His Mistress by Blackmail

Sage pursed her lips but, short of snapping out another fiery response, she had no choice but to hand it over. Stannis left the room, shutting the door after him.

She faced the man who, unlike this morning, was fully focused on her in a way that made those damned butterflies in her belly take wild flight again. ‘Why aren’t I eating out on the terrace with the others?’ Already she was beginning to feel isolated, singled out with a ruthless efficiency she’d known he was capable of.

‘Because I require privacy for our conversation. And also because your group left the island ten minutes ago to catch their plane back to the States.’

About to sit down, she jumped back up. ‘What? No!’ She rushed to the nearest window. But of course the speedboat she’d heard from her room was nowhere in sight. Even from here she could see the jetty was empty. She whirled back to face him. ‘That’s unacceptable. You can’t do this.’

His shrug was entirely self-assured. Utterly unapologetic. ‘And yet it’s done.’

‘Well, undo it. Call the captain. Tell him to come back. I want to leave this island. Right now.’ She was aware her voice held a sickening tremble, but the connotations of what he’d expertly orchestrated had left her feeling decidedly shaky. That silken net felt even tighter.

‘You will in good time, as soon as we’ve talked.’

She paced back to the table, her insides congealing with dread she’d managed to hold at bay so far. But alongside it came anger fuelled by the unwillingness to play his game. ‘I’ve told you before: I don’t know where my brother is.’

He watched her for a beat before he nodded. ‘I accept that you don’t. I’m not going to grill you further about his whereabouts,’ he stated.

Her heart lurched. ‘Why not? Have you found him?’

‘No, I haven’t. Sit down, Sage.’

Whether it was the sound of her name on his lips, or the notion that this game was about to take yet another twisted turn, she didn’t know. She took the chair he’d pulled out for her and accepted the glass of water he poured into her glass.

He’d knocked her feet from under her by stranding her with him on the island, and he knew it.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked after he’d taken his own seat. She struggled but succeeded in keeping her voice steady despite the shakiness she felt.

‘We picked up your brother’s trail briefly, when he bought a first-class ticket to Singapore,’ he replied.

She frowned. Watching his face, it occurred to her that something wasn’t quite right still. ‘Singapore? He doesn’t know anyone there.’

His shrug was relaxed but the look on his face was scarily rigid. It was almost as if he was barely holding himself together. ‘Whether he does or not doesn’t matter now. My men lost his trail again.’

Her stomach hollowed. ‘Why are you telling me this? And why are you keeping me here? I can’t tell you what his next move will be because I don’t know.’

He didn’t answer immediately. Probably because he was still caught up in whatever Machiavellian thought process he’d designed to get his own back. But then Helena walked in bearing a large bowl of salad and a platter of meze dishes. Xandro sat back in his chair, sipping the white wine he’d poured as his housekeeper dished out the food onto their plates.

Sage was biting her lip to keep from blurting her impatience when Helena finally smiled and left the room.

‘Eat, Sage,’ Xandro instructed, his voice a deep rumble that drew an unwanted shiver deep in her belly.

She looked down at the plate of food she would’ve taken pleasure in devouring had a stone of dread not wedged itself in her stomach. ‘You think I have an appetite after what you’ve just done?’ she demanded.

‘All I’ve done is delay your departure from the island.’

‘You did it without telling me. I hate being manipulated, Mr Christofides.’

He took another sip of his wine. ‘Yes, you said that before.’

‘Well, perhaps you should heed it because any cooperation I would’ve considered giving you is now gone for good.’

‘Are you sure?’

Her hand curled into a fist. ‘You may find that perfectly acceptable in your world, but I won’t jump through any more of your hoops. Especially when you’ve trapped me here, knowing very well I don’t have the first idea how to get off your damn island unless I swim—what—ten miles?’

‘Fifteen,’ he supplied smoothly. ‘But it won’t come to that unless you remain stubborn. And you forget that I warned you I would make use of any tool at my disposal. This

is merely one of them. Now, it would please me if you ate something. Only then will we have a civilised conversation.’