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The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride
Kate Hewitt




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Harlequin Presents



They’re the men who have everything—except brides…
Wealth, power, charm—what else could a heart-stoppingly handsome tycoon need? In the GREEK TYCOONS miniseries, you have already been introduced to some gorgeous Greek multimillionaires who are in need of wives.
Now it’s the turn of popular Harlequin Presents author Kate Hewitt, with her sensual romance The Greek Tycoon’s Convenient Bride
This tycoon has met his match, and he’s decided he has to have her…whatever that takes!

Kate Hewitt
THE GREEK TYCOON’S CONVENIENT BRIDE




TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

All about the author…
Kate Hewitt
KATE HEWITT discovered her first Harlequin romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it, too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately, they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older.
She studied drama in college and shortly after graduation moved to New York City to pursue a career in theater. This was derailed by something far better—meeting the man of her dreams, who happened also to be her older brother’s childhood friend. Ten days after their wedding they moved to England, where Kate worked a variety of different jobs—drama teacher, editorial assistant, youth worker, secretary and finally mother.
When her oldest daughter was a year old, Kate sold her first short story to a British magazine. Since then she has sold many stories and serials, but writing romance remains her first love—of course!
Besides writing, she enjoys reading, traveling and learning to knit—it’s an ongoing process and she’s made a lot of scarves. After living in England for six years, she now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children and, perhaps someday, a dog.
Kate loves to hear from readers, You can contact her through her Web site, www.kate-hewitt.com.

CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN

PROLOGUE
HE WATCHED her from the shadows.
Lukas Petrakides stood behind the camouflaging fronds of a palm tree, his eyes tracking the young woman as she slipped from her hotel room onto the silky sand of the beach.
Dark, wild curls blew around her face and her slender arms crept around herself in a hug that was pitiably vulnerable.
He hadn’t meant to stumble upon her—or anyone—here. He’d been consumed with a restless energy, his mind full of plans for the new resort that had just opened here in the Languedoc, minutes from a sleepy village, stretching out to a pristine beach.
He’d needed to escape the confines of his own suite, his own mind, even if just for a moment.
The wind and the waves shimmering beneath a diamond sky had soothed him, and he’d slipped off his shoes, rolled up the cuffs of his trousers, and strode down the smooth, white sand.
And had found her.
He didn’t know what had drawn him to her, why that slender form seemed to hold so much grace, beauty, desire.
Sorrow.
Her head was bowed, her shoulders slightly slumped. The look of someone in grief or pain.
Still he felt a blaze of feeling deep within. A need. A connection.
He took one step towards her, an impulse, an instinct, before checking himself. He knew his presence here would cause questions, complications he couldn’t afford.
He had to keep his reputation above the faintest reproach. He always had. So he stood in the shadows, watched her walk towards the waves, and wondered.
She stood on the shore, the waves lapping her bare feet, and gazed out at the calm waters of the Mediterranean. She threw one worried glance over her shoulder towards the sliding glass door of her hotel room, as if someone were there, waiting, watching, as he was.
Who waited for her in there? A boyfriend? Husband?
A lover?
Whoever it was, it was none of his business.
If he were a different man—with a different life, different responsibilities—he might not check that impulse. He might walk up to her, say hello, make conversation.
Nothing sleazy or sordid; he didn’t want that. Just honest conversation, a shared moment. Something real and warm and alive.
The desire for it shook him, vibrated deep in his being. He shook his head. It was never going to happen.
A bitter smile twisted his lips as he watched her. She dropped her arms, raised her face to the moon-bathed sky. The breeze off the sea moulded her cheap sundress to the slight contours of her body. Her curves were boyish at best, yet Lukas still felt a stirring of desire.
A desire he wouldn’t act upon. Couldn’t. As the only son of his father, the only heir to the Petrakides real estate fortune, he carried too many responsibilities to shrug them off lightly for a mere dalliance with a slip of a girl. For a moment’s connection.
He would never let it be anything more.
His grey eyes hardened to pewter. He thought he heard her give a little shuddering sigh, but perhaps it was the wind. Perhaps it was his imagination.
Perhaps that sound had come from him.
She jerked her head around sharply, and he drew in a breath as he stepped back, deeper into the shadows. Had he made a sound—one that she’d heard?
Her gaze swept the beach, fastened on the sliding glass door to her hotel room. She hadn’t seen him, he realised; something from inside the room—a person? A man?—had beckoned her.
Her body sagged slightly, her arms dropping to her sides, her head bowed as she turned to head back inside.
Lukas watched her go, wondered who—what—had called her. Why did she look so sorrowful, as if the weight of the world rested on those slight shoulders?
He knew how that felt. He understood about crippling weight.
The sliding glass door closed with a click, and, suppressing another wave of longing, Lukas turned to head back to his private suite.

CHAPTER ONE
RHIANNON DAVIES checked her reflection one last time before nodding to the babysitter.
‘Right…I should only be an hour or two.’ She glanced uncertainly at the baby sitting on the floor, chewing on her house keys and looking at her with dark, soulful eyes. ‘She might need a nap in a little while.’
The babysitter, a stout Frenchwoman with an impassive expression, nodded once before stooping to pick Annabel up in her arms.
Rhiannon watched, noticed how the older woman’s arms went comfortably around Annabel’s chubby middle and carried her with a confident ease she had yet to feel herself.
‘I don’t think she’ll cry,’ she ventured, and was answered with another brisk nod.
In the two weeks since Annabel had been in her care, the baby had hardly cried at all. Despite the whirl of events, the change of both home and mother, she simply regarded the world with big, blank eyes. Rhiannon suspected the poor mite was in shock.
That was why she was here, she told herself firmly, not for the first time, ignoring the pangs of guilt and longing stabbing her middle. Her heart.
She had come to France, to this exclusive resort, to Lukas Petrakides, to give Annabel some stability. To give her love.
Annabel stuck a fist in her mouth and chewed while gazing in blank curiosity at the woman who’d come so abruptly into her life.
Rhiannon.
They hadn’t bonded, Rhiannon acknowledged, hadn’t really tried. It was too strange, too difficult, too sad.
She’d never even held a baby before Leanne, pale-faced, wide-eyed, had thrust a sleeping Annabel into her arms. Take her.
Rhiannon’s arms had closed around the solid little form as a matter of instinct, but her arms had been at awkward angles and she hadn’t been sure how to cuddle.
Annabel had woken up with a furious screech.
‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’ Hesitantly Rhiannon stroked one satiny cheek. Annabel simply blinked.
It was better this way, she knew. Better they didn’t get attached. Then it would be so much easier to say goodbye.
A lump formed in her throat; she forced it down. She would do what she had to do to secure Annabel’s future and, more importantly, her happiness.
No matter what the cost.
She stole one last look at her reflection: dark curls, mostly tamed behind her ears, a face pale but with a sprinkling of freckles in stark relief, a smart if inexpensive skirt, and a matching sleeveless top in aquamarine. Modest, businesslike. Appropriate.
Suppressing a sigh, she slipped out of the hotel room.
The sun was bright, the air fresh and clean as she walked along the outside corridor. The newest Petra Resort, situated in this remote, exclusive corner of the Languedoc province of France, was simple, spare and elegant. Having arrived in darkness, she now took note of the bougainvillaea spilling from terracotta pots, the climbing vines, the clean colours.
It had cost her half a month’s salary—far more than she could possibly afford—to book even the cheapest room at the resort on its opening weekend. If there hadn’t been a last-minute cancellation she wouldn’t have got in at all.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath that was meant to steady her jangling nerves, Rhiannon hoped this journey would be worth it. For Annabel.
She closed her eyes briefly. This was all so, so crazy.
Only a fortnight ago Leanne had exploded back into her life—and out again just as quickly. Leaving confusion and Annabel in her wake. And the name of Annabel’s father.
Rhiannon bit her lip as fresh doubts assailed her, washed over her in a sickening wave. What if Lukas refused to talk to her? Or, worse, denied his responsibility? When she’d attempted to contact him by telephone she hadn’t made it past the first hurdle.
We’ll give Mr Petrakides your message.
Yeah, right. The disbelief and scorn had been obvious, shaming. They hadn’t even taken her number or her name.
Then she’d read in the local newspaper that a new Petra resort was opening in France, seen that Lukas Petrakides would be there at a reception for the resort’s first guests. She knew it was a chance—perhaps the only one—for Annabel to know her father. Her family.
Every child needed parents. Real ones, not strangers who took them out of duty, obligation.
She believed that with all her heart. She wanted more for Annabel. She wanted to give her a family. She didn’t know where she herself would fit into that equation, if at all. The thought had first chilled her; now it merely numbed.
She understood about sacrifice. She was prepared.
Rhiannon walked down several corridors, looking for the lounge that the resort had advertised as the location for the ‘Meet and Greet’ reception.
Whenever a new Petra resort opened—and now there had to be half a dozen—Lukas Petrakides, the founder’s son and CEO of the company, came to meet with his guests.
His fans, Rhiannon thought wryly. For since learning the name of Annabel’s father, she’d researched the man and come up with some information. Although reclusive, Lukas Petrakides was adored by the Greek public and press alike—considered broodingly handsome, unfailingly polite, stunningly charismatic.
Rhiannon smiled at the thought. Surely the magazines had to be making some of that up?
They had to make something up, for Lukas Petrakides was notorious for not providing gossip for the rumour mill. Unlike other Mediterranean tycoons, he didn’t appear in public with the latest model or starlet on his arm. His only escort was one of his three older sisters. Photographs were rare. He didn’t party, didn’t drink, didn’t dance.
Didn’t do much of anything, it seemed, except work.
Considering such a reputation, Rhiannon couldn’t quite dismiss the faint sense of disbelief that Lukas Petrakides had, at least on one occasion, put aside his own responsibilities for a weekend of no-strings romance. Sex.
One person had cracked his armour and found if not his heart then his libido.
Leanne…And the result of that union was back in her hotel room.
Rhiannon dragged in a shuddering breath, needing the air, the courage. She hadn’t been able to formulate a plan beyond the basic: book two nights’ accommodation at the Petra Resort, attend the reception, find Lukas Petrakides.
And then…?
Her mind skittered frantically, in time with her rapid pulse, even as her heart provided the answer.
And then he’ll want her. He’ll love her, he’ll take her into his home, his heart. They’ll be a family, happy, loving, perfect. The End.
Rhiannon’s mouth twisted in painful acknowledgement of this fairy tale. Life didn’t work that way. It hadn’t for her.
But surely it could for Annabel?
She knew Lukas was a man of responsibility; the tabloids held him up as a paragon. It was his shining reputation for integrity, honour, and an unfailing sense of duty that had made the decision for Rhiannon.
This was a man who could—and she prayed would—take on the mantle of fatherhood without a qualm or quiver. A man who would welcome his daughter with open arms.
She finally came to a pair of double doors, guarded by two impassive-looking security guards who asked for her room number.
One of them scanned a list. ‘Name?’
‘Rhiannon Davies.’ Her heart pounded but at least her voice sounded calm.
The guard nodded brusquely, and Rhiannon was given entry. She slipped between the doors, taking in the diamond-spangled crowd with a sinking heart.
She didn’t fit in here, and it was obvious. This was a party for the rich and famous, or at least the socially savvy. Not her. Never her.
She scanned the room, a blush rising to her cheeks as she caught the curious stares, the scornful looks. She knew her outfit was inexpensive, but it was hardly tawdry or inappropriate. Yet Rhiannon felt as if she was standing there naked by the way a few well-heeled, skimpily clad society she-devils were looking at her.
For heaven’s sake, they were wearing fewer clothes than she was. She lifted her chin, stiffened her spine. She didn’t care what anyone thought about her; all that mattered was getting to Lukas.
Telling him about Annabel.
She scanned the room again, took a few steps inside. And saw him.
Once her gaze fastened on his form, she wondered how she could have missed him for a moment. He was tall—taller than most men—dressed in an elegant grey suit, perfectly cut, moulding to his powerful shoulders and trim hips. He leaned against the bar, a drink in one hand, although Rhiannon saw it was virtually untouched.
She saw his suave smile, imagined she could hear his dry chuckle across the room, watched his graceful movements. And still the thought sprang unbidden into her mind.
He’s unhappy. He’s lonely.
She shook her head slightly; the idea was ridiculous. Who could be either lonely or unhappy with the crème of society jostling for his attention, for one word from those sculpted lips?
She almost laughed at herself; Lukas Petrakides was every bit as handsome as the tabloids claimed he was. She had expected to be intimidated; she hadn’t expected to be affected.
Squaring her shoulders, Rhiannon waded into the expensive fray. She walked towards the bar, stopping a few feet before the man himself.
Uncertainty washed over her with the scent of expensive, cloying perfume from the women jostling her, queuing for Lukas’s attention. She hadn’t considered the crowds, the difficulty in approaching him. She should have.
She nibbled at her lip as she considered her options. She wanted to speak in private, but she doubted a man like Lukas Petrakides would consider a request for a private conversation from a person like her—plain, poor, socially irrelevant.
Still, there wasn’t much else she could do. This was why she had come. Phone calls and letters could be ignored, dismissed. Face to face it would be more difficult for him to ignore or deny…if she was able to speak to him at all.
She was just about to take a step forward when he turned. Saw her. Looked at her almost as if he recognised her…knew her. And she felt a sudden penetrating flash of awareness come over her like a shiver, a shock—as if she knew him. Impossible. Ridiculous.
Still, the expression in his eyes dried her mouth, her words. Her thoughts. His eyes had been described in the tabloids as grey, but Rhiannon decided that they were silver, the colour of a rain-washed river. A small, tender smile quirked his mouth upwards.
He raised an eyebrow, gestured to the space next to him at the bar even as a matron droned on in French at his other side.
Rhiannon’s pulse kicked into gear and a strange new sensation flooded through her—pleasant, fizzy, limb-weakening.
Desire.
All it had taken was one smile, one look from those piercing eyes, one tiny glimmer of tenderness, and she was hooked. Caught.
Was she that desperate? That obvious?
Yet she couldn’t deny the connection that seemed to pulse between them across the crowded room, as present and real as if a wire stretched between them, drawing her to him.
She walked towards him, towards the heat flaring in his gaze, as if it were a place she had always meant to go. To be.
He watched, a faint smile curving those exquisite lips, lighting his eyes.
Then she stumbled, caught herself on the bar. Her slick palms curled around cool marble. She heard the low titter of speculative, jealous voices from around her, a mocking wave of sound, and felt a humiliating blush crawl up her throat and colour her face.
Just as well, she told herself. Her clumsiness had broken the spell he’d cast over her, the magic he’d woven. This wasn’t about her; it was about Annabel.
She turned to Lukas, and saw in his eyes an expression of gentle amusement.
‘Ça va?’ he asked, and Rhiannon tried to smile.
‘Ummm…ça va bien.’ Her rusty schoolgirl French to the rescue, she thought wryly.
But it obviously didn’t impress him, for he smiled slightly and said, ‘You’re English.’
‘Welsh, actually,’ she admitted. ‘I did a GCSE in French, but it’s been a while.’
His smile deepened, his eyes lightened to the shimmering colour of dawn on the sea, and Rhiannon saw he had a dimple in his cheek.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ He was looking at her again in that assessing way, as if he were taking her in, deciding who she was. Considering his own reaction.
And she was considering hers—the way she leaned towards him, intuitively, a matter of instinct as well as desire. Every sense was humming, every nerve on high alert. When he looked at her in that warm, considering way, every thought in her mind seemed to vaporise. All she could do was feel.
‘I’ll have a white wine,’ she said into the silence.
‘Done.’ He smiled, scattering her thoughts to the wind, and a glass of wine materialised before her. She took a grateful sip, letting the cool liquid zing pleasantly through her system. She put the glass down, turned to Lukas.
He was looking at her with expectation, yet also with something more. The languorous warmth of male appreciation, the treacherous heat of desire.
It thrilled her. It scared her.
It turned her mind to cotton, her bones to wax. Made her waver. Made her want.
Her mouth was dry, and she licked her lips. Tried to form a thought, a word. A sound.
‘Are you here alone?’ Lukas asked. His tone was one of polite interest, but his eyes were roaming her figure, stroking her as they flared with a heat Rhiannon felt flicker in her own core.
Could this actually be happening? Was Lukas Petrakides flirting with her? More than flirting; openly wanting. Her.
Her heart craved it, feared it. No, he couldn’t be. Not him…not with a girl like her. A girl from nowhere, a girl with nothing.
Except a baby. His.
The reminder of Annabel’s presence, her need, pulsed demandingly through Rhiannon’s mind and heart.
That was why she was here…for Annabel. Only for Annabel.
‘Yes, I’m alone,’ she finally answered, her voice little more than a croak. She tried to gather her scattered wits and failed. She hadn’t expected this reaction—treacherous, molten, overwhelming.
Real.
This was not part of her plan.
‘You are?’ He sounded surprised, and his gaze flicked over the crowd before coming to rest on her face with penetrating intensity. ‘A holiday alone?’ he clarified, and Rhiannon’s blush deepened.
She really did sound pathetic. If he were flirting with her it had to be out of boredom or pity or both.
Except it didn’t feel that way.
‘Yes, although…’ Now was the time to state her purpose. To mention Annabel.
Why was it the last thing she wanted to do?
‘Although…?’ he prompted. The matron on his right had left with a loud sniff, and Rhiannon could feel the speculative stares from the people around them.
They were wondering how a bourgeois bit-piece like her had captured Lukas Petrakides’s attention. She couldn’t blame them—even if she didn’t appreciate the contempt that was drawing like a palpable shroud around her. She was wondering the same thing herself.
‘Nothing.’ Coward.
‘Ah.’ There was a moment of silence, pregnant with possibility, heavy with intent. Rhiannon waited, too overwhelmed to speak, too affected to formulate more than a hazy thought…a need.
She didn’t want him to go.
She wanted him.
It was ridiculous; it was real. Something pulsed to life between them—something Rhiannon couldn’t even understand.
Lukas’s mouth twisted in a smile, and he took a sip of wine. He looked undecided for a moment, vulnerably uncertain, and then resolve hardened his eyes, his face, his voice. ‘It was nice chatting with you,’ he said, and Rhiannon knew it was a dismissal.
For a moment she thought she saw regret shadow his eyes, but it was replaced with a formal cursory courtesy that she suspected was the expression with which he greeted everyone in the room.
If they’d shared a real moment, a connection, it was gone.
And so was her chance.
‘Wait.’ Lukas had already turned away, and Rhiannon was forced to scrabble at his sleeve. ‘I need to say something to you.’
He turned. Hope lit his eyes for one wonderful moment. Rhiannon took a breath.
‘I have something you need to hear.’
He stilled. The blank look returned, and suddenly it seemed dangerous.
‘What would that be?’
Rhiannon took a breath. The desire she’d felt, the warmth, the connection, were distant memories. All she felt now was uncertainty. Fear. The cold, metallic tang was on her tongue. She was handling this wrong. She knew she was. But if Lukas would only listen to her, then he would understand.
He would accept, and he would be glad. She had to believe that.
‘I think it would be better said in private.’
She spoke in a low voice, but still heard the shocked indrawn breaths from the gossipy vultures around her.
‘You do?’ His voice was soft, musing, but his eyes were as hard as steel.
She kept saying the wrong thing. She saw it in the way he looked at her now, with derision and dislike. What had happened? She didn’t understand this world—its politics, its hidden agendas. She just wanted to tell him about his daughter.
‘Yes…it is important, I promise. You need to know…’ She trailed off uncertainly. She felt tension thrum in the air, in her body. In his.
There was a connection, but it wasn’t a good one.
It felt very bad.
‘I cannot imagine,’ Lukas replied in a voice of lethal quiet, ‘that you have anything to say to me that I need to know, Miss…?’
‘Davies—Rhiannon Davies. And please believe me—I do. I only need a moment of your time…’ And then a lifetime. But there would—please, God—be other opportunities to discuss their future. Annabel’s future.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have a moment…for you,’ Lukas said, his tone chillingly soft.
‘No…No…Just wait…’ She flung one hand out in appeal; it was ignored. ‘You don’t understand. Someone else is involved. We have a mutual friend.’ Her words came out stilted, strained. Awful. Why hadn’t she thought of a better way to handle this?
‘I don’t think we’ve ever met,’ Lukas said after a tiny pause. ‘And I doubt we have any mutual friends.’
They were from different worlds; it was glaringly obvious. He was accustomed to wealth, privilege, power—light years away from her small suburban existence in Wales.
He had power; she had nothing.
Except Annabel. The realisation gave her a much-needed boost of courage.
‘No, we haven’t met,’ she agreed, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. ‘But there is someone we both know—both care about. A friend…’ Although, according to Leanne, she and Lukas had been a lot more than friendly.
For a moment Rhiannon’s mind dwelt on that strangely unwelcome possibility—Lukas and Leanne, bodies entwined, fused. Lips, hips, shoulders, thighs. Passion created, enjoyed, shared. They’d made a child together.
She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. Hadn’t even asked Leanne about the details. A weekend of passion, Leanne had said with a sigh, before naming the father.
Take care of her for me. Don’t let her down.
Love her.
That was what this was about. That was why she had come.
Annabel needed love. Real love. The love of her father.
‘Someone we both care about?’ Lukas repeated, and this time Rhiannon heard more of the steel. The incredulity. Her heart rate sped up, doubled. She nodded.
‘Yes…And if you’d just give me a moment in private, I could explain. It would be…worth your while.’
He froze, and Rhiannon felt as if her heart had frozen as well. For a moment everything seemed suspended, still, that terrible moment before the storm hit and the lightning struck.
‘Worth my while?’ he repeated. It was a simple statement, yet it held a wealth of unpleasant meaning. Alarm prickled along Rhiannon’s spine, tingling up her nape as Lukas made eye contact with someone over her shoulder. Something was happening. Something bad.
He gave a brief, almost indiscernible nod, then his icy gaze snapped back to her—unyielding, unmerciful.
She suppressed a shiver.
Had she actually thought this was a gentle man?
‘I’m just trying to be polite,’ she explained. ‘By requesting some privacy—’
‘I can be polite,’ he replied with silky, lethal intent. ‘As a courtesy, I’m letting you know that you have five seconds before my security guards escort you from this room and this resort.’
Shock shot through her, followed by scathing disbelief and, worse, hurt. She should have expected this, but she hadn’t. After that first moment she’d thought he might be kind.
Different.
She’d believed what the tabloids said—the image of the man they exalted.
She was a fool.
‘You’re making a mistake.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Please…I don’t want anything from you—at least nothing that you wouldn’t be prepared to give—’ She grabbed his hand; he removed it with distaste.
‘Is that so? Because I’m prepared to give you nothing. Goodbye, Miss Davies.’
Before Rhiannon could form a reply, one last appeal, a hand clamped none too gently on her arm.
‘This way, miss.’
He was kicking her out! Humiliated fury washed through her in sickening waves as the security guard tugged her firmly from her stool. She stumbled to her feet, threw a hand out to the bar to steady herself.
Lukas Petrakides watched impassively with cool grey eyes.
Rhiannon hated him then.
‘You can’t do this,’ she said in a furious whisper, and he raised one eyebrow.
‘Then you don’t know me very well.’
‘I don’t want to know you! I want to talk to you!’
The guard was tugging her backwards, and Rhiannon was forced to follow him, stumbling, while a murmur of curious whispers and titters followed her, surrounded her in a mocking chorus.
Lukas watched, arms folded, eyes hard, expression flat.
This was her last chance. Her only hope.
‘You have a baby!’ she shouted, and was rewarded with a ripple of shocked murmurs in the crowd and a look of stunned disbelief on Lukas’s face before she was pulled through the doorway and out of sight.

CHAPTER TWO
YOUhave a baby.
Lukas barely registered the din of speculative gossip that rang out around him. Someone spoke to him, an excited jabber. He merely shrugged before forcing himself to reply politely.
You have a baby.
Absurd. Impossible. The woman was a liar.
He knew that—knew she was just another common blackmailer, a petty thief looking for a handout.
He’d seen them, dealt with them before. He’d recognised the patter as soon as she’d started, the female flattery disguising the threat underneath.
Mutual friends. Something he needed to hear.
Hardly.
He just didn’t understand why he felt so disappointed.
Last night, when he’d seen her on the beach, he’d felt a connection. And then when she’d shown up at the reception, met his gaze, walked towards him with a smile that was tender, uncertain and yet filled with promise, he’d felt it again. Deep, real, alive.
False. All he’d felt was cheap, easy desire. Lust masquerading as need.
His disappointment was no more than he deserved for giving in to desire for something—someone—for even a moment.
Wanting was weakness. Desire was dangerous. He’d seen the shameful results, lived with them every day.
He had responsibilities, duties, and those were what counted. What mattered.
Nothing else did.
Nothing else could.
He knew the drill: his guards would take her to a discreet office kept for just this purpose, make her sign a gagging order, and show her the door.
He’d never see her again.
Yet suddenly he wanted to know. Needed to know just what her game was—what information she pretended to have, what she hoped to get.
Then he’d forget her completely.
‘Excuse me…Pardon…’ He repeated the phrase in several languages as the crowd mingled and jostled for his attention, moving past everyone with firm decision.
He pushed through the double doors, strode down the corridor towards the lobby.
What had she expected? That he would believe her dirty little tale and cut her a cheque? He shook his head slowly, disbelief and fury pouring through him, scalding his soul.
Had she been planning her little manoeuvre last night, on the beach? Was there someone else involved? Some man waiting greedily back in their hotel room?
Or was she playing another game? Selling her story to a tabloid? The gossip rags had so little dirt to dish on him, it wouldn’t surprise him if they were paying people to make it up.
He strode into the lobby, heard the flutter of greeting from an army of receptionists and ignored them, making for the small office, its door discreetly tucked behind a potted palm in one corner of the spacious room.
He paused outside the door, listening. Waiting to hear what ridiculous tale she would spin.
‘I don’t want money!’ He heard her furious denial, shook his head. What was she playing for? A bigger bribe?
‘Sign this statement, Miss Davies.’ Tony, one of his two security guards, spoke with weary patience. ‘By signing it you agree not to sell or disclose any information regarding Mr Petrakides, the Petrakides family, or Petrakides Properties. Then you will leave this resort. Petrakides Properties will pay for one night’s accommodation in a local hotel as redress. Your belongings will be sent there this evening.’
Lukas heard the silence through the door, felt her incredulity, her fury, her fear. His hand rested on the knob.
‘That’s not possible.’ Her voice was a whisper, with a thread of steel through its core.
‘It is in every way possible,’ Tony replied flatly. ‘And as soon as you sign the statement, it will be put into effect.’
‘I’ll sign the statement,’ Rhiannon replied with barely a waver. ‘But you cannot throw me out of this resort. There is a baby in my hotel room, and that child belongs to Lukas Petrakides!’
Lukas’s hand tightened on the knob as shock and outrage battled for precedence. Had the lying slut actually brought a baby as proof? Used an innocent child in her despicable scheme? It was vile. He should have her arrested, prosecuted…
The Petrakides family’s policy, however, was to remove any instigators as quickly and quietly as possible. Prosecution, in this case, was not an option.
For a brief moment Lukas imagined his father’s reaction when the tabloids printed the story about his so-called child. He knew someone at the party would dish the goods.
His mouth tightened; his heart hardened. She wasn’t worth the trouble she’d put him to.
‘If that is so,’ Lukas’s security guard said after a tiny, tense pause, ‘then I will escort you to your hotel room to collect this child. Then you will go.’
There was a silence. When her voice came out, however, it shocked him. It was small and sad and defeated.
‘You have this all wrong,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I don’t want to blackmail anyone—least of all Lukas Petrakides. I simply have reason to believe his daughter is in my care, and I thought he should know that…know her.’ This last came out in a sorry, aching whisper that created an answering throb in Lukas’s midsection. His gut, not his heart.
She was sincere, even if she was mistaken. Or she was a phenomenal actress. He forced himself not to care. Then he shook his head slowly. She had to be acting, faking. How on earth she could possibly believe she had his child when he had never seen her before—what could she be playing at?
Still he paused. Wondered. Wanted to know.
And he realised with damning weakness—need—that he wanted to see her again.
He turned the knob.

Rhiannon choked back a scream of frustration and defeat. This had gone so horribly, horribly wrong. No one believed her; no one even cared.
From Lukas Petrakides down, all she’d come up against were blank walls of indifference, unconcern. They didn’t care what she had to say, what truth there might be to her tale.
They wanted her gone.
‘I don’t want money,’ she repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time. ‘I just want a moment alone with Mr Petrakides to explain. That’s all.’
‘So you’ve said before, Miss Davies,’ the guard told her in a bored voice, clearly unimpressed.
‘Then why don’t you believe me?’ Rhiannon snapped, but the security guard had gone silent, his gaze on the door.
She turned, her breath coming out in a sudden, surprised rush when she saw Lukas Petrakides standing there. He leaned against the doorframe, one hand thrust into the pocket of his dark grey trousers, the other braced against the wall.
She hadn’t heard him come in, yet how could she ever have been unaware of his presence? He filled the space, took the air. She sucked in a much needed breath, tried to gather her scattered wits and courage.
Lukas flicked her with a cool, impassive gaze even as he addressed the guards.
‘I’ll deal with this.’
The two men filed out of the room without a word.
Rhiannon watched, sickened by the blatant display of power. Abuse of power. Lukas was a man who expected obedience—total, absolute, unquestioning.
She was so out of her depth, over her head, and it scared her.
Yet this was Annabel’s father.
They were alone in the small room, and she was conscious of her own ragged breathing, her pounding heart. His eyes flicked over her in cool and clearly unimpressed assessment.
‘You have a child in your hotel room?’ he asked in a detached voice, as if it were of little interest.
‘Yes…yours.’
‘I see.’ His smile was cold, mocking, a parody. ‘When did we conceive this child, I wonder?’
Shock drenched her in icy, humiliating waves as she realised the assumption he’d so easily—and obviously—made. He really did think she was a liar. ‘Annabel’s not mine!’
‘Annabel. A girl?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whose child is she, then? Besides mine, of course.’
‘Leanne Weston. You…you met her at a club in London, took her to Naxos.’ She felt silly repeating information he must already know—but perhaps he needed clarification? Perhaps, despite his reputation, there had been women? Many women.
The thought made her stomach roil unpleasantly.
He raised his eyebrows in surprised interest. ‘I did? Ah, yes. Naxos. Beautiful place. Did we have fun?’
Rhiannon gritted her teeth. ‘I couldn’t say, but from Leanne’s description you were certainly busy!’
‘And why is she not here herself?’ Lukas questioned silkily. ‘I’d recognise her, of course. Perhaps I’d even recall our dirty little weekend. Or would you prefer that I do not see the woman who supposedly bore my child? Maybe I wouldn’t recognise her after all?’ The derisive lilt to his voice made Rhiannon grit her teeth.
‘If Leanne were able to be here, I hope she would be,’ she said, her nerves taut, fraying, ready to split apart. ‘Although after your weekend affair she was pragmatic enough to realise it was over. You never gave her your phone number, or attempted to contact her.’ Frustration rose within her, clamoured into a silent howl in her throat. ‘But this is nonsense to talk like this. I don’t care about what you did with Leanne in Naxos. What I care about is your daughter, and I should think that’s what you would care about too.’
‘Ah, yes, my daughter. This Annabel.’ He folded his arms, smiled with the stealthy confidence of a predator. And Rhiannon was the prey. ‘You brought her here? To the hotel?’
‘Yes…’
‘I suppose you thought the added embarrassment of an actual child on the premises would increase your pay-off?’
‘My what?’ Rhiannon shook her head. Did he still think she wanted to blackmail him? Was that what this horrible little interrogation was about? ‘I don’t want your money,’ she said tightly. ‘As I’ve said before. I just wanted you to know.’
‘How kind of you. So now that I know, we can say goodbye. Correct?’ His cool eyes suddenly blazed silver with challenge; Rhiannon felt a hollow pit open inside her—a pit to drown in.
She’d come to France to find not just Lukas Petrakides, but a man who would love Annabel openly, wholly, unconditionally.
The way fathers did.
The way they were supposed to.
She should have realised what a fantasy that was.
‘I thought you were a man of responsibility,’ she said in a choked whisper. ‘A man of honour.’
Lukas stilled, his eyes darkening dangerously. ‘I am. That is precisely why I’m not going to pay you to keep silent about your little brat!’
‘Your brat, if you choose to use such terms,’ Rhiannon flashed, wounded to her core by his nasty words, his brutal assessment. He was talking about his own child. She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand how a man like you—a man like the papers claim you are—cannot care one iota for your own flesh and blood. I thought…’ She shook her head slowly, realisation dawning with painful intensity and awareness.
‘You thought what?’ he demanded flatly, and she looked up at him with wide, guileless eyes.
‘I thought it would be different because she was yours.’ It came out as a wretched whisper, a confession. An aching realisation that a dream she’d cherished and clung to for so long was in fact false. Rhiannon didn’t know what hurt more—the current reality or the faded memory. Annabel’s past or her own. ‘I thought you would care.’
He stared at her for a moment, his mouth tightening in impatience. ‘But you know, Miss Davies, that this is a fabrication. I don’t know who dreamed up your sordid little scheme—whether it was you or your suspiciously absent friend Leanne—but we both know I did not father the child that is in your hotel room.’
Rhiannon stared at him in disbelief. ‘But you…you said you were in Naxos!’
‘I may have visited my family’s resort in Naxos,’ he agreed with stinging clarity. ‘But I did not take your friend—or any other woman there—and I certainly did not father a child.’
‘But Leanne said—’
‘She lied. As you are lying.’
‘No.’ Rhiannon shook her head. ‘No. She didn’t lie. And neither did I. She was so certain…she spoke of you so warmly…’
He made a sound of impatient disgust. ‘I’m flattered.’
‘But how do you know? How can you be sure?’ She gulped down her own uncertainties, the fears clamouring within her, threatening to spill over in a scream of denial, of desperation. Everything had been turned upside down by this revelation.
Rhiannon had never doubted Leanne’s word. Never. There had been no reason to—no reason for her friend to lie. Now she wondered if she should have questioned. Doubted. If Leanne, for some inexplicable reason, had lied. It would be a terrible deception. And for what purpose?
But, no…When Leanne had named Lukas Petrakides as the father of her child she’d been so certain, so…appreciative. Wistful. The memory, for Leanne, had been sweet. There had been nothing calculating or deceptive about her explanation—and why should there have been?
She’d been dying.
‘How do I know?’ Lukas raised one eyebrow, as if daring her to make him answer such a question.
‘I mean…’ Rhiannon felt humiliating colour flood her face. ‘There must have been women…’ She assumed, despite his unsullied reputation, that there still were women. There were always women. Attractive, wealthy, discreet, willing to give and receive pleasure—satisfy a need.
‘Ah.’ His smile was mocking, bittersweet. ‘But there you’re wrong, Miss Davies. There have been no women. Not for two years.’
His face remained impassive even as Rhiannon gaped in shock. She wasn’t sure why she should find this so surprising; she hadn’t slept with anyone in the last two years. Or, for that matter, ever.
Lukas Petrakides, however, exuded raw strength, powerful virility. The idea that he’d gone without women—without sex—for such a length of time seemed ludicrous. Impossible.
Men like him thrived on passion…needed it. Didn’t they?
Was Lukas really different? Was he gay? The thought was absurd. Cold, then…? Although there seemed nothing cold about him.
Was he just incredibly restrained?
After her mind had stopped whirling she realised with cold, stark clarity just what this meant.
Annabel couldn’t possibly be Lukas’s child.
She’d come here for nothing.
‘Are you…sure?’ she asked, her voice a rusty croak. Yet she knew what an inane question it was—just as she knew he was telling the truth. In some bizarre, inexplicable way, she trusted him. Trusted his word.
‘I don’t forget such things. If there was any possibility of course I would have a paternity test taken. If the child were indeed mine I would care for it. Naturally.’
Rhiannon shook her head. She didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to consider the utter waste of her travelling to France, spending far more money than she ever should have on a hotel and, worse, losing any hope of a better life for Annabel.
Lukas Petrakides was not Annabel’s father. Rhiannon stared, her mind forming one impossible denial after another. She wanted to cry. To cry for Annabel, for herself.
For lost dreams of the father-daughter reunion she’d been dreaming of for years.
It was never going to happen.
But she wasn’t going to cry.
‘I’m sorry your little charade didn’t pay off,’ Lukas said with a cold smile. ‘But at least you can be thankful that I won’t press charges. You and your…prop will vacate the premises within the next fifteen minutes.’
‘My prop?’ Rhiannon repeated blankly, before she realised he was talking about a person. A child. Annabel. ‘You still think this is a blackmail attempt?’ She shook her head, surprised at the rush of relief that Annabel would not be tied to a man who thought so little of her, of humanity. ‘Why can’t you believe I came here with your interests—Annabel’s interests—at heart? I didn’t come for money, Mr Petrakides. I came to find Annabel a father.’
‘Charming.’ Lukas’s eyes were flat, cold and hard. ‘Since you didn’t, you can leave.’
Rhiannon knew he didn’t believe her, and she forced herself not to care. She didn’t need to impress Lukas Petrakides; she was out of his life, and so was Annabel.
Yet it still hurt.
She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. ‘Fine. I’m sorry I wasted your time.’
Lukas jerked his head in the semblance of a nod. Rhiannon forced herself to continue, even though she didn’t want to accept anything from this man…to need anything from him.
‘You mentioned another hotel as redress? Could I have the details, please?’ Colour scorched her cheeks. If she’d had any money left she wouldn’t have asked, but she was desperate, and they needed a place to stay until their flight tomorrow.
‘The information will be at the front desk by the time you leave.’
‘Thank you.’ Stiff with dignity, her legs trembling, she walked out of the room. Lukas’s eyes seemed to burn into her back.
She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She was stronger than that. Tougher. In all the years of loneliness, disappointment, and grief, her eyes had remained dry. They would remain so now.

Lukas watched her go, his lips twisting in a mocking smile. She’d given up quite easily when she realised he wasn’t playing ball. She was obviously an amateur at the blackmail game—as was this mysterious Leanne.
Had they honestly thought they could pin something on him—him, Lukas Petrakides? That he would bow to their outrageous demands?
Something pricked him, pricked his conscience, and he realised with a jolt of uncomfortable surprise what it was. Guilt.
Why should he feel guilty?
Because she so obviously didn’t want your money. She hadn’t actually asked for a single euro.
Had he assumed the worst?
He shook his head. The baby wasn’t his, and the friend Leanne had to have been lying. She’d have to know she hadn’t slept with him!
And yet…what if Rhiannon hadn’t known?
What if she’d been duped?
Lukas hesitated; he didn’t like uncertainty. He didn’t like not knowing.
So, he decided grimly, he would find out.

Rhiannon’s mind was numb as she paid off the babysitter and began packing her paltry possessions. Annabel was asleep in the travel cot, one arm flung above her head, her breath coming in soft little sighs.
Rhiannon gazed down at her sleeping form with a mixture of longing and desperation. What now? What future could they have? What future could she offer this child?
‘I tried,’ she whispered as she gently touched one chubby fist. ‘I really tried.’
‘Whose child is that really, Miss Davies?’
The harsh voice had her whirling around. Lukas stood in the doorway, his face composed, closed. Cold.
‘How did you get in?’ she demanded, and he shrugged.
‘I own the hotel, Miss Davies. I can enter whichever room I please.’
‘It’s a violation of privacy—’
‘If anyone is going to speak of violation, it should be me,’ he replied. ‘Whose child is that?’
‘Not yours, apparently,’ Rhiannon snapped. ‘And you don’t need to know anything else. You’re not involved, Mr. Petrakides, as you were kind enough to remind me.’ She turned away, stuffing her belongings into the cheap suitcase.
He watched, nonplussed. Rhiannon was conscious of the mess of the room: the spill of cosmetics by the bathroom sink, a bra hanging on the back of the chair. She grabbed the garment and stuffed it in the bag, saw how Lukas’s lips quirked in a rueful smile.
She glared at him. ‘Why are you here?’
In response he moved closer to the cot and studied Annabel.
‘This Leanne is the mother?’ he asked after a moment.
‘I told you she was!’ Rhiannon replied in exasperation. What was he playing at? Why did he care now?
‘And you really believed her?’ Lukas continued slowly. ‘That she had an affair…with me?’
Rhiannon paused. He sounded different—as if he might believe she actually wasn’t in on the so-called scam. ‘She had no reason to lie,’ she said after a moment. In her mind she could picture Leanne’s wasted body, hear the cough that had racked her thin frame.
‘Didn’t she?’ There was a cynical edge to his voice that Rhiannon didn’t like. ‘Surely,’ he continued, turning away from Annabel, ‘you must realise that she was hoping for this exact situation? Even if I didn’t acknowledge the child—which she no doubt expects—I might be willing to cut a generous cheque to keep this unfortunate episode from reaching the press. I guard my reputation very closely, Miss Davies, as you undoubtedly know. Where is this Leanne now? Waiting nearby? Or back in Wales?’
Rhiannon could only stare, her mind whirling at the bleak, base picture he’d painted.
‘No, she’s not waiting for anything,’ she said finally, unable to meet his incredulous, derisive look. ‘She’s dead.’
The events of the last two weeks danced crazily before her eyes—Leanne’s arrival on her doorstep, her rapid descent to death, guardianship thrust upon Rhiannon without any warning. How could she explain such a chain of fantastic events to Lukas Petrakides? To anyone? It would sound made up; he wouldn’t believe her. He would think it was just part of some nefarious blackmailing scheme.
She let out a wild hiccup of laughter, her arms wrapping around herself as a matter of self-protection. Self-denial.
Lukas muttered something under his breath, then moved towards her. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Before Rhiannon could protest, he pushed her onto the edge of the bed. His hands burned her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. She felt their warmth and strength like a brand.
‘You’re in shock,’ he stated flatly, rummaging in the room’s minibar and coming up with a small plastic bottle filled with a clear liquid.
‘I’m not in shock,’ she protested, even as her insides wobbled and rebelled. ‘I’m…I’m sad.’ She knew it sounded pathetic; she could tell Lukas thought so too by the way he raked her with one uncomprehending glance.
He wouldn’t understand, of course. He didn’t care about Annabel, and he probably wondered why she seemed to. Rhiannon closed her eyes.
She’d only known the baby two weeks. She still hadn’t quite figured out how to hold her, and bottle feedings were awkward. The nappies she put on fell off half of the time. She wasn’t used to infants, to their noise and dribble. Yet she loved her. At least, she knew she would love her, if she was given the chance.
If she let herself have the chance.
She’d known from the moment Leanne named Lukas Petrakides as the father that she would give Annabel up if she needed to. If he wanted her to.
And she’d hoped he would…for Annabel’s sake. Annabel’s happiness.
Lukas poured the liquid into a glass and put it into her hand. Her fingers closed around it and she opened her eyes.
‘Drink.’
She squinted dubiously at the glass and drank. Only to promptly splutter it all over the carpet—and Lukas’s shoes.
‘What is that stuff?’ she exclaimed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her throat burned all the way to her gut, which churned in rebellion.
‘Brandy. You’ve never had it, I take it?’
‘No.’ Rhiannon gazed up at him resentfully. ‘You could have warned me.’
Lukas took out a handkerchief and handed it to her. ‘It was for the shock.’
‘I told you I wasn’t in shock!’
‘No? You just looked as if you were about to faint.’
‘Thanks very much!’ Rhiannon’s eyes blazed even as hectic, humiliated colour flushed her face. She lowered her voice for Annabel’s sake, and it came out in a resentful hiss. ‘I admit the last fortnight has been a bit crazy. I have every right to look pale.’
She struggled upwards, for control, only to have him place his hands on her shoulders and push her gently, firmly back down onto the bed.
‘Sit down.’
His palms were flat against her breastbone, his fingers curling around her shoulders. Suddenly everything was different. The hostility in the room was replaced with a tension of a completely different kind.
Desire.
Rhiannon gasped at his sudden touch, at the rush of surprised feeling it caused within her.
Lukas’s mouth flickered in a smile—a sardonic, knowing curve of his lips. His head was bent towards hers, his face inches from her own. Her eyes traced the hard line of his mouth, a mouth with lips as full and soft and kissable as an angel’s.
Some angel. Lukas Petrakides, with his dark hair and countenance, looked more like a demon than a cherub. But he was a handsome devil at that. And dangerous.
Her whole body burned with awareness of this man—his body, his presence, his scent. He smelled of pine and soap, a simple fragrance that made her inhale. Ache. Want.
He looked down at her for a moment, regret and wonder chasing across his face, darkening his eyes to iron. His hands were still on her shoulders, tantalisingly close to her breasts, which seemed to ache and strain towards him, towards his touch.
What would it be like to kiss him? To feel those sculpted lips against hers, to caress that lean jaw? Rhiannon’s face flamed. She was sure her thoughts and her desire were obvious. She could feel the hunger in her own eyes.
She tried to look away. And failed.
This was about Annabel.
Her mind screeched a halt to her careening heart, and she dragged in a desperate breath.
This wasn’t about her—her need to be touched. Loved.
‘No…’ It came out as a shaky whisper, a word that begged to be disbelieved. ‘Don’t.’
Lukas stilled, then dropped his hands from her shoulders.
Rhiannon felt bereft, empty. Stupid. A moment of desire, intense as it was, was only that. A moment.
A connection. He stood up, raked a hand through his hair. The room was silent save for their breathing, uneven and ragged, and Annabel’s little sighs.
She hiccupped in her sleep, and Lukas turned, startled. He’d forgotten the baby—as she had, for one damning moment.
‘We don’t want to wake her up,’ he said after a moment. ‘Come outside.’ He opened the sliding glass door that led outside.
The beach in front of the hotel room was private, separate from the crowded public area and blissfully quiet.
Rhiannon kicked off her heels and dug her toes in the cool, white sand. The sun was starting to sink in an azure sky, a blazing trail of light shimmering on the surface of the water.
It was the late afternoon of a day that had gone on for ever.
‘What has happened in the last fortnight?’ Lukas finally asked, his face averted.
She shook her head, tried to focus. ‘Leanne—Annabel’s mother—was a childhood friend of mine,’ she began stiltedly, words and phrases whirling through her mind. None seemed to fit, to explain the sheer impossibility and desperation of Leanne’s situation. Of her own situation. Where to begin? How to explain?
Why would he care?
Why had he come back?
‘And?’ Lukas prompted, his voice edged with a bite of impatience. His hands were on his hips, his powerful shoulders thrown back, grey eyes assessing. Calculating.
Rhiannon looked up; her vision was blurred. She blinked quickly, almost wanting another sip of that terrible brandy to steady her nerves. Shock them into numbness, at least.
‘She came to me after she’d been diagnosed with lung cancer and asked me to be Annabel’s guardian. She only had a few weeks to live. She’d lived hard already, so she didn’t seem that surprised. She told me she’d never expected to live long.’
‘A waste of a life.’ It was a brutal, if accurate, assessment.
‘To be fair to Leanne,’ Rhiannon said quietly, ‘she didn’t have much to live for. She was a foster child, shipped from one family to the next. She’d always been a bit wild, and when she came to live in our little town in Wales, well…’ She shrugged. ‘There wasn’t much room for a girl like Leanne. People tried to reach out to her at first, but I don’t…I don’t think she understood how to accept love. She pushed everyone away, grew wilder and wilder, and eventually no one wanted her around any more.’
‘Yet you were her friend?’
‘Yes…but not a very good one.’ Rhiannon felt a familiar pang of guilt deep inside. She could have done more, helped more. Yet the needs of her own family had taken precedence; they always had. ‘We lost touch after school,’ she admitted, after a moment when they had both seemed lost in their own separate thoughts. ‘I never bothered to try and reconnect.’
‘Yet she came to you when she was dying, to care for her child?’ Lukas raised an eyebrow in obvious scepticism.
‘I was the only person she trusted enough to care for Annabel,’ Rhiannon said simply. ‘There was no one else. There never had been.’ The realisation made her ache. It was also the leaden weight of responsibility that rested heavily on her shoulders, her heart.
She would not let Leanne down.
She would not let Annabel down.
She saw Lukas’s eyes narrow, his mouth tighten, and realised with an uncomfortable twinge that she was wasting his time. He should be at the reception, meeting and greeting, drinking and laughing.
Flirting.
‘But this has nothing to do with you,’ she said. ‘As you have already made abundantly clear.’ She shook her head. ‘Why are you here?’
Lukas was silent for a moment, his eyes, his face, his tone all hard. Dark. ‘Because I’m afraid it may have something to do with me,’ he said finally, ‘after all.’
‘What? Are you saying…you did…?’
‘No, of course not.’ Lukas waved a hand in impatient dismissal. ‘I don’t lie, Miss Davies.’
‘Neither do I,’ Rhiannon flashed, but he merely flung out one hand—an imperious command for her to still her words, her movements.
His fingers, she saw, were long, lean and brown, tapering to clean, square nails. It was a hand that radiated both strength and grace.
She gave herself a mental shake; it was just a hand.
Why did he affect her so much? Why did she let him?
Was she just so desperate for someone—anyone—to want her? To want Annabel.
‘I’d like you to tell me how Leanne came to mention my name. After the little stunt you pulled at the reception, the tabloids will be filled with stories about my secret love-child.’ His face twisted in a grimace, and Rhiannon flinched. ‘I want to know all the facts.’
‘I wouldn’t have said anything if you’d listened,’ Rhiannon snapped, unrepentant. ‘Instead of assuming some sordid blackmail story—’
‘Just tell me, Miss Davies.’ He spoke coldly, and Rhiannon realised that even though he’d returned, even though he’d shown a moment of compassion, of understanding, he still didn’t believe her. Didn’t trust her.
She drew in a wavering breath. ‘I told you. She said she met you at a club in London. You took her to Naxos. To be honest…’ She looked up at him with frank eyes. ‘The man she described was younger than you are—a bit more…debonair, I suppose.’
He raised his eyebrows, his mouth curving in mock outrage. ‘You don’t think I’m debonair?’
The humour in his voice, in his eyes, surprised her. Warmed her. Rhiannon found she was smiling back in wry apology. It felt good to smile. It eased the pain in her heart. ‘It’s not that…’ She could hardly explain the difference between the man before her and the man Leanne had described.
Her friend’s glowing phrases had been indications to Rhiannon of a player—a man who lived life full and hard, just as Leanne had. The descriptions of Lukas Petrakides in the press hadn’t matched up, but Rhiannon had been prepared to believe that the man with the sterling reputation had enjoyed one moment—well, one weekend—of weakness. Of pleasure.
She hadn’t blamed him for it. It had made him seem more human. More approachable.
‘She discovered she was pregnant several weeks later,’ she finished. ‘By that time she’d lost contact with you. She realised it had only been a weekend fling.’
‘Something she was used to, apparently?’
‘Don’t judge her!’ Rhiannon’s eyes flashed angry amber as she looked up at him. ‘You never knew her, and you don’t know what it’s like to live a life where no one cares what happens to you. Leanne had no one. No one,’ she emphasised. ‘She was just looking for a little love.’
‘And she found a little,’ Lukas agreed tersely. ‘Did she try to get in touch with the father?’
She shook her head. ‘No, she didn’t see the point. She was sad, of course, but pragmatic enough to realise that a man like—like you wouldn’t be interested in supporting her or her illegitimate child.’
‘Surely she could have used the money?’
Rhiannon shrugged. ‘She was proud, in her own way. It had been clear from the outset that it was a weekend fling. I suppose,’ she added slowly, ‘she didn’t want to be rejected by someone…again. At least this was on her own terms.’
Pity flickered across his face, shadowed his eyes. ‘A sad life,’ he said quietly, and Rhiannon nodded, her throat tight.
‘Yes.’
‘So Annabel’s own mother didn’t bother notifying the father of her child, but you did?’
Rhiannon met his gaze directly. ‘Yes.’
‘Why come all this way? Why not call?’
‘I tried. Your receptionist led me to believe you wouldn’t get my messages. And you didn’t, did you?’
Lukas shrugged. ‘I’m an important man, Miss Davies. I receive too many messages, solicitations.’
‘No doubt.’ She didn’t bother to hide the contempt in her voice. ‘Too important to consider your own daughter.’
‘She’s not mine.’
‘Then why are you here?’ Rhiannon demanded. ‘Why did you come back? Did you suddenly conveniently remember that you did go to Naxos after all?’
His eyes blazed silver—an electric look that sizzled between them so that Rhiannon took an involuntary step back.
‘I told you I did not lie.’
Rhiannon believed him. So why was he here? What did he want?
‘You took the chance,’ Lukas continued, ‘that I would want to know this child, and no doubt support it.’
‘I didn’t come here for money,’ Rhiannon snapped. ‘As I believe I’ve said before.’
‘Not blackmail money,’ Lukas replied, unfazed by her anger. ‘Maintenance. If this Annabel were indeed my child, you would certainly be within your rights to think that I would support her financially.’
Rhiannon was disconcerted by his flat, businesslike tone. Was it all about money to people like him? ‘That’s true,’ she agreed carefully. ‘But that isn’t why I came. If I’d just wanted money I would have filed a court order. I came because I believe children should know their parents. If there was any chance you might love your daughter—that you might want her…’ Her voice wavered dangerously and she gulped back the emotion that threatened to rise up in a tide of regret and sorrow. ‘I had to take that chance.’ She didn’t want to reveal so much to Lukas, to a man who regarded her as if she were a problem to be resolved, an annoyance to be dealt with.
Lukas stared at her, his eyes narrowed, yet filled with the cold light of comprehension. He looked as though he’d finally figured it out, and he scorned the knowledge.
‘You didn’t come for money,’ he said slowly, almost to himself. ‘You came for freedom.’
‘I told you—’
‘To give this baby away,’ he finished flatly, and every word was a condemnation, a judgement.
‘I want to do what’s best for Annabel!’ Rhiannon protested, her voice turning shrill. ‘Whatever that is.’
‘A convenient excuse,’ he dismissed.
Rhiannon clenched her fists, fury boiling through her. Yet mixed with it was guilt. There was a shred of truth in Lukas’s assessment. She had been prepared to give Annabel up…but only because it was the right thing to do.
It had to be.
‘There’s no need for this,’ she said in a steely voice. ‘So why don’t you just go? And so will I.’ She turned back to the sliding glass door.
‘No one is going anywhere.’
The command was barked out so harshly that Rhiannon stopped, stiffened from shock. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You will not go,’ Lukas told her shortly. ‘This matter has not been resolved.’
‘This matter,’ Rhiannon retorted, ‘has nothing to do with you!’
‘It has everything to do with me,’ he replied grimly, ‘since you have involved me in such a public way. You won’t leave until I’ve had some answers.’ He paused, reining in his temper with obvious effort. ‘Answers you’ve been looking for too, perhaps?’
Rhiannon glared at him, but she didn’t move. He was right, she knew. He was involved now, and that was her fault. She owed him a few more minutes of her time at least.
‘Why do you think your friend lied?’ he asked abruptly.
Rhiannon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t think she had lied—she’d no reason. She was dying. I thought she’d want me to know Annabel’s father, even if she never intended for me to get in touch with him.’
‘She told you not to?’
‘No, she didn’t say anything about that. She just…’ She swallowed, forced herself to continue. ‘She just asked me to care for her. Love her.’ Her throat ached and she looked down.
‘A mother’s dying request?’
Rhiannon couldn’t tell if he was being snide or not. She gulped. ‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘She had nothing to gain by lying. I honestly think she believed she was with Lukas Petrakides…with you.’
Lukas stiffened, his expression becoming like that of a predator that had scented danger. There was no fear, only awareness.
‘But we both know it wasn’t me.’ His mouth twisted wryly, but there was a hard edge of bitter realisation in his eyes. ‘So it had to have been someone else…someone who told her my name.’
Rhiannon shook her head in confusion. ‘Who would do that?’
Lukas muttered an expletive in Greek under his breath. ‘I should have considered it,’ he said, his face hardening into resolve. ‘He’s done it before.’
Rhiannon felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice. She didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to cross over. She just wanted to tiptoe quietly away.
‘Who are you talking about?’ she asked faintly, and when Lukas met her gaze his face was full of grim realisation.
‘My nephew.’

CHAPTER THREE
‘YOUR nephew?’ Rhiannon stared at him in blank incredulity. He looked angry, determined. Hard. ‘But how…? I mean why…?’
She’d come here with the assumption—the belief—that Lukas Petrakides was Annabel’s father. A man of integrity, honour, responsibility. A man who would love her.
She wasn’t prepared for alternatives.
She didn’t want them.
‘Why would your nephew use your name?’ she finally asked as Lukas continued to stare, arms folded, his expression implacable. ‘Who is he, anyway?’
‘My nephew, Christos Stefanos, has used my name before.’ Lukas stared out at the shifting colours of the sea—blue, green, scarlet and orange in the setting sun. ‘I think he might have used it again with your friend. He’s twenty-two, wild, irresponsible, unscrupulous,’ he continued in a flat tone. ‘He often travels to London—his mother, my sister Antonia, lives there. He could very well have met your Leanne in some club there, flown her to Naxos on a whim, and discarded her after a weekend. It is,’ he finished with scathing emphasis, ‘entirely within his character to do so.’
Rhiannon’s thoughts were flying, whirling round and round in frightened, desperate circles. Lukas Petrakides as Annabel’s father was one thing. He was known to be steady, responsible. A good father figure. That was why she had come.
This Christos was something else entirely.
‘But why?’ she asked again, clutching at one seemingly improbable thread.
‘To impress your friend?’ Lukas shrugged. ‘Or more likely to annoy me. He likes to give me bad press, although the tabloid journalists are wise to him by now. They usually ignore his little peccadilloes.’
‘But surely people—the press—would know he wasn’t you?’
Lukas’s mouth twisted in harsh acknowledgement. ‘I keep a low profile. There are few photographs of me, and Christos has a family resemblance. He only does it outside of Greece—he knows he can’t get away with it there.’ He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘It has been an annoyance in the past, but now it poses…’
‘A major inconvenience?’ Rhiannon finished, and he gave her a cool look.
‘A challenge, certainly.’
Rhiannon was silent for a moment. Her thoughts chased themselves down dark tunnels that led to implications her heart shied away from. There was too much new information. Too much to think about…to wonder about. To be frightened about.
‘From the sound of him, I don’t think he would make a good father,’ she finally said. ‘Would he?’
Lukas was ominously silent. ‘I cannot say he is particularly suited for the role.’
‘Or interested in it?’ Rhiannon surmised, feeling sick. She’d come to France to find Annabel’s father…but not this. Not some young, rakish sot who couldn’t care less. Not someone who would openly reject her.
‘No, probably not,’ Lukas agreed after a tense moment.
‘He won’t want Annabel,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘Will he?’
Lukas’s expression was like steel. Flint. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘He won’t.’
Rhiannon shook her head. This was so far from what she’d hoped. Dreamed. She realised now that the happily-ever-after she’d been planning in her head was a fantasy, pathetic and unreal. Could she leave Annabel with a man who didn’t want her?
Could she take her home?
Nothing made sense. Nothing felt right.
‘What are you going to do?’ Rhiannon asked. She didn’t like giving control to Lukas, no matter how used to it he was. She just didn’t know what to do next.
Lukas was studying her in an odd way, his mouth twisting in a grimace of acknowledgement. ‘You really don’t want her,’ he stated flatly. ‘That’s why you came, isn’t it? To give her up…to anyone willing to take her.’
‘If that were true,’ Rhiannon snapped, ‘I would have left her with Social Services. Don’t mistake me, Mr Petrakides. I have Annabel’s best interests at heart.’
‘Undoubtedly.’ It came out as a sneer.
Rhiannon shook her head. If Lukas wanted to judge her for giving up a child she couldn’t truly call her own—if he thought her attempt to find Annabel’s father was suspect—then fine. She refused to exonerate herself. She didn’t need to.
‘If Annabel is indeed Christos’s child,’ Lukas stated with flat finality, ‘then she is my great-niece. My relative.’ In case she didn’t yet get it, he added with steely determination, ‘My responsibility.’
‘I see.’ Rhiannon thought of every article she’d read, every glowing word about Lukas Petrakides being a man of honour, of integrity.
Of responsibility.
When she’d made her decision to find him, those descriptions had seemed like promises.
Now they were threats.
She didn’t want Annabel to be someone’s loveless responsibility. A burden. Yet now she realised she didn’t have much choice.
She’d given her choices away when she’d embarked on this reckless mission.
‘You will stay here until the issue of Annabel’s paternity is resolved,’ Lukas continued in implacable tones.
She’d expected as much, but his autocratic dictate still rankled. How about saying please? ‘What about my responsibilities back home?’ she demanded. ‘My job, my life?’
‘You can’t spare a few days?’ He raised one eyebrow in contemptuous disbelief. ‘Surely you’ve already arranged a leave of absence?’
‘Yes, but only for a few days…’ She’d had holiday coming to her, as she rarely took days off.
‘Then arrange some more.’
‘It’s not that simple…’
‘Actually,’ Lukas replied coolly, ‘it is. Annabel is your first responsibility now—as you have told me yourself. You are her legal guardian aren’t you? For the moment.’
For the moment. Panic fluttered through her insides, left her weak and afraid. ‘Yes, I am. But I’m under no obligation…’
Lukas waved this empty threat aside with scathing contempt. ‘Do not think to outmanoeuvre or outrank me, Miss Davies. I don’t care what the law says. If Annabel is related to me, I will be the one deciding what place you may have in her life…if any. Is that understood?’
Rhiannon blinked in shock at the cold assessment. If any? ‘I’m her guardian…You can’t—’
‘If you didn’t want to start this,’ Lukas informed her with soft menace, ‘you shouldn’t have come. No one would have been any the wiser.’
‘I came,’ Rhiannon replied jerkily, ‘because it was my responsibility to find her true family—’
‘So let me fulfil my responsibility,’ Lukas interjected with cold finality. ‘Until her future is decided, you will remain.’
And then she would be dismissed. The thought frightened her. It hurt, and she hadn’t expected it to.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Rhiannon knew there was no point in arguing, no use in being angry. He had the power, the money, and the expensive legal team to enforce whatever he wished; she had nothing. She didn’t even know what her rights were, hadn’t even checked. After all, it wasn’t supposed to have turned out like this.
‘Fine. I’ll stay…but on my terms. Annabel is still in my care, and nothing has been proved yet.’
‘Indeed. In the meantime, you can move to a better room. A private suite.’
Rhiannon stared at him. It was a generous offer, but it was also a way to control her. Imprison her. ‘I’m not moving rooms.’
‘You must. You would be more comfortable, and so would the child. Besides, there is more privacy. Here—’ he motioned to the expanse of beach ‘—anyone could come along. Photographers included.’
‘Photographers?’ Rhiannon repeated blankly, only to have him stare at her in disbelief.
‘Paparazzi. Since you have so publicly announced that I have a child, the tabloid press are no doubt starting to swarm, clamouring for a photo or statement. I’d prefer for you—and the child—to be removed from such things.’
Rhiannon nodded jerkily, her mind whirling, becoming numb. ‘All right.’
A cry pierced the stillness of the late afternoon, and Lukas jerked in surprise at the sound. Rhiannon hurried inside.
Annabel was sitting up in her cot, her hair matted sweatily to her flushed face, arms held up in helpless appeal.
Rhiannon scooped her up, breathed in her baby scent. It was becoming familiar, she realised. It was becoming dear.
Annabel’s arms crept around her neck, held on. She nestled her chubby face in the curve of Rhiannon’s shoulder and something in her splintered, fell apart to reveal the raw, aching need underneath.
She wanted this child.
She wanted to love her…and to be loved back.
She’d tried to hold the tide of emotions back, but they came anyway.
And now it looked as if Lukas Petrakides wasn’t going to let that happen.
She turned, aware of his presence in the doorway. The fading sunlight outlined him in bronze, touching his hair with gold.
There was a look of fierce longing in his eyes, something deep and primal, before he noted tonelessly, ‘She likes you.’
‘We’re starting to bond,’ Rhiannon admitted cautiously. ‘It’s only been two weeks.’
‘Two weeks? When did Leanne die?’
‘Tuesday.’
Lukas stared at her in surprise, a frown marring the perfection of his features, putting a crease in his forehead. ‘Four days ago?’
Rhiannon’s hands stroked Annabel’s back, her arms curling protectively around her warm little body. ‘Yes. She only showed up on my doorstep a little over two weeks ago, and she died ten days later. Annabel has been in my sole care since then.’
‘So there’s been no time to formally adopt her?’ Lukas surmised.
Rhiannon’s arms tightened so that Annabel let out a squeal of protest.
‘No, but Leanne did make me Annabel’s legal guardian. I have the papers to prove it. It satisfied the immigration authorities, so it should be enough for you.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Annabel is mine.’
‘If you wanted her to be,’ Lukas said quietly. ‘Somehow I don’t think you do.’
Hurt and fury rippled through her at his brutal assessment. ‘You’re making assumptions,’ she replied through gritted teeth. ‘Annabel needs her bottle. So you’ll have to excuse me.’
She turned away, escaped to the bathroom, where she’d rinsed out Annabel’s army of bottles. She set the baby in her car seat and with shaking fingers measured out the powdered formula.

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