The Greek's Blackmailed Mistress

‘Even with an alcoholic parent?’

‘Sally went through a very tough time after my father died but she still adopted me,’ Elvi proclaimed defensively.

‘Adopted?’ Xan shot her a startled glance. ‘You were adopted?’

Elvi sighed. ‘My mother was my father’s first wife but she died when I was a baby. Sally adored my dad but she always believed that he only married her to get a mother for me. He was a junior surgeon working long hours and it was difficult for him to cope with a kid at the same time,’ she told him. ‘When he died, Sally worried that someone might try to take me away from her—’

‘Presumably this adoption occurred before she took to the bottle?’ Xan slotted in, his careless wording exasperating Elvi.

‘Yes, but the point I’m trying to make is that, even in the midst of grieving for my dad, Sally was scared that I would be taken away from her because we weren’t related by blood—’

A shapely black brow skated up. ‘And presumably you feel that you owe her something for that devotion. Did you ever check the terms of your father’s will?’

The insinuation that her adoptive mother could’ve had something to gain from adopting her set Elvi’s teeth on edge but it struck her as typical of Xan’s intensely cynical outlook on life. ‘He didn’t leave a will. He wasn’t much older than you when he died from an aneurysm. Sally applied to adopt me because she loved me and wanted to keep me with her and Daniel.’

‘Then it sucks to be you,’ Xan could not resist saying, thinking about what he knew of alcoholic behaviour and how Elvi must’ve suffered throughout most of her childhood. How on earth, he marvelled, had she still contrived to form such an intense bond with her adoptive mother in spite of the woman’s failings? Betrayed or cheated by anyone, Xan never forgot or forgave. He drew a line and if it was crossed, that was that.

‘Well, it didn’t, not always,’ Elvi protested. ‘There were good times even when things were tough and she was never a nasty drunk, never abusive or violent. We were lucky.’

Lucky? Xan swallowed back a derisive retort while he studied her animated face. She loved talking about her family, he noted, reckoning that he could use that to make her relax around him. Although, hadn’t he already used it? She had sacrificed her freedom and her virginity to preserve her precious family and he had taken what she gave without a moment’s hesitation. It was a sobering conclusion and he fell silent, irritated by the conscience that had come out of nowhere at him the day before to destroy his peace of mind. Elvi was as foreign to him as an alien would’ve been, he conceded grimly. That happy-clappy, positive attitude, that selfless streak of loyalty and love a mile wide. But no doubt his conscience would g

ive up the fight and die again through lack of encouragement.

‘So, where in Greece are we going exactly?’

‘Thira, the island where I was born, not the most exciting destination if you’re into partying,’ Xan pronounced, but his hard, dark eyes and his intonation could not hide his fondness for the place, Elvi noted with interest as she learned that what Xan said did not always match what she read in his voice or expression. He was inherently deceptive, calculating too, and far too clever for his own good, she reminded herself warningly, but she could not help remembering the man who had thought to drag Sylvia out at dawn to help Elvi pack for a society wedding because Elvi had not had a clue what to wear or of how hot it would be in Greece. Occasionally, he could be thoughtful and he could identify potential problems in advance in a way she could not.

‘And to celebrate the occasion of your very first flight...’ Xan murmured as the steward approached them with a bottle of champagne. ‘I know you don’t usually imbibe but surely one glass—?’

Rather overwhelmed by the gesture he had made, Elvi nodded vigorous agreement, keen to prevent him from sharing all her secrets with the cabin staff. Xan paid no heed to hovering employees when he spoke, being apparently so accustomed to their presence that they might as well have been invisible. She clasped the moisture-beaded flute of champagne, bubbles bursting and tickling her nose as she sipped and politely smiled.

‘It wouldn’t have felt the same with orange juice,’ Xan asserted.

She almost disagreed, tempted to say that it was the thought behind his gesture that mattered most, only such a comment seemed too revealing when she considered it and instead she said nothing. She sipped her drink while Xan told her about the island of Thira and his family home there. Only the family aspect didn’t seem to be on his radar because, while he told her that his grandfather had built the house and his father had extended it, he mentioned neither his mother nor his siblings again. He told her about the private beach where he had learned to swim, the freedom of exploring the island as a boy and it all sounded idyllic, not what she had expected when he’d admitted to his father’s five matrimonial forays.

‘You can’t possibly be getting tipsy on one glass,’ Xan said abruptly when she giggled like a drain at only the mildest of jokes.

‘It was topped up,’ she reminded him, holding her breath to try and kill the giggles that had foamed out of her in a spontaneous tide.

Long brown fingers twitched the glass from between her fingers and set it aside. ‘I want you sober,’ he told her.

‘I am,’ she insisted, leaning forward, bright blue eyes locked to his lean, strong features, pale white-blonde hair rippling round her heart-shaped face.

Xan shifted in his seat opposite her, raw arousal humming through his big powerful body with almost painful intensity. ‘Let’s be frank,’ he breathed in a driven undertone. ‘I want you any way I can have you—’

‘That can’t be true,’ Elvi responded uncomfortably. ‘I’m no show-stopper—’

‘You stop me in my tracks,’ Xan reasoned.

Colour drenched her cheeks but the strangest little spark of energy danced through her veins, quickening her heartbeat and her breathing pattern. Nobody had ever wanted her like that. She fed herself excuses about how she rarely got the opportunity to even meet men, but Xan had only seen her a handful of times in passing and he hadn’t forgotten her again. That made her feel important, special and infinitely less ordinary because she reckoned Xan could have any woman he wanted.

‘Ditto,’ she conceded in an awkward mutter when he appeared to be awaiting a response from her.

And Xan laughed and leapt upright without warning to simply lift her out of her seat and tumble her down on his lap as he sat down again. ‘Thought you were never going to admit that,’ he growled with unashamed satisfaction.

For once she didn’t begrudge him that satisfaction. ‘I don’t lie,’ she murmured with pride.

‘All women lie,’ Xan declared, lifting big brown hands to frame her face, brushing her hair back behind her small ears, his potent amber eyes hot and golden and bright with hunger.