Page 2 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

“I didn’t realise anyone would be here,” he explained without a hint of apology. “Silly of me, really, given Costa’s predilection for beautiful young women.”

She frowned, a small divot forming between her brows, and then gasped, as his meaning sunk in. “Oh, no. No, no. I’m not…no.”

“No?” He repeated, goading her, enjoying her discomfort. It wasn’t right of him to toy with this woman. After all, she’d done nothing to wrong him, but he’d arrived in a bad mood and this wasn’t particularly helping. He was tired. And he’d been alone way too long. Having this very beautiful woman waved under his nose was a bridge too far, given his present state of mind.

“He’s not—your grandfather is—it’s not like that,” she said. “And would you mind putting some clothes on?”

“I did put clothes on,” he responded, nostrils flaring.

She rolled her eyes, a gesture he found delightfully fascinating and provocative. He doubted she realised that, though, or she wouldn’t have done it.

“I’m serious. A shirt. Now.”

“Are you always this bossy?”

“Oh, please. Bossy is just something people call women who aren’t afraid to speak their minds,” she said with a tilt of her chin that somehow didn’t quite ring true. In fact, her whole act of bravado seemed a little…false. He frowned, trying to put his finger on why it should seem that way, then shrugging, reached for his shirt and slipped his hands back into it. “Better?”

“Not particularly. What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house,” he pointed out. “Do I need a reason to come here?”

“Your house? You mean Costa’s?”

“My grandfather lives here,” Vasilios said smoothly. “But the house is mine.” He didn’t need to go into all the details with this woman—how the property had been tied up in the family business, and when Vasilios had launched his ambitious, unexpected hostile takeover, the house had been a part of what he’d acquired. More fool his father, for structuring things so stupidly. Then again, what more could be expected of the man who’d been raised to believe everything on earth was his entitlement and birth right?

Chagrined, Vasilios stood his ground, arms crossed over his broad chest, enjoying the way her eyes couldn’t stop flickering lower, as if magnetically drawn to his body.

“I didn’t know that,” she muttered.

Something in the tone of her voice had his brows knitting together. There was an emotion in her words that he didn’t understand. Disappointment? Because she wanted to believe the house was Costa’s? Because seducing an ailing octogenarian was an excellent way to set yourself up for a rosy, well-funded future?

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but my grandfather is not as wealthy as you might believe.”

He studied her carefully, but it was no use. She shuttered her eyes, long lashes forming fans against her creamy skin, features otherwise immobile, so he couldn’t have said what reaction she had to that. But it was easy to guess. This wouldn’t be the first woman to attempt to profit off a Valenti.

“Now,” he said into the silence, when she didn’t speak. “It is my turn. Who are you, and how long have you been living here?” Because now that he looked around, he could see small changes to the pool house. Several photographs of people he didn’t recognise sat on the bedside table, there were novels lined up on the floor, and a professional looking camera had pride of place on the dressing table. There was, now that he thought about it, also a distinctly floral fragrance in the air and a quick scan of the room showed a voluminous bunch of roses in a delicate crystal vase. Rose…a gift from a lover? She followed his gaze, frowning a little, then startled when he spoke once more, with greater authority in his tone. “Well?”

“I work for Costa,” she said after a pause.

“Work,” he couldn’t keep the cynicism from his voice. “Doing?”

She scowled. “I don’t particularly like your tone.”

“I am sure there is much about me not to like, but as this isn’t a social visit, it hardly matters.”

She let out a low whistle. “Are you always such a—such a—,”

He waited, a look of impatience on his features.

“An arrogant jerk,” she spat, finally, shaking her head and turning, stalking away from him and banging on a light switch in the living area as she went.

The pool house was, for a pool house, excellent, but it was not designed for permanent occupation. Vasilios, having spent several summers here as a teenager—when it wasn’t occupied by one of Costa’s lovers—was well aware of the limitations. But unlike his tenure in the building, when it had seemed to explode with his belongings, this occupant had managed to keep everything incredibly neat and orderly. There were small signs of her out here too, from a handbag on the kitchen bench to another photograph in a frame, to a laptop on the counter, but otherwise, it was just as always. She moved into the kitchen and pulled a glass from a cabinet, filling it with water from the fridge.

He ignored her claim of arrogance: it was nothing Vasilios hadn’t heard before, and in truth, he couldn’t fault the criticism. He was self-assured to a fault; he’d had to be. He’d developed a thick skin from a young age and learned to have faith in himself when no one else would. Being self-reliant had saved him from disappointment many times. It had also enabled him to take the business from strength to strength. He regretted nothing.

“God, you’re really nothing like him,” she said with a shake of her head, eyes sweeping over Vasilios now in a completely different manner. There was coldness in her look, and revulsion—two emotions he rarely observed when dealing with the opposite sex.

And she was wrong, anyway.

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