Bought by the Greek Tycoon Page 6

  A long drawn out sigh escaped her. Luke had gone—thank God! She had got rid of the man at last, and she should have felt relieved. But instead, as she walked back into the house, all she could feel was a lingering sense of apprehension, and all she could see was his contemptuous expression as he'd left. And what had he meant by she might not have a choice!

  Half an hour later, having tidied up the living room and made a cup of tea, Jemma sat down on the sofa and sipped the reviving brew. She looked around at all the familiar furnishings and photos, everything that made the room her sanctuary, but oddly it did not give her the same sense of comfort that it usually did. It was as though the alien presence of Luke Devetzi had upset the balance somehow.

  No—she was just being fanciful! Picking up the remote for the television, she switched on the history channel and tried to concentrate on a brilliant documentary about Ancient Egypt.

  She gave up after ten minutes and wandered around the room, touching her much-loved mementos but still feeling on edge. She headed upstairs. A relaxing bath and then an early night was what she needed. It was her turn to go to the flower market at five the following morning.

  Two hours later she was in the king-sized bed she had shared with Alan, but sleep eluded her. She stirred restlessly, finally turning to lie flat on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling. She lifted a finger to her slightly swollen lips, and to her shame it was Luke's kiss that she recalled. Flickering images of their past encounters spun haphazardly through her brain.

  Her shock at seeing Luke's darkly attractive face last night at the party was overlaid by a vivid mental image of his magnificent naked body as he knelt between her thighs on another bed in another country. Heat flooded through her, and she groaned and turned over to bury her head in the pillow in an attempt to block out the memories. But it was no good. The past had come back to haunt her in the shape of one Luke Devetzi.

  Thinking about him now, she realised it had been a peculiar trick of fate that had brought herself and Luke together. The death of her husband a year earlier and the imminent death of her much-loved aunt coupled with her disappointment over her wedding ring, and then the final blow, when those louts had knocked wine all over her. In her distress she had lifted a tear-glazed gaze to her rescuer, and, because she had so much wanted it to be, she had imagined it was the blue eyes of her husband that smiled back at her.

  Later, Luke had shown her to a luxurious cabin and, taking a silk robe from a closet, had dropped it on the bed with the words, 'Strip out of your stained clothes and have a shower, use the robe. I will be back later to collect your clothes and have someone clean them for you.'

  Like an automaton. Jemma had agreed. Ten minutes later she'd walked out of the shower room and back into the cabin, wearing only white lace panties and with her dirty clothes in one hand. She'd reached for the robe on the bed just as a knock had sounded on the door and Luke had walked in. He'd said something in Greek she hadn't understood, but the mesmerising effect of his eyes had seemed to paralyse her, and when he'd walked towards her, cupped her chin in one lean hand and said almost reverently. You are so beautiful. Mimie,' she had made no demur.

  Thinking about it now. Jemma realised with hindsight that she had been in a state of shock. No man but Alan had ever seen her almost naked. And no man but Alan had ever called her Mimie or told her she was beautiful. So it was hardly surprising that when Luke had kissed her with a piercing, sweet tenderness she had responded.

  Stirring restlessly in the bed, Jemma groaned out loud. However much she tried to deny it, what had happened next with Luke had been nothing like what she had experienced with her husband.

  Luke's hands had caressed her body and shaped her breasts, his tongue thrusting between her parted lips, igniting a consuming heat that had sent shock waves crashing through her body. When he'd finally broken the kiss to speedily strip his clothes from his body she had stood trembling violently, her amber eyes roaming in helpless fascination over his magnificent bronzed frame. Before she'd had time to recover her senses he had lifted her in his arms, whispering huskily voiced endearments as he lowered her to the bed.

  The passion had exploded between them with the next touch of his mouth on hers, and in a fever of kisses and caresses Luke had made love to her with a wildly erotic, powerful passion that she had mindlessly returned. She had closed her eyes to the world, and for a while her world had been the man whose arms had enfolded her, whose body had desired hers. They had touched and tasted each other in a frenzy of need that had finally culminated in a wondrous climax that left them both sweat slicked, sated and fighting to breathe.

  Thinking about that night now was too much for Jemma, and, giving up any hope of sleep, she slipped out of bed and padded downstairs to the kitchen to make a cup of hot milk.

  Everything would look better in the morning, she told herself. Luke Devetzi was gone, and he was never likely to come back after the way she had insulted him. And, given that he was Jan's boyfriend, what was the worst that could happen? If Jemma ever bumped into him on the few occasions she visited her father's house she need exchange nothing with him beyond polite social niceties.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lugging the last box of flowers from the back of her estate car, Jemma staggered into the shop and put the box down, heaving a sigh of relief. Much as she liked choosing blooms in the flower market, she was not mad about getting up at the crack of dawn. Still, it was a job well done, Jemma told herself, and headed for the bench that contained two sinks and a kettle and much-needed coffee.

  The five a.m. start had not been a problem this morning, because she had barely slept last night, but it was catching up with her now. Thankfully she sat down at the desk and took a refreshing swallow of coffee. Everything looked much better in the clear light of day. She had her business, her friends, her own house and small garden, and after a disastrous weekend she was back to normal, with Luke Devetzi out of her life for good. Draining the mug, she got to her feet and set about unpacking her purchases. Some she put in buckets of water, others she placed on the shelves that lined one wall of the room.

  By the time Liz arrived, at nine, Jemma had redesigned the window display and the shop was open for business.

  'The place looks great,' Liz declared, and crossed to where Jemma stood propping up the counter. 'But you look like hell.'

  'Thanks a bunch,' Jemma shot back 'No pun intended.' She tried to joke in the hope of diverting Liz from the questions that would surely follow.

  'I know I said it was time you began to live a little, but you look as if you have burnt the candle at both ends and eaten the middle! Waxen springs to mind… It must have been one heck of a birthday party.' Liz chuckled. 'Come on—tell all. It's the only way this harassed mum gets a thrill these days.'

  Jemma knew Liz adored her husband Peter, and her two-year-old son Thomas, and wouldn't change her lifestyle for the world, and she grinned back. 'You're a fibber and there's nothing to tell. It was Dad and Leanne's usual crowd, and I left early at about ten. End of story.'

  'You're not fobbing me off like that! At least tell me what Jan's new man looks like. Name, rank, and serial womanizer? Or serious prospect in the marriage stakes?' Liz queried cheekily. 'Fit and handsome or old and fat? The money is a given, knowing Jan.'

  Jemma knew Liz wouldn't shut up until she had the full story, but on this occasion she had no intention of telling her everything…

  'Tall, dark, and not bad-looking; not old—mid to late thirties, I guess. As for being a marriage prospect, I very much doubt it. He looked like the womanising type to me. But Jan is certainly smitten, and he is filthy rich.'

  'And his name is…?'

  'Luke something—Devetzi, I think.' She didn't want to seem too sure, as Liz had a nose like a bloodhound when it came to digging out secrets.

  'Oh, my God! I don't believe it.' Liz exclaimed. 'You met the Luke Devetzi—the financial wizard, the international banker? Not bad-looking! Are you blind, Jemma? The man is a
serious hunk. But you're right about the womanising; I've seen his photograph dozens of times in the top magazines, usually with a stunning woman on his arm. I don't fancy Jan's chances of dragging him to the altar; he's definitely not the settling-down type. But, hey—' Liz winked '—Jan's still a very lucky girl to get a man like that in her bed for her birthday. I wouldn't mind him as a present for a night.'

  'Liz, you're disgraceful—and you a married woman,' Jemma quipped, but inside she felt sick. How come Liz and apparently the whole world had heard of Luke Devetzi? She hadn't known him from Adam and had stupidly fallen into bed with him. Still, on the up side, after what Liz had just told her she need have no fear of Luke seeking her out. An undeniably attractive, incredibly wealthy man with a world of fawning women to choose from was never going to bother Jemma again.

  'I can dream, can't I?' Liz said, her dark eyes twinkling wickedly.

  'Dreaming won't get the dozen or so orders done—which we have to deliver before noon,' Jemma said dryly.

  'Okay, okay,' Liz agreed. 'You look like you need some help.' She frowned. 'Are you sure you're all right?'

  'Yes, fine. But I drove down to Eastbourne and back yesterday, and then with the early start this morning…' She explained with a shrug.

  'Say no more. That explains everything—you've visited Alan's parents and his grave.' Liz put her arm around Jemma and gave her a consoling hug. And Jemma felt the biggest fraud imaginable.

  The mid-morning sun glinted on the Thames as Jemma drove across Tower Bridge. It was the last day in August—a perfect summer's day and, as it happened, her father's birthday. A contented sigh escaped her. She had spent the last hour in a meeting with the purchasing manager of an upmarket department store on Kensington High Street, and had secured a contract to supply the floral displays for the premises—subject to Liz checking the fine print. Ray would have to concentrate more on floristry, and they would probably have to employ a full time van driver, but already Jemma could see Flower Power gaining much bigger contracts.

  Work was going great, and Jemma was looking forward to a private lunch with her father. She had booked a table at an exclusive restaurant as part of his birthday present, and she was picking him up at noon. She would still have to show her face at the party Leanne had organised for tonight, but she wasn't worried—no one would notice if she left early.

  She grimaced as she parked the car and glanced up at the impressive facade of the house in Connaught Square. Jan's birthday party here over two months ago had been a disaster as far as she was concerned, but that was all behind her now. She hadn't seen Jan since, but that wasn't so unusual, and Jemma did keep in touch with the family by telephone.

  Dismissing the past from her mind, she slid out of the car. She straightened the lapels of the short sleeved cream silk jacket, which fitted neatly over her shoulders and nipped in at her narrow waist, and smoothed the fabric of the slim-fitting skirt down over her hips. It wasn't often she dressed up, preferring casual clothes, but over the years she had built up a collection of classic clothes for when the occasion arose—like today. Brimming with confidence, she knew she looked good, and with purse in hand she ran lightly up the stone steps to the front door.

  She let herself in, her high heels clicking jauntily on the marble-tiled floor as she walked down the hall. 'Good morning, Maggie,' she greeted the housekeeper, who was at the foot of the staircase with an empty tray in her hands. 'Where is Dad—still in his study?' she asked, and got the strangest look back.

  'No. Yes. I mean he is upstairs, in the first floor drawing room, waiting for you.'

  Jemma glanced at her wristwatch: it was only eleven thirty. 'I don't believe it—Dad's early for once What do you think. Maggie, is the big six-0 finally getting to him?'

  She smiled at Maggie, but got no answering smile back.

  'Don't ask me. I only work here.' And she walked away.

  What's rattled her cage? Jemma wondered as she walked up the stairs and opened the drawing room door. Maggie was usually the most affable of women.

  Her father was sitting in his favourite high-backed chair at one side of the ornate fireplace, a cup of coffee in his hand. 'Happy birthday, Dad.' Jemma grinned and took a couple of steps in his direction.

  'Thank you,' he muttered, giving her a weak smile back and then lowering his eyes. Not the most enthusiastic reception she had ever had, Jemma thought, and then stopped, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Warily she glanced around the room, and realised they were not alone…

  The man was standing with his back to the window. Silhouetted by the morning sun. She wasn't able to see his face clearly, but she didn't need to. It was Luke Devetzi. Her heart leapt, her amber eyes widening to their fullest extent in shock.

  'Good morning, Jemma.'

  'G…G… Good morning,' she stammered, and simply stared as he moved towards her. He was dressed in a tailored charcoal-grey business suit, white shirt and blue tie. His hair was longer than the last time they had met, but otherwise he was still the same darkly handsome, arrogant man she remembered. She wished she didn't.

  'It's a pleasure to meet you again,' he said silkily, and smiled.

  She glanced up, and he returned her look with eyes that held no trace of humour, just a remorseless intensity that set warning bells ringing in her head. Her confidence took a nosedive, and she just knew Luke was a danger to her peace of mind.

  Jemma shot a nervous glance at her father, but he was no help—he was staring into his coffee cup as though his life depended on it. Something was seriously wrong…

  No, she was letting her imagination get the better of her. Luke was no danger to her. He was Jan's friend, she reminded herself. She had always known she might bump into him again in that capacity, and now it had happened—no big deal. Her confidence restored, she broke the lengthening silence. 'Nice to see you again, Luke. But I'm taking my father out for lunch so we can't stop and chat,' she said lightly. 'But do take a seat, make yourself at home; I'm sure Jan won't be long.' Congratulating herself on the cool, mature way she had handled the situation, she did not see the glance that passed between the two men.

  'Jemma doesn't know, Sutherland?' At the sound of her own name Jemma glanced up at Luke. He was staring at her father, an expression of disgust on his face. 'You haven't told her?'

  'Told me what?' Jemma asked, totally confused.

  Granite-grey eyes flicked her way. 'I'm not here to see Jan. I am here to see you—among other things.' Luke offered by way of explanation, before turning his attention back to her father. 'Well, have you, Sutherland?'

  'I hadn't the heart, Luke. I told you. Jemma knows nothing about the business, and she wouldn't understand anyway.'

  'What wouldn't I understand?' she demanded, turning her puzzled gaze to her father, surprised and hurt that he had demeaned her intelligence in front of Luke so casually.

  'I think you'd better sit down, Jemma.' Luke's hand closed around her forearm and she nearly jumped out of her skin at his touch.

  'No!' She tried to shake him off, but his grip tightened, and rather than start an ungainly struggle in front of her father she allowed him to lead her to the sofa facing the fireplace.

  'Sit down,' he commanded. 'Because believe me, Jemma, you're going to need to.' he murmured very close to her ear—so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.

  'Dad?' She appealed to her father. 'What is—?

  'Do as Luke says and sit down; I have something to tell you.' With a close look at her father's haggard face she complied, sinking down on the sofa with an icy feeling of dread permeating her body. And it didn't help that Luke lowered his long length down beside her.

  'You know I love you, Jemma,' her father said softly. 'And I would never do anything to harm you. But unfortunately over the past few years I have made one or two bad business choices. The company is no longer profitable and…'

  She listened in mounting horror as her father spoke, and when he had finished she stared
at him, ashen faced. Apparently not only had he made a few bad decisions, he had been borrowing money from the firm for years. And since floating the company on AIM and acquiring shareholders outside of the family, the firm's accountancy methods had been called into question by those same shareholders. An independent accountancy firm had been hired. Her father had hoped he could pay back the loans over time, but time had run out. He admitted the last stock flotation had not really been to expand in America but to plug the hole in the accounts.

  'I can't believe it. How could, you, Dad?' she asked, glancing wildly around the room. And she knew the answer. Leanne had very expensive tastes—this house, for one, as well as the villa in Majorca. She also knew her father had financed the setting up of Jan's modelling agency last year. Jemma hadn't minded—but she hadn't known it was with money that had been swindled out of the firm. A hollow laugh escaped her.

  'There's no need to get upset, Jemma. Luke, here, has something to say to you—and it may be the perfect solution,' her father said placatingly.

  'Just a minute.' Jemma snapped, shooting Luke a poisonous glance. 'This has nothing to do with you. You shouldn't even be here.'

  'It's lucky for you I am,' he drawled sardonically, an unholy gleam of what looked to Jemma suspiciously like triumph lurking in the depths of his grey eyes. 'Unless, of course, you want your father to end up in jail for fraud.'

  'Jail!' She turned stunned eyes on her father, fully expecting him to deny Luke's outrageous comment. Tell me that's not possible,' she pleaded.

  'I'm sorry,' her father murmured, and got to his feet. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes dim, his face pale and worn; he was no longer the blue-eyed dynamic man she loved, but a weary old man who looked every one of his sixty years plus a decade more. She knew Luke was telling the truth. Her father reached down and put his hand on her shoulder, and she covered it compassionately with her own.