He loomed over her. “How did it happen? Did you fall? Did you hit your head? What do the doctors say about the prognosis? Will you ever get that part of your memory back?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.” Gemma’s voice sounded thin and thready even to her own ears. “It upsets me.”
Angelo gave a harsh sigh. “I suppose I can understand that. It must be scary.”
Not as scary as Angelo. Even when he was being nice—like now, when his eyes were full of sympathy—there was a taut purpose to his body, an air of danger and tension. Gemma shuddered. Nice wouldn’t last. Not with Angelo Apollonides. He hadn’t transformed a string of family resorts into modern extravaganzas built for year-round entertainment by being a nice, sympathetic kind of guy. He was tough, decisive and ruthless. A man who worked hard—and played harder. A Greek success legend.
His gaze was direct. “Have dinner with me.”
The unexpected request startled her. She chewed her lip. It was what she ought to do.
“Is it such a difficult decision? Do I scare you so much?” His hands came down on her shoulders and the touch scorched straight through her lamb’s-wool sweater.
She went very still. “You don’t scare me at all,” Gemma said with false bravado.
His hands tightened. “Prove it by having dinner with me.”
A dare. How infantile. She froze under his touch. A hint of stubble darkened his jaw and the hard line of his mouth had relaxed into a sensual curve. The dark intensity of his gaze and the way her flesh reacted to his touch told her that he was way out of her league. She wasn’t ready to have dinner with him, to be the sole focus of his attention. He was so much more than she’d expected. But she had no choice. Not if she wanted to learn what she needed. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day. And it’s late.”
He was about to say something, to argue, when his cell phone trilled. He mouthed an apology and turned away, talking rapidly in Greek, and Gemma realised she’d lost his attention.
Gemma wanted to kick something—preferably herself—and she wished desperately she’d accepted his invitation. Even though the prickles of excitement his touch had generated terrified her.
He hit a button and slid the phone into his pants pocket. “Tomorrow night?”
Relief overwhelmed her. She hadn’t blown it. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay, I’ll have dinner with you.”
“So how did we meet?” The following evening Gemma sat across from Angelo in a secluded corner of the Golden Fleece restaurant, her half-eaten meal of grilled calamari garnished with sliced lemon in front of her.
“At the film festival in Cannes.” Angelo set down his knife. His plate was empty. “I thought you were an actress.”
That would explain some of it. Angelo had never been linked with a dancer previously.
“Oh? What happened next?” She speared another tube of calamari and popped it into her mouth.
“You were beautiful—and funny. I enjoyed your company so I invited you to spend a weekend at Poseidon’s Cavern.” He named one of the famous resorts that he owned. “You accepted. And, when business called, you came back to Strathmos with me—it’s where I live, after all.” He gave her a grin that transformed his face, the harsh line of his mouth softening into a passionate curve.
Gemma set her knife and fork together and shifted in her chair, uncomfortable with the notion that it had been so easy for him. “And then I got a job in the resort? Right?”
“Do you want desert?”
“No, thanks.”
“Coffee?”
She shook her head, impatient for his answer to her questions.
He came around and pulled out her chair. Close to her ear he murmured, “There was so much more glamour in being the boss’s girlfriend than working.” His voice was loaded with cynicism. “And you’d led me to believe you were taking a break from stage work. I had no idea you were an exotic dancer until about a month later.”
“Oh.” Gemma rose and shot him a wary glance. “I never wanted to…leave?”
He gave a hard-edged grin. “Why should you have? You had it all. Great resorts to live in, an unending credit line and good sex.”
That was supposed to be funny? Gemma had never felt less like laughing in her life. She walked quickly ahead, not noticing the attractive man with long dark hair who waved to her. She smouldered silently until they exited the restaurant.
“So I no longer had a career—” She squawked in shock as Angelo pulled her into an alcove behind an immense bronze statue of Hephaestus. The sconce of fire that burned in the statue’s raised hand cast leaping shadows against the walls. Gemma opened her mouth to protest.
“If you mean, you no longer danced half naked in an upmarket bar, then no, you no longer had a career. Instead you had me.” In the close confines of the alcove his face had changed, toughened. He looked hard and ruthless and suddenly Gemma could see exactly why he was such a successful businessman and commanded so much respect. She had to take care not to provoke him.
“I had you.” Gemma struggled to keep the anger at his arrogance out of her voice. “And what did you get out of this deal?”
“A beautiful woman in my bed.”
“I don’t suppose it occurred to you I might’ve wanted more?”
“More?”
“A career—”
He gave a snort. “You scored by being my live-in lover. Travel to different resorts. A-list parties. No need to work. Believe me, it was better for you my way.”
His way. Gemma had a feeling that most things ended up his way. The alternative would be for his kept mistress to hit the highway. “Did you love me?”
“Love you?” His head went back and she could see she’d surprised him.
“Yes, did you love me?” She pressed. “With all this good sex, did you feel anything for me at all?”
“Look, Gemma, this wasn’t about love. It was about two consenting adults who met and enjoyed time together.” He spread his hands sideways. “Hell, we were hardly Romeo and Juliet.”
“If we had been Romeo and Juliet, you’d have been dead by the end,” Gemma said through gritted teeth.
“Hey,” he objected, “what are you getting so worked up about? All I meant was that we weren’t young lovers, dizzy from an attack of first-time love.”
“Did I love you?”
He gave an astonished laugh. “What’s the fixation with love? You certainly never told me you loved me. But then you weren’t in it for love. And nor was I.”
Gemma bit her lip, thinking furiously. “I can’t believe I would’ve lived the kind of life you’ve painted for any other reason than because I loved you more than anything in the world. It’s so against everything I believe in.”
“Well, you showed no sign of loving me…and if that’s what you believe now, then you’ve changed.”
She stilled. “Maybe I have.”
His eyes darkened. “Gemma.” He stretched out a hand