The Greek's Blackmailed Wife

She might never have met him at all if she hadn’t become involved in the opening of one of his new hotels in the Caribbean.

‘You’re being posted there for two months,’ her boss told her one morning. ‘You’re going to work in different departments, get a feel for the place and then you’ll be in a position to entertain journalists when we arrange press visits. We call it a soft launch. The idea is to wine and dine them and generally give them such a great time that they go home and write wonderful things about the hotel and the boss. This is his flagship resort. More stars than the night sky.’

‘Will he be there?’ Lauranne was intrigued at the prospect of finally meeting the legendary God-like figure who had taken the wreckage of his father’s company and built it into one of the most successful businesses in the world at a staggeringly young age.

‘No idea.’ Her boss shrugged. ‘Probably not. The guy is usually in the air. Flying from one meeting to another. Or else he’s in bed with some stunning model or actress, so don’t get any ideas in that direction.’

She certainly didn’t have any ideas in that direction, Lauranne mused as she packed a case for the Caribbean. Just twenty-one, she had absolutely no intention of falling in love with anyone, and certainly not with Zander Volakis, no matter how good-looking and wealthy he was. The man had a wicked reputation with women and she had more sense than to fall for that sort of man.

She was sitting in the bar one evening, chatting to some of the other guests, when she was suddenly aware that she was being watched.

The man stood slightly apart from the noisy crowd, distinguished by an air of authority and by the sheer impact of his powerful physique and stunningly handsome face. She should have recognised him immediately but she didn’t, perhaps because photographs in the annual report hadn’t come close to capturing the vital masculinity of the man standing in front of her.

His eyes locked on hers with shocking intensity, raking over her long blonde hair with blatant male appreciation until she was breathless and trembling.

He was just so gorgeous.

And he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Used to keeping men at a distance, Lauranne didn’t recognise the delicious excitement that suddenly burned inside her and deliberately looked away, determined to ignore him.

He was totally wrong for her.

If he was staying in the resort then he had to be seriously rich and she didn’t play with billionaires, however stunning they were to look at.

All the same, she struggled to play it cool when he strolled up to her, disturbingly direct in his approach.

‘I want you to have dinner with me.’ He spoke perfect English with a slight accent that just served to make his deep voice even sexier.

Struggling with temptation for the first time in her life, Lauranne was frostily polite. ‘And do you always get what you want?’

The intensity of his gaze took her breath away. ‘Always.’

‘I’m not allowed to dine with guests—’

He dealt her a sizzling smile that made hotel rules fade to the nethermost part of her dazzled brain. ‘I’m not a guest.’

She should have realised then, of course, but she didn’t.

It wasn’t until much, much later, when they’d talked about anything and everything and she was already half in love with him, that she noticed the deferential manner of the staff.

‘Oh, my God—’ She dropped her fork and her eyes widened as she finally realised exactly whom she was dining with. ‘You’re—you’re—’

One dark eyebrow swooped upwards and his eyes glittered with amusement. ‘I’m—?’

‘It’s you.’ She swallowed, unable to look away from that disturbing gaze. ‘I should have recognised you, but you don’t look like the annual report.’

‘A laminated brochure with forty pages?’ He laughed then and she laughed too, but nervously because she was dining with a billionaire who only dated very, very beautiful women.

‘I can’t date the boss,’ she croaked, transfixed by the lush thickness of his dark lashes and the slight fullness of his lower lip. ‘It’s against the rules.’

‘But I make the rules,’ he drawled lazily, dipping a strawberry in melted chocolate and leaning forward to place it between her parted lips, ‘so I can either change the rules or fire you.’

And later, much later, he did exactly that…

* * *

Five miles away, in his flashy London office, Zander Volakis paced the floor, still brooding over his meeting with Lauranne O’Neill.