She was here to get an inheritance she had never wanted but now, through no fault of her own, needed. And Rion controlled it, she thought grimly. She had lost her illusions long ago. She was here at his command, as his sexual plaything, and that was all she had to remember …
The weather was perfect. The sun shone in a cloudless sky, glinting off the waves of the azure sea. She could think of plenty of people in worse positions, and her spirits rose. She should be thankful for what she had. What was two weeks out of her life? A mere blip.
A small, dark-eyed young man appeared, with a heavy-laden tray in his hands. He introduced himself as Marco and offered to show her the way to the sun deck with a broad smile on his face. She smiled back and chatted easily to him as he led her up three levels to the sun deck. Her eyes widened in surprise on a plunge pool and a Jacuzzi set on one side of the deck. Maybe that was why Rion had told her to wear her bikini? Too late now.
She glanced down at a low table, set with cutlery, condiments, glasses and an ice bucket containing a bottle of wine. ‘I could have eaten on the main deck, Marco, and saved you the walk,’ she said, smiling. ‘I will next time.’
Rion reached the top of the stairs from the wheel-house and paused to catch his breath—not from lack of energy but at the picture Selina presented. Wearing brief denim shorts and a tee shirt, with flip-flops on her feet, she was talking to Marco. A brilliant smile curved her soft mouth, her eyes were shining and her glorious hair shimmered like beaten gold in the sun.
‘No, you won’t.’ Rion walked forward. ‘I decide where we eat.’ It was callous of him, but he had heard what she said, and seeing Selina smiling at young Marco had hit a nerve …
Selina glanced back to where Rion stood. He had showered, shaved and changed into a checked open-necked shirt and another pair of khaki shorts. He looked vitally attractive and as bossy as ever …
‘Yes, oh, master,’ she mocked, and turned to smile at Marco again before sinking down on a carefully placed lounger.
Marco put a bowl of salad, bread, a platter of delicious-looking seafood and another of various meats on the table.
‘You are learning, sweetheart,’ Rion drawled. ‘But where is the bikini?’
‘I forgot,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’ And gave him a saccharine smile.
His dark eyes were openly laughing at her little rebellion. With one hand he deftly unfastened a few more buttons of his shirt and sank down onto a lounger, stretching his long legs out before him in negligent ease.
‘Thanks, Marco. I’ll pour the wine.’ Rion dismissed him.
‘Iris was right to call you Old Bossy Boots. I should have listened to her,’ Selina opined, and reached forward. Taking a plate, she piled on salad, prawn, langoustines and crusty bread. Fish first, meat second, she thought. ‘What is Iris doing now?’ she asked idly, popping a prawn in her mouth and forking up some salad as Rion poured the chilled white wine into two glasses.
‘She is married to an Australian of Greek descent and living on the Gold Coast in Australia. They have a son, and are expecting the arrival of their second child any day now. Helen is in her element as doting grandmother, and spends a lot of her time there,’ he told her, piling his own plate high with assorted meats and salad and starting to eat.
‘What about your father?’ she asked in between mouthfuls of food. ‘I bet he spoils the boy rotten.’
Rion put down his knife and fork and shot her a hard look. ‘No, my father never got the chance. He died five years ago. Not unexpected. He knew his heart was damaged and his time limited.’
‘I’m so sorry. I know how close you were. It must have been hard, losing him,’ Selina said softly.
‘Drop the false sympathy, pethi mou,’ Rion drawled. The endearment was an echo from the past but with a sardonic emphasis. ‘You are more likely to dance on his grave. I know your grandfather must have told you that my father made a deal with him to buy Stakis Shipping that included you.’ He elevated one shoulder in a negligent shrug, but his strong face hardened. ‘It was to be his last big deal before he retired—supposedly his final success. He enjoyed a world cruise and died a couple of months after he returned. End of story.’ Picking up his knife and fork, Rion resumed eating.
So did Selina … but something about the information was disturbing her. She was not sure it was the end of the story. ‘If your father—’ she began.
‘Enough, Selina.’ Rion cast her an impatient glance. ‘Talk of the past is out, remember?’ Draining his wine glass, he rose to his feet. ‘Now, if you are finished eating, I’ll show you around the yacht.’
Selina finished a langoustine, refusing to be hurried, and glanced up at him through the veil of her lashes. Big and boldly handsome, Rion was a live wire, full of restless driven energy. He always had been, Selina realised, and always would be. He worked hard and played hard and rarely stopped. No woman would ever tie him down.
She glanced around at the fantastic view and rose to her feet with a shake of her head. ‘Yes, okay—lead on.’ Rion was incapable of relaxing. ‘Though I’m surprised you like cruising. Days at sea with nothing to do but admire the view does not seem like you.’
A glint of humour flashed in Rion’s eyes. ‘I love the sea.’ He let his gaze slide blatantly down the length of her body and back. ‘And the view,’ he quipped with a heart-stopping sensuous smile that made her breath quicken. ‘But you are right. I worked for a while this morning—I do every day.’
Why did his brilliant white smile suddenly remind Selina of a predatory panther?
‘Then I relax in the afternoon—sometimes in the pool. But as you have forgotten your bikini, your loss is my gain.’ And he kissed her and took her back to bed.
Eventually Rion did take her on a tour of the yacht, and introduced her to Captain Ted—an Englishman—who made her feel at ease by saying, ‘Rion told me an old friend was joining the cruise and I imagined another Dimitri. It is a real pleasure to meet you and a relief—you are a thousand times better to look at.’ He grinned. ‘Anything you need, just ask me.’
‘Down, Ted,’ Rion said dryly, slipping an arm around Selina’s waist. ‘The lady is my guest and I will provide everything she needs.’
As he led her away from the bridge for a moment it crossed Selina’s mind Rion that might be jealous, but she instantly dismissed the thought.
She enjoyed the rest of the tour. She might have been overawed by the Theodora, a beautiful, luxuriously fitted vessel, with five guest cabins, a formal and an informal salon, but her job had on occasion taken her on yachts even larger and more blatantly luxurious. None had been as eclectically fitted out with a mixture of traditional and new, and meeting the crew and seeing the way they worked she recognised the easy, friendly atmosphere on the Theodora was not something she had ever felt on the bigger yachts she had travelled on. She was quietly impressed.
BACK in her own cabin, Selina showered again and, slipping on silk briefs and a bra, looked at the few clothes in the closet. She had not brought a large suitcase, so she had none of the smart suits and gowns she needed to blend in with the upper echelons of society the majority of her clients inhabited to choose from. She had only a small suitcase, containing toiletries, towels, her sweatsuit, a sweater, a swimsuit, a bikini and underwear, the black silk dress she had worn for the funeral plus two summer dresses—one blue and one yellow, which had the advantage of being crease-resistant and could fold up into the size of a man’s hanky—two shirts, two tee shirts and two pretty tops, a pair of smart white linen pants, denim shorts, a pair of flip-flops, black