coming?’ She stopped and half turned, showing her patrician profile. Even with her hair in a high pony-tail she looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine, the sort his mother enjoyed. Beautiful, privileged people leading beautiful, privileged lives.
Privileged himself now, with more money and power than a man could ever need, still Damon felt the gulf between himself and such people. It was a gulf he’d consciously created, resisting the artificial lure of
‘society’.
He enjoyed his wealth, made the most of what it bought him and those he cared for, but he’d vowed never to succumb to the shallow posturing and brittle selfishness of that world. He’d seen enough as a kid when his mother cleaned villas owned by some of the country’s wealthiest families. When as a teenager he’d worked there and learned first-hand about the morals of the upper classes.
Damon was proud of his roots, unashamed that he’d succeeded by hard work and perseverance, not inherited wealth. He’d long ago learned the high-class world of the ‘best’people hid an underbelly of greed, selfishness and vice. The last thing on his agenda was attraction to a woman who epitomised that money-hungry shallowness. A woman who’d inherited the Manolis family values.
The fact that he still wanted her annoyed the hell out of him.
‘I’m right behind you, Callie.’
He strode to where she waited, mirroring her body with his. He was close enough to feel warmth radiate from her. He leaned forward, head inclined to inhale her scent.
If he’d hoped to discomfit her he was disappointed. With a swish of her pony-tail she led the way in a long-legged stride, riveting his gaze. It took a moment to realise that instead of the rich perfume she’d worn last night, the scent filling his nostrils was the intoxicating fragrance she’d worn yesterday: sunshine and musky, mysterious female.
Lust jagged through him, a blast of white-hot energy.
It confirmed the decision he’d come to last night—there was unfinished business between them. She couldn’t brush him aside like some nonentity when she’d had her fill.
‘Your colouring is unusual.’ He followed her, eyes on the swing of dark-honey hair as it caught the light. He’d picked her for a foreign tourist when he’d first seen her.
She shrugged. ‘Maybe I dye my hair.’
‘Ah, but Callie, we both know you don’t.’ The golden-brown triangle of hair he’d uncovered when he stripped away her bikini bottom yesterday had been the genuine thing. ‘I’ve seen the proof, remember? Up close and personal.’
He let satisfaction colour his voice and wasn’t surprised when she slammed to a stop ahead of him.
For a moment she stood still, her shoulders curiously hunched. Then she swung round and met his gaze. Not by the slightest sign did she reveal embarrassment. Her eyes were the colour of cool mountain water, her expression bland. No doubt she was free and easy enough not to feel discomfort discussing personal details with her latest paramour.
What a merry dance she must have led her husband. Had he died trying to satisfy her? Or had he been forced to watch her with younger men who gave her what he couldn’t?
‘Just as I know your colouring is black as sin,’ she murmured. ‘So what?’
Her brows rose as if she was bored.
‘It’s uncommon for Greek women to be so fair.’ He stepped close enough to see the smatter of gold shards in her irises, like spangles of sunlight amongst the green.
‘Half Greek. My mother was Australian.’ Her words were clipped, as if he’d delved into something private. He waited for her to continue.
‘Besides, some people here in the north have fairer colouring. All the Manolis family are the same.’ Her gaze settled on his dark locks as if disapproving.
‘Your cousin’s hair is brown. There’s no comparison.’
He watched her open her mouth as if to shoot off a riposte, then stop herself. She shrugged
Privileged himself now, with more money and power than a man could ever need, still Damon felt the gulf between himself and such people. It was a gulf he’d consciously created, resisting the artificial lure of
‘society’.
He enjoyed his wealth, made the most of what it bought him and those he cared for, but he’d vowed never to succumb to the shallow posturing and brittle selfishness of that world. He’d seen enough as a kid when his mother cleaned villas owned by some of the country’s wealthiest families. When as a teenager he’d worked there and learned first-hand about the morals of the upper classes.
Damon was proud of his roots, unashamed that he’d succeeded by hard work and perseverance, not inherited wealth. He’d long ago learned the high-class world of the ‘best’people hid an underbelly of greed, selfishness and vice. The last thing on his agenda was attraction to a woman who epitomised that money-hungry shallowness. A woman who’d inherited the Manolis family values.
The fact that he still wanted her annoyed the hell out of him.
‘I’m right behind you, Callie.’
He strode to where she waited, mirroring her body with his. He was close enough to feel warmth radiate from her. He leaned forward, head inclined to inhale her scent.
If he’d hoped to discomfit her he was disappointed. With a swish of her pony-tail she led the way in a long-legged stride, riveting his gaze. It took a moment to realise that instead of the rich perfume she’d worn last night, the scent filling his nostrils was the intoxicating fragrance she’d worn yesterday: sunshine and musky, mysterious female.
Lust jagged through him, a blast of white-hot energy.
It confirmed the decision he’d come to last night—there was unfinished business between them. She couldn’t brush him aside like some nonentity when she’d had her fill.
‘Your colouring is unusual.’ He followed her, eyes on the swing of dark-honey hair as it caught the light. He’d picked her for a foreign tourist when he’d first seen her.
She shrugged. ‘Maybe I dye my hair.’
‘Ah, but Callie, we both know you don’t.’ The golden-brown triangle of hair he’d uncovered when he stripped away her bikini bottom yesterday had been the genuine thing. ‘I’ve seen the proof, remember? Up close and personal.’
He let satisfaction colour his voice and wasn’t surprised when she slammed to a stop ahead of him.
For a moment she stood still, her shoulders curiously hunched. Then she swung round and met his gaze. Not by the slightest sign did she reveal embarrassment. Her eyes were the colour of cool mountain water, her expression bland. No doubt she was free and easy enough not to feel discomfort discussing personal details with her latest paramour.
What a merry dance she must have led her husband. Had he died trying to satisfy her? Or had he been forced to watch her with younger men who gave her what he couldn’t?
‘Just as I know your colouring is black as sin,’ she murmured. ‘So what?’
Her brows rose as if she was bored.
‘It’s uncommon for Greek women to be so fair.’ He stepped close enough to see the smatter of gold shards in her irises, like spangles of sunlight amongst the green.
‘Half Greek. My mother was Australian.’ Her words were clipped, as if he’d delved into something private. He waited for her to continue.
‘Besides, some people here in the north have fairer colouring. All the Manolis family are the same.’ Her gaze settled on his dark locks as if disapproving.
‘Your cousin’s hair is brown. There’s no comparison.’
He watched her open her mouth as if to shoot off a riposte, then stop herself. She shrugged
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