him.
‘I’m afraid I must be going,’ he said. ‘I’ve neglected my affairs for too long. It’s been a pleasure meeting you again.’
‘And you,’ she said crisply.
He inclined his head courteously, and in a moment he was gone.
Thunderstruck, she watched him, barely believing what had happened, and so suddenly. He was as deep in desire as herself. All her instincts told her that beyond a shadow of doubt. Yet he’d denied that desire, fought it, overcome it, because that was what he had decided to do.
This was a man of steely will, which he would impose no matter what the cost to himself or anyone else. He’d left her without even a glance back. It was like a blow in the stomach.
‘Don’t worry. Just be patient.’
Petra looked up to see the woman who’d caught her attention while they’d danced. Now she recalled seeing her arrive at the wedding with one of the city’s most wealthy and powerful men. She was regarding Petra with a mixture of contempt and pity.
‘I couldn’t help watching you—and Lysandros,’ she said, moving nearer. ‘It’s his way, you see. He’ll come just so close, and then withdraw to consider the matter. When he’s decided that he can fit you in with his other commitments he’ll return and take his pleasure at his own time and his own convenience.’
‘If I agree,’ Petra managed to say.
The woman gave a cold, tinkly laugh.
‘Don’t be absurd, of course you’ll agree. It’s written all over you. He could walk back right this minute and you’d agree.’
‘I guess you know what you’re talking about,’ Petra said softly.
‘Oh, yes, I know. I’ve been there. I know what’s going through your head because it went through mine. “Who does he think he is to imagine he can just walk back and I’ll yield to him on command?” But then he looks at you as if you’re the only woman in the world, and you do yield on his command. And it’ll be wonderful—for a while. In his arms, in his bed, you’ll discover a universe you never knew existed.
‘But one day you’ll wake up and find yourself back on earth. It will be cold because he’s gone. He’s done with you. You no longer exist. You’ll weep and refuse to believe it, but he won’t answer the phone, so after a while you’ll have to believe it.’
She began to turn away, but paused long enough to say over her shoulder, ‘You think you’ll be different, but with him no woman is ever different. Goodbye.’

CHAPTER THREE
THE party went on into the evening. Lights came on throughout the false Parthenon, music wafted up into the sky, assignations were made, profitable deals were settled. Petra accompanied Estelle into the house to help her change into her travelling clothes.
The honeymoon was to be spent on board the Silver Lady, Homer’s yacht, refurbished for the occasion and currently moored in the port of Piraeus, about five miles away. Two cars bearing luggage and personal servants had already gone on ahead. There remained only the limousine to convey the bride and groom.
‘Are you all right?’ Estelle asked, glancing at her daughter’s face.
‘Of course,’ Petra said brightly.
‘You look as if you were brooding about something.’
In fact she’d been brooding about the stranger’s words.
‘When he’s decided that he can fit you in with his other commitments he’ll return and take his pleasure at his own time and his own convenience.’
That was not going to happen, she resolved. If he returned tonight he would find her missing.
‘Do you mind if I come to the port to see you off?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Darling, that would be lovely. But I thought you’d be planning a wild night out.’
‘Not me. I don’t have your energy.’
In the car on the way to the port they drank champagne. Once on board, Homer showed her around the stately edifice with vast pride, finishing in the great bedroom with the bed big enough for six, covered with gold satin embroidered cushions.
‘Now we must find a husband for you,’ he declared expansively.
‘No, thank you,’ Petra hurried to say. ‘My one experience of marriage didn’t leave me with any desire to try again.’
Before he could reply, her cellphone rang and she answered.
‘I’m afraid my manners left something to be desired,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Perhaps I can make amends by taking you to dinner?’
For a moment she floundered. She had her speech of rejection ready prepared but no words would come.
‘I’m not sure—’
‘My car’s just outside the house.’
‘But I’m not there. I’m in Piraeus.’
‘It won’t take you long to return. I’ll be waiting.’
He hung up.
‘Cheek!’ she exploded. ‘He just takes it for granted I’ll do what he wants.’ Seeing them frowning, she added, ‘Lysandros Demetriou. He wants to take me to dinner, and I wasn’t given much chance to say no.’
‘That sounds like him,’ Homer said approvingly. ‘When he wants something he doesn’t waste time.’
‘But it’s no way to treat a lady,’ Estelle said indignantly.
He grinned and kissed her. ‘You didn’t seem to mind.’
As they were escorting her off the yacht Petra suddenly had a thought.
‘How did he know my cellphone number? I didn’t give it to him.’
‘He probably paid someone in my household to find out,’ Homer said as though it was a matter of course. ‘Goodbye, my dear.’
She hurried down the gangplank and into the car. On the journey back to Athens she tried to sort out her thoughts. She was angry, but mostly with herself. So many good resolutions ground to dust because of a certain tone in his voice.
On impulse she took out her phone and dialled the number of Karpos, an Athens contact, an ex-journalist whom she knew to be reliable. When he heard what she wanted he drew a sharp breath.

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