a business meeting? He didn’t think so. ‘And to return the favour that night you introduced him to Eleni?’
Wariness bloomed in her eyes. ‘Princess Eleni wasn’t there.’
‘She was—and you introduced them.’
Kassiani shook her head. ‘She wasn’t there. I didn’t see her.’ She puffed out a breath. ‘I heard that she was unwell—that’s why she wasn’t at the ball. And I never would have presumed to speak with her even if she had been. She’s the Princess.’
Giorgos paused. Veracity rang clear in her voice like the echo of a pure bell.
Disconcerted, he chose another angle. ‘But you told Damon when he could find Eleni at the hospital?’
Damon had returned to Palisades for a number of short visits since the ball. And he’d been to the hospital each time. She flushed and her gaze dropped. She couldn’t deny that.
Rage gripped him and he tensed, holding himself back from shaking her. ‘You told him. And then he took her.’
Her jaw dropped and she lifted her long lashes, turning a stunned look upon him. ‘Took her?’
‘Where?’ He stepped closer, no longer caring about protocol and personal space and not buying into her plan. ‘Where did he take her?’
‘Eleni’s missing?’
‘Don’t act as if you don’t know.’ He grabbed her upper arms, unable to hold back a second longer. He needed her to realise how serious this was.
Needed to feel her skin.
It was soft and silky and instantly he wanted to touch more.
‘What was the plan?’ he asked harshly, restraining his wayward thoughts. ‘We know they’ve gone on his boat. Where is it going? Where is he taking her?’
‘What do you mean, they’ve gone on his boat?’
Kassiani’s soulful eyes were wide and her kissable lips parted in surprise.
‘Are you saying Eleni isn’t here?’
‘Tell me everything,’ he growled, somehow pulling her closer still.
‘I don’t know anything.’
Frustration bubbled over. How did she dare to be so heartbreakingly beautiful as she looked up at him with those passionate eyes and lied to him? How could she have the face of an angel but the soul of a liar and a cheat? How could she manipulate her sensuality to ensnare her victims?
‘Sleep with lots of the surgeons, do you?’ he snarled at her.
She flinched, but kept her gaze trained on him. He stilled, watching anger supersede that other undefined emotion in her molten brown eyes.
‘You have no right to question me about my personal life,’ she said with cool dignity. ‘That’s harassment. Whatever your problem is, it has nothing to do with me.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ He had the feeling it had everything to do with her.
But she was right. He shouldn’t have asked her that. He wanted to cut out his tongue for that stupid lapse in control. Wasn’t it exactly what she’d been pushing him to with her mention of chains and dungeons and torture? Wasn’t this underlying sexual element to their conversation exactly what she’d planned?
He’d fallen into her trap.
He released her instantly. He shouldn’t have crossed that boundary. He always kept his distance and discretion, never mixing women into his public life. At least not since he’d been crowned and had determined to prove himself to those disapproving courtiers who’d blamed him—rightly—for his father’s premature death.
But he’d been off balance from the moment he’d seen her image on that screen. He was thunderingly furious—how could he have got so distracted? His sister was alone out there—pregnant—and yet he couldn’t concentrate on finding her because all he could think about was how stunning this woman was. All he felt was this appalling urge to touch Kassiani more. To wreak his revenge—and bury his guilt—in the most pleasurable of ways. To have her surrender everything to him—her information and then her body.
He jerked back, releasing her to reassert his teetering self-control. Clearly it had been too long since his last affair.
‘Tell me about the night of the ball.’
Her tongue touched her pillowy lips. Giorgos turned completely away, unable to bear looking at her a second longer. He ran his hand through his hair as a hot wave of anger engulfed him. Determined to dispel the claustrophobic feeling, he jerkily stripped out of his suit jacket and wrenched off his tie. He saw her gaze follow the ribbon of silk as he threw it across the room to a low chair.
‘I barely know Damon. There’s nothing I can tell you,’ she answered, still watching as he unclasped his cufflinks and rolled his stiff shirtsleeves to three-quarters. Her eyes widened as he worked and her skin pinkened again.
‘Eleni was in disguise at that ball.’ He ground out the shocking fact he’d discovered. ‘Deliberately. She went to meet him and you helped them.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Damon only decided to go at the last minute, when he realised that it would help me. Because he could get me those introductions. He hadn’t planned to meet with the Princess. There’s no conspiracy there.’
‘Wrong,’ Giorgos argued obstinately. ‘He planned this. He’s taken advantage of her.’
‘Perhaps she took advantage of him?’
Never. ‘She’s alone out there with that philandering jerk while her fiancé is here, waiting for her.’
‘The fiancé you selected for her,’ Kassiani needled. ‘And perhaps Eleni seduced Damon? Mightn’t that be possible?’
Because that was what she would do? She was a vixen—so certain of her sensual power. But Eleni had been raised in a world with vastly different expectations and duties.
‘You might be a mistress of seduction, but my sister is not the kind of woman you are.’
She actually coloured more, and he heard another hitch in her breath. Why did he have such a visceral sexual response to this woman? Especially when he was certain she was toying with him.
Angrily he strode across the room to switch the lights on full, needing to shatter the thickened atmosphere with its sense of intimacy.
She blinked and then looked about the room again with undisguised disapproval. ‘This is one of your meeting chambers?’
‘Actually, this is part of my private suite.’
She turned those stunningly soulful eyes on him, they were now widened with something akin to horror. ‘You choose to live like this?’
Like what? He rested his hands on his hips and stared at her, daring her to voice her sultry criticism.
‘It’s like a mausoleum in here.’ She waved a graceful hand in the air. ‘Impersonal dry paintings, uncomfortable antique furniture...’ She turned a sharp gaze on him. ‘And a cold, controlled atmosphere.’
She was trying to bait him, but it wasn’t going to work. ‘This palace has been impeccably maintained,’ he said shortly.
‘I can see that. There’s not a speck of dust. Not a painting out of place. The whole palace appears perfect. Just like you.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s all a gilt facade—there is nothing beneath. No story. No soul.’
‘After five minutes alone with your King you have come to such a flattering snap judgement?’ He growled caustically. ‘What makes you