Page 6 of Vows of Revenge

Impatiently she got to her feet, heading for the shower. Time to get on with getting ready for the evening ahead. Best not to think about it. Even more, best not to think about Damos Kallinikos—let alone his drop-dead fabulous looks. They were nothing to do with her, and she was the last person he’d ever be interested in in that way.

Yes, definitely best not think about him...

Damos glanced at his watch. It was just gone eight. He was standing on the foredeck of his yacht. Behind him a table had been laid for two. The yacht was moored at the far end of the marina to afford him more privacy. Privacy in which to start the process of seducing Kassia Andrakis.

How would she present herself this evening? Though she was no couture-clad socialite, as Yorgos Andrakis’s daughter she would obviously know how to dress the part for an evening on a private yacht. So would she have done her best to glam herself up, or not? He had a gut feeling it would be ‘not’. And a few minutes later, when he saw her appear in the marina, he knew he was right.

As she approached the foot of the quay he saw she’d changed out of her work clothes. But only, it seemed, to put on a fresh pair of wide-legged trousers—cotton and dark blue, cheap from a chain store—and a loose-fitting cotton top in a slightly paler blue. The worn, dust-covered trainers had been changed for flat canvas slip-ons. Her hair was brushed, and not straggly now, but still confined into an unflattering tight knot at the back of her head. Not a scrap of make-up adorned her face. She looked clean, neat and tidy—but that was about it.

He gave a mental shrug. He was not put out by her lack of effort to dress for dinner with him on his private yacht. After all, so far as she was concerned this evening was merely an extension of her work, nothing more. Yet even so...

Is there any other reason she makes so little effort with her appearance?

Damon’s gaze narrowed slightly. Few women didn’t care about their appearance in some respect. So why didn’t Kassia Andrakis? Perhaps, though, the clue was in her surname. Had she been a high-profile beauty Yorgos Andrakis would doubtless have made use of it—so maybe she just preferred to keep a low profile?

His mouth thinned. Low profile or not, dressing down or not, Yorgos Andrakis was nevertheless ruthlessly planning to make use of her for his own ends.

As are you, yourself...

He silenced the thought. Yes, seducing Kassia Andrakis was in his interests, but nothing would happen that she did not want. And he reminded himself again that he would make sure she enjoyed their affair. Yet a flicker of something he could not name hovered a moment. He dismissed it. She was coming up to the yacht’s mooring, looking up to where he stood by the prow.

‘The harbour master told me this was yours,’ she announced.

Damos smiled in a welcoming fashion. ‘Indeed, it is. Come on aboard.’

He indicated the gangplank, a little way down the length of the yacht, and she went to it, stepping up to the deck, glancing around as she did.

‘She’s a new acquisition,’ he said blandly.

‘Very nice,’ said Kassia Andrakis politely.

‘Thank you. Not to be compared with your father’s, of course.’

That got a reaction.

Her expression tightened. ‘His is a ridiculous monstrosity!’

‘A trophy yacht?’ Damos nodded. ‘But the helipad must certainly come in useful for speedy arrivals and departures, should the occasion arise. However, each to his own, and I prefer something a little more modest.’

Kassia’s expression stayed tight. ‘Modestis relative,’ she remarked. ‘All yachts are trophy yachts.’

‘Rich men’s toys? I agree.’ He smiled, refusing to take offence. ‘Now, come and have a drink on this particular rich man’s new toy.’

He indicated the foredeck, where one of his crew was waiting to serve drinks. Kassia moved forward, looking about her. She seemed tense, and Damos wanted to put her at ease.

‘What may I offer you?’ he asked politely. ‘Champagne is oftende rigueuron yachts—however modest! But perhaps you would prefer something else?’

‘An orange juice spritzer, if that is possible,’ came the answer.

‘Of course.’

Damos nodded at the crew member, who disappeared below deck, to reappear shortly with Kassia’s drink in a tall glass, and his own martini. His crew knew what he drank at this hour of the day, and he murmured his thanks as he took his glass, handing Kassia’s to her.

‘We’ll dine in fifteen minutes,’ he instructed, and the crew member nodded and disappeared again.

Damos came and stood beside Kassia—but not too close—as she sipped at her spritzer and looked back across the marina. It was busy, but not full. A couple of upmarket restaurants were positioned to take advantage of the moored yachts, and were doing a healthy trade. The lights from the marina and from the vessels moored, as well as the green and red harbour lights, all danced on the water, and the tinkling sound of furled sails and masts moving in the light breeze, and the deeper sound of hulls tapping against the stone moorings, added to the atmosphere.

‘There’s nothing like a harbour,’ Damos said, looking around, his tone relaxed, trying to encourage her to do likewise. ‘It’s a haven from the open sea, but also a portal to that sea—to the voyages beyond. A harbour is a place of promise and opportunity. Now and down all the long ages past—and ages yet to come.’

---