The Greek's Blackmailed Mistress

‘But now and first and foremost, you’ve got me and my demands to consider. I will deliver if you do,’ Xan completed levelly. ‘I will treat you like a princess.’

Yes, once upon a time, princesses had had to get into bed with strangers as well, Elvi thought mutinously, although at least they had been married off first. Not that she wanted to be married to him, which would probably be even worse than being owned by him, because that was how he was making her feel. Like a new possession, a thing, an object, rather than a person.

‘I’m really not going to be very suitable for purpose,’ she warned him tightly.

‘Then you’ve been with the wrong men,’ Xan assured her with unblemished confidence, his flawless cheekbones slashing taut to accentuate the brilliance of his stunning brown eyes and their black lashes.

* * *

Her face burning at that recollection, Elvi climbed into bed in the dark, striving not to wake her mother up.

‘Elvi...?’ the older woman whispered. ‘Did you have a nice evening?’

Remembering her fib about having a date, Elvi grimaced. ‘Yes.’ She hesitated and then pressed ahead. ‘I’ve been thinking of moving out and in with a...er...a flatmate,’ she selected the final word abruptly.

Silence greeted her from her mother’s direction and she wasn’t surprised because she knew that her sudden announcement would shock Sally. Even more, though, did Elvi hate the necessity of telling lies because she knew that she could not possibly tell the truth.

‘Anyone I know?’ Sally prompted.

‘No. A friend of Joel’s but if I want to move in I have to move in tomorrow,’ Elvi completed. ‘I’m sorry it’s such short notice—’

‘No, don’t apologise. You’re twenty-two, Elvi, and naturally you would like some independence and freedom. I had those things at your age—why shouldn’t you? Please don’t sound so apologetic about it,’ Sally Cartwright responded a shade shakily. ‘You stayed with us all the years Daniel and I needed you, so, although I’ll miss you, I’m certainly not about to try and make you change your mind.’

Relieved by that exchange, Elvi lay still until a tiny sniff alerted her to the reality that her mother was crying and she slid straight out of bed and wrapped her arms around the older woman as well as she could with the duvet separating them. ‘I love you,’ she framed, feeling ridiculously guilty about moving out even though she knew she didn’t want to move but had to for Xan Ziakis’s benefit.

‘Things will settle down again. This is only a rough patch,’ the older woman told her more cheerfully. ‘I’ll find work. Daniel will start classes and we’ll all go back to normal again. We only have to be patient and strong.’

* * *

The next morning, Daniel accompanied Elvi to the Tube station with her single suitcase. ‘You’re moving in with a man, aren’t you?’ he shot unexpectedly at his sister, and when she glanced up with pink cheeks and a look of guilt, he laughed. ‘Yeah, thought so. Mum’s worried some smartass is taking advantage of you—’

‘I’m not stupid,’ Elvi declared, but saw no reason to add any further details when she was sure she would be moving back home again within a couple of months, if not sooner.

‘Well, you are rushing into this too fast, but that’s your business,’ her sibling conceded, halting to pass her the case, which was too old to have handy wheels attached. ‘Look after yourself, sis, and make sure you visit us when I’m not working.’

Tears were prickling in Elvi’s eyes by the time she boarded the train and she gave herself an urgent reality check, reminding herself of the theft charge that would be dropped and the sheer guilt and strain that would drop away and allow her mother and brother to continue their lives without further harm. It would be worth it, she told herself urgently, absolutely worth anything she had to do to achieve that desirable result.

The apartment in an elegant building overlooking the Thames was much larger and fancier than she had dimly expected. She wandered around barefoot on opulent marble floors, viewing the beautiful and immaculate living area with its leather sofas and contemporary paintings. She walked out onto the balcony to take in the busy view of the river before entering a kitchen equipped with every necessity as well as a fully stocked fridge and freezer. She marvelled at the two separate opulent bathrooms she discovered off the very spacious bedroom, as well as a dressing room fitted with loads of closet space. It was a property prepared for the sort of woman who took a great deal of interest in her appearance, she reasoned with raised brows, noting the number of mirrors and racks for shoes and handbags. She was starting to unpack her case when the doorbell pinged.

A svelte older woman carrying garment bags greeted her. ‘I’m Sylvia. Mr Ziakis asked me to choose an outfit for you to wear tonight.’

So, it begins, Elvi acknowledged ruefully, her new life as an object. Xan hadn’t bothered to tell her personally that he planned to take her somewhere that very evening and how had he even known she had moved in? Were there secret cameras installed? she wondered apprehensively.

‘Nothing will be a perfect fit until I take your measurements,’ Sylvia announced, unfurling a measuring tape. ‘Could we take this into the bedroom? It would be more comfortable for you to try on the dresses I’ve brought for you to choose from.’

Elvi wasn’t comfortable in any way having to strip down to her underwear for a complete stranger but she compressed her lips and did what she had to do, barely pausing to glance at her reflection in blue dress after blue dress.

‘Only blue?’ she queried.

‘Mr Ziakis specified blue,’ she was told as Sylvia whisked the tape over her figure and jotted down measurements on her tablet. ‘Seems to be his new favourite colour, at least for you—’

‘You’ve done this before for him with other women, haven’t you?’ Elvi commented.

‘Every service that my company offers Mr Ziakis is completely confidential,’ Sylvia countered with perfect diplomacy.

Elvi wasn’t listening. Xander Ziakis was evidently a serial womaniser, given to keeping mistresses whom he placed in an apartment and dressing them from head to toe in his choice of colour and fashion. She was appalled and soon wondering how many other women had lived in the apartment before her and whether he had cared in any way about a single one of them. When he had said he was more about the physical than the cerebral, he hadn’t been joking. Her attention strayed to the vast divan bed she had studiously ignored since her arrival and she breathed in dee

p, striving not to think about the sex aspect.