'Tahlia, you look divine.' Crispin Blythe, owner of the
contemporary art gallery Blythe of Bayswater, greeted Tahlia
Reynolds effusively. 'Those baubles you're wearing must be
worth a small fortune.'
'A large fortune, actually,' Tahlia replied dryly, moving
her hand to the ornate sapphire and diamond necklace at her
throat. 'These "baubles" are top-grade Kashmiri
sapphires.'
'Let me guess. A present from Daddy? Reynolds Gems' profits
must be booming.' Crispin's smile faded slightly. 'It's good
to know that some businesses are unaffected by this wretched
recession.'
Tahlia frowned at the faintly bitter note in Crispin's
voice. She had heard rumours that the gallery was suffering
from the downturn in the economy, and for a moment she was
tempted to reveal that things were far from rosy with her
father's jewellery company, but she kept quiet. Reynolds
Gems' financial problems would be public knowledge if the
company went into liquidation, but they were not at that
point yet. Perhaps she was being unrealistic, but she
refused to give up hope that the company her father had
built up over the past thirty years could be saved. It would
not be for want of trying, she thought grimly. Her parents
had used all their savings trying to keep Reynolds afloat,
while she had worked for no salary for the past three
months, and had traded in the sports car her father had
given her three years ago, for her twenty-first birthday,
for a battered old Mini.
In desperation she had even sold her few items of jewellery,
as well as many of the designer clothes that she had once
been able to afford. The dress she was wearing tonight was
on loan from a friend who owned a boutique, and the sapphire
and diamond necklace was not her own—though it was one
of Reynolds Gems' most valued pieces, stunningly beautiful
and instantly eye-catching. Her father had asked her to wear
it tonight in the hope of drumming up new business for
Reynolds, but she was terrified of losing it, and knew she
was going to spend the evening constantly checking that it
was still around her neck.
She followed Crispin into the gallery, accepted a glass of
champagne from a waiter, and glanced around at her fellow
guests who were congregated in groups, admiring the
paintings by the artist Rufus Hartman. Tahlia nodded to one
or two acquaintances and allowed her eyes to drift. They
came to an abrupt halt on the man who was standing on the
other side of the room.
'Who is that?' she murmured curiously, feeling her heart
jolt violently beneath her ribs. In a room packed with
good-looking, successful men, the simmering virility of this
particular man set him apart from the crowd.
'I assume you're referring to the Greek hunk in the Armani?'
Crispin said archly, following the direction of her gaze.
'Thanos Savakis, billionaire head of Savakis Enterprises. He
bought out the Blue-Sky holiday chain a couple of years ago,
and owns several five-star hotels around the world. Careful,
darling, you're drooling,' Crispin murmured wickedly as
Tahlia continued to stare. 'A word of warning: Savakis has a
reputation as a womaniser. His affairs are discreet, but
numerous—and short-lived. Commitment is not a word
associated with Thanos Savakis—unless it's his
commitment to making even more money to add to his enviable
fortune,' Crispin finished with a theatrical sigh.
'Workaholic womanisers are definitely not my type,' Tahlia
murmured faintly, dragging her gaze from the man and taking
a sip of champagne. But her eyes were drawn inexorably
towards him, and she was glad that he was looking down at
the dainty blonde who was hanging onto his arm because it
gave her a chance to study him.
Tall and lean, with broad shoulders sheathed in an expertly
tailored jacket, he was mesmerising, and Tahlia quickly
realised that she was not the only woman in the room to be
fascinated by him. With his classically sculpted features,
bronzed skin and gleaming black hair, which was cropped
short to emphasise the proud tilt of his head, he was
stunningly handsome. But teamed with his blatant sex appeal
Thanos Savakis possessed some indefinable quality—a
magnetism and self-assurance that set him apart from other
men. He would command any situation, Tahlia decided. She
sensed his innate arrogance, and although he appeared to be
giving his full attention to the pretty blonde at his side,
she detected the giveaway signs that he was growing
impatient of his companion's chatter.
The woman was a little too eager, Tahlia mused. Instinct
told her that a man as self-possessed as Thanos Savakis
would be irritated by any hint of neediness, and as she
watched he carefully but firmly extricated himself from the
blonde's grip and strolled into the adjoining gallery.
Gorgeous, but definitely out of her league, Tahlia decided,
giving herself a mental shake as she slowly became aware
once more of the babble of voices around her, and the clink
of champagne flutes on a silver tray as a waiter walked
past. She was shocked by the effect the sexy Greek had had
on her—especially as the width of the room had
separated them and he hadn't even glanced in her direction.
She could not remember ever being so aware of a man. Not
even James.
Her mouth tightened. Six months ago her relationship with
James Hamilton had come to a shocking and explosive end, and
since then she had struggled to piece her shattered heart
back together. But the bitterness she felt towards him still
burned as corrosively as on the night she had discovered his
treachery.
'Tahlia, darling, that's vintage Krug you're gulping down,
not fizzy water.' Crispin's laconic drawl dragged Tahlia
back to the present. 'Can I get you another?'
She grimaced as she glanced down and saw that she had
drained her glass without realising it. 'No, thanks. I'd
better not.'
Crispin gave her an impatient look. 'Oh, live daringly for
once. A few glasses of bubbly will help you relax.'
'Correction, a few glasses will have me giggling inanely,'
Tahlia said dismally. 'And, after the recent press stories
about me, I really could do without being snapped by the
paparazzi clearly the worse for drink.'
Crispin gave her an amused glance. 'Yes, the tabloids do
seem to have excelled themselves,' he agreed. 'The headline
"Gems girl Tahlia Reynolds blamed for marriage break-up
of TV soapstar Damian Casson" was particularly
attention-grabbing.'
Tahlia flushed. 'It isn't true,' she said tensely. 'I was
set up. I've only ever met Damian once, when we were guests
at a book launch party held at a hotel. He was knocking back
champagne all night and kept pestering me. I told him to get
lost. The next morning he came over to my table at breakfast
to apologise. We got chatting, and he told me he'd got drunk
the previous night after he'd rowed with his wife and she
had refused to go to the party with him. When I left, he
offered to carry my bag to the car—hence the picture
of the two of us emerging from the hotel together. Neither
of us had expected the media to be hanging around at nine
o'clock on a Sunday morning—or at least,' she said
slowly, 'I hadn't expected them to be there.'
Anger formed a tight knot in Tahlia's chest at the
realisation that Damian had undoubtedly been aware of the
presence of the media.
'I was shocked when a journalist asked about our
relationship, but Damian told me to leave it to him and he
would explain that we were simply friends.'
Instead, the handsome young actor had told the press a pack
of lies about their 'amazing night of sizzling sex', Tahlia
thought bitterly. If Damian's intention had been to make his
wife jealous, it had obviously worked. Beverly Casson had
been quoted saying she was 'distraught' that 'party girl'
Tahlia had stolen her man. The story had been a scoop for
the journalists—the sort of thing that would boost
sales of the tabloid, and no one seemed to care that it was
untrue, or that Tahlia's reputation was now in tatters.
'This sort of adverse publicity is one of the drawbacks of
allowing myself to be in the public eye,' she said dully.
'For months the press have made me out to be a vacuous bimbo
who turns up to every event—even the opening of an
envelope. It's the price I've had to pay for promoting
Reynolds Gems.'
Tahlia bit her lip. When she had graduated from university
three years ago her father had made her a partner of his
company and given her the role of PR executive. But the
global recession had hit Reynolds hard, and in an attempt to
raise the company's profile she had reluctantly agreed to
feature in an advertising campaign. She had then appeared in
glossy magazines, attended numerous social events, modelling
fabulous diamonds and precious gems from the Reynolds Gems
collection.
Before she had left for the gallery tonight she had learned
that all her hard work had been for nothing.
Peter Reynolds had looked grave as he'd explained that,
despite the campaign, profits at all three of Reynolds Gems'
jewellery shops were down. 'To be frank, Tahlia, Reynolds is
facing bankruptcy,' he'd told her. 'I've approached every
major bank and financial institution for help, but they've
all refused to lend us any more money.' Tahlia's heart had
ached when her father had dropped his head into his hands in
a gesture of utter despair. 'I'm at rock bottom,' he'd
admitted hoarsely. 'I've no more money left to stave off our
creditors. The only glimmer of hope on the horizon is an
equity firm, Vantage Investments, who have expressed an
interest in buying out the company. I've arranged to meet
their CEO next week.'
Tahlia could not forget the lines of strain of her father's
face, but she forced her mind back to the present and
glanced around the gallery, aware that fretting about
Reynolds' financial situation was not going to help. She had
dreaded the prospect of attending the exhibition tonight,
when her supposed love-life was headline news, but Rufus
Hartman was a close friend from her university days and she
could not have missed his first major exhibition.
As she strolled around the gallery with Crispin she was
conscious of the curious stares from some of the other
guests. 'I wonder how many people here tonight think I'm a
heartless marriage-breaker,' she muttered bitterly.
'No one believes a word that's written in the gutter press,'
Crispin assured her breezily.
Tahlia wished she shared his confidence, but for a moment
she was tempted to slink into a quiet corner and remain
there for the rest of the night. But that was ridiculous;
she had done nothing to be ashamed of. Her hand strayed to
her necklace.
She had come to the art gallery tonight not simply to
support Rufus. She had a job to do, she reminded herself.
Crispin had mentioned that a wealthy Arab prince would be
attending the exhibition. Apparently Sheikh Mussada enjoyed
buying gifts for his new wife, and Tahlia hoped that if she
could catch his attention he might be impressed by the
sapphire necklace and request to see more Reynolds Gems
jewellery. If Reynolds could earn the patronage of an Arab
prince they might not need to sell to Vantage Investments
after all, she mused, so lost in her thoughts that she did
not realise that Crispin had led her into the second gallery
until he addressed a man who was studying one of the paintings.
'Thanos—I hope you're enjoying the exhibition. May I
introduce you to a fellow art-lover?' Crispin drew Tahlia
forward. 'This is Tahlia Reynolds. Her company, Reynolds
Gems, have sponsored Rufus throughout his career, and she
has an expert knowledge of his work.'
Shock ripped through Thanos as he stared at the woman at
Crispin Blythe's side. She had dominated his thoughts for so
long that for a few seconds his brain struggled to
comprehend that she was standing in front of him, and it
took all his formidable will-power to school his expression
into one of polite interest rather than murderous rage.
He had arrived in London three days ago, and at a dinner
party with friends had been introduced to Crispin, who had
invited him to this exhibition at his art gallery. Thanos
had no particular interest in art, but these events were
always useful for social networking. You never knew who you
might meet, he thought derisively, as his eyes raked over
Tahlia Reynolds's slender form.
He recognised her instantly. Hardly surprising when her face
was plastered over the front of all the red-top tabloids, he
thought sardonically. But the photos of her in the
newspapers, even the artfully posed pictures in the glossy
magazines, showing her in couture gowns and stunning
jewellery, did not do justice to her luminescent beauty. His
eyes swept over her close-fitting blue silk cocktail dress,
which matched the sapphires at her throat and was cut low to
reveal a tantalising glimpse of the upper curve of her breasts.
She was exquisite, he acknowledged grimly. He welcomed the
wave of black hatred that surged through him, but to his
disgust another, unbidden emotion stirred within him.
Nothing had prepared him for the impact of seeing Tahlia in
the flesh, and to his fury he felt an unmistakable tug of
sexual interest.
An awkward silence hovered in the air after Crispin's
introduction, and as the gallery-owner cleared his throat
Thanos acknowledged that he could not give in to his
inclination to fasten his hands around Tahlia's slender neck
and squeeze the life from her body.
'Miss Reynolds,' he murmured smoothly, extending his hand to
her. He noted that she hesitated before she responded, and
her hand shook very slightly when she placed it in his. Her
fingers were slim, and as pale as milk. It would take a
fraction of his strength to crush them in his grasp. He
tightened his grip rather more than was necessary, and when
her eyes flew to his face he stared at her impassively.
The brief pressure on her fragile bones could not compare
with the pain his sister endured every day, he thought
savagely. Melina had been in hospital for six long months,
and would have to undergo many more weeks of physiotherapy
before she would walk unaided again. Thanos did not blame
the driver of the car which had ploughed into Melina. The
police had assured him that the man behind the wheel had
stood no chance of avoiding the young woman who had run into
the road without looking.
No, he held two other people responsible for the accident
which had almost ended Melina's life—and those same
two people had callously broken her heart. Tahlia Reynolds
was a predatory bitch who had been having an affair with
Melina's husband, James Hamilton. Melina had been distraught
when she had discovered them together in a hotel bedroom,
and she had fled outside onto an unlit country road,
straight into the path of an oncoming car.