LITMIR.BIZ

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in dismissal of the comment. She wore a skintight cerise-pink leather corset and a fitted black pencil skirt with very high heels. It was young and hip and she didn’t much care what he thought about it. ‘You can command everything else, Apollo, but not what I wear. What’s your objection anyway?’

      His strong jaw line squared. ‘You’re showing too much of your body.’

      ‘I’ve heard you’ve been seen with women who don’t even bother with underwear.’

      ‘You’re different…you’re my wife,’ Apollo declared grimly. ‘I don’t want other men looking at my wife.’

      ‘Tough,’ Pixie commented with a combative glint in her grey eyes. ‘You’re a Neanderthal in a suit.’

      ‘If we didn’t have guests, I wouldn’t allow you off the boat!’ he growled half under his breath.

      What a complete hypocrite he was! Pixie thought in wonderment, helpless amusement lacing her defiance. Apollo was a living legend for entertaining women who looked as though they had left half their outfit at home to maximise the exposure of their perfect bodies.

      A couple of hours later, amusement had become the last thing on Pixie’s mind. She was huddled in the luxury VIP cloakroom of the club with Holly. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this,’ she muttered apologetically.

      ‘What? Watching Apollo behave badly? I shouldn’t say it but it’s his favourite pastime.’

      Pixie tossed her head, golden blonde hair dancing round her shoulders, her piquant little face vivid with anger and mortification. ‘I can behave badly too…’

      Holly pulled a face. ‘But provocation is not the road I would take with Apollo.’

      Pixie, however, was past being polite and low-key and sensible. Since their arrival at the nightclub Apollo had been swamped by women. He was extremely well-known on the club circuit and he had not made a single attempt to deter the rapacious females trying to pick him up. Pixie had watched in wooden silence while other women pitched themselves onto her husband’s lap, danced in front of him in very suggestive ways and squeezed up close to him. He had bought them drinks and chatted to them as if Pixie were the invisible woman and she had had enough of his treatment. She had also learned why he made no effort with her. From what she could see by the over-eager girls surrounding him, Apollo had never had to make an effort. He was very hot and very rich and acting like a kid let loose in a candy shop was the norm for him.

      Pixie took her cocktail over to the VIP rail and watched the dancers because she loved to dance. Much good it was doing her though, she reflected moodily, wincing at the high-pitched giggling travelling from their crowded table. She wanted to empty entire ice buckets over Apollo and then kick him from one end of Circe to the other. Friends, she had suggested mildly, and this was the answer he was giving her? And why did she care? Why on earth did she care? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and watched a woman run her fingers down his broad chest and her teeth clenched with something that felt very like rage.

      ‘Would you like to dance?’ a faintly accented and unfamiliar voice said from behind her.

      Pixie spun round and found herself virtually eye to eye with a black-haired good-looking young man with very dark eyes and an Eastern cast of feature and she smiled. Vito had asked her to dance and she had said no, recognising pity when she saw it, and she had said no to Holly too, but a total stranger was a perfectly acceptable substitute for a husband who was ignoring her while simultaneously outraging her sense of decency.

      ‘Yes, thank you…’ Pixie acquiesced, noticing how all four of the bodyguards who had accompanied their party from the yacht all rose as one at a nearby table. With determination she smiled to let them know that she was pleased to have company and not in need of rescue.

      ‘I am Saeed,’ her companion informed her.

      ‘I’m Pixie,’ she said cheerfully, preceding him down the stairs, noting that two of Apollo’s bodyguards were now taking up position at the edge of the dance floor alongside two large men of a similar look.

      * * *

      ‘Where’s Pixie?’ Apollo asked Holly abruptly.

      ‘Dancing,’ Holly announced somewhat smugly.

      ‘With another man?’ Apollo demanded with savage incredulity and he flew upright.

      Vito sprang up as well and accompanied his friend to the rail that overlooked the floor below. ‘You can’t thump him. He holds diplomatic status and he’s half your size. It would make you look bad.’

      At his elbow, Apollo swore wrathfully in four different languages as he finally picked out his wife and her partner from the crowd. He watched Pixie wriggle her diminutive behind while her partner gripped her hips and drew her close. Blinding rage filled him as the other man bent his wife back in a dip that brought their bodies into intimate contact and he strode down the stairs with Vito flying to keep pace with him.

      ‘He’s an Arab prince…don’t hit him and cause a scene!’ Vito warned.

      Apollo’s powerful hands coiled into fists of fury. What the hell did Pixie think she was playing at? She was his wife and she wasn’t allowed to let any other man touch her body! He never ever lost his temper, he reminded himself fiercely, but there she was, twitching every inch of that lithe, dainty little body and the Arab Prince wasn’t the only one noticing that tight skirt and that fitted little top that showed the slope of her gorgeous breasts. In an almighty storm of rage Apollo acted in what for him was a very diplomatic manner. He stepped up behind Pixie and hauled her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder.

      ‘She’s my wife!’ he grated down at the startled Prince, who was the same size as Pixie in her heels, which wasn’t very tall, and with that clear announcement of his God-given right to interfere Apollo strode off for the exit.

      It took several annoying seconds for Pixie to realise what was happening but she instantly recognised Apollo’s scent. She pounded his back with clenched fists and screamed at him full volume, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put me down right this minute!’

      His bodyguards studiously not looking near either of them, Apollo stuffed his wife in the limo that would take them back to the harbour. Like a spitting cat, Pixie launched herself at him to try and get back out of the car again. ‘I want to go back and join Vito and Holly!’ she yelled.

      Apollo drew in a deep shuddering breath and said as mildly as he could, ‘You’re going back to the yacht and if that’s how you intend to behave when I take you out it’ll be a long time before you get out again.’

      ‘You can forget that option!’ Pixie railed at him, frantically trying to get out of the other side of the car only to be foiled by the automatic locks. ‘Let me out!’

      ‘No,’ Apollo decreed, temper moderated by the simple fact that he had her back again where she should be. ‘You shouldn’t have let him touch you like that.’

      ‘Are you for real?’ Pixie screamed at him. ‘You’ve had women throwing themselves at you and pawing you all evening!’

      Apollo shot her a riveting green glance of near wonderment. ‘That approach works on other women…what’s wrong with you?’

      ‘What’s right with me is that I’m not about to let you walk all over me!’ Pixie hissed back. ‘Anything you can do I can do too and I will. I’ll throw myself at every man in my radius if it annoys you enough… I hate you, Apollo… I hate you!’

      Apollo watched her stalk like a miniature warrior onto the motorboat and sit down as far as she could get from him. Marriage promised to be a great deal more challenging than he had ever appreciated, he conceded, still light-headed from the sheer amount of rage that had flooded him when he’d seen the Prince put his hands on her. How dared he? He gritted his even white teeth while he fought the lingering pulses of fury.

      With a flourish intended to convey sarcasm, Pixie whipped off her shoes before

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