Vows of Revenge

Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

K ASSIA LOOKED OUT of the window of the car—a sleek, black expensive model—which had arrived that morning at her mother’s house and conveyed her to London. But not to the Hotel Viscari. She looked out again, puzzled. The chauffeur had pulled up against the kerb and was now opening her door. She got out, surprise and confusion in her face. They were outside a famous and very expensive department store in Knightsbridge.

What on earth...?

Her phone buzzed and, still confused, she got it out of her bag to answer it.

It was Damos.

‘Kassia? Don’t move. I’ll be there in a moment.’

Even as he spoke she saw him coming out of the store. Striding towards her. As she saw him she felt her pulse give a kick. She tried to crush it down, but it was a kick all the same.

One she knew she must not feel.

Because from the moment Damos had hung up the phone the day before yesterday she’d known she should have said no to him. Her reaction to his call had told her that—warning her in the way her pulse had quickened, the way gladness had warmed through her just at hearing his voice again. It was pointless to react like that when she was just not the kind of woman a man like Damos Kallinikos would ever think of in the way that she or any other female would love him to...

She sighed inwardly. Yet she’d said yes to him all the same. Said yes because it would be another chance to see him again when she’d thought she never would. How could she have turned it down, pointless though it was? Pointless though it could only ever be?

But now, as he strode up to her, a smile slanting across his face, she felt that betraying kick in her pulse come again, felt her gaze cling to him. And she knew that she was glad—so glad—to have said yes to him. And if it seemed odd—unlikely, even—that he didn’t have anyone better than her to invite tonight, given that this was not provincial Oxford but the metropolis, where surely he must know more people...well, she just didn’t care. There might be all sorts of reasons she didn’t know about as to why he found it more convenient that she should accompany him tonight, and she knew she did not want to question it. Only to be glad of it.

Her own face broke into a warm smile in response to his and she knew her heart rate was quickening. Just seeing him again was a thrill. He was looking a million dollars, in a business suit that sheathed his tall, lean frame, and his dark eyes were as warm as his smile, doing such things to her composure...

He came up to her, greeted her, his voice as warm and welcoming as his smile, and then turned his attention to the driver.

‘I’ll be about five minutes,’ he said.

Then he took Kassia’s elbow. His touch was light, but it only added to the hollowing out inside her as he guided her towards the store’s entrance.

‘Damos, I don’t understand. What are we doing here?’

She knew there was confusion was in her voice, as well as that hollowing in her stomach, that kick in her pulse.

He paused, turning to her. ‘What I didn’t get a chance to tell you on the phone,’ he said, ‘was that this affair tonight is themed. Thirties Art Deco. Guests are asked to dress accordingly. I’ve ordered a thirties-style tuxedo for myself, but you’ll need something appropriate too. Don’t worry...’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s all taken care of. I just have to hand you over, and the specialists here will do the rest.’

He guided her inside the store, towards a bank of elevators.

‘But I brought the dress I wore to the college dinner...’ Kassia said helplessly.

Damos shook his head. ‘Not nearly Art Deco enough,’ he said, mentally casting the frumpy green dress into the nearest bin. He ushered her into an elevator. ‘All the styling will be taken care of, and of course I’ll be covering the cost. All you have to do,’ he said, his smile warmer than ever, his eyes warmer still, ‘is relax and enjoy.’

Kassia felt breathless—for so many reasons. At seeing Damos again...feeling the warmth of his smile on her...the warmth of his dark eyes on her. But for more as well. She was being whirled away...taken over...by Damos...

The elevator soared upwards, making Kassia feel even more breathless, and she was still breathless when the doors sliced open and Damos ushered her out, towards a very elegantly dressed middle-aged woman who had clearly been waiting for them to emerge.

The woman smiled at Kassia. ‘If you would care to follow me, madam...?’

Kassia looked helplessly at Damos. He smiled again.

‘See you later,’ he said. ‘The car will bring you and your overnight bag to the Viscari when you’re ready.’

He lifted a hand in farewell and stepped back inside the elevator. The doors sliced shut, and he was gone.

Slowly, feeling her heart thumping idiotically, Kassia went after the elegant middle-aged woman to her fate.

I’m having a dress fitted...a nineteen-thirties-style dress. That’s all , she told herself.

But that was not all at all...

Damos stood gazing out of the window of his suite at the Viscari. The rooftops of St James’s were beyond, the royal palace was just visible, and there were glimpses of St James’s Park as well in the early-evening light. One hand was curved around a whisky glass, the other was plunged into the pocket of his trousers. They were a slightly wider cut than he was used to, and the jacket felt and looked different as well—more waisted, with a satin shawl collar, and it was worn over a white backless waistcoat with a vee-shaped notch. His cufflinks were gold—a new purchase for the occasion—and the wings of his shirt points stiff with starch.

But his thoughts were not on his thirties-style evening dress. They were on Kassia’s.

It was just perfect that this affair tonight was Art Deco styled—it provided the perfect reason why Kassia should not be in charge of her appearance...the perfect opportunity to indulge her with a makeover.

Anticipation edged in him and he took a mouthful of his whisky, enjoying the fiery warmth of the choice single malt. He did not have long to wait now. The stylist had phoned through to say she was on her way.

He clinked the ice in his glass, suddenly tensing. He had plans for tonight—plans that would bring to fruition what he had set out to achieve since first getting wind of Yorgos Andrakis’s intentions for Cosmo Palandrou—and for his daughter. By tomorrow morning those intentions would be ashes. Because by then Kassia Andrakis would not be anyone Cosmo Palandrou could ever want as his bride.

He felt his fingers grip the whisky glass more tightly. Into his head came the words that had come to him over dinner at the Oxford college.

Tell her—tell her how her father wants to use her for his own interests.

And yet again came his negation.

It was too risky...her reaction too uncertain. Not just for her father’s plans for her. For his own.

His expression stilled for a moment, becoming shadowed.

There was one risk above all that he knew he was not prepared to take. Not any more.

I don’t want her thinking I only want to make her mine to thwart her father’s plans.

That might have been true once—but no longer.

I can’t have her thinking that.

The certainty that that was not something he could risk filled him. And that, he knew with equal certainty, was why he wanted...needed...her to think differently about herself. To see herself differently. So that his seduction of her—his wooing of her—would be accepted by her for its own sake...for hers and his.

The shadow left his expression. Soon—any moment now—he would have his proof that that was not just possible but irrefutable. Being styled, gowned and adorned the way she would be tonight must show her, once and for all, that she had no need at all to accept the self-imposed limitations which she felt so unnecessarily she had to live by.

I will change all that for her—so that she can know without doubt or any reason not to believe it that I desire her... And that is all that will be needed for us to be the lovers we shall be...

He felt himself relax, easing his shoulders, taking another mouthful of whisky. He turned his head to the rosewood pier table set opposite the sideboard in the suite’s reception room, his eyes going to the thin, flat box delivered by secure courier a short while ago.

The final touch for the evening.

His phone pinged and he glanced at it. It was a text from the driver of the car collecting Kassia, telling him she had just arrived. He knocked back the last of his whisky, setting the empty glass on the sideboard, putting away his phone.

In moments, Kassia would be here.

Hungry anticipation speared through him.

He could not wait to see her...

Kassia edged cautiously along the wide back seat of the car that was pulled up outside the Viscari and carefully—very carefully indeed—stepped out. Behind her, the chauffeur touched his cap politely, shut the car door, and got back into the driving seat to pull away again. Kassia realised the doorman was also touching his top hat to her, instructing a bellboy to fetch her bag and convey it to her room, and holding open the wide glass front door of the hotel for her to enter.

Carefully—very carefully indeed—she walked into the foyer.

She was in shock, she knew. Had been in shock since the stylist, surrounded by the bevy of assorted specialists who had been at work on her for three endless hours, had gently turned her around to face the floor-length mirror in the private changing room.

Kassia had stared. So much had been done to her. Way before the dress fitting itself. She’d been whisked into a salon to have her hair washed, and a colour rinse put in, then skilfully snipped—not to shorten it, but to trim and shape it. Then some kind of rich product had been smoothed into it, so that now it had been blow-dried it felt no longer lank and limp, but lush and glossy, glowing a deep chestnut.

And it hadn’t stopped at her hair. All sorts of peels and wraps and heaven knew what had been applied to her face and throat, until her skin had felt like satin. Her eyebrows had been shaped, her lashes tinted, and then the manicurist had started work on her hands, smoothing in velvety creams and applying nail extensions and dark red varnish. Then had come the face make-up—and finally had come the gown.

Her breath had caught as one of the assistants had brought it in. Its silky, silvery folds had slithered over her head, over the soft satin camisole and stockings into which she’d been helped, and her feet had been slipped into shoes whose heels were higher than anything she was used to.

And when it had all been done, she’d gazed at herself in the mirror.

She had felt disbelief filling her, and shocked amazement—and beneath and above both of those something else. Something that had made her glow from the inside out...

She’d felt her breathing quicken, her pulse quicken, and she could feel it still now, as she walked carefully on the high heels she wasn’t used to across the grand marble-floored foyer—busy at this time of the day—looking around for the elevators.

A member of the hotel staff stepped forward.

‘May I help you, madam?’ he enquired politely.

Kassia murmured the suite number Damos had texted her.

‘Of course. This way, if you please.’

She was ushered into a waiting lift, emerging moments later into a wide, thickly carpeted upper lobby, off which suite doors opened. The staff member led her towards the one marked ten and pressed the intercom. A moment later the door buzzed open and he was ushering her inside, withdrawing as Kassia stepped through.

She was in an elegantly appointed reception room and Damos was standing by the window. Looking right at her.

Not moving.

Completely and absolutely still.

But from across the room Kassia could see in his eyes something that suddenly, gloriously, made the glow inside her blaze...

Damos could not move. Not a muscle. it was impossible even to think of doing so. His entire being was focussed on his gaze, on what he was seeing.

For an endless moment Damos just went on staring. Then: ‘You look sensational !’

No other word would do. A surge of triumph went through him. He crossed towards her, taking her hands, his eyes alight.

‘I knew— knew it was possible!’

His eyes worked over her. He thought of the way he’d last seen her. In that concealing, shapeless, doing-nothing-for-her shop-bought dress, with her hair in a stark knot on top of her head and her face bare of make-up.

It was a thousand miles away from the woman who stood there now—a thousand, thousand.

Her evening gown was in a distinctive thirties style, cut on the bias, completely slinky, with narrow shoulder straps, and it pooled at her ankles. It was made of some kind of shimmering, silvery material that reflected the silvery sheen of her eyes—eyes which skilful make-up had now deepened and enhanced. Mascara lengthened her lashes, her cheekbones were sculpted by blusher, and her mouth—oh, her mouth!—was enriched with lush, dark red lipstick. He glanced down at her hands held in his, and saw that it matched her newly manicured nails.

As for her hair—its nondescript light brown had been coloured to a rich chestnut and it was loosened, finally, from its confining knot to sweep, lush and long, around one bare shoulder.

And her figure...

A rush of renewed triumph went through him. Finally he was seeing what her dowdy clothes had so obdurately concealed from him. Her fantastic, slender, racehorse figure, delicately sculpted, graceful and long-limbed.

His hands tightened on hers for a moment.

‘I can’t get over it,’ he said, still sounding stunned. ‘Kassia, I can’t believe you were hiding all this!’

He saw a tremulous smile form at her lips.

‘I... I didn’t know I was hiding it,’ she said.

He gave a laugh, swiftly lifting one of her hands to his mouth, and then the other, then lowering them again.

‘Well, one thing is absolutely for sure—you are never hiding it again!

He led her forward, releasing one of her hands, admiring the way her walk was swaying now, courtesy of her four-inch heeled silver evening shoes. He turned her towards the mirror over the pier table. Still holding her hand, he looked at their reflections, side by side. He heard her breath catch. Saw her beautiful eyes glow more silver.

‘Total thirties Hollywood,’ he said. ‘The pair of us! We just need to be in black and white!’

Kassia’s eyes met his in the mirror. That intense glow was still in them.

‘You look amazing yourself,’ she said.

Her eyes lingered on him, and he felt another surge of triumph go through him.

‘We definitely both look the part,’ he agreed. ‘Oh, Kassia...’ His voice changed. ‘I just can’t get over how sensational you look!’

‘Me neither,’ she said. She gave a laugh as tremulous as her smile had been. ‘I’m in shock—I know it. I just didn’t realise—’

She broke off, and Damos picked up her words. ‘But I did, Kassia,’ he said. ‘I realised that you simply believed your parents’ verdict on you. But don’t you see?’ His voice changed again. He wanted, needed her to understand. ‘They judged you by their own standards. Think about it... Your mother is petite and full-figured—you said so. And that, obviously, is the look that drew your father to her. It’s the look he likes. But you, Kassia, are like a thoroughbred racehorse!’ He gave a laugh, low and triumphant. ‘Tonight,’ he said to her, ‘everyone—and I mean everyone !—is going to think I’ve got the latest supermodel on my arm!’

He squeezed her hand lightly, then let it go. Triumph was still surging through him. He’d wanted so much for Kassia to see herself differently, to be freed of that self-deprecating self-image she’d lived with. And now she was—because surely she could not deny what her own eyes were telling her. It would be impossible to do so—the evidence was right there. And he could tell she was beginning to get used to it, to accept it. She was still gazing at her reflection, glowing at what she was seeing, partly in disbelief, partly simply looking alight with delight.

‘Let’s have a drink before we head up to the roof terrace,’ he said now. ‘We’ve plenty of time. What can I pour you?’

Her gaze dropped from her own reflection as if reluctantly. ‘Oh. Um...if there’s wine later, then probably just another OJ spritzer is best now.’

‘Coming right up,’ Damos said, crossing to the sideboard and deftly pouring her a long glass, handing it to her, fixing himself a non-alcoholic mixer. He’d already had a whisky, and alcohol would be flowing tonight. He didn’t want to drink too much...

Because there is only one way that I want this night to end.

His eyes went to her again as they clinked glasses, their gazes entwining. He felt his pulse kick...saw the sudden flaring in her eyes...felt his pulse kick harder.

He felt desire creaming in him and he knew, with a surge of triumph that was the strongest yet, that finally Kassia would accept that desire. Would believe it possible.

She cannot deny the beauty that is hers. The beauty that glows in her eyes has been revealed not just to me, but to her.

As he clinked his glass to hers he could see that belief taking a stronger hold yet in her. She was throwing little glances at her reflection, and he saw how doing so brought a curve of delight to her lips, intensifying the silvery sheen of her eyes.

‘To tonight,’ he said now, his voice low. ‘To a wonderful evening!’

Silently he added his own coda.

And to an even more wonderful—wondrous!—night together.

Because one thing was for sure. Tonight, without the slightest doubt, was the night she would become his.

He only had to let his gaze rest on her, drink her in, to tell him why he was so determined on it.

Because any other outcome right now seemed quite, quite impossible...

This feasting of his gaze on her, on all the stunning beauty that she herself could now finally believe in, would this very evening release her to him.

Kassia was in a dream. A dream of disbelief and delight...delight and disbelief. But disbelief was impossible—every glance at her reflection told her that.

And more than her own reflection was the look in Damos’s eyes as he gazed at her.

It was the look she had longed to see but never thought to. Had thought it pointless to yearn for. Never thought it possible.

But now...now it is.

She felt her heart rate give yet another skip, her breath catch yet again.

Now, thanks to the hours of grooming and pampering and adorning, she could hold her head up and know with the wonderful, heady delight inside her that no longer did she have to hopelessly, resignedly envy that parade of svelte, glamorous beauties the Internet had shown her draped all over Damos Kallinikos. Now she was one of them...

I truly am! I can see it for myself. Staring me in the face...

Her glance went to the mirror again, confirming it. How could it be otherwise when she was in this incredible gown, with her hair, her face, all telling her that now she was just the kind of woman Damos Kallinikos would want at his side?

She felt wonder course through her, hearing his words again. Could it really be that simple? That she had never believed she could look as she so obviously looked now just because her style of beauty was not her parents’? She had just accepted it—accepted their verdict and never tried to do anything with herself, never seen the point of it.

Realisation speared through her. It had taken Damos to see it—to see what she herself had not been able to and to get her to see herself differently.

And he’s seeing me differently too...

She knew he was. She could see it in his eyes, in his gaze. A little thrill of new awareness went through her. It was telling her that now he was not seeing her simply as a pleasant companion for a day, an evening...but as someone much more. Wonderfully, thrillingly more...

And if having Damos smile at her had been able to make the colour run into her cheeks simply because they were enjoying their day together at Blenheim, or their evening at the Oxford college, now there was a new warmth in his eyes, a different warmth, and it was as if she, too, could have the same warmth in her own eyes. For the same reason.

I don’t have to hide it any longer...conceal it—deny it.

She felt a shimmer deep inside. Felt her breath catch. Delight lit up within her—more than delight, oh, deliciously more. She smiled. She could not help it. The smile played at her mouth and she was dazed with it...dazed with the glorious new knowledge shimmering through her.

Damos was setting down his glass, picking up a flat case lying on the pier table, flicking it open.

‘Sensational though you are, you need just one more adornment,’ he said.

Kassia’s eyes widened. Inside the case was a glittering loop—a single strand diamond necklace—and two equally glittering brooches in distinctive Art Deco style.

‘They’re originals from the period. I hired them for tonight,’ he told her.

He picked up the brooches, holding them out to her, and Kassia took one, turning towards the mirror again to fasten it very carefully at the base of one of the evening dress’s straps, and then do likewise with the other.

‘And now the necklace,’ said Damos.

He was standing behind her and he lifted the glittering strand into his hands, bringing it forward to loop it around her throat, carefully smoothing aside the fall of her hair. The stones felt cold on her skin—but his fingers, deftly fastening the necklace, were warm.

That deep, delicious shimmer inside her came again.

He stood back, his hands resting lightly on her upper arms, his palms warm. She could catch the tang of his aftershave, could feel his hands lying so devastatingly on her bare arms.

The shimmer inside her intensified as they gazed at themselves reflected in the mirror in front of them.

‘How incredibly beautiful you are, Kassia,’ she heard him say.

His voice was a husk, and his eyes...oh, his eyes...were drinking in her reflection. As she was drinking in his.

She felt faintness drum through her. Did she sway? She didn’t know. Knew only that Damos was bending his head towards her, dipping it to the curve of her bared shoulder. The sweep of her hair was heavy around her other shoulder as she felt his mouth graze her skin softly, sensuously. The touch of his hands was so light...

She felt weakness wash through her, her eyelids dipping.

He straightened, and a slow, intimate smile curved his mouth as he held her gaze again in their reflection.

‘My beautiful, beautiful Kassia,’ he said.

And in his voice, warm and husky, was surely all that she could ever have longed to hear and never thought she could.

But she did tonight. Oh, tonight—thanks to the incredible, fantastic transformation that had been wrought upon her—she knew that the reflection of that other woman in the mirror was truly herself...all her...

And it was a wonder beyond all wonders that it should be so...

She held his gaze in the mirror, her eyes twining with his. The breath was stilled in her lungs.

And then Damos was letting his hands fall from her, holding out his arm to her in a stately fashion.

‘Time for our evening to begin,’ he said, and his smile reached to her, warm and inviting.

Her own smile answered his. Just as warm. Just as inviting.

She placed her crimson-tipped hand over his sleeve.

‘Oh, yes...’ she breathed. ‘Oh, yes ...’

Damos strolled forward. The rooftop garden of the Viscari St James was en fête indeed. Lights glittered from the perimeter trees, glowed from the undergrowth, festooned the paved terrace in front of the glass-fronted, glass-roofed restaurant to one side of the space.

‘It’s like fairyland!’ Kassia exclaimed.

Her hand was still resting on his sleeve, and he could feel her leaning on him slightly. Maybe those four-inch heels were taking some getting used to. Or maybe she was a little nervous?

As they’d emerged on to the roof terrace level, already thronged with guests, he’d felt her tense for a moment. Maybe she was self-conscious about her sensational new appearance? She was certainly drawing eyes—just as he had said she would. Heads were turning as they walked out into the warm evening air to take in the amazing roof garden.

Whatever the reason, he liked the feeling of her leaning on him, letting him support her. They were, he knew, perfectly matched as a couple. Even in heels she was still a tad below his height, and so incredibly slender, her racehorse figure sheathed in the fantastic gown skimming her body, her bare sculpted shoulders a work of art in their own right.

A sense of possessiveness fused through him and he drew her little more closely against him. She was here, with him, for this evening.

And for the night ahead.

Because there could be no other way to end the evening...

Certainty filled him. Never had he been more certain, more sure, that this was what he wanted most in all the world.

Kassia—with him.

How far we’ve come...

His thoughts reached back to his first glimpse of her, crouched down in that trench, head bowed over her work, teasing out that bit of broken pottery in her baggy, dusty work clothes, her face flushed with heat and dabbed with earth, her hair clamped to the back of her neck, with loose, damp strands around her face. How little he had thought of her then except as someone he must engineer an acquaintance with...get to know without having the faintest interest in her personally. Simply because she was Kassia Andrakis.

How totally different it was now.

Totally.

Oh, she was Kassia Andrakis still, but as they stood together, admiring the scene before them, the only thing he cared about was that she was Kassia.

He felt desire course through him again as he caught the scent of her perfume, felt the warmth of her tall, graceful body half leaning against his. Filling his senses.

A server was circulating with trays of drinks, and he helped himself to two flutes of champagne, passing one to Kassia, who took it, bringing her gaze from the roof garden back to him. Their eyes met and melded.

‘To a memorable evening,’ Damos murmured, clinking his glass gently against hers and then lifting it to his mouth. She did likewise, almost in an echo of his gesture. They were still holding each other’s eyes.

It seemed to Damos that suddenly everyone else around them had vanished...

Then a voice broke the moment.

‘Damos! Good to see you. Very glad you made it.’

A couple were coming up to them—the Cardmans, London acquaintances of his, through whom he was here tonight.

He greeted them smoothly, introducing Kassia to them, and the Cardmans to her in return.

‘Charles is in shipping too—a yacht broker,’ he said, explaining the connection.

Charles Cardman’s wife turned her attention to Kassia.

‘Have you known Damos long?’ she asked.

She was probing—it was pretty obvious to Damos.

‘Not very,’ Kassia answered with a polite smile, unfazed by the question.

‘What brings you to London?’ Charles Cardman asked conversationally.

‘I was in Oxford for a conference and bumped into Damos there. He very kindly asked me along tonight. It’s quite amazing, this roof garden! I’ve never seen it before, and it certainly takes the breath away.’

‘Conference?’ Valerie Cardman probed.

A good few years younger than her husband, she was nevertheless older than Kassia. She was very good-looking, but Kassia was outshining her hands down. Maybe Valerie Cardman did not like that, thought Damos a touch cynically.

‘Oh...um...yes—Ancient Greece,’ Kassia said politely. ‘I’m an archaeologist.’

Charles Cardman gave a bark of laughter. ‘I thought archaeologists were all fusty, musty and dusty!’

‘Not this one,’ Damos supplied smoothly.

He changed the subject, asking Charles something about the business. Valerie Cardman focussed on Kassia, and as Charles answered his enquiry Damos heard her asking where she had got her retro-style gown.

He heard Kassia name the department store, adding, ‘Damos kindly sorted it all out for me. I hadn’t got anything suitable with me. It’s incredibly slinky, isn’t it? I don’t know how those Hollywood actresses managed to breathe—I barely can! Yours is gorgeous—like that fabulous one with feathers Ginger Rogers wears in that movie when she and Fred Astaire are dancing together out on a terrace by moonlight. And you’ve got her amazing figure too! I’m all up and down—not in and out!’

Covertly, Damos glanced at Valerie as he chatted to her husband. Valerie was preening.

‘That’s exactly the effect I was after!’ she exclaimed, pleased. ‘Tell me, do you dance? There’s going to be dancing later—not modern stuff, but proper ballroom dancing.’

Kassia shook her head. ‘Not in the slightest,’ she said ruefully. ‘What about you?’

‘Oh, I used to be a professional dancer,’ Valerie said airily.

‘How wonderful! No wonder you’re channelling Ginger Rogers tonight!’ said Kassia.

With a start of surprise Damos heard genuine admiration in Kassia’s voice, and he heard Valerie laugh, pleased.

‘How she ever did those amazing routines in high heels I just don’t know,’ Kassia was saying now. ‘I can barely walk in these heels, let alone dance in them! With my beanpole height I’m far more used to flats and being...’ she gave a laugh ‘...just as fusty, musty and dusty as your husband says! This is a real night out for me.’

‘Oh, you get used to heels—and to dancing backwards,’ Valerie was saying airily. ‘It takes core strength, though. And good balance.’

‘I can imagine... And it must need so much training and discipline.’

‘Years,’ agreed Valerie.

‘And talent,’ her husband put in at this point, smiling benignly at her.

His wife laughed, pleased at the compliment.

Conversation became general, and Damos realised that Kassia was getting on with Valerie in a way he had just not envisaged.

Maybe I’m only used to women competing with each other...seeing each other as rivals.

Kassia wasn’t like that—and he could see she had effortlessly disarmed Charles Cardman’s wife just by being natural and friendly. She’d got on just as easily at the college dinner, too, adapting her conversation to whoever she was talking to, male or female. Asking them questions...showing an interest.

Most of the females he was used to going out with were only interested in themselves, he thought mordantly. Kassia was completely different...

It was yet another reason for liking her, and for liking being with her. And he acknowledged that her interest in other people, in subjects he had never bothered to care about, had been steadily broadening his own horizons, too.

In the long slog of the years it had taken him to turn himself from deckhand to wealthy businessman he had been tunnel-visioned. Concentrating on one subject only—making money, and then making more money. It had absorbed his life, and everything had been dedicated to that end—dedicated to improving things for himself. Even his romances, such as they were, were always with women who could play to that purpose, add to his image of success and wealth. Whether he liked them or not had never been relevant to his spending time with them.

His eyes shadowed for a moment. When he had first engineered his encounter with Kassia that had been his attitude towards her, too. She herself had not been important—only whose daughter she was. Thoughts moved within him—thoughts he had never experienced before. He had targeted Kassia Andrakis for a very clear purpose of his own that had had nothing to do with either her looks—or lack of them—or her personality. Had she been the very opposite of natural and friendly he’d still have done what he had—and even if the makeover had not been as amazing as it so dazzlingly was.

For a brief moment a frown creased his forehead, as if things were colliding inside him. Confronting each other. Then he shook his head mentally, clearing them away and clearing his expression. He no longer felt that way about Kassia...as if it was only who she was that was important to him.

I’ve changed.

For a moment it hung there...that simple statement that somehow wasn’t simple at all. That was somehow significant...important.

But he did not yet know how he had changed—how it was important...

His eyes went to Kassia, still talking to the Cardmans about ballroom dancing and what they might expect later on, Her beautiful eyes were alight, her face animated. Something swept through him, powerful and strange. Something that he did not recognise, did not know. He knew only that it seemed to be possessing him...taking him over...

Charles Cardman turned towards him, breaking the moment. ‘What about you, old chap? How’s your foxtrot?’ he asked genially.

‘Non-existent,’ he admitted, mentally refocussing with an effort. ‘I can probably manage a waltz, but that’s about all.’

‘Ah, but what tempo?’ Valerie challenged. ‘Fast or slow?’

‘Does it make a difference?’ Damos asked, taken aback.

‘Oh, yes!’

She launched into technicalities, and Damos held up his hand.

‘I’m lost already! I’ll just have to lumber around and do my best.’ He threw an apologetic look at Kassia. ‘I’ll try not to step on your toes as well!’

‘You’ll both be fine,’ Valerie said reassuringly. ‘Charles and I will dance with each of you first and give you a quick lesson. Charles isn’t at all bad for an amateur,’ she said fondly, patting her husband’s arm approvingly.

Damos smiled, thanking her, but he knew it was not Valerie Cardman he wanted to take into his arms to dance with—it was Kassia.

To feel her in my arms...to hold her...embrace her. She, and she alone, is the only woman I want in my arms. And in my bed. The only woman...

And again that strange, powerful, unknown feeling swept through him.

Possessing him...