The Greek's Pleasurable Revenge. Andie Brock

down her back. ‘Right now I want you to kiss me the way you kissed me the last time we were here, agapi mou. Do you remember?’

      Calista felt herself sway. His hand was branding the back of her neck...his hot, whisky-tinged breath was shooting sharp waves of longing throughout her body. Of course she remembered. She remembered every minuscule, heart-stopping, life-changing detail. She had been living it for the past five years.

      It had been her eighteenth birthday party—a gloriously warm June evening. Calista had finished her exams and finally left the boarding school that she had disliked so much, and she’d been intending to soak up a few weeks of Greek sunshine before returning to the UK to start university.

      She had been looking forward to the party—not so much to the actual event, the guest list for which had mostly comprised her father’s business cronies and their families, rather than her friends, although that had partly been her decision. Aristotle had told her to invite as many people as she wanted, offering to pay for their flights from the UK and to put them up at the villa, ‘So they can see the sort of wealth you come from.’ But she hadn’t had that many friends—she’d always been the outsider at school, a motherless red-haired creature with a Greek name—and she hadn’t intended to scare off the couple of friends she had had by subjecting them to the full force of her father.

      Because far from wanting to show off Aristotle’s wealth she had been embarrassed by it—or, more precisely, embarrassed by Aristotle. Over the years he had become ever more boorish, more overbearing, and the large quantities of alcohol he’d consumed, along with the banquet-type meals that he demanded every night, had not helped his general health or his temper. It had seemed the larger he’d got, the more obnoxious he’d become.

      But there had been one person Calista had wanted to see—Lukas. He had promised her that he would be there, and that alone had been enough to see her struggling to straighten her unruly tumble of red hair, carefully applying some lipstick and eyeliner and easing herself into a short emerald-green silk dress that had hugged her youthful curves in just the right places. Donning a pair of strappy gold sandals, complete with killer heels, she had been ready to go—or, more importantly, ready for Lukas.

      Except he hadn’t showed up.

      The disappointment had been crushing. Calista’s fragile hopes had been dashed every time another group of guests had appeared and he hadn’t been amongst them. It had seemed as if more and more people had come, spilling out onto the terrace, laughing, drinking, dancing...

      Finally Lukas’s father Stavros had arrived, bursting onto the terrace in a highly agitated state, seeking out Aristotle and demanding that he go inside with him so that they could talk in private. Calista hadn’t even had a chance to ask him where Lukas was.

      In the end she had decided to take matters into her own hands. Suddenly she had no longer just wanted to see Lukas. Being with him had become an all-consuming compulsion, taking on a frightening urgency that would have seen her do almost anything to achieve her aim.

      Which had turned out to be stealing a car. Or rather ‘borrowing it’ from Stavros, who had left the keys of his SUV in the ignition. Calista had only had a handful of driving lessons—she had certainly never passed her driving test—but such had been her determination to see Lukas that she hadn’t been about to let a little thing like that stand in her way.

      Somehow she had managed to negotiate the twisty coastal road without tumbling the car off the cliff and then, armed with a bottle of champagne and what she hoped was a winning smile, she had burst into Villa Helene and found Lukas anxiously pacing the floor.

      He had looked astonished to see her. ‘Callie! What on earth are you doing here?’

      â€˜I’ve come to find you, of course. It’s my birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.’

      â€˜No, I’ve not forgotten. Happy Birthday.’

      He’d said the requisite words but there had been none of his usual warmth, no kiss on the cheek or birthday hug.

      Instead he had looked distractedly over her shoulder. ‘Have you seen my father?’

      â€˜Yes, he’s at my birthday party. Which is where you should be. You promised, Lukas.’

      â€˜Did he seem okay?’

      â€˜Yes—why?’

      â€˜It’s just that he left here in a hell of a hurry and refused to tell me what was going on.’

      â€˜Well, he seemed fine to me.’ It had only been a small lie. Calista could have had no idea of the consequences. ‘He was chatting with Papa. He told me to come and get you.’

      â€˜He gave you the keys to his car?’ Clearly puzzled, Lukas had obviously tried to work out what was going on. But Calista hadn’t gone there to talk about Stavros. Right up until that moment she hadn’t been entirely sure why she was there, but suddenly she had known with an all-consuming certainty.

      She wanted Lukas to make love to her.

      She still remembered his look of surprise as she had moved towards him, the way he had finally smiled when she had flung her arms around his neck, the bottle of champagne still in her hand, clunking heavily against his back. He had laughed, telling her to stop being silly, that she must have had too much to drink, but when he had pulled back to look into her eyes he had seen the truth.

      That she wasn’t a child any more. That she knew what she was doing. That she wanted him.

      Even so, he had resisted. But as she had shamelessly pressed her body up against his, chucking the bottle of champagne onto a chair so that she could thread her fingers through his dark curls to pull him closer, she had felt him weaken. And when she had finally claimed his lips, when the first split second of panic and insecurity on her part and complete shock on his had vanished, rapidly melting into desire and then into a burning passion that had seen them stumble backwards onto the sofa, there had been no turning back.

      And now they were here again—in the exact same spot. And Calista was horrified to find that the pull of his attraction was just as strong...that she still wanted him every bit as much as she had that June night, even knowing what he had done, even having seen the man he had become.

      For Lukas was no longer the warm, funny, laid-back guy she had originally fallen in love with. Along with the dark curls, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes had gone, to be replaced by a cruel stare and a grim determination that sent a shiver down her spine.

      And yet still she wanted him.

      Her whole body thrummed, all but begging to be his. He was too close—far too close—his head bent so that there was no escaping the searing intensity of his eyes.

      â€˜Of course I remember.’ She dragged up the words from somewhere, fighting to find some control. ‘But, believe me, I won’t be making the same mistake again.’

      â€˜So it was a mistake, was it? That’s an interesting choice of word.’

      â€˜Yes...yes, it was.’ Heat flared in her cheeks.

      â€˜Because, you see, I don’t think it was a mistake at all.’ He lowered his head until their lips were only a fraction apart. ‘I think it was all very carefully planned.’

      â€˜What do you mean?’ she whispered hoarsely against the seduction of his mouth.

      â€˜And now it’s time for my plan to be put into place. My turn to seduce you.’

      â€˜No, Lukas, don’t be ridiculous!’ She tried to pull back but he held her firm.

      â€˜And you know what? I have to say I am very much looking forward to it.’

      Suddenly his mouth was on hers, his hand pushing