Buch lesen: «The Millionaire's Virgin»
The Millionaire’s Virgin
VIRGIN FOR SALE
by
Susan Stephens
THE RICH MAN’S VIRGIN
by
Lindsay Armstrong
THE BEDROOM ASSIGNMENT
by
Sophie Weston
MILLS & BOON
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VIRGIN FOR SALE
by
Susan Stephens
Susan Stephens was a professional singer who now loves nothing more than reading and writing romance. She lives in cosy chaos in a converted blacksmith’s cottage in Cheshire surrounded by cats, dogs, guinea pigs, children and a very understanding husband. She loves playing the piano and singing, as well as riding, cooking and gardening and travel. When she isn’t writing she’s usually daydreaming about her next hero!
Don’t miss Susan Stephen’s exciting new novel, The Ruthless Billionaire’s Virgin, available in May 2009 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.
For Penny…a true friend.
PROLOGUE
‘YOU must leave before they come for you—’
Her mother’s hands were biting into her shoulders making Lisa cry; silent tears that trickled down her cheeks unchecked, while her gaze remained locked on her mother’s face.
‘You must go to your father in the city.’
‘My father?’ Lisa’s face turned suddenly fearful.
This was all the more shocking for her mother to see, because the child she called Willow had long ago learned to govern her feelings.
Lisa regained control quickly. She hated letting the mask slip. She only felt safe when no one knew what she was thinking. The mask was the shield she used to protect herself in the dangerous society in which she lived—a place where a careless glance or reckless laughter could lead to humiliating punishment in front of the whole community.
But if she was frightened of her ruthless ‘family’, Lisa was even more terrified of leaving her mother to their mercy. She was terrified of her father too, because he was a stranger her mother had fled from seven years before. Was her father wicked? Was that why her mother had run away? Was he even more wicked than the people who lived here?
Lisa stared fearfully at the open door. No one was allowed to close doors in the commune, let alone lock them.
‘Please, Willow, please, you must go now, or they will be here.’
Her mother’s voice had the desperate, pleading sound Lisa associated with horrible things, and her once beautiful eyes were bloodshot and watery. Her lips, tinged blue from the latest blows, were twisted in a grimace of desperation.
‘Please, Willow—’
‘Don’t call me Willow. My name is Lisa… Lisa Bond.’
Hearing her mother’s sob, Lisa wished she hadn’t been the cause of it, and that she knew how to make her smile again. But she could only stand behind the barricades she had built in her mind, and watch her cry.
‘I kept back some money from the market stall.’
Lisa looked on in horror as her mother dug inside the pocket of her flowing robe. ‘But that’s stealing from the community. You will be punished—’
‘If you love me, you will take this and leave here.’
The coins hurt as they bit into the soft flesh of Lisa’s palm. ‘You’ll come with me—’
‘Come with you?’
For a moment, her mother’s eyes brightened, but then they both heard the voices coming closer… men’s voices.
‘Climb through that window,’ Eloisa instructed. Her voice was fierce and determined for the first, for the only time in her life. ‘And don’t stop running until you reach the bus depot. Here, take your father’s address.’ She pressed a slip of paper into Lisa’s hand.
‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll… I’ll keep them here until you’re far away.’
They exchanged a glance. There was no time for more. The leader of the commune had announced Lisa’s initiation into womanhood that night at supper. It was an entertainment for everyone to enjoy, he said.
‘My name is Lisa Bond. My name is Lisa Bond. My name is Lisa Bond.’ Lisa chanted to herself as she hurtled down the pitch-black country lane. It was the only way she could block out the inner voice begging her to return to the commune and save her mother. Another, more rational voice insisted that if she did go back she would only cause her mother more pain.
When the lights of the small, local bus depot came into sight she sprinted the final few yards and launched herself onto the running board of the last bus to the city. There was no transport at the commune. She knew they couldn’t get to her. At last, she was safe…
The man on board the bus took her money without comment. If he wondered at the grubby child clutching a slip of paper in a fist turned white with tension, something about the set of her mouth warned him not to intrude on her silence.
As Lisa gazed out into the darkness she was sure she could feel her mother’s will urging her to turn her face to the future. And in that moment she knew for certain that somewhere deep inside her a person called Lisa Bond still existed. She would find that person, and nurture her like the seedlings she cared for in her own secret plot back at the wasteland the community called a garden. She had guarded them fiercely and controlled the weeds. In secure surroundings her plants had thrived, and so would she.
CHAPTER ONE
‘SHE’S here—’
Constantine Zagorakis didn’t move a muscle in response to his aide’s whispered aside, though his eyes darkened a little as Lisa Bond entered the room. The woman’s rise to the seat of power at Bond Steel had played right into his hands. Her late father, Jack Bond, had been a difficult character; doing business with Jack’s daughter promised an easier ride.
Lisa Bond had a reputation in the City for being hard. In fairness she’d had to be hard-hearted to fill the shoes of her father when he’d died. But, hard or not, she was still a woman… and women were prey to their emotions, a factor that would give him an immediate advantage.
An air of confident command hung about the chairwoman of Bond Steel as she led her directors into the boardroom. Her manner challenged him. Lisa Bond wouldn’t just dance to his tune; by the time he had finished with her, she’d sing to it too.
She’d had the worst kind of childhood, but his youth had been blighted too and he’d come through. He’d make no allowances. There were only two women in the world he could trust, and Lisa Bond was neither one of them.
Bond was a woman with history. Before throwing in her lot with her father, she had lived with her mother in a place that knew no rules or boundaries. She could turn on the ice all she liked, he wasn’t buying it. Beneath that front there had to be a free spirit itching to break out. He would set that spirit free and add her company to his portfolio at a knock-down price. Where business was concerned he had no scruples. Breaking down the opposition was Constantine’s primary objective.
Like any predator, Tino sensed the change in the air as Lisa Bond walked towards him, as well as the hint of some fresh scent she wore. She was dwarfed by the men in suits flanking her, but her presence more than made up for it. Petite and trim, she had clearly chosen her dark tailored suit to create a certain impression.
She was more beautiful than her photograph suggested, with luxuriant chestnut-brown hair fixed in an immaculate chignon. Beautiful women frequently used their looks like a weapon in an attempt to disarm him, but Lisa Bond was different—and not just because she had the most compelling sea-green eyes he had ever seen. She had something more. The outcome would be the same. He would take what he wanted and walk away. A woman had betrayed him at birth; only two had won his trust since then; there would be no more.
The tabloids and the business reports all said Bond was blessed with the attributes of an alpha male mixed together with the subtle cunning of a woman. The tempting sight of her breasts leant some credence to the rumour. Had she forgotten to fasten the extra button? Or was the curve of lush breasts exposed just enough to tease another cold calculation? Either way, it was his ineluctable duty to bring her to heel.
Tino took no more than a second or two over his assessment. His senses were tuned to the highest level. Whatever happened in the meeting, he would find the key that unlocked Bond Steel’s darkest secrets. Every company had them. He and his people would simply sift through the records until he found out what they were. This ‘negotiation’ was merely a business courtesy—a gesture that meant nothing. The moment Bond Steel’s Achilles heel was uncovered he would strike.
In the role of gracious victor he might save Ms Bond’s backside—he might not. That would depend on how cooperative she was. The only certainty was that he would be adding another valuable asset to Zagorakis International Inc.
While this was going on, Lisa was drawing a few fast conclusions of her own, though it was hard to think rationally when her back was still bristling at the unannounced arrival of Constantine Zagorakis. Her diary was planned with all the care of a military operation; she didn’t like it upset. The meeting with Zagorakis Inc had been scheduled for later that morning. She had something to sell; Zagorakis Inc was always hungry. But no one had expected Constantine Zagorakis to turn up in person.
Lisa had barely had chance to sit down at her desk before her PA, Mike, had alerted her to who was in the building… Zagorakis might as well have swept through it like a firestorm. Grown men were behaving like overexcited children at the mere mention of his presence. Fortunately, Lisa’s speciality was dousing fires.
Zagorakis Inc had made an offer for one of Bond Steel’s subsidiaries, a small engineering works that had done some good things in the past. The company no longer fitted her strategic vision for the core business, and the cash injection resulting from the sale could save Bond Steel.
Family-run businesses had dropped out of favour in the City, and the Bond Steel share price had taken a dive. The situation was critical. There were no other serious offers, and if she didn’t nail the deal with Zagorakis she stood to lose Bond Steel, ruin the lives of those who worked for her, and face the type of humiliation that would put back the cause of women in industry a hundred years. Everything was riding on this deal.
Zagorakis Inc was cash rich and could move fast, which suited her perfectly. But that didn’t explain why Constantine Zagorakis was taking a personal interest in the deal. It was peanuts on the scale of his usual acquisitions. So, why was a world-class predator sniffing around? Because he wanted all of Bond Steel? That was where her suspicion dial was pointing.
When she found him staring at her, the rumour she had heard about him sprang to mind—he liked to look his prey in the eyes before devouring them. She’d laughed at the time—but now it didn’t seem so funny.
She resented the Zagorakis-effect. He was like some vast power source that drew everyone’s attention. A typical tycoon— he was ruthless, driven, and utterly heartless. She was no marshmallow herself, which explained the buzz in the building. This was one battle no one wanted to miss.
Some sixth sense had told him she never sat at the head of the table, but in the middle of her team. Unerringly, he had chosen to stand behind her chair as if he was already poised to take her place. And then he directed one of his minions to the seldom-used chairman’s seat at the head of the table. Who the hell did he think he was? Who was in control here?
‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ She didn’t need to raise her voice to command attention, though there was one dark gaze she could have done without. Zagorakis threw off sexual vibes with every move. And with treachery typical of the female body she was already longing for a slice of that high-octane maleness—something she had to get over fast.
Fortunately, she found that easy. She was Jack Bond’s daughter, after all.
A bitter smile grazed Lisa’s lips. Thanks to her father she had seen the depths of degradation to which a man could bring a woman. She had no intention of suffering her mother’s fate, of being tossed around like some uncared for rag doll… She had to be in control.
Tino was immediately aware of the shadow dulling Lisa’s gaze. He had been anticipating a glint of challenge, or some proof of her wild nature. This new, subdued expression was a real disappointment. The hunt was spoiled before it began if the prey was wounded.
He was relieved when she quickly recovered. His imagination was in overdrive. She had probably missed an appointment at the beauty salon.
Lisa consciously relaxed her shoulder. It was dangerous to let Zagorakis see how shaken she was, but something about him reminded her of the past…
It was his presence, his strength—his overwhelming physical strength. Yes, that was it. She shook her head in a fast, instinctive gesture to close the door on those memories that were safer locked away. But for a few seconds the old film replayed in her head. The leader of the commune had been a powerful, awe-inspiring figure, but he had been an evil man, who had grown ever stronger by feeding on the insecurities of his flock.
It had been Lisa’s misfortune to come to his notice when her body had started developing faster than the other girls’, and she would always be grateful to her mother for helping her to run away before the obscene initiation ceremony he had planned especially for her could take place.
She glanced around quickly just to check that no one had noticed her brush with the past. No one had. They were all too busy preparing for the meeting. And now the blood was flowing freely through her veins again, and she could feel her cheeks warming up. The past would always be with her, Lisa reflected grimly. And thank goodness for it, it kept her wary, kept her safe.
‘Ms Bond.’
She came to abruptly. Zagorakis was offering to shake her hand in greeting, yet all she could think was how threatening he was. She thought about her father, remembering how his icy control had proved too much for his much younger wife, causing her mother to bolt from the endless round of coffee mornings and race days to the promised freedom of the commune. Her father might have been the mainstay of every charitable committee in the area, but he had remained blind to the fact that her mother’s fragile psyche had been falling to pieces in front of him…
‘I’m going to be a free spirit,’ her mother had said, Lisa recalled, curling her lip as she remembered their hectic flight to the commune. The only thing that was free at the commune as far as she remembered was the men’s licence to have sex whenever, and with whomever, they chose. The women worked, while the men drank themselves into oblivion, only recovering in time for the next rut.
In Lisa’s opinion, her mother had simply exchanged one type of savage slavery for another. Fortunately, such a thing could never happen to her. She had taken control of her life when she had escaped the commune, and no one would ever take that control away from her. If they did she always feared it would destroy her.
As Constantine Zagorakis’s hand enclosed Lisa’s in the customary handshake she felt a shock run right up her arm. She had thought him strong, but she’d had no idea up to that moment how powerful he was. Touching him was like touching the pelt of a sleeping lion. She could sense the power underneath. And he had the same peculiar stillness of a deadly predator, a predator poised to pounce…
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, but they both knew it was a meaningless courtesy; the smile didn’t even attempt to reach her eyes. The only pleasure in store for either of them was a deal that came out weighted in their favour.
Zagorakis’s gaze was as hard as her own. She wished it might have been possible to learn something about him before they had met, but Constantine Zagorakis was a dark mystery of a man, a man who lived his life behind a wall of secrecy. No rumours about him had ever circulated. He was, apparently, Mr Clean, with no family that anyone knew about, no lurid sex life, no life at all outside his formidable business empire—an empire that reached into every corner of the world.
At thirty-five, Constantine Zagorakis ran one of the largest corporations on the planet. Devouring companies was his recreation of choice. But this was one business that would stick in his craw, because Bond Steel wasn’t for sale. And neither was she. Lisa thought, hardening her mouth when he held her gaze. Easing her hand away from his clasp, she turned to address the room: ‘Shall we sit down, gentlemen?’
And now, Zagorakis was holding out her chair like the perfect gentleman. He didn’t fool her. He understood the significance of the seat of power, and was goading her with it. He had sensed how territorial she was. The fact that he could read her so accurately made her doubly cautious. ‘Thank you, Mr Zagorakis.’ She took her place.
‘Please, call me Tino.’
‘Won’t you sit across from me?’ Lisa indicated a place at the table, ignoring his attempt at informality. She didn’t want to sit facing him, but it was better, safer to keep him in sight at all times—that way she could detect any little asides he might send to his people.
It provided her with a perfect chance to study him. His choice of outfit was nothing short of an insult: casual jacket, blue jeans, and a black, open-necked shirt—though everything was designer, she’d give him that. Still, he looked more like a buccaneer home from a raid than a suave Greek tycoon. His thick, wavy black hair was too long, and there was at least a day’s worth of stubble on his face.
Her stomach gave a kick as their eyes briefly met. She didn’t like his expression. Aesthetically his eyes were pleasing enough, glorious in fact, black as pitch, with lashes so long he could almost shield what he was thinking… but not quite. This was a scouting trip for Tino Zagorakis. He wasn’t interested in her small engineering works. He was testing the vulnerability of the parent company, Bond Steel. He was testing her vulnerability.
Lisa was used to corporate raiders sniffing around. They all thought the same thing: a woman at the helm was easy pickings—their mistake. Zagorakis was no more of a threat than the rest—other than in the hot-sexual-tug department.
Businessmen she normally encountered had boardroom pallor with blubber to match, and so she had imagined him shorter, dumpier, uglier—a younger model of the grizzled old shipping tycoons. Tino Zagorakis was none of those things.
But she had to forget the man’s impressive casing, and focus on the brain beneath. Bond Steel’s reputation was on the firing line—not to mention her own, and from his casual approach she assumed Zagorakis thought the deal a foregone conclusion. He hadn’t even troubled to shave or dress appropriately, and that showed contempt in her book.
The meeting between Bond Steel and Zagorakis Inc evolved like a polite game of tennis, with the tactical ball being passed with exaggerated politeness between the two sides. Meanwhile, Lisa concentrated her mind on the subtext: Zagorakis had identified a company he thought a good match with his own; the small portion she was prepared to sell didn’t interest him; he wanted it all.
When a lull came in their discussions, he stood up. It was barely noon. ‘Are you leaving so soon? I’ve arranged for a buffet to be laid out next door. I thought we could discuss some of the finer details.’ He wasn’t interested in making small talk over canapés—and it was time to lose the charm. ‘We haven’t finished, Mr Zagorakis—’
‘I have.’
Lisa felt the blood drain out of her face. She wasn’t used to being looked at the way Zagorakis was looking at her. She wasn’t used to anyone going against her wishes. She made the rules; everyone else lived by them—that way they all stayed safe. But Tino Zagorakis had made it clear that as far as he was concerned she had no rank. He would do exactly as he pleased, and she could go hang. Bond Steel was just a tasty snack… the company, the people who worked there, counted for nothing.
‘I regret I have another appointment.’ He held her gaze.
Regret? Lisa didn’t think so. That deep, husky voice was pitched to make it sound as if there were some type of understanding between them, an intimacy almost. It unsettled her, and must have unsettled her team—they had to be wondering what was going on. Without raising his voice Zagorakis had scored a telling point by subtly undermining her authority. And then she saw that his eyes were hard and calculating, and even slightly mockingly amused.
Scraping back her chair, she stood to face him. She wasn’t about to let Bond Steel be gobbled down by some ravenous tycoon—a tycoon who thought her company was just a set of numbers. Bond Steel wasn’t a counter to be risked. And if Zagorakis had come down from his ivory tower to measure her, and judged her no threat, he had miscalculated. She would defend Bond Steel to the last.
After her experience in the commune Bond Steel had been her salvation. While other teenagers had longed for freedom, she had craved discipline and boundaries so she could sleep safe at night. Jack Bond had given her that. Before she’d started to work for him he had sent her to a school where even the rigid order had been welcome. It had provided her with a framework within which she had felt safe, and she had excelled. When she had returned home she hadn’t cared that her father had shown her no favouritism; she had never expected any. Jack Bond had only ever wanted a son, and she accepted that too. She had worked her way up her father’s company from the bottom. When he’d died, she’d taken his place thanks to sheer dint of effort. By then she had discovered the key to his success. It was nothing more than hard work and focus. Jack Bond had never allowed anything as time-wasting as emotion to stand in his way.
‘Why, Ms Bond, you seem distracted.’
Those eyes—those incredible black-gold eyes—were dancing with laughter. Sucking in an angry gulp of air, Lisa felt her hands ball into fists. ‘Not a bit of it, Mr Zagorakis.’ Her gaze flicked over him dismissively. ‘As your decision to attend this meeting was clearly last-minute, I won’t keep you. I’m sure our people can arrange another time for us to meet if there are any outstanding details—’
‘Shall we say dinner at nine to discuss those outstanding details?’
Lisa’s cheeks flamed red. She was sure the double entendre was intended. In spite of her slender frame her breasts had always been regarded as her most ‘outstanding’ feature. And now her nipples had hardened into bullets, which, from the expression in Zagorakis’s eyes, she guessed he knew.
‘I’ll have my chauffeur pick you up around nine at your apartment—’
‘No—’ Before she could say more Lisa found herself staring at an open door. ‘Gentlemen, this meeting is over,’ she said, quickly recovering her self-possession. ‘Tomorrow morning at ten would suit me for the follow up. Arrange it for me, will you, Mike?’
By nine o’ clock that evening Lisa was curled up tensely on the sofa at the penthouse she called home. Warm and pink after her bath, she was anything but relaxed. Wearing her favourite plush robe, she had the music turned down low, a crystal goblet of good burgundy on the side table next to her, and a new book just started. She had read the first page three times, and still didn’t have a clue what it said.
Zagorakis’s chauffeur would call round, she knew that, but still she flinched and dragged her robe a little closer when the doorbell rang. Thankfully Vera would take care of it. Vera, confidante and housekeeper, knew exactly what she had to do.
Just as Lisa had anticipated, the exchange between Vera and Zagorakis’s chauffeur lasted no more than a few seconds. With a sigh of relief, she turned back to her book. But she couldn’t relax… She tried changing the music. She could always find something to suit her mood amongst her vast collection of CD’s… Tonight was different, tonight she had to force her fingers past the boxed sets devoted to the heavenly voice of La Divina Callas. The impassioned Greek-American voice of Maria Anna Sophie Cecilia Kalogeropoulos was the last thing she needed to hear. Right now anything remotely Greek was off limits. Finally, she settled for some low, smoochy jazz. The plangent wail of Miles Davis’ trumpet seemed appropriate somehow.
Returning to her book, Lisa turned the pages dutifully, all the time trying to ignore the keen dark eyes and mocking smile occupying her thoughts. When the doorbell rang again she was surprised and then angry. Zagorakis had some nerve sending his chauffeur round twice in one evening. Couldn’t he take a hint?
Vera answered the door, but Lisa’s curiosity got the better of her. Padding barefoot across the room, she froze. The man’s audacity was unbelievable. His unannounced visit to her office building had been bad enough, but this was outrageous— and Vera was having trouble getting rid of him.
‘Thank you, Vera, I’ll see to this.’
Lisa couldn’t pretend she wasn’t thankful that Vera remained hovering in the background. ‘Yes?’ She stared up at him. Tino Zagorakis was more casually dressed, and even more brazenly male. Without a jacket she could see how toned he was beneath his black shirt. His assessing stare was every bit as hard as she remembered.
‘We arranged to have dinner tonight.’
‘You arranged to have dinner tonight, Mr Zagorakis.’
‘It’s time you called me Tino.’
Oh, really? ‘It’s late—’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And as you pointed out, Lisa, we still have things to talk about.’
Lisa? When did she give him permission to use her first name? Jack Bond’s first law of survival: keep everyone at a distance. Everyone… She relaxed minutely. He was carrying a briefcase. Of course, Zagorakis was a man who would far rather trade than indulge his carnal appetites, but she had already set up their next meeting for the following morning. She had no intention of being railroaded by him twice in one day. ‘Business will have to wait until our respective teams are present.’
‘If you insist.’
‘I do insist. Our next meeting will be held tomorrow morning.’
‘Thank you for reminding me… but we still have to eat.’
His casual shrug and the smile that accompanied it threw her, and while she was trying to figure out his angle he walked past her into the apartment.
‘Like I said, Mr Zagorakis—’ she went after him ‘—it’s late—’
‘And so I took the trouble of ordering in.’ He paused mid-step to turn round and look at her. ‘I didn’t want to put your housekeeper to any trouble.’
And now Vera was sharing a flirtatious smile with him! What was this? A conspiracy?
In fairness, she couldn’t blame Vera; the man was hot. His shirt was open far enough to show some hard, tanned chest, and his blue jeans appeared pressure-moulded to thighs of iron. And there were certain other impressive bulges below the heavy-duty belt…
‘Are you sure you don’t mind me coming inside?’
Lisa quickly adjusted her gaze. The only thing sure about this was that her face was heating up. ‘I don’t wish to appear ungrateful.’
‘But?’ he pressed.
‘I’m tired. It’s late. And I’m ready for bed.’
‘So I see.’
His lips tugged up at one corner in a way that made her painfully aware that she was naked beneath her robe. The split second it took to look down to check that the robe was securely fastened was enough for his chauffeur to march past her carrying a hamper. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Zagorakis stepped forward and barred her way. ‘In here?’ he said, protecting his man’s back by resting one arm against the doorframe of her den.
Lisa’s mouth dropped open. The only thing left for her to confirm, apparently, was the venue for the picnic he had brought with him. ‘You have some incredible nerve—’
‘Please… no more compliments.’ He held up his hands in mock defeat and she had to be prodded twice before Vera could make her presence felt.
‘Hadn’t you better get changed?’ Vera suggested discreetly. ‘You don’t want him guessing you’re naked under there.’
Lisa could see the sense in that. ‘Stay with them, will you, Vera? I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’
Jeans and a T-shirt might have been a practical choice, but smart navy trousers and a tailored white blouse made Lisa feel more in control. The sex-stripping pop socks and boring flat shoes were an inspiration, and, with her hair scraped back into a pony-tail, she was satisfied that she had done everything possible to strip anything lightweight from her appearance. A slick of clear lip-gloss was her only concession— but then she sucked it off again. No point in playing Zagorakis’s game—she’d stick to her own.
The angry words she had been rehearsing all the way down from her bedroom died the moment she entered her den. The room had been transformed. Candles had been lit, and were flickering on every surface. Champagne was cooling in a bucket… and on a low table between the two sofas a platter of fresh seafood emitted a faint, salty tang. Another mouth-watering aroma said the bread in the wicker basket was still warm, and, inside a crystal bowl nestling in a dish of ice, yellow butter pats were asking to be slathered over one of the crisp, golden crusts. And she was hungry—starving, in fact, Lisa realised, praying her stomach wouldn’t rumble.
