Under the cover of darkness, he pulled her into his arms. “Now!” he said. Pleasure and relief went through her. She had wanted this so much, and now everything in her yearned toward him. His kiss was everything she’d wanted since their meeting. Nothing else in her life had been like it. Nothing else ever would be. “What have you done to me?” he growled. “Why can’t I stop you doing it?” Lysandros felt as if he were awaking from a dream, or sinking into one. He wasn’t sure which. Her plea of “Kiss me” was entrancing, yet something deep inside him was drawing away. He tried to fight it. He wanted her, but so much that it alarmed him. Impulse had made him call her tonight. Impulse had made him drag her away from their unwanted companions. Impulse, the thing he’d battled for years, was turning him into its creature. Her creature! The words screamed at him. A puppet dancing on the end of her chain. And she knew it. “What is it?” she asked, feeling him draw away. “This place is very public. I think we should both—go home.” She stared at him, trying to believe what he was doing, feeling the anger rise within her. He was telling her the magic was over. He’d banished it by an act of will, proving that his control was still strong, although he’d brought her to the edge of losing hers. LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She has also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days. ® Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA Award—Song of the Lorelei in 1990 and His Brother’s Child in 1998, in the Best Traditional Romance category. You can visit her Web site at www.lucy-gordon.com. THE GREEK TYCOON’S ACHILLES HEEL LUCY GORDON ~ The Greek Tycoons ~ THE GREEK TYCOON’S ACHILLES HEEL CONTENTS PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE PROLOGUE THE lights of the Las Vegas Strip gleamed and glittered up into the night sky. Down below, the hotels and casinos rioted with life and money but the Palace Athena outshone them all. In the six months since its opening it had gained a reputation for being more lavish than its competitors, and today it had put the seal on its success by hosting the wedding of the beautiful, glamorous film star, Estelle Radnor. The owner of the Palace, no fool, had gained the prestige of staging her wedding by offering everything for free, and the gorgeous Estelle, also no fool where money was concerned, whatever might be said of her taste in men, had seized the offer. The wedding party finished up in the casino, where the bride was photographed throwing dice, embracing her groom, throwing more dice, slipping an arm around the shoulders of a thin, nondescript young girl, then throwing more dice. The owner watched it all with satisfaction, before turning to a young man who stood regarding the performance sardonically. ‘Achilles, my friend—’ ‘I’ve told you before, don’t call me that.’ ‘But your name has brought me such good luck. Your excellent advice on how to make this place convincingly Greek—’ ‘None of which you’ve taken.’ ‘Well, my customers believe it’s Greek and that’s what matters.’ ‘Of course, appearance is everything and what else counts?’ the young man murmured. ‘You’re gloomy tonight. Is it the wedding? Do you envy them?’ ‘Achilles’ turned on him with swift ferocity. ‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘All I feel is boredom and disgust.’ ‘Have things gone badly for you?’ A shrug. ‘I’ve lost a million. Before the night’s out I’ll probably lose another. So what?’ ‘Come and join the party.’ ‘I haven’t been invited.’ ‘You think they’re going to turn away the son of the wealthiest man in Greece?’ Greece?’ ‘They’re not going to get the chance. Leave me and get back to your guests.’ He strolled away, a lean, isolated figure, followed by two pairs of eyes, one belonging to the man he’d just left, the other to the awkward-looking teenager the bride had earlier embraced. Keeping close to the wall, so as not to be noticed, she slipped away and took the elevator to the fifty-second floor, where she could observe the Strip. Here, both the walls and the roof were thick glass, allowing visitors to look out in safety. Outside ran a ledge which she guessed was there for workmen and window cleaners, but inaccessible to customers unless they knew the code to tap into the lock. She was staring down, transfixed, when a slight noise made her turn and see the young man from downstairs. Moving quietly into the shadows, she watched, unnoticed, as he came to stand nearby, gazing down a thousand feet at the dazzling, distant world beneath. Up here there were only a few lamps, so that customers could look out through the glass. She had a curious view of his face, lit from below by a glow that shifted and changed colour. His features were lean and clean-cut, their slight sharpness emphasised by the angle. It was the face of a very young man, little more than a boy, yet it held a weariness—even a despair—that suggested a crushing burden. Then he did something that terrified her, reaching out to the code box and tapping in a number, making a pane of glass slide back so that there was nothing but air between him and a thousand foot drop. Petra’s sharp gasp made him turn his head. ‘What are you doing there?’ he snapped. ‘Are you spying on me?’ ‘Of course not. Come back in, please,’ she begged. ‘Don’t do it.’ He stepped back into comparative safety, but remained near the gap. ‘What the hell do you mean, “don’t do it”?’ he snapped. ‘I wasn’t going to do anything. I wanted some air.’ ‘But it’s dangerous. You could fall by accident.’ ‘I know what I’m doing. Go away and let me be.’ ‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘I have as much right to take the air as you. Is it nice out there?’ ‘What?’ Moving so fast that she took him by surprise, she slipped past him and out onto the ledge. At once the wind attacked her so that she had to reach out and found him grasping her. ‘You stupid woman!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not the only one who can have an accident. Do you want to die?’ accident. Do you want to die?’ ‘Do you?’ ‘Come inside.’ He yanked her back in, stopping short in surprise when he saw her face. ‘Didn’t I see you downstairs?’ ‘Yes, I was in the Zeus Room,’ she said, naming the casino. ‘I like watching people. That place is very cleverly named.’ ‘You know what Zeus means, then?’ he asked, drawing her away to where they could sit down. ‘He was the King of the Greek gods,’ she said, ‘looking down on the world from his home on the top of Mount Olympus, master of all he surveyed. That must be how the gamblers feel when they start playing, but the poor idiots soon learn differently. Did you lose much?’ He shrugged. ‘A million. I stopped counting after a while. What are you doing in a casino, anyway? You can’t be more than fifteen.’ ‘I’m seventeen and I’m…one of the bridal party.’ ‘That’s right,’ he said, seeming not to notice the way she’d checked herself at the last moment. ‘I saw her embracing you for the camera. Are you a bridesmaid?’ She regarded him cynically. ‘Do I look like a bridesmaid?’ she demanded, indicating her attire, which was clearly expensive but not glamorous. ‘Well—’ ‘I don’t really belong in front of the cameras, not with that lot.’ She spoke with a wry lack of self-pity that was attractive. Looking at her more closely, he saw that she wore no makeup, her hair was cut efficiently short, and she’d made no attempt to enhance her appearance. ‘And your name is—?’ he queried. ‘Petra. And you’re Achilles. No?’ The last word was a response to his scowl. ‘My name is Lysandros Demetriou. My mother wanted to call me Achilles, but my father thought she was being sentimental. In the end they compromised, and Achilles became my second name.’ ‘But that man downstairs called you by it.’ ‘It’s important to him that I’m Greek because this place is built on the idea of Greekness.’ To his delight she gave a cheeky giggle. ‘They’re all potty.’ They took stock of each other. He was as handsome as she’d first sensed, with clean cut features, deep set eyes and an air of pride that came with a lifetime of having his own way. But there was also a darkness and a brooding intensity that seemed strange in this background. Young men in Las Vegas hunted in packs, savouring every experience. This one hid away, treasuring his solitude as though savouring every experience. This one hid away, treasuring his solitude as though the world was an enemy. And something had driven him to take the air in a place full of danger. ‘Demetriou Shipbuilding?’ she asked. ‘That’s the one.’ ‘The most powerful firm in Greece.’ She said it as though reciting a lesson. ‘What they don’t want isn’t worth having. What they don’t acquire today they’ll acquire tomorrow. If anyone dares to refuse them, they wait in the shadows until the right moment to pounce.’ He grunted. ‘Something like that.’ ‘Or maybe you’ll just turn the Furies onto them?’ She meant the three Greek goddesses of wrath and vengeance, with hair made of snakes and eyes that dripped blood, who hounded their victims without mercy. ‘Do you have to be melodramatic?’ he demanded. ‘In this “pretend” Greek place I can’t help it. Anyway, why aren’t you in Athens grinding your enemies to dust?’ ‘I’ve done with all that,’ he said harshly. ‘They can get on without me.’ ‘Ah, this is the bit where you sulk.’ ‘What?’ ‘During the Trojan war Achilles was in love with this girl. She actually came from the other side, and was his prisoner, but they made him give her back, so he withdrew from the battle and sulked in his tent. But in the end he came out and started fighting again. Only he ended up dead. As you could have done on that ledge.’ ‘I told you I wasn’t planning to die, although frankly it doesn’t seem important one way or the other. I’ll take what comes.’ ‘Did she do something very cruel?’ Petra asked gently. In the dim light she could barely see the look he turned on her, but she sensed that it was terrible. His eyes were harsh and cold in the gloom, warning her that she’d trespassed on sacred ground. ‘Stop now!’ howled the Furies. ‘Run for your life before he strikes you dead.’ But that wasn’t her way. ‘She?’ he asked in a voice that warned her. She laid a gentle hand on his arm, whispering, ‘I’m sorry. Shouldn’t I have said that?’ He rose sharply and strode back to the gap in the glass wall and stood gazing out into the night. She followed cautiously. ‘She made me trust her,’ he whispered. ‘But sometimes it’s right to trust.’