Victoria Parker – The Ultimate Revenge (страница 6)

‘Very well...Nicandro.’

His name rolled deliciously from her mouth with a hint of European inflection. Italian, or maybe Greek. He didn’t miss the fact that she still hadn’t given him her name, but he was too busy imagining thick, dark curling locks and hazel eyes to match that smoky, sultry voice.

‘Let us discuss the misdemeanour of breaking and entering. It stands to reason—our being on first-name terms, after all—that you should tell me exactly what you were doing in my private rooms this evening.’

‘Tell me your name and I will.’

That she didn’t want to was clear. But two could play this game, and he hadn’t needed to hear the safety click of her revolver or the commands she’d issued to the staff to tell him this woman held power. Exactly how much he had yet to figure out.

‘My name is Olympia Merisi.’

Now, that was unexpected. He barely managed to swallow the sharp hitch in his breath.

‘Ah. The little wife, then?’ A healthy dose of disappointment made him frown. What did he care who she was chained to?

‘Little? Now, there is something I’ve never been called. As for me being a wife—angels will dance in hell before I submit to any man.’

Nic could soon change that. In fact he was tempted to make it his mission. Which was incongruous, considering he hadn’t even seen her face yet.

‘A more accurate description for me would be...daughter.’

Everything stopped, as if someone had pressed ‘pause’ on the drama that was his life.

Zeus had a daughter. Well, now, every cloud had a silver lining and it seemed the fates were looking down on him tonight.

How utterly opportune. How devilishly delicious.

This new information gave him extra verve to break loose and he regained his attempts at loosening the knots binding his wrists as he found his tongue.

‘In that case I do hope I didn’t cause too much damage to your father’s security staff. I was hoping to meet the man himself to apologise.’ If he were Pinocchio his nose would have poked her eye out by now.

‘That is very decent of you,’ she said, skating the lines of sarcasm.

‘I thought so too. I’m a very decent man.’

‘That remains to be seen. You see, I have the very old-fashioned view that seducing a member of my staff and breaking into private quarters does not decent make.’

He flashed her a mock-aggrieved look. ‘Now you are just nitpicking, querida. I was curious, that is all.’

A small flat black box spun through the air and landed at his feet with a clatter.

Ah. Busted.

‘I would expect to find such high-tech equipment in the hands of a CIA operative, not a man who is merely curious to meet another. I very much doubt you’d find such a thing in the electronics section at the local store.’

Nic shrugged. Forgot he was slightly incapacitated and wrenched his shoulder. Dios, it hurt like hell. He was going to get her back for this and he’d enjoy every single second.

What had she said? The local store? He wished. It would have been a damn sight cheaper. ‘Let us say I have friends in high places.’

‘MI5? The White House?’

‘The Bronx.’

She huffed out a genuine laugh and, just as it had earlier, a hot kind of thrilling pleasure infused his blood with a sullen pulse of want. Come on, Olympia, show me your face. You’re beautiful—I know it.

‘Any normal person would’ve asked for an appointment. Ever heard of a phone?’

‘Believe it or not, I much prefer the personal touch—’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ she interrupted snarkily.

‘Maybe curious was too bland a word,’ he went on regardless. ‘Tenacious?’

‘Foolhardy? Reckless?’

He settled on, ‘Intrepid.’ It sounded better to him.

‘Why? What exactly is it you want?’

‘An audience with the all-powerful mystery man himself. One hour with your father.’

‘Impossible,’ she declared, without missing a beat.

There was something no-nonsense about her. She was overtly frank. And, call him a fool, but he believed her. Thinking about it, she didn’t seem the type to waste time messing around. As if her time was at a premium.

He pondered that while he doubled-checked. ‘He isn’t here?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. On this occasion the journey was too far for him to travel.’

She had an odd tone to her voice he couldn’t fathom, but he still trusted her word. Dangerous? Probably. Considering who her father was. Her father who wasn’t here.

‘Pity.’ Or was it? Eventually this woman would lead him directly to Zeus himself, and in the meantime...? The game was afoot and his to master.

A few days or weeks in the company of this woman would be no hardship. He could burrow into her life, find potential weak spots, and seduce her into his bed. Imagine Zeus’s horror when he discovered Nic had tasted his precious daughter. It was too delicious an idea to reject outright. It needed serious consideration.

‘Is it a private matter, or business?’ she enquired.

‘Both.’

‘Then I’m happy to talk to him on your behalf, or deliver any message you wish. You have my word it will be delivered with the utmost secrecy.’

She began to lean towards him and Nic watched, mesmerised, breath held, pulse thumping frenetically, as she came into view inch by delectable inch. It occurred to him then that she was trying to gain his trust by coming out of the shadows, making eye contact, and figured it was entirely too possible that he was underestimating her.

Nic’s eyes strained to focus as she leaned further still, bending that tiny waist, bringing the low, severe slash of her black V-neck shirt into the light, showcasing a deep cleavage of pearly white skin that made his blood hum.

Every blink of his eyes felt lethargic, every punch of his pulse profound, as she came closer...closer—

Dios...

Legs crossed, she sat with her elbow on her bent knee, chin resting on her lightly curled fist; she was the picture of seductive power.

His jaw dropped so fast it almost dented the floor. He felt his IQ dip fifty points. ‘You are...’ Stupefyingly beautiful. ‘Blonde.’

Eyes sparkling with amusement, she tipped her head to one side, as if he’d given her a complex mathematical equation and no calculator.

‘Ten out of ten, Mr Carvalho. What exactly did you expect?’

‘Greek.’ It was the only word he could muster. Pathetic, really, considering his reputation. But holy hell and smoke and fire, the woman looked as if she’d just stepped off a film noir set, playing the leading role of femme fatale. Visually dominant and unrepentant.

Thick flaxen hair the colour of champagne had been swept back from her face and perfectly pinned in a chic 1950s Grace Kelly look. Then again, the image of Grace Kelly aroused words like innocent, serene. Whereas Olympia Merisi exuded danger and sin. A woman who would refuse to be defined by any man or to submit to her sexuality. All mysterious and seductive. The type whose charm ensnared a man in the bonds of irresistible desire.

There was no other word for it—her beauty was otherworldly, almost supernatural. Pale flawless skin that shimmered like a pearl, high slashing cheekbones that any supermodel would weep for, huge, ever so slightly slanted violet-blue eyes thickly rimmed with black kohl, and full pouty lips painted in the deepest shade of unvirtuous red.

She should have been called Aphrodite, as undeniably goddess-like as she was. An enchantress able to weave her magical powers, leaving her morally ambiguous. She was danger personified—and didn’t that just ratchet up his ‘want meter’ into the stratosphere?

This wasn’t a woman you married—hell, no: the very idea was ludicrous. This was a woman you bedded. Found ecstasy in her body over and over, until neither of you could walk, talk or summon the energy to breathe.

Hauling in damp air, he silently prayed for his arousal to subside, wishing he’d felt one zillionth of this visceral attraction for the petite q he’d earlier declined.

‘Your mother...? Norwegian? Swedish?’ With that natural colouring she had to be.

If Nic had blinked he would have missed it. That pained pinch of her mouth, that subtle flinch of her flesh. It didn’t take a genius to work out that her mother was a touchy subject.

‘French,’ she said, in a tone so cold it was a welcome blast of air-con sizzling over his hot, damp skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Nic shrugged. What was a couple of thousand miles? ‘European. Close enough.’

Her displeased pout told him to drop it, and even he knew some battles weren’t worth fighting. So he did. Well, sort of...