The Apollonides Mistress Scandal / Rich Man's Vengeful Seduction: The Apollonides Mistress Scandal / Rich Man's Vengeful Seduction. Laura Wright
unspoken.
“Mum…” Gemma’s voice trailed away. She thought of what had just happened between her and Angelo. If her parents knew about that…they’d be on the next flight out to rescue her.
“Have you spoken to him? What did he say?”
Reluctant to admit that she hadn’t confronted Angelo about Mandy’s death, and even more loath for her mother to discover that Angelo believed she was Mandy, Gemma spoke in a rush. “I wanted to find out what kind of man he is first.”
“And what kind of man is he?”
Compelling. Passionate. “It’s difficult to explain.”
“Gemma, be careful.” The sigh came over the miles. “You’re not Mandy. Chasing after trouble was her speciality, not yours. You were always the sensible one, Gemma.”
Her mother was right, Mandy had always been a little…wild. Taking Gemma’s passport and credit card to Strathmos and assuming Gemma’s identity was only one of the pranks Mandy had played.
Oh, Mandy, what happened on Strathmos?
Gemma couldn’t help thinking about the familiarity in the Frenchman’s tone earlier, his easy kiss. She remembered Angelo’s hard gaze, the coiled tension in his muscled body. She remembered the taste of his mouth—hot and seductive against hers—the thrill of his body pressing into hers and her pleasure as she came apart under his touch.
Once again confusion and turmoil wrestled within her. God! How could she teach the bastard the lesson he deserved if she desired him?
And how could she face him again?
Gemma squeezed her eyes shut. How on earth could she have reacted like that to the man who had destroyed her sister?
Four
Gemma tossed and turned for most of the night. Several times she jerked awake from confusing dreams of what had happened in her sister’s life. Beneath it all festered an uneasiness about the disturbing passion that had flared between herself and Angelo. Just before dawn the pitter-patter of rain against the window pane lulled her into a restless sleep.
In the morning she clambered out of bed, crossed to the window and hitched the curtain back. No sun peeked through the cloud cover. The trees outside swayed in the wind. But at least the rain had subsided. With her morning free of rehearsals and her next show scheduled for later that evening, Gemma decided to make for the beach to go windsurfing. That was one place where wet and wind wouldn’t matter. And it would certainly shake the dark mood that gripped her and take her mind off Mandy, Jean-Paul and… Angelo.
Pulling on a sleek black maillot, she called reception to check that no storms were forecasted, then grabbed her wet suit out of the cupboard and trod into a pair of ancient sneakers. A couple of bananas, a bottle of water and a towel, and she was ready to go.
The beach was deserted. To Gemma’s relief, there were no whitecaps on the water. A gust of wind tugged at her hair as she hauled a windsurfing board out of the stack. Dragging the board into the sea, she waded calf-deep into the water and waited with both hands on the boom. When a puff of wind came, she pushed the mast straight up and stepped onto the centre of the board. Shifting her feet, Gemma adjusted the sail and, looking upwind, she turned the board to the open sea.
The sail filled and she took off, the wind rushing past her ears. She barely noticed the rain and her worries evaporated as she raced across the water.
She welcomed the freedom.
A couple of hours later Gemma became aware of another windsurfer on the water, coming towards her through the rain. Leaning her mast back, the nose of her board started to turn upwind across the face of the wind, away from the intruder. But the other windsurfer gained on her, trespassing on her solitude.
A quick glance at her watch showed that she still had lots of time before her show. It wasn’t often that she had the sea to herself. Why would she go in simply because someone was crowding her? There was a whole sea for the two of them. If she tacked away, perhaps the other windsurfer would get the hint.
But the larger black-and-white sail continued to bear down on her. Glaring at him—it was undoubtedly a male figure—Gemma’s annoyance grew when she recognised the windsurfer.
Angelo.
Setting a course upwind, Gemma decided to force him to yield to her. A glint of white as his teeth flashed. He knew what she was up to.
Determined to get ahead, she started to work every ounce of speed out of her rig. The board responded willingly and elation swept through her.
Then she saw thatAngelo had taken up her challenge.
For a moment she thought that they might collide. She faltered, her board wobbled and her nerve almost gave in, before he gave way, falling back to sail in her wake. Her sail shivering under the pressure of the wind, she skimmed across the water, while her heart beat rapidly at the near miss—and the euphoria that came from racing the wind…and besting Angelo.
Angelo stared after Gemma not sure whether to whistle in admiration or holler at her recklessness. She was going full tilt, not giving an inch. He pointed his board to a destination upwind of where she was headed, and he set off after her.
The breeze blew on his face, lighter on the inside near the shore. He came down the line he’d planned, unfazed by the rain, tacking with speed and closing his distance on Gemma.
She turned, glancing over her shoulder as he gained on her. He could see the determination in her stance. This was no beginner. She was going to give him a good run.
They battled it out downwind. Her jaw was set. She wasn’t giving an inch. She wanted to win. Despite the rain, her hair streamed behind her like a bright banner, a lithe graceful figure in tune with the elements.
Never had he wanted her as much as he did at the moment. She looked elemental and a little elusive. Not the sure thing he’d always considered her.
Working furiously, Angelo finally notched ahead and threw a triumphant smile over his shoulder, confident that the race was done.
The next instant the wind dropped and the rain eased. Both boards slowed. Angelo bit back a curse at being deprived of a clear victory. He dropped down to straddle the board and, glancing sideways, saw that Gemma had dropped onto her stomach and was already paddling with her arms and making for the shore.
Pacing himself, he kept abreast of her, his powerful arms stroking through the water. But she didn’t look at him, she kept her gaze firmly ahead.
In the shallows, keeping her face averted, Gemma leapt off the board, dragging it in behind her, intensely conscious of Angelo following close behind.
Flutters of apprehension started deep in her stomach, and the battle of the last half hour between them was forgotten as the memory of what had happened between them last night rose in her mind.
She didn’t know how she was going to face him.
The attendant, now at his post, came running to take the board. She gave a brief, abstracted smile of thanks. Her saturated sneakers squishing with water, she hurried to where she’d dropped her towel and water bottle earlier. Collapsing onto a damp wooden bench, she uncapped the bottle and took a long sip, her heart banging against her ribs as Angelo approached.
He stopped beside her. She stilled, then took another sip, pretending to ignore him, while every nerve ending quivered warily at his closeness.
“You never told me you could windsurf.”
The rasp of the zip sounded loud in the silence. Gemma was achingly aware of his peeling off his wet suit and slinging it over the back of the bench. Underneath he wore a pair of boardshorts that rode low on his hips. The unwelcome memory of last night clear in her mind, Gemma tried not to notice that his stomach was taut and tanned, the defined muscles revealing that he worked out regularly—or led a very active lifestyle.
Gemma whipped