Page 33 of Vows of Revenge

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 wasen fêteindeed. 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, thatthiswas 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.

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