His Mistress by Blackmail Read online

  The faint pain in her right wrist, the result of a fracture that had never quite healed properly, dragged her back to reality. She tightened her hand on her backpack, silently centring herself on what was important.

  Ben deserved her loyalty. Always.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Christofides.’

  For a taut few seconds he didn’t answer. Then, ‘Goodnight, Miss Woods.’

  There was no inflexion in his response, no indication that they would ever meet again. But as she walked away Sage couldn’t stop the tingling at her nape or the premonition that the billionaire hotelier boss her brother had griped about for several months was far from done with her.

  * * *

  It was that premonition that kept her awake long into the following six nights, even though she continued to reassure herself he had no power over her. She’d refused his demands and walked away. End of story.

  Except she’d spent long hours frantically calling her brother’s phone with frustrated tears brimming her eyes when her messages filled his inbox and she finally had to give up. Sleep was a snatched few hours before she had to be up and ready to head to her day job as a barista in the coffee shop attached to the Hunter Dance Company.

  Sage had been lucky to land the job after another dancer had won a coveted full-time job as one of the Hunter Dance Company’s performers, although it was a bittersweet one since her ultimate ambition was to win that same place as a Hunter contemporary dancer.

  She didn’t make the cut at the last auditions but since then she’d put in an extra five hours of training per week. She would be ready for the auditions next month. She had to be. Her meagre savings had dwindled to almost nothing, with everything she made from working in the coffee shop going to pay for food and her exorbitant rent. She needed to land a proper full-time job soon.

  Because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She had to succeed because going back home wasn’t an option. She’d closed that door. Until her parents accepted her it would stay shut. After three years the painful memories remained as sharp as ever. But to stay in Virginia, waiting to take over the reins of the generations-old hotel and B & B business they ran, would’ve been to give in and then suffer a slow withering of her spirit.

  Thoughts of her parents threatened to induce the despair she’d fought so hard to suppress. So instead she turned her thoughts to her brother.

  And again her heart dipped with alarm. Thankfully, Xandro Christofides hadn’t made a return visit to the Performance School. Although that had surprised her a little, her paramount emotion was relief.

  Now all she needed was to hear from Ben and get his side of the story. Hopefully he’d have an acceptable explanation so they could put this incident behind them.

  ‘Morning, sunshine—uh, scratch that. I feel like that should be Morning, rain clouds. Everything okay?’ Michael, her co-worker and a fellow dancer, stepped behind the counter and stared at her with a frown.

  Sage slipped her phone into her apron pocket and summoned a smile. ‘I’m fine. Thanks,’ she tagged on when he continued to stare at her sceptically.

  ‘I’m not sure I totally believe that, but anyway, what I’m about to tell you will put some happy in your step. Guaranteed!’

  ‘Okay, I’m all ears,’ she responded, simply because she needed something to take her mind off worrying about Ben, and whether the enigmatic Greek tycoon she’d wasted time Internet-searching had found her brother yet.

  ‘You know we were told there were only three places for the audition spots next month?’

  Her heart dipped and she clenched her belly in preparation for bad news. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I hear there are six spots now!’

  Sage gasped. ‘Really? How come?’

  ‘Because we have a new patron.’

  She refused to let hope soar. Not when this might be second or even third-hand gossip. ‘Are you sure?’

  Michael shrugged. ‘It’s all hush-hush, but the director’s been locked in meetings off-site for the last two days. I hear she’s contorting herself into the godmother of pretzel positions to accommodate this new patron.’

  Sage frowned, the hope she didn’t want to entertain, dimming a little. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

  Michael looked a little hurt. ‘Because I trust my source. If they say Hunter has a new patron waiting in the wings, then I believe them.’

  She sighed under her breath. ‘I’m not doubting you, Michael. It’s just that we’ve been down this road before and—’

  ‘Yes, I know. Sure, last time my intel that we had a new patron turned out to be false. But this came straight from the top.’

  Sage nodded but kept her scepticism to herself. Even with six spots instead of three the odds were tough, considering there were twenty dancers vying for the positions.

  If Michael was right, they’d find out soon enough.

  At the Washington Performance School after her shift, she practised and tweaked her seven-minute routine for three hours before she took her first break.

  When the faint tingling in her wrist started again, she suppressed the familiar unease that came with it.

  ‘If you can’t stand a little schoolyard competition, how will you make it on the big stage you so selfishly crave?’

  She pushed her father’s heavy, condemning voice away and reminded herself how far she’d come. She was good enough. Her wrist was strong enough. Ultimately, she had Ben to thank for her healing too, because he was the only one who’d believed her.

  A little desperate to hear his voice, she sent him another frantic message. Then, with an hour to burn until she was allotted another training slot, she found herself returning to the Internet search for Xandro Christofides.

  The man was richer than Croesus, with a touch more potent than Midas if the financial media was to be believed. Coupled with dark, brooding, drop-dead gorgeous looks, it was no wonder there were reams of articles written about him. Except most of them only went back to his early twenties, when he’d graduated from Harvard with a business degree in finance and hotel management and a business plan that had seen him become a multimillionaire within two years.

  Now thirty-three, Xandro Christofides had taken that same plan and turned himself into a casino and hotel magnate, providing first-class luxury and decadence to the richest of the rich.

  Before twenty-one, nothing could be found on the man, save for the rumour that he’d grown up in the roughest suburbs of New York. That explained the layer of hard ruthlessness that clung to him despite his designer clothes and feline grace.

  A layer that attracted beautiful women to the enigmatic man. Picture after picture showed him with dazzling females smiling up at him, clinging to his arm, their possessiveness blatant. All while he stared stony-faced into the camera.

  Xandro Christofides was a stranger to the art of smiling. Sure, their encounter so far hadn’t lent itself towards affable banter, but she doubted he smiled at any other time. He didn’t seem the type. In fact, he seemed impervious to anything besides making money and dating beautiful women.

  A quick look through his company history also showed he was one hundred per cent owner of every venture, with no collaborations or business partners. He’d even stated as much during an interview.

  ‘I prefer complete control. I don’t like to share. What is mine belongs only to me.’

  Apprehension danced down her spine. The man was addicted to control. It spoke volumes that he had travelled from the West Coast in search of Ben when he could’ve let the authorities or the many minions in his employ deal with it.

  So why had he just given up?

  Sage noticed she’d been staring at his image for five minutes and grimaced. Resolutely, she cancelled the search then returned to her training.

  Four hours later, exhausted, she let herself into the townhouse where she lived. At almost ten o’clock on a Friday night the house was thankfully empty, the other dancers having hit the town. In the kitchen, she fixed herself a qu
ick sandwich, then dug through her rucksack for the five-pound dumbbell she always carried with her. She was halfway through her wrist-strengthening routine when her phone blared to life.

  She stared at the number on her screen for a startled second before she slid her thumb across the screen. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Miss Woods?’ a no-nonsense female voice enquired.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Melissa Hunter, director of the Hunter Dance Company.’

  ‘Uh...hi.’

  ‘My apologies for calling you so late,’ the director said.

  ‘That’s okay.’ Sage stopped and cleared her throat, setting her dumbbell down to grip the edge of the kitchen counter. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘I have news on the next set of auditions.’

  Sage’s grip tightened, her heart diving into her stomach. ‘Okay...’

  ‘The company’s circumstances have changed a little and we’ve decided to bring the auditions forward. Next Tuesday, to be precise. Successful applicants will be given a place in the next Hunter Dance Company production slated for September. I know this is short notice, but if you still wish to be a part of it I need a yes tonight.’

  Sage stared blindly into space for a shocked three seconds before her brain kicked into gear. ‘I...of course. My answer is yes. To all of it!’

  ‘Great. My assistant will be in touch in the morning with further details.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Hunter.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Oh, before I go, you should know that these auditions are going to be held off-site.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem,’ Sage hurriedly reassured.

  ‘Good. My assistant will require your travel documents when she calls. Be sure to have them ready. We’re very pressed for time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured again. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘I have other dancers to contact, Miss Woods. Expect my assistant’s call.’ She hung up abruptly, leaving Sage staring at the dead phone in her hand.

  A full minute later, the enormity of the call sank in but the smile that broke over her face dimmed all too soon when she realised she had no one to celebrate her news with.

  Calling her parents was out of the question. They would have no interest in her news. Not when they’d dismissed her passion and chosen career as callously as they’d dismissed what the bullies at her high school had put her through.

  ‘Havenwoods is your legacy. That’s all that matters.’

  Unwilling to succumb to the quiet despair threatening to mar her happiness, she picked up the dumbbell and finished her routine. Now, more than ever, she couldn’t afford for her body to let her down. Or for any self-doubt to seep through the brick wall she’d erected around the one thing that mattered most to her.

  Nothing could go wrong with her audition. Not even worry about Ben and the possibility that he could end up in jail in the very near future if the ruthless Xandro Christofides had anything to do with it.

  When she woke up a little bleary-eyed the next morning Sage told herself it was thoughts of Ben’s whereabouts that had made her dream so vividly about the silver-eyed magnate.

  She was still trying to convince herself of that when her phone rang. Sage pounced on it, hoping it was Ben. It wasn’t. But the friendlier tone of Melissa Hunter’s assistant was equally welcome. Until Sage absorbed what she was saying.

  ‘Excuse me—could you repeat that, please?’ she asked.

  ‘I said you need to pack enough clothes for a week, maybe more. And also pack for the warm weather. Bring lots of sunscreen too. It’s only early May but I understand the temperatures can get quite high on the island.’

  Sage blinked. ‘What island?’ she blurted.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Woods, but the exact destination is being kept confidential for now for publicity purposes. All you need to know is that you and the other dancers fly out of Dulles Airport on Monday afternoon. Everything else, including all your expenses, is taken care of.’

  She suddenly felt a little uneasy. ‘Does this have anything to do with the new patron of the company?’

  A few seconds of silence greeted her question, then the assistant giggled. ‘I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh? Oh, what the heck. Yes, it is,’ she gushed. ‘You didn’t hear this from me, but the patron is investing in five years’ worth of productions, three productions a year, minimum! Isn’t it amazing? And if I’d known trips like this would come as part of the perks I’d have trained as a dancer myself, not be sitting here, eight months pregnant and barely able to waddle!’

  Sage laughed, breathing a little easier now one question had been answered. ‘Good luck with the baby. And thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘No problem. Remember, the car service will arrive to pick you up at one o’clock sharp. Make sure you’re ready. And enjoy your adventure!’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ENJOY YOUR ADVENTURE.

  Three days later, as she stood frozen, her mind spinning, Sage wanted to curse the effervescent assistant for jinxing what should’ve been the perfect culmination of her hard work.

  The wobbles of the first audition had calmed by the second, the bone-deep knowledge that this was what she was born for slicing away the ever-present self-doubt. Her third audition had ended twenty minutes ago and had gone even better. She’d known it even before receiving encouraging praise from the two Broadway choreographers who’d accompanied Melissa Hunter to the Greek island in the middle of the Aegean.

  As for the island itself...

  The ballroom she stood in was only a fraction less enthralling when compared to the jaw-dropping beauty of the island. At first, when she and her nineteen fellow dancers had arrived, she’d thought she was severely jet-lagged and dreaming the stunning beauty of Ianthe Island.

  Every room, nook and cranny of the endlessly sprawling villa revealed a stunning blend of classic Greek architecture and modern style she’d only ever seen in glossy magazines. Marble sculptures of Greek gods vied with contemporary art. Breathtaking sunsets competed with stunning lighting that threw the whole island into a place of wonder come nightfall.

  The guest room she’d been shown into by an impeccably dressed housekeeper was so gorgeous she’d been almost too afraid to sleep on the four-poster bed for fear she’d ruin the pristine Egyptian cotton sheets.

  None of that beauty registered now, as her frantic gaze settled on the man who’d been absent for the three auditions but had now materialised out of nowhere, her heart dropping because she knew exactly what he was doing here.

  She and her fellow dancers had stood at the window an hour ago and watched the sleek helicopter fly over the villa to land on an out-of-view helipad at the back of the property. Agog, they’d all speculated as to who was on board and how it impacted their presence here.

  Now she had her evidence.

  Her gaze raked him from head to toe, praying he would disappear in a burst of smoke. Or fire. Or a damn blizzard. Anything.

  Her fervent wishes didn’t materialise. She wasn’t jet-lagged and she wasn’t dreaming.

  Xandro Christofides was really sitting in the throne-like chair in front of her as though he were master of all he surveyed, his gaze conducting a thorough scrutiny of his own over her body, making her wish she’d thrown a sweatshirt over her leotard and leggings.

  Her hackles rose higher as the unease she’d felt in DC came roaring back with a vengeance. Timings and too-good-to-be-true coincidences tumbled through her mind, and dread that she’d been manipulated grew too large to dismiss.

  She tried to caution herself not to jump to conclusions about the Greek magnate’s presence here until she had all the facts. But the blaring of her instincts was all too familiar.

  And everything pointed to the fact that Xandro Christofides’s presence here, in this place, wasn’t by accident.

  Sage wrestled down rising panic and looked properly at the man.

  With one leg crossed indolently over the other, he sta
red back at her, a mocking gleam in his eyes telling her he knew the exact effect his presence was having on her. He had her exactly where he wanted her. And he was enjoying the hell out of it.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted when it all got too much and she had no choice but to take the bull by the horns or scream her frustration.

  Melissa Hunter jerked up from her seat, her impeccably made-up face tightening with displeasure. ‘Miss Woods, I’m going to assume the acoustics in the room just played tricks on me and you didn’t demand to know what Mr Christofides is doing here!’

  Sage pursed her lips hard to keep from snapping out the other dozen questions burning on her tongue. ‘I’m... I’m...’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Xandro Christofides drawled lazily, the gleam in his eyes growing by the second.

  She lowered her gaze to hide her blazing need to glare, and took a deep sustaining breath.

  ‘From the ominous rumble of thunder I’m hearing, I assume you two know each other?’ Leonard Smith, the well-known Broadway choreographer, asked after a minute of awkward silence.

  ‘Yes, you could say we’re...acquainted,’ Xandro offered.

  The other three judges exchanged looks. When Melissa’s eyes narrowed ominously, Sage’s already plummeting heart dropped a little bit more.

  She didn’t want to think the whiff of cloak-and-dagger surrounding their travel from Washington, DC, to Greece had all been because of this.

  Xandro Christofides was an indecently wealthy man with time to plot something like this just to teach her a lesson because she’d refused to answer his questions about Ben. Or had he drawn a blank in his search for her brother?

  She searched his granite-hard, utterly breathtaking face for answers. All she got back was a cocked eyebrow and inscrutable silver-grey eyes that told her he’d divulge his intentions only when he was well and truly ready.