ANNA spent the rest of the day scrubbing and polishing her flat, hoping that frenzied activity would prevent her from thinking about Damon. She could no longer deny that she was attracted to him but fear had seen her flee from his car as if the devil himself were in pursuit.
The memory of his kiss lingered, however. She couldn’t forget the feel of his mouth on hers, the pleasure his warm, firm lips had evoked, and she was shocked by the realisation that she hadn’t wanted him to stop.
She spent the evening ploughing through a mountain of paperwork, but, despite the fact that it was past midnight before she crawled into bed, she slept badly for the second night in succession.
It was Damon’s fault, she thought grumpily the next morning, pulling on her trainers and running gear ready for another session at the sports track. He had stormed into her life like a tornado, ripping down her fragile defences and leaving her emotions in tatters.
The doorbell pealed as she was gulping down a second cup of coffee and she opened the door to be presented with an exquisite bouquet of cream roses.
‘I was told to give you these,’ the delivery boy muttered, handing her two large bottles of spring-water. ‘The Greek bloke said I was to be sure to tell you to take them to the track with you.’ He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. ‘I guess the message means more to you than it does to me.’
Murmuring her thanks, Anna closed the door and carried the flowers back to the kitchen before ripping open the attached envelope with fingers that shook slightly.
‘Keep up with the training—I’m looking forward to seeing you cross the finish line,’ Damon had written, the sight of his bold signature causing her heart to flip in her chest. His arrogance was insufferable, she thought furiously. For a second she seriously debated stuffing the flowers into the rubbish bin. His note was a subtle reminder that he intended to hold her to her agreement to have dinner with him after the charity race, but to her intense irritation she was unable to repress a little shiver of anticipation at the thought of seeing him again.
The word no did not seem to feature in Damon Kouvaris’s vocabulary, she decided as she rammed the bottles of water into her kit bag. It was about time someone told him he couldn’t always have his own way. But as she inhaled the delicate perfume of the blooms she could not bring herself to destroy them and placed them in a vase on the dining table—a visual reminder of the man she would rather forget.
He phoned mid-afternoon. She had run a bath—hoping to soothe her aching muscles after her run—and was blissfully immersed in scented bubbles when she heard the telephone. After the tenth ring she could stand it no longer, cursing as she wrapped a towel around her before padding barefoot down the hall, leaving a trail of foam in her wake.
The caller was annoyingly persistent, which meant that it was probably her mother, she thought grimly. It was less than six months since Judith had phoned from her home in France and dropped the bombshell that she had just married for the third time. Was it too soon for her mother to be ringing to announce her divorce? Anna wondered cynically as she snatched up the receiver.
‘Anna, I hope I haven’t disturbed you,’ a familiar, heavily accented voice sounded in her ear, causing goose-bumps to prickle her skin so that she twitched her towel firmly in place.
‘I was in the bath,’ she replied shortly, ‘and now I’m dripping water all over the carpet.’
In his hotel room Damon stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes as he pictured Anna—damp, pink-cheeked and wrapped in a towel. Possibly not even a towel, he mused, feeling the familiar stirring in his loins. Those gorgeous, lissom limbs would be satin-smooth, perhaps glistening with a few stray droplets of moisture. Her blonde hair would be piled on top of her head while stray tendrils framed her face. Hunger flared as he imagined himself releasing the pins so that it fell in a swathe of gold silk over her breasts. ‘I’m sorry. Do you want to go and put something on?’
‘It’s all right; I’ve got a towel round me.’
‘Ah, bath-sheet or hand-towel?’ he enquired throatily.
‘Does it matter?’ Anna inhaled sharply and fought to control the quiver that ran through her at the sound of his sexy drawl. ‘Did you want something, Damon—other than a description of the size of my towel?’
It was tempting to spell out in glorious detail precisely what he wanted, but Damon restrained himself. ‘I have two tickets for the Royal Ballet tonight. I wondered if you would care to join me?’
His voice was deliberately light and neutral, as if he feared that she would accuse him of pressurising her. It was tempting, Anna admitted silently. He was tempting. She hesitated, her eyes drawn along the hallway to the dining room, where the roses he had sent her were reflected in the polished mahogany table. She felt as though she were balanced on the edge of a precipice and one wrong move could send her hurtling to her destruction.
‘Why did you send me flowers?’ she demanded huskily.
‘They remind me of you—fragrant, fragile and infinitely beautiful,’ he replied seriously. ‘Don’t you like them?’
‘Of course I do—what woman doesn’t love flowers?’ she whispered as her body reacted to the smoky sensuality of his voice. But the thought of all the other women in his life sent her skidding back down to earth. Damon was well practised in the art of seduction. Did he send flowers to every blonde he was interested in? He must have an enormous florists’ bill, she thought sardonically as common sense reasserted itself.
‘I’m afraid I promised to babysit for a friend tonight and I can’t let her down,’ she lied. It seemed a foolproof excuse and she was just congratulating herself on her quick thinking when he spoke again.
‘Perhaps I could help out? I’m good with children.’
Too late she recalled the gentle patience he’d shown on Zathos towards his little godson Theo. She’d been struck by his natural affinity with children and surprised by the idea that he would make a good father.
Next thing she would be canonising him, she thought impatiently.
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, and I’m sure you don’t want to waste your tickets. You’ll have to flick through your little black book and find another partner for the evening. You must have several willing candidates to choose from,’ she added cattily, dismayed at how much she hated the idea that she was just one in a long list of blondes in his phone book.
‘Dozens,’ he assured her blandly, ‘but you’re currently top of the list.’
‘Lucky me,’ she replied every bit as blandly, gently placing the phone down before he had the chance to reply, and then spent the next ten minutes hovering in the hallway in case he should ring again. He didn’t, and, berating herself for being a fool, she returned to her rapidly cooling bath water, any idea of relaxing blown to pieces.
She had been right to turn him down, she assured herself for the hundredth time. Instinct warned her that Damon was out of her league and although he fascinated her, she refused to risk her emotional security on a man who regarded women as nothing more than sexual playmates.
Several hours later she was beginning to wish she had accepted Damon’s invitation.
‘Hey, Anna, why aren’t you drinking?’
The question was slurred and indistinct and Anna turned her head sharply to avoid a wave of alcoholic fumes. Tonight was rapidly turning into the evening from hell, she brooded darkly when Jack Bailey, star of a series of commercials for a popular brand of jeans, slid into the seat next to her.
‘Here, waiter, more champagne,’ Jack demanded. ‘Do you know who this is?’ he asked the waiter in a loud voice that caused heads to turn. ‘This is Anna Christiansen, the most beautiful woman in the world—isn’t that right, Anna?’ He leered at her, his handsome face flushed from the effects of too much wine, and Anna stifled a groan.
Having refused Damon’s invitation to the ballet, she’d been left facing a long, lonely evening and had jumped when her phone had rung again just after six, her frisson of anticipation quickly dissipating when she’d discovered that the call was from one of the models she had worked with in South Africa.
Dinner with friends, even if they were acquaintances rather than close confidantes, was better than a night in front of the TV, she had decided. And at least it would focus her mind on something other than a certain enigmatic Greek.
But at the restaurant it soon became apparent that the quiet meal she’d anticipated had developed into a full-blown social event. Friends of friends joined the party, the wine flowed and the group grew louder, attracting attention from other diners. Jack’s drunken attempts to climb inside her dress were the last straw and she gave him an icy glare.
‘Shut up, Jack,’ she muttered irritably. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?’
Her acerbic comments merely caused the young actor to grin wolfishly and while she was endeavouring to remove his hand from her cleavage she felt a shiver run the length of her spine. It was the same feeling that she remembered from Kezia’s dinner party and filled with foreboding, she slowly lifted her head.
Damon was sitting at a table some distance away. Even though her view was partly obscured by other diners, Anna instantly recognised him and her heart lurched as her gaze slid to his attractive companion. Was the woman number two on his list? she wondered bleakly as she stared at the stunning redhead by his side.
It was late in the evening and she guessed that Damon and his companion had come to the restaurant straight from the theatre. Doubtless the Royal Ballet’s performance of Swan Lake had been spectacular she mused bleakly, wishing that she had found the courage to accept his invitation.
The fact that he’d had no problem finding another partner for the evening proved that she had been wise to decline, she told herself firmly. But she could not tear her eyes from him and she held her breath when he suddenly stiffened and glanced across the busy restaurant.
Even from a distance she registered his brief flare of surprise when he caught sight of her and she blushed, remembering her earlier excuse that she was babysitting for a friend tonight. It was obvious that Damon was also recalling her lie. His gaze slid to Jack Bailey, who was slumped in a drunken stupor beside her, and his mouth curled into a dark smile before he deliberately returned his attention to his companion.
Damn him, she thought furiously. He wasn’t her keeper. And so what if she had lied? Maybe now he would get the message that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
But to her chagrin she found that she couldn’t prevent her eyes from straying in his direction. He looked gorgeous—lean, dark and simmering with his own lethal brand of sexual magnetism. She wasn’t the only woman in the room to have noticed him, either, she noted grimly as a quick scan of the restaurant revealed that most female eyes were focused on one man.
At that moment he looked up and trapped her gaze with his brooding stare. The hubbub of voices became muted and the other diners seemed to fade to the periphery of her vision, leaving nothing but Damon and the powerful electric current that flared between them.
Her reaction was instant and shockingly basic as heat coursed through her veins. Her breasts ached and a horrified glance revealed that her nipples were clearly visible through her clingy jersey top. He couldn’t see from that distance, she consoled herself, but the sudden tension apparent in his shoulders warned her that he was well aware of the effect he had on her.
‘Anna, we’re going on to a club. Do you want to come?’ Jack Bailey’s voice sounded in her ear—as annoyingly persistent as a wasp, it at least gave her the excuse to break free from the spell that Damon had cast over her.
‘No, thanks, I’ve had enough and I’m going home,’ she replied curtly.
‘Come on, don’t be such a bore,’ Jack muttered sulkily. He staggered after her as she picked a route through the restaurant that carefully avoided going anywhere near Damon and his gorgeous dinner date. Outside it was bedlam. The restaurant was currently one of the most popular venues in London and the paparazzi had gathered in droves, desperate to snap shots of any celebrities.
The last thing she wanted was for pictures of her and Jack to be plastered across the front pages of tomorrow’s tabloids, Anna thought grimly. For some reason the press were fascinated by her love life but she refused to be a pawn in their stupid game.
She retreated into a corner of the lobby, but Jack must have noticed and a moment later he joined her, his eyes glazed and his shirt buttons half undone as he trapped her against a wall with his arms on either side of her head.
‘Okay, forget the club. We’ll have our own private party, just you and me, baby. Do you want to come back to my place?’ He swayed unsteadily and slumped forwards so that his full weight pinioned Anna against the wall. His breath was hot on her skin as he ground his lips on hers and his hands seemed to be everywhere, damp with sweat as they edged beneath her top.
Instantly she was transported back in time. Instead of Jack, it was her stepfather pushing her against the wall, laughing at her as she struggled to prevent him from touching her.
‘Jack, get off me! Leave me alone.’ Overwhelmed by panic and a growing feeling of claustrophobia, she gave a shrill cry and lashed out, her hand making sharp contact with his cheek.
‘Bloody hell, you little vixen, what did you do that for?’ Jack reared back, easing the pressure on her chest, and she gulped for air, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. ‘Everyone says you’re a frigid bitch and now I know why,’ he taunted, his sneering smile fading when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
‘Do you need any help, Anna?’
Damon materialised in front of her, his dark eyes cold and merciless as he gripped Jack’s arm, restraining the younger man with insulting ease. Anna would like to have made some flippant remark and shrugged off the incident but instead she nodded wordlessly.
She felt sick with a mixture of shame and fear. Nothing could have happened, she reminded herself impatiently. They were in the lobby of a busy restaurant and Jack couldn’t have hurt her—forced her…She shuddered and closed her mind to the memories that had resurfaced. She didn’t want to think, not now.
The restaurant manager appeared, frowning as he took in the scene. ‘Shall I call the police?’ he addressed Damon.
‘No!’ Anna’s eyes were unconsciously pleading. The story would be fodder for the gutter press and she couldn’t bear the humiliation of reading about her supposed relationship with Jack in tomorrow’s downmarket papers.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Damon answered, his gaze not leaving Anna’s pale face. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with him.’ He threw a scathing glance at Jack, whose initial bravado had disappeared and who was now swaying unsteadily on his feet. ‘Plenty of black coffee, or a bucket of water over his head—I know which one I’d choose,’ he told the manager with a grim smile. ‘Is there another way out? The world’s press seem to be camped on the front steps.’
‘You can leave through the kitchens,’ the manager said quickly. ‘Come this way.’
‘It’s all right, I can take care of myself,’ Anna muttered as her eyes flew from Damon to his beautiful redheaded companion who was plainly bemused by the scene.
The look on his face said it all. ‘Do you really want to step out there—’ he gestured to the front of the restaurant where the paparazzi were assembled on the pavement ‘—looking like that?’
Before she could reply he spun her round and she gasped at the sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had escaped its once-neat chignon and was hanging in rats’ tails around her face, her lipstick was smeared over her chin, but it was her eyes, wild and overbright with unshed tears that gave away the fact that she was near breaking-point.
‘The press would have a field day,’ Damon told her tersely. He took his phone from his pocket. ‘I’ll have my driver meet us out back.’
She had no option but to comply, Anna acknowledged when Damon ushered her through the door leading to the kitchens. She half turned to say something but found that he had hung back and was speaking in a quiet undertone to his companion.
What must the other woman be thinking? She bit her lip and followed the restaurant manager through the back door, out into a narrow alley where they had to squeeze past the rubbish bins. She was so embarrassed she wanted to die and could not bring herself to look at Damon or his friend when a car pulled up in the alleyway and a uniformed chauffeur sprang out.
‘There was really no need for you to end your evening,’ she muttered. ‘Ask your driver to drop me off on the main road and I’ll take a cab home.’
It was Damon’s companion who answered. ‘It’s really not a problem. I promised my husband that I would be back before midnight anyway,’ she added with a smile. ‘We don’t want to upset him, do we, Damon?’
‘Certainly not. Friend or not, I think Marc would feel justified in thumping me if I did not bring you back safely and on time,’ he replied, his eyes glinting with amusement at Anna’s obvious confusion. ‘Anna, I’d like to introduce you to Elaine Sotiriou. Her husband and I were at school together and I was lucky enough to persuade Marc to lend me his wife for the evening.’
‘Yes, the ballet was wonderful. It’s such a pity you’d already arranged to meet your friends,’ Elaine said sympathetically. The car pulled up in a mews of tall Georgian houses and she leaned forwards to brush her lips against Damon’s cheek. ‘You’re welcome to come in for coffee—both of you,’ she added, giving Anna a gentle smile. ‘My husband would love to meet you.’
‘Another time perhaps,’ Damon replied. ‘I need to get Anna home.’
Anna opened her mouth to tell him that she was not his responsibility, remembered her ravaged appearance and thought better of it. If she was honest she couldn’t wait to reach the quiet sanctuary of her flat. The incident with Jack had been unpleasant rather than traumatic but it had evoked memories of her stepfather that even now, after all this time, still had the power to disturb her.
She was silent for the twenty-minute drive across town, her body as tense as a coiled spring as she waited for Damon to comment on the fact that she had lied to him earlier. He said nothing, seemingly lost in his thoughts, and as the limousine swung into the parking area outside her flat she released her breath on a shaky sigh.
‘Thanks for bringing me home and…everything.’ Everything included rescuing her from Jack Bailey’s drunken advances but she was too embarrassed to spell it out and slid out of the car with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘I’ll see you up.’
‘There’s no need.’
Reaction was setting in and she was unable to repress a shiver. Damon’s mouth tightened. Did she have any idea how vulnerable she looked? he wondered. Her eyes were wide; the expression in their depths bruised, he noted grimly. He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder to guide her towards the steps and felt her flinch.
Surely she didn’t think he would leap on her as her drunken dinner date had done? The thought was enough for him to remove his hand and he contented himself with following her closely up the two flights of stairs to her flat.
At the front door she paused and he took the key from her trembling fingers.
‘Damon.’
He caught the note of desperation in her voice and his jaw tensed. ‘I’ll make the coffee while you repair the damage your lover inflicted. And then I promise I’ll go,’ he said steadily.
‘Jack’s not my lover.’ Far from it, she thought with a shudder of revulsion. ‘He’s just a friend. Not even that really,’ she admitted honestly. ‘Dinner with a crowd of acquaintances seemed a safer option than…’
‘Spending the evening with me,’ Damon finished for her, watching the way her cheeks flooded with colour. Once again he was aware of a curious tug of protectiveness. Anneliese Christiansen was reputed to be worldly-wise and sophisticated—the Ice Princess who lured her many lovers with her cool beauty. But the woman standing before him reminded him of a frightened child and he had to restrain himself from drawing her into his arms.
Instinct warned him that if he touched her she would lash out like a cornered wildcat and he carefully kept his distance as he followed her into her flat and down the narrow passageway to the kitchen.
‘Coffee, and then you have to go,’ she told him, unable to keep the tremor from her voice as she filled the kettle and reached into the cupboard for cups. One slipped through her fingers and as it shattered on the floor she gave a cry and knelt to gather up the pieces.
‘Leave it.’
She jumped at the harshness of his tone and stared up at him, blinking furiously. Damon caught the glint of her tears and felt his gut tighten.
‘Go and get cleaned up,’ he bade her quietly, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet. She still had a trace of lipstick smeared across her face and he wiped it with his thumb pad.
The moment he’d stepped into the lobby and seen her struggling in the arms of that drunken lout, who’d been pawing her all evening, he’d wanted to commit murder. He couldn’t understand where this edge of possessiveness had come from, this urge to take care of her as if she were infinitely precious to him.
He barely knew her, he reminded himself impatiently as he pushed her gently out of the kitchen. Common sense warned him that Anna spelt trouble, in more ways than one. But for the last two months he’d been unable to forget her and even now, when she was ashen and achingly vulnerable, he still desired her more than any woman he’d ever known.
Anna tore her gaze from Damon and shot into the bathroom where she quickly locked the door behind her. She felt dirty, sullied by Jack Bailey’s touch, and with swift, almost desperate movements she stripped out of her clothes and dived into the shower.
She quickly scrubbed her body, all the while conscious of faint noises from the kitchen. Damon was probably making coffee as promised.
Suddenly she was fifteen again, listening to the sound of her stepfather’s footsteps outside the bathroom door and knowing that he would be there, lurking on the landing when she emerged. He had always had a legitimate reason, of course, but she shuddered at the memory of his sly grin and the way his eyes had followed her when she’d fled to her bedroom.
This had to stop, she told herself sharply. She stepped out of the shower cubicle and huddled in the folds of a towel. She wasn’t fifteen any more, she was twenty-five—a grown woman with a successful career and no one could hurt her, certainly not her mother’s second husband Philip Stone.
‘You’re such a pretty girl, Annie. Not even a girl any more. I’ve noticed how you’re developing into a woman.’
‘Shut up, Phil, or I’ll tell Mum.’
‘Tell her what, Annie? I was only saying that you’ve blossomed into a real stunner. I bet lots of men like to look at you. I know I do.’
No! Anna’s eyes flew open and she stared at herself in the mirror, her face twisted with revulsion at the memories of her stepfather. Phil was in the past. She hadn’t seen him since she’d left home at seventeen—preferring to struggle on her own rather than live under the same roof as her tormentor. Her stepfather’s sly sexual innuendos had sickened her but when he had started to try and touch her—a hand on her thigh or a playful pat on her bottom, carried out in the guise of jolly Uncle Phil—she’d known that she had to leave.
Confiding in her mother had never been an option. After years of depression brought about by the failure of her first marriage, Judith had finally been happy again and Anna had been unable to bring herself to ruin that happiness. Instead she’d kept quiet about Phil’s unhealthy fascination with his stepdaughter and had assured Judith that she was moving into a flat with friends. Life had been tough for a while, but she’d survived and along the way she’d learned that trust was for fools.
Her mother’s marriage to Phil had eventually also ended in divorce. She didn’t know the reasons why and had never asked. Despite Judith’s pleadings, she’d refused to return home to the house that she had come to hate. She had a new life, earning the kind of money she’d only ever dreamed of, and she’d made a solemn vow that she would never give up her independence for anyone.
‘Anna, your coffee’s getting cold.’ Damon’s terse voice sounded through the bathroom door, his tone laced with an underlying concern.
‘All right—I’m just coming.’ Her thick towelling robe fell past her knees, concealing her curves. She wanted no opportunity for misunderstanding, she thought grimly as she belted it tightly around her waist. She might have allowed Damon into her flat, but coffee was the only thing on offer.
He was the most gorgeous, sexy, charismatic man she had ever met and she was still reeling from her unexpected reaction to his kiss. But forewarned was forearmed and in the spirit of her self-preservation she was determined that it wouldn’t happen again.