“Stop fighting me, Leandra, and let me give you the pleasure I know you ache for.”
His voice was low and sensual. She felt the fire flickering along her veins, stealing her sanity. She tried to fight it, but she couldn’t. The noose of his dark eyes had caught her, and she was helpless.
What was the point of trying to fight him—fight herself? Ever since she had laid eyes on him, Theo Atrides had set a flame alight within her—one she had never known existed, one she could not douse.
She had tried to douse it, dear God, how she had tried! She had tried to hate him, and despise him. She had tried yelling at him and ignoring him. She had wept and she had blushed.
But it was all for nothing. She knew that now.
The dark allure that was Theo Atrides held her in thrall.
Harlequin Presents has an exciting new author….
The Greek Tycoon’s Mistress
is the outstanding first novel from Julia James.
It’s highly sensual and very intense!
Theo Atrides has met his match, and
he’s decided he has to have Leandra…whatever that takes!
They’re the men who have everything—
except a bride…
The Greek Tycoon’s Mistress
Julia James
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
THEO ATRIDES narrowed his dark eyes. Fabulously wealthy, dangerous to cross, he was unfairly blessed with a sexual magnetism that had as much to do with the aura of raw power that surrounded him as the physical attributes with which he was so shamelessly endowed.
He paused at the head of the flight of wide-sweeping stairs, looking down into the hotel’s crowded banqueting suite. It was a sea of men in black tie, women in rainbow evening dress. Chandeliers caught the glitter of jewels everywhere.
From his vantage point, like an eagle poised in its eyrie, Theo let his alert gaze systematically quarter the throng below, searching with steady purpose. Suddenly he stilled. Beneath the silk-smooth covering of his superbly tailored tuxedo, his tall, powerfully built frame tensed.
Yes, they were there! Both of them.
It was the woman he studied, and as he did so his jaw tightened.
She was dressed to kill. Of that there was no doubt. His expert eye looked her over. Medium height, with a figure both slender and generous—and very, very much on show. Blonde hair cascaded down her bare back in rippling waves. Her skin was pale, like an opalescent pearl against the thigh-length little black dress which dipped so low over the swelling orbs of her breasts that only their delicate tips were veiled by the clinging satin. Likewise, her pert little bottom was tightly, and barely, sheathed, while shimmering stockings covered her legs from exposed thigh to provocative black satin stiletto heels.
A perfect package. So skimpily wrapped. So tempting to unwrap.
She laughed, throwing her head back, letting that fabulous fall of hair ripple down that naked back, exposing the tender line of her throat, the dazzle of diamonds hanging from the succulent morsels of her earlobes.
Theo couldn’t even see her face yet, and already he felt his loins tightening. Hardening.
The rush of sensual pleasure of his own ultra-masculine reaction warred with a hard, tight shaft, not of desire, but anger, mingling explosively. Women like that were trouble. Especially for the men they caught in their toils.
He should know…
Slowly, he began to walk down the wide sweep of stairs.
Leandra had never felt more naked in her life. With every breath she feared that her breasts would finally escape her low-cut bodice completely, and every movement of her legs would make the tight sheath of her skirt ride up over her bottom. Chris must have been mad to make her wear a dress like this!
But he had been adamant that she should look as brazenly sexy as she could, or there was no point in any of this charade at all.
Even so, she hated the way she looked in the tarty get-up!
She took a quick but deep, controlled breath—the same technique she used to subdue stage fright. For that was all this was, Leandra reminded herself—a stage performance. Certainly a glitzy charity gala at one of London’s top hotels was not her customary stamping ground.
She was more used to pub theatres and grimy green rooms—the usual lot of a struggling actress. Now, thanks to Chris, she was standing beside a handsome young Greek millionaire—and almost sick with nerves.
Demos Atrides, who ran the UK subsidiary of the vast Atrides business empire, turned to her with a reassuring smile. She gave him a wide smile back, the way her role demanded.
She liked him a lot, and not just because of Chris. For all his wealth Demos was very diffident—he needed Chris’s buoyant confidence to keep his spirits up, Leandra knew. She wasn’t the only one dreading the coming confrontation.
Would their charade be convincing? Leandra swallowed. She mustn’t be the one to let them down—after all, she was the professional actress.
Demos’s light touch on her arm made her start slightly.
‘He’s here,’ he said in his soft, mellifluous voice, the Greek accent distinct. As was the tension in his face.
Leandra drew in her breath. ‘Here goes,’ she said, and wished herself luck.
As he approached them Theo Atrides felt his mood darken. He didn’t want to be here, but his grandfather Milo had insisted. As patriarch of the Atrides clan he was used to getting his own way. That was why, Theo knew, Milo was taking it so hard that his younger grandson refused to come to heel.
Not that it was like Demos to cause trouble. He’d always done everything Theo had asked of him, running the London office diligently and competently. His affairs had always been conducted with discretion; even Theo knew nothing about them.
Why make such a fuss about this one?
Theo’s mouth thinned. The reason was right in front of him. Blonde, lush and very, very sexy. No wonder his little cousin didn’t want to come home and marry Sofia Allessandros, the bride Milo had chosen for him. What man would want to give up a mistress like this?
Demos Atrides felt the heavy hand on his shoulder, and for a moment it felt like the clap of doom. Then he recovered.
‘Theo!’ he exclaimed, with a forced expression of delight. ‘It’s good to see you. My PA told me you’d phoned from the jet to ask where I’d be tonight.’ He glanced beyond his cousin. ‘Where is Milo?’
‘Resting,’ returned his cousin tersely. ‘The flight was a strain. You shouldn’t have made it necessary, Demos.’
The words were a reproof, and Demos coloured slightly.
‘There