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The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby
Clare Connelly


The man with the iron will… Meets the woman who will change his life! He might be outrageously wealthy, yet all the money in the world couldn’t save Leonidas Stathakis from the pain—and gut-wrenching guilt—of losing his loved ones. Since then, he’s forbidden himself all pleasure in life. Until he meets enchanting innocent, Hannah at a lavish party in Greece… That night, Leonidas breaks all his rules, indulging in red-hot oblivion—with inescapable consequences…!







The man with the iron will…

Meets the woman who will change his life!

All the money in the world couldn’t save Leonidas from the pain—and guilt—of losing his loved ones. Since then, he’s forbidden himself all pleasure in life. Until he meets enchanting innocent Hannah at a lavish party in Greece…

Reeling from the discovery of her fiancé’s infidelity, Hannah is determined to swear off men. But her instant chemistry with Leonidas is undeniable. And for one night, they break all their rules, indulging in red-hot oblivion—with inescapably powerful consequences…


CLARE CONNELLY was raised in small-town Australia among a family of avid readers. She spent much of her childhood up a tree, Mills & Boon book in hand. Clare is married to her own real-life hero and they live in a bungalow near the sea with their two children. She is frequently found staring into space—a sure-fire sign that she’s in the world of her characters. She has a penchant for French food and ice-cold champagne, and Mills & Boon novels continue to be her favourite ever books. Writing for Modern is a long-held dream. Clare can be contacted via clareconnelly.com (http://www.clareconnelly.com) or at her Facebook page.


Also by Clare Connelly (#u4211c2fb-f8ca-5516-a7f7-43c243996385)

Bought for the Billionaire’s Revenge

Innocent in the Billionaire’s Bed

Bound by the Billionaire’s Vows

Her Wedding Night Surrender

Spaniard’s Baby of Revenge

Shock Heir for the King

Christmas Seductions miniseries

Bound by Their Christmas Baby

The Season to Sin

Mills & Boon DARE

Guilty as Sin miniseries

Her Guilty Secret

Her Innocent Secret

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


The Greek’s Billion-Dollar Baby

Clare Connelly






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08828-2

THE GREEK’S BILLION-DOLLAR BABY

© 2019 Clare Connelly

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#u4211c2fb-f8ca-5516-a7f7-43c243996385)


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For Emma Darcy,

who wrote the first Mills & Boon I ever read

and thus gave me one of the greatest gifts of my life:

an enduring love of passionate escapist romance.

There is a piece of Emma Darcy in every book I write.


Contents

Cover (#u640d02a5-c9f0-5332-a56a-2ab3eaca033e)

Back Cover Text (#uc9aa5e46-9d0c-5d0f-a7b7-73256d586cdb)

About the Author (#u97d5d711-b521-5ae6-b504-3717d6b0d717)

Booklist (#u228418f9-2a04-54a1-803c-568e792113a8)

Title Page (#u94e2d895-3288-5201-be51-a94ede2fcfd8)

Copyright (#ue406bb1a-0562-5656-ab41-69e42bcfce28)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#ud18265b4-6a20-5d6a-b2f0-6a0a845088c1)

PROLOGUE (#u95f2ed94-fc28-52bd-a5e8-0ac3feae1ba5)

CHAPTER ONE (#uf7ae1c12-d8da-5429-be37-5fc1226f5b6e)

CHAPTER TWO (#u025da424-9122-5cd2-9289-742cf86bb745)

CHAPTER THREE (#uaa315e35-8d06-5ed5-b0c0-285091e0742e)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u80df2dba-5825-57d9-b340-1ae6262a9f30)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




PROLOGUE (#u4211c2fb-f8ca-5516-a7f7-43c243996385)


BEING EQUAL NUMBER TWO on the international rich list might have made Leonidas Stathakis the envy of the world, but Leonidas knew from personal experience that money was a poor substitute for having what you really wanted in life.

Billions in the bank didn’t take away the empty throb of loss that dogged your steps when you’d had to bury your loved ones.

Being rich didn’t take away the grief, nor the guilt, nor the pain and the sense of impotence at knowing you had put someone in harm’s way—that you had failed to protect them.

This was his fourth New Year’s Eve without his family. The fourth year he’d seen draw to a close with only memories of his wife, Amy, and their two-year-old son, Brax.

It felt like a lifetime.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. He’d never forget the way she smiled, as though she’d struck a match inside and happiness was exploding out of her.

How could someone so full of life and vitality simply cease to exist? For all her strength, she’d been so weak at the end, so fragile. Ploughed into while walking Brax to the playground. What chance did either of their bodies stand against that hunk of metal, commanded by a madman?

Hair that had been a vibrant russet with eyes that were the same shade as the ocean beyond this hotel; he saw her as she’d been in life, and then, as she’d been in death.

He would never forget Amy Stathakis, nor the violent fate that had awaited her, murdered because of his father’s criminal activities.

Dion Stathakis had destroyed their family, and, with Amy and Brax’s death, had destroyed Leonidas’s life.

Anger surged inside him and he curved his fingers more tightly about his Scotch glass, wondering how many of these he’d had. Not so many as to dull the pain yet, though in his experience it took more than a few quick drinks in a bar to get anywhere near the obliteration he sought. Especially at times like this, when his memories were at their clearest.

Happiness surrounded him. Loud, exuberant noises of celebration. People seemed to love marking the close of a year, celebrating the arrival of a new one, and he could understand that. At one time, he’d felt just the same—he had celebrated life with Amy.

Now, every day was something to be got through. Every year was simply something he survived—without them. His very existence was a betrayal. How many times had he thought he would give his life to return theirs? He was the son of the criminal bastard—he, Leonidas, should have paid for his father’s crimes. Not his innocent wife and their beautiful son.

Bitterness threatened to scorch him alive.

He threw his Scotch back and, without his signalling for another, a hostess arrived at his table, replacing it with a substitute, just as he’d requested. There were some perks to being the owner of the place, and this was one of them.

He lifted his head towards her in acknowledgement, noting dispassionately how attractive she was. Blonde hair, brown eyes, a caramel tan and pale pink lips that were quick to turn into a smile. A nice figure, too. She had the kind of looks he had once found irresistible.

But not any more.

Yes, he could have opened himself to the hint of desire that stirred inside him. That started in his gut and, as his eyes dropped to her breasts, to the hint of lace he could see beneath the cotton shirt she wore, spread like flame, threatening to make him hard right there in the skyline view bar of his six-star hotel on Chrysá Vráchia.

But he refused the impulse. He turned his attention to his Scotch, taking pleasure in denying his body any hint of satisfaction on that score. It had been four years. Four years without Amy, four years without knowing the pleasure of a woman. It was a habit he had no intention of breaking…




CHAPTER ONE (#u4211c2fb-f8ca-5516-a7f7-43c243996385)


HANNAH HADN’T COME to Chrysá Vráchiato lose her virginity.

She hadn’t come to this stunning Greek island for any reason other than she’d been in shock and needed to escape Australia. Her controlling aunt, uncle, and the cousin she’d thought of as a sister—who’d been sleeping with Hannah’s fiancé.

She’d discovered them in bed together and been at the airport two hours later, booking the first available flight—which just happened to bring her here.

This stunning paradise she’d heard of all her life and wanted to visit. Golden cliffs, white sand beaches, turquoise waters, lush green forests—it was paradise on earth and the perfect place to chew through her honeymoon savings and rebuild her heart.

So apparently even the darkest storm clouds had silver linings.

No, Hannah hadn’t come to Greece to lose her virginity but as her eyes kept straying to the man across the hotel bar, she felt the pull of desire deep in her chest, and something more.

Vengeance? Anger? No. It was less barbaric than that, less calculated.

Fascination.

She looked at the man across from her, cradling his Scotch with a brooding intensity that tied her tummy in knots, and she felt a surge of white-hot desire that was as unfamiliar as it was intriguing.

Waiting until they were married had been Angus’s idea, but she’d gone along with it. She loved Angus, she liked the way he made her feel, the way he kissed her and held her tight. But she’d never really longed for him. She’d never trembled at his touch nor fallen asleep imagining his kisses.

And the idea of carelessly giving something away to a stranger, sleeping with a man she didn’t know, felt like the perfect way to respond to her fiancé cheating on her with her cousin.

Hannah’s chest tightened as flashbacks of that moment sliced through her. It was too raw. Too fresh.

Still…he looked like a man who wanted to be left alone. As she watched, a blonde waitress approached and said something sotto voce. He didn’t even meet her eyes when he responded, instead looking towards the view beyond them, the dark night sky inky for now—though it would soon be illuminated with the fireworks that marked the conclusion of one year and the start of another.

Midnight ticked closer and Hannah sipped her champagne thoughtfully.

She’d never approached a man before. She had no idea what to say. And it was a stupid idea. Hannah was twenty-three years old; there was a reason she was so woefully inexperienced with the opposite sex.

She was completely clueless.

No way could she click her fingers and change her personality, even if she wanted to.

Suppressing a sigh, she stood and moved towards the bar. If she wasn’t going to do something really out of character and have a random one-night stand with a stranger, then she could do something slightly out of character and get a little bit tipsy.

She stood and looked about for a waiter, moving to the other side of her table, and deciding to go direct to the bar when she couldn’t find one. But as she spun to the bar she connected with something impossibly hard and broad.

Something strong and firm, like concrete. Something that almost sent her flying across the room for the latent strength contained within its frame.

A hand snaked out to steady her and Hannah lifted her gaze, right into the obsidian eyes of the man she’d been unable to look away from for the past hour. He was rubbing his shoulder distractedly and a little pain radiated from her own, so she presumed they’d bumped into each other—hard.

‘It’s you,’ she exhaled on a tremulous breath, trying to swallow even when her mouth was bone dry.

‘It’s me,’ he agreed, his expression unchanging.

‘You’re like a brick wall,’ she said before she could stop herself. The man’s brows furrowed, and, if anything, he looked even hotter when he was all handsome and forbidding.

‘Are you hurt?’

My pride is hurt. My heart is hurt. But this was not what he was asking. ‘No, I’m fine.’ And something like courage lashed at her spine, so she heard herself say, ‘But I should at least buy you a drink. For getting in your way.’

A stern expression crossed his face and she felt the beginnings of embarrassment, certain he was going to say ‘no’, that she’d just made a complete fool of herself.

She bit down on her lower lip, wishing she could recall the words to her mouth. He stared at her for a long time, saying nothing, and with every second that passed her heart rate accelerated; she was drowning.

‘That is not necessary,’ he said, but made no effort to move. That alone was buoying. At least, Hannah hoped it was.

Her fingertips shook a little as she lifted them to her hair, straightening the auburn mane behind her ear. His eyes followed the gesture, a contemplative frown on his face.

‘I wasn’t watching where I was going,’ she said.

‘Nor was I. In which case, I should buy you a drink.’

Hannah’s heart turned over in her chest, desire like a wave that had picked her up and was dragging her with it.

‘How about I buy this round and you can get the next?’ she said with a lift of one brow.

It was by the far the most forward she’d ever been in her life but seeing Angus in bed with Michelle had robbed Hannah of the ability to feel embarrassment.

His frown deepened. Then, he nodded a little, just a shift of his head. ‘You have a deal, Miss…’

‘Hannah,’ she said, her own name emerging a little husky. She darted her tongue out and licked the outline of her lower lip, her eyes holding his so she saw the way the black shifted, morphing to inky and coal.

‘Hannah,’ he repeated, his European accent doing funny things to the simple two syllables, so her gut lurched.

‘And you are?’

Surprise briefly flashed on his features. ‘Leonidas.’

His name was just what she’d expect. Masculine, spicy and sexy, it suited him to a T.

‘You have a table?’ she asked, shifting her eyes to where he was sitting. A couple had already claimed it. She spun around and saw the same fate had befallen her own seat.

‘I was just on my way to my room.’ He said the words slowly, the frown not leaving his face, the statement almost spoken against his will.

But the question in the words didn’t fail to reach Hannah’s ears, nor her awakening libido. Desire throbbed low down in her abdomen, so heat flamed through her.

‘Were you?’

Plan for seduction or not, Hannah knew she was moving dramatically out of her realm of experience.

‘It has a view back towards Athens. Perhaps we could have our drink on my balcony?’

Hannah had no idea if he was seriously offering to show her the view, or if this invitation was for so much more—she hoped the latter, and had every intention of finding out.

It was stupid. So stupid, so completely out of character, but she wasn’t acting from a rational place. Hannah had had her heart and trust broken and, wounded, she needed something. She needed to know she was desirable. She wanted to know what sex was all about. She had to push Angus way out of her mind.

And this man with his darkly quizzical gaze and mysterious, brooding face was everything she wanted—for one night only.

‘I…’ This was it. Her moment of truth. Could she do this?

The bar was busy and a woman passed behind Hannah, knocking her forward so Hannah’s body was once again pushed against Leonidas’s. This time, his hand reached out to steady her but it lingered, curving around her back and holding her there. Her eyes lifted to his, and doubts filled her. They were mirrored back to her, a look of confusion in his eyes, uncertainty on his face.

‘I want you to come upstairs with me.’ He said the words almost as though they were a revelation, as though he was completely surprised by the pull of this desire.

Hannah’s pulse was like a torrent of lava, hot and demanding in her bloodstream. She wanted that too, more than anything.

‘I just got out of a relationship,’ she heard herself saying, her expression unknowingly shifting so her green eyes were laced with sadness. ‘I was engaged, actually, until recently. I’m not looking for anything. You know, anything more than…’ She looked away, shyness unwelcome, yet impossible to disguise.

‘I don’t do relationships,’ the man said quietly. ‘I don’t generally do one-night stands, either.’

Generally.

The word was like an axe, preparing to fall. Hannah’s eyes slid back to his and the hand that was at her back, holding her pressed to him, began to move up a little, running over her spine with a possessive inquiry that warmed her from the inside out.

‘Nor do I.’

‘Theos…’ He said the word under his breath. ‘I didn’t come here for this.’

There was an undercurrent of emotion to his words, a sense of powerlessness that pulled at Hannah’s heartstrings. And if she weren’t completely drowning in this torrent of desire, she might have asked him about it. She might have insisted they find somewhere to talk. But desire was taking over Hannah’s body, and she reached her hand around behind her back so her fingers could lace with his.

‘Nor did I.’

His eyes glittered as they saw right through her, boring into her soul. ‘A night out of time,’ he said, pulling her with him, away from the bar, weaving with skill and ease towards the glass doors that led to the hotel foyer.

People seemed to move for him—he had a silent strength that conveyed itself with every step he took.

And with every inch they covered, Hannah’s mind was yelling at her that this was stupid, that she was going to regret this, even as her heart and sex drive were applauding her impetuosity.

The hotel had been more than Hannah had expected, despite its billing as one of the world’s finest. It was true six-star luxury, from the white marble floor to the gold columns that extended to the triple-height ceilings, the glossy grand piano in one corner being expertly played by a renowned pianist, the enormous crystal chandeliers that hung overhead.

As they approached the lifts, a suited bellhop dipped his head in deferential welcome. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he murmured. ‘Madam.’

His gloved hand pressed the button to call the lift and Hannah stood beside Leonidas, waiting in complete silence. The lift arrived seconds later and Leonidas stood back, allowing Hannah to enter before him.

She stepped into the plush interior, her breath held, her senses rioting with the madness of what she was about to do.

But the moment she felt regret or doubt, she closed her eyes and conjured the image of Angus’s pale face brightened by his sensual exertions with Michelle and determination kicked inside her.

Not that she needed it—desire alone was propelling her through this, but anger was a good backup.

‘You are no longer engaged?’

The lift pulled upwards, but that wasn’t why her stomach swooped.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve left him—everyone—far behind.’

‘You are angry?’

‘No.’ She was. And she wasn’t. She was…hurt. Reeling. Confused. And if she was angry, it was mostly with herself, for having been so stupid as to believe him, to care for him, to get so hooked on the idea of the picture-perfect future that she’d stopped paying attention to the present, to whether or not Angus even made her happy.

The lift doors eased open silently, directly into a large living room. It took only a moment to realise they were on the top floor of the hotel and that this magnificent space must surely be the penthouse.

‘Wow.’ For a second, everything but admiration left her—this place was amazing. Every bit as decadent as the foyer but even more so because it was designed with a single occupant in mind. Everything was pale—cream, Scandinavian wood furniture, glass, mirrors, except for the artwork that was bold—a Picasso hung on one wall. There were plants, too, large fiddle-leaf figs that added a bold hint of architectural interest.

Sliding glass doors led to a balcony that showed a stunning view of Athens in the distance—glowing golden warm, an ancient city, so full of stories and interest.

‘This is beautiful.’

He dipped his head in silent concession, moving towards the kitchen and pulling a bottle of champagne from the fridge. She recognised the label for its distinctive golden colour.

She watched as he unfurled the foil and popped the cork effortlessly, grabbing two flutes and half filling them.

‘What brings you to Chrysá Vráchia, Hannah?’

There it was again, her name in his mouth, being kissed by his accent. Her knees felt shaky; she wasn’t sure she trusted them to carry her across the room.

‘A change,’ she said cryptically. ‘And you?’

His lips twisted and she felt something sharpen within him, something that sparked a thousand little questions inside her. ‘It’s routine. I come here every year.’

‘What for?’

He didn’t answer. Instead, he strode across the room, champagne flute in hand, passing Hannah’s to her as though he were fighting himself, as though he were fighting this.

And she couldn’t understand that.

If it weren’t for the gale-force strength of her own needs, she might have paused to ask him why he was looking at her with such intensity, why he stared at her in a way that seemed to strip her soul bare.

But the incessant thrumming of her own desire was all Hannah was conscious of.

‘Habit,’ he said simply, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

She bit down on her lip, and his eyes dropped to her mouth, so her desire became louder, more urgent, desperation rolling through her. This was crazy. Madness. Necessary.

Outside, a spark of colour exploded through the sky—bright red, vibrant, its beauty an imperative they both resisted.

‘Happy new year,’ she said quietly, unable to take her eyes off his face.






Happy new year? He stared at the woman he’d brought up to his penthouse, completely at a loss for what the hell had come over him. For four years he’d come here to pay his respects to Amy, he’d undertaken this pilgrimage, he’d come here to remember her.

For four years he’d resisted any woman he found desirable, he’d ignored his body’s hungers, he’d resisted anything except the debt he felt he owed Amy.

Then again, no other woman had ever slammed into his body. She had literally hit him out of nowhere, and the second his hand had curled around her arm, simply to steady her, his body had tightened with a whole raft of needs he no longer wanted to ignore.

He’d sworn he’d spend the rest of his life single, celibate.

Amy’s.

But right here, with the starlit sky exploding beyond the glass wall of his penthouse apartment, something within him shifted. It was as though an ancient, unseen force was propelling him to act, was reminding him that grief could coexist with virility, that he could have sex with a woman without it being a betrayal to his wife.

He had loved Amy, even when their marriage had been fraught and neither of them particularly happy. She was his wife, he’d made a promise to her, and he had sworn he’d love only her for the rest of his life. So wasn’t it loving another woman that was the true betrayal?

What did sex have to do with it?

No, denying his libido wasn’t about what he owed Amy. It was punishment.

Punishment for being the son of a criminal mastermind. Punishment for being careless, for thinking he could turn his back on Dion Stathakis and live his life without the long, gnarled fingers of that man’s sins reaching in and shredding what he, Leonidas, possessed.

He had been punishing himself because he deserved to feel that desperate pain of denial, that constant throbbing of need.

And he still should.

But there was something about Hannah that weakened his resolve to the point of breaking. He didn’t believe in angels and ghosts, he didn’t believe in fairy tales and myths, and yet, in that moment, it almost felt as if she’d been sent to him, a fragment of his soul, a promise that he could weaken, for one night, and go back to hating himself again tomorrow.

In the light of day, with the breaking of another year over this earth, he could resume his uneasy life.

But for tonight, or what was left of it, he could forget. With determination in his gaze, he put their champagne flutes down, knowing there was no turning back from this, no changing the immediate future.

‘Happy new year.’ And he dropped his head, surprising her completely if her husky little gasp was anything to go by, parting her lips so he could drive his tongue deep inside her and feel every reverberation of her body, he could taste her desire and welcome it with his own.

Just for this night, he would be a slave to this—and then, everything could go back to normal…




CHAPTER TWO (#u4211c2fb-f8ca-5516-a7f7-43c243996385)


PERHAPS SHE’D EXPECTED him to kiss her gently, to explore her slowly, but there was nothing gentle about this, nothing slow. It was a kiss of urgency and it detonated around them.

She made a groaning noise into his mouth, her desire roaring through her body, taking control of her.

This was not a warm, comfortable kiss. It was a kiss that redefined everything in her life, pushing new boundaries into place. She clung to his shirt for dear life and he kissed her deeper, his mouth moving over hers, demanding more of her, his tongue duelling with her own, his body cleaved to hers so not a breath of space remained between them.

It was a kiss of complete domination and she succumbed to it utterly.

‘Just this one night.’ He pushed the words into her mouth as he spun her body, tightening his arms around her waist and lifting her in his arms. He sat down on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap, pushing at her dress and making a guttural sound of frustration when he found the cotton of her underpants.

It was everything she wanted—the impermanence, the perfect treatment. She wanted to lose her virginity—it seemed ridiculous to be twenty-three and not know what sex was all about, yet the idea of a relationship made something inside her shrivel up and die.

She’d never trust another man, she’d never want love, or believe in love. She’d never be foolish enough to believe she was lovable.

But sex?

This?

This was a balm to her soul.

She tilted her head back as he pushed her dress higher, over her arms and then from her body altogether, so she wore only her underwear, flimsy cotton, with no care whatsoever that this man she’d met less than an hour ago was seeing her like this.

If anything, she found her total abandon to this—to him—liberating.

There was no room for any such rational consideration, though, when he unhooked the bra and discarded it carelessly, then began to trace one of her nipples with his tongue, circling the peach areola lightly at first, so she was trembling on top of him, straddling his lap.

He moved his mouth closer to the tip of her nipple and, finally, surrounded it completely, sucking on her flesh in a way that burst starlight behind her eyes.

She swore, uncharacteristically, and he echoed it in his native tongue, reaching between her legs and pushing at the trousers of his designer suit, unzipping them, unbuttoning them so that the arousal she could feel through the material was hard and naked.

He transferred his mouth to her other breast and the first, so sensitive from his ministrations, felt the sting of the cool, air-conditioned air and she arched her back in response.

It was completely overwhelming.

Or, she thought it was. But then, he moved his hand between her legs and through the waistband of her underwear, sliding a finger into her moist core, and she cried his name.

He stilled for a moment then moved his finger deeper, finding her sensitive cluster of nerves and tormenting it until she was panting, desperate, so desperate, before pulling his finger out, fixing her with a look of wonderment.

‘You are so wet.’

She was, and shaking all over, desire like an electrical current and it was frying her completely.

‘I know,’ she groaned as his hands moved to the top of her underpants and began to push at them. She shifted her body, lifting herself up so he could undress her completely, needing to be naked, needing him.

She had no experience but she had instincts and they were driving her wild, needing her to act, to feel, to do. She groaned as she stood shakily, naked before him, wanting to experience everything. There was a type of madness overtaking her, building within her.

She reached a hand out for his and he stood, wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to his frame.

‘Who are you?’ he groaned into her mouth, the words making no sense.

‘Hannah,’ she said unevenly and he laughed, a husky sound.

‘Yes. But what kind of mermaid or angel or fairy are you to come here and do this to me?’

She swallowed his words, kissing him right back, her tongue duelling with his, passion making their breath harsh and loud in the still night air.

‘Leonidas,’ she groaned his name and his hands curved around her naked rear, lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his body as he strode through the penthouse towards what turned out to be a bedroom. It was huge with the same view towards Athens. He eased her down without bothering to turn on the lights so every sparkle of fireworks was like a jolt into the room.

Her hands tugged at his shirt with such desperation a button popped off and flew through the room.

She cursed softly under her breath, her eyes apologetic when they latched to his.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry.’

She nodded, but he finished the job, stripping the shirt from his body to reveal a broadly muscled chest that had her pulse ratcheting up yet another gear so she was almost trembling with the force of her own body’s demands.

‘Wow.’ She stared at the ridges of his torso, transfixed by the obvious strength there, and lifted her hands to trace his abdominals almost without realising it. ‘Work out much?’

She didn’t see the way his lips flickered into a smile, nor could she have any idea how rare that smile was. Her hands ran down his chest, finding the waist of his pants and pushing at them, her eyes lifting to his as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth.

She was completely inexperienced and yet Hannah felt no anxiety, no nervousness, nothing except desire bursting through her, jolting her body as though she’d picked up a bundle of live wires.

‘I want you,’ she said, in awe of how true that was. It went beyond needing revenge on Angus, it went beyond anything to do with Angus. There was nothing and no one in Hannah’s mind as she lifted onto the tips of her toes so she could claim Leonidas’s mouth with her own, her kiss curious, questioning and then desperate.

He kissed her back, their bodies moulded together, desire a flame that was growing bigger than either could control. ‘I want to take this slow,’ he groaned, his hands tangling in her russet hair, curling it up and holding it against her head. He took a step forward, pushing her backwards until Hannah collapsed onto the bed, his body following, the weight and strength of him an impossible pleasure.

‘I want this,’ she said again, more to herself than him. ‘Don’t take it slow.’

He lifted himself up to stare at her, his eyes showing emotions she couldn’t comprehend, or perhaps her ability to comprehend was blunted by the sheer force of her own feelings, which were overwhelming her, robbing her of sense and logic and reason.

‘You don’t know…’

His words were engulfed by her kiss. Hannah was sick of being patient; she was sick of waiting. She’d never known desire like this but that didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared to answer its call. ‘Please,’ she groaned. ‘Make love to me.’

The words were breathed into his being, sparkling like the light show beyond the window. Explosions of light, intense, glowing, hot. He separated her legs, nudging the tip of his arousal against her womanhood, and Hannah held her breath, she held everything.

For a split second, she contemplated telling him she was innocent, that she’d never done this before, but there was no time. He thrust into her and with her gasp he stilled, pushing up to stare down at her, his features harsh in the darkened room.

‘Theos,Hannah, was that…were you?’

‘Don’t stop,’ she said, shaking her head, but Leonidas was already pulling away from her, his body rock hard, his eyes pinning her with intensity. ‘Please don’t stop.’ Her heart crumbled. She hadn’t realised until that moment how desperately she wanted to know herself to be desirable. To know that someone wanted her enough to be unable to control their desire.

He swore under his breath and moved to the night stand, sliding open the drawer and pulling out a foil square. ‘Not once have I forgotten protection,’ he said thickly, the words coated in his own desires, which began to put Hannah’s heart back together again.

She watched as he unfurled a condom over his length then came back to the bed, his body weight returning to hers, bliss fogging into her mind.

‘You should have told me.’ The words lacked recrimination. They were simple. Soft. Gentle. Enquiring. As if he was asking her to assure him she was okay.

‘I didn’t know how.’

‘I’m a virgin?’

She laughed, despite the desire that was pulling at her gut. ‘I was a virgin.’

‘You are sure this is what you want?’

She nodded, lifting her hands up to cup his face. ‘Please.’

But he didn’t respond. Something tightened in his expression, his jaw moving as though he were grinding his teeth. ‘I meant what I said, Hannah. One night. Nothing more.’

‘I know that.’ She nodded, thinking of the situation she’d left behind, the mess her private life was in. The last thing she wanted was the complication of more than one night.

And it was the freedom he needed, the reassurance he obviously craved, because he pushed back into her. Gently this time, slowly, giving her time to adjust and adapt, allowing her inexperienced body a chance to get used to this invasion, to feel his presence and relish in it before taking more of her, more of her, until finally she was crying his name over and over, the foreign syllables tripping off her tongue as rushed breaths filled her lungs.

His mouth moved from hers to her cheek then lower to the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, his tongue flicking her pulse point while his hands roamed her body, feeling every inch of her, pausing where she responded loudest to his inquisition, teasing the sensitive flesh of her breasts, tormenting her nipples with the skill of his hands.

It was heaven.

Pleasure built inside Hannah like a coil winding tighter and tighter and she dug her nails into his back, moaning softly as the spring prepared to burst. She arched her back and rolled her head to the side, the fireworks gaining momentum as her own pleasure began to detonate. She lifted her hips in a silent, knowing invitation and he held her, his hands keeping her close to him, reassuring her as she lost herself utterly to the compelling, indescribable pleasure of a sexual orgasm.

It was intense and it was fast and it robbed her of breath and control. Her eyelids filled with light, her mouth tasted like steel. She pushed up on her elbows, staring into Leonidas’s eyes, feeling quite mad and delirious with what she’d just experienced.

But it was nowhere near over.

He braced himself above her on his palms, watching the play of sensation on her features, and then he began to move again, his body stirring hers to new heights, his dominance something that made her want to weep.

She knew though, instinctively, that giving into the salty tang of tears would be a bad idea. Even while she was part mad with pleasure, she didn’t want to show how completely he’d shifted something inside her, nor how much this meant to her.

Because Hannah felt a surge of feminine power and it was instantaneous and went beyond words. She didn’t need to tell him how much this meant to her; she felt it and that was enough.

Angus had made her feel precious and valued, he’d made her feel like an objet d’art and that had been nice. It had been better than knowing herself to be an unwanted nuisance, which was how she’d spent a huge portion of her childhood since the loss of her parents. But he’d never looked at her as though he would die if he didn’t kiss her.

He’d never looked at her as though the push and pull of their chemistry was robbing him of sense.

Leonidas was, though.

He moved his body and he stared into her eyes and she felt a cascade of emotions from him to her and none of them would be worth analysing, because this was just one night. A temporary, fleeting, brief night—a slice out of time.






Sitting on the edge of the bed, Leonidas cradled his head in his hands, staring at the floor between his feet. Early dawn light was peeking through the window. Hannah’s rhythmic breathing filled the room, soft and somehow sweet. Sweet? How could breath be sweet? He turned to face her on autopilot, his expression grim.

He didn’t know how, but it was.

She was sweet.

She’d been innocent.

He cursed silently, standing and pulling his pants on, watching her through a veil of disbelief. What the hell had come over him? Four years of celibacy and then he’d spontaneously combusted the second the beautiful redhead had literally bumped into him?

And it wasn’t the red hair, nor the passing resemblance to Amy. If anything, that would have been a reason to keep his distance. No, this was something else. A kind of sexual starvation that he supposed was only natural, given he’d denied himself this pleasure and release for such a long time. But, Theos,a virgin?

He hadn’t wanted that! He had wanted meaningless, empty sex. A quick roll in the hay to satisfy this part of him, to obliterate his grief, to remind him that he was a man, a breathing, living man with blood in his veins.

And instead, he’d taken a young woman’s innocence. He’d been her first.

A sense of disbelief filled him as he watched her sleeping, her gentle inhalations, her lips that were tilted into a smile even in her sleep.

He’d always be her first. No matter what happened, no matter who she slept with, he was that to her.

It wasn’t meaningless; it never could be. Thank God he’d remembered protection. He’d have put money on the fact she wasn’t on birth control—why would she be? He could think of nothing worse than that kind of consequence from a night of unplanned pleasure.

And it had been a night of pleasure, he thought with a strong lurch of desire in his gut. Despite her inexperience, she had matched him perfectly, her body answering every call of his, her inquisitiveness driving him wild, the way she’d kissed and licked her way over his frame, tasting all of him, experimenting with what pleased him, asking him to tell her what he needed.

He groaned, a quiet noise but she stirred, shifting a little, so the sheet fell down and revealed her pert, rounded breasts to his gaze.

His erection throbbed against his pants. He took a step back from the bed.

One night, and dawn was breathing its way through the room, reminding him that this was not his life.

Hannah was an aberration. A mistake.

He had to leave. He had to forget this ever happened. He just hoped she would, too.






Hannah woke slowly, her body delightfully sore, muscles she hadn’t felt before stretching inside her as she shifted, rolling onto her side.

A Cavalcanti masterpiece was on the wall opposite, the morning light bathing its modernist palette in gold, a gold she knew would be matched by the sheer cliffs of this spectacular island.

But none of these things were what she wanted to see most.

She flipped over, her eyes scanning the bed, looking for Leonidas. He wasn’t there.

She reached out, feeling the sheets. They were cold. Her stomach grumbled and she pushed to sitting, smothering a yawn with the back of her hand. When had they finally fallen asleep? She couldn’t remember.

A smile played about her lips as she stood, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it toga style around her, padding through the penthouse.

‘Leonidas?’ She frowned, looking around. The glass doors to the balcony were open. She moved towards it, the view spectacular, momentarily robbing her of breath for a wholly new reason.

He wasn’t out there.

She frowned, turning on her heel and heading back inside. It was then that she saw it.

A note.

And there was so much to comprehend in that one instant that she struggled to make sense of any of it.

First of all the letterhead. It was no standard issue hotel notepad. It bore the insignia of the hotel, but the embossed lettering at the bottom spelled ‘Leonidas Stathakis.’

Leonidas Stathakis? Her heart began to race faster as she comprehended this. She didn’t know much about the Stathakis brothers—she wasn’t really au fait with people of their milieu, but no one could fail to have at least heard of the Stathakis brothers. To know that they were two of the richest men in the world. There were other facts, too, swirling just beneath the surface. Snatches she’d heard or read but not paid attention to because it had all seemed so far away. Crimes? The mob? Murder? Was that them? Or someone else?

She swallowed, running her finger over the embossing, closing her eyes and picturing Leonidas as he’d been the night before. As he’d stood so close to her and their eyes had seemed to pierce one another’s souls.

Her pulse gushed and she blinked her green eyes open, scanning the paper more thoroughly this time, expecting to see a few lines explaining that he’d gone to get breakfast, or for a workout—those muscles didn’t just grow themselves—or something along those lines.

What she wasn’t expecting was the formality and finality of what she read.

Hannah

It shouldn’t have happened. Please forget it did. The penthouse is yours for as long as you’d like it.

Leonidas

She read it and reread it at least a dozen times, her fingers shaking as she reached for the coffee machine and jabbed the button. Outrage warred with anger.

It shouldn’t have happened.

Because she hadn’t been what he’d expected? Because she hadn’t been any good?

Oh, God.

Was it possible that the desire she’d felt had been one-sided? Angus had been engaged to her and been able to easily abstain from sex, yet he’d been fooling around behind her back.

Had she been a let-down?

Hurt flooded inside her, disbelief echoing in her heart.

She’d wanted to come to Chrysá Vráchia almost her whole life, but suddenly, she couldn’t wait to leave.




CHAPTER THREE (#u4211c2fb-f8ca-5516-a7f7-43c243996385)


A WEEK AFTER leaving the island, Leonidas awoke in a cold sweat. He stared around the hotel room, his heart hammering in his chest.

Hannah.

He’d been dreaming of Hannah, the woman he’d met on Chrysá Vráchia. He’d been dreaming of her, of making love to her. His body was rock hard and he groaned, falling back onto the pillows, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe slowly, to calm down. To remember his wife.

And nausea skidded through him, because he knew he would never forget Amy. But for those few moments, when he’d lost himself inside Hannah, when he’d pierced her innocence, and possessed her so completely, he had felt…

He had felt like himself.

For the first time in many years he had felt like a man who was free of this curse, this guilt, this permanent ache.

He had lost himself in Hannah and, just for a moment, he had lost his grief.

He swore under his breath, and pushed the sheet back, his heart unable to be calmed. Leonidas walked to the plush kitchen of his Hong Kong penthouse, pressing a button on the coffee machine.

He watched it brew, an answering presentiment of disaster growing inside him.






‘Do you need me to talk to him?’

Leonidas focussed on sounding normal. But in the month since leaving Chrysá Vráchia, he’d had a growing tension, balling in his gut, and nothing he did seemed to relieve it. It was guilt, he knew. Guilt at having betrayed his vows to Amy. At having broken the vow he made himself, that Amy would be the last woman he was intimate with.

The limousine slid through Rome, lights on either side.

‘Yeah, sure, that’s even better,’ Thanos responded with sarcasm. Leonidas’s younger brother shook his head. ‘Kosta Carinedes will take one look at you and see Dad. Sorry.’

Leonidas winced—the physical similarities between himself and Dion were not news to him. ‘So how are you going to convince him to sell?’

‘He wants to sell,’ Thanos murmured, tilting his head as the car slowed at a corner and paused near a group of beautiful women wearing skimpy shorts and singlet tops. ‘He just doesn’t want to sell to us.’

‘Because of Dion?’

‘Because of our name,’ Thanos conceded with a nod. ‘And because I am, quote, “a sex-mad bachelor”.’

At this, Leonidas laughed, despite the bad mood that had been following him for weeks. ‘He’s got you bang to rights there.’

Thanos grinned. ‘Hey, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being sex-mad. We can’t all live the life of a saint like you.’

Leonidas’s expression shifted as though he’d been punched in the gut. He was far more sinner than saint, but he had no intention of sharing his slip-up with his brother.

‘Offer him more money,’ Leonidas suggested, cutting to the crux of the matter.

‘It’s not about money. This is his grandparents’ legacy. They built the company out of “love”,’ he said the word with sardonic derision, ‘and he won’t sell it to someone who’s constantly in the headlines for all the wrong reasons.’

Leonidas shrugged. ‘Then let it go.’

‘You’re kidding, right? I told you what this means to me? And who else is interested in buying it?’

Leonidas regarded his brother thoughtfully. ‘Yes. Luca Monato. And I know you two hate each other. But this is just a company. Let him have it, buy its competition and drive him into the ground. Far more satisfying.’

‘It might come to that. But I’m not done yet.’

‘What else can you do? I hate to point out the obvious, but Kosta’s right. You’re a man whore, Thanos.’

Thanos laughed. ‘And proud. You could take a couple of pages out of my book. In fact, why don’t you? I’ve got a heap of women you’d like. Why don’t you call one of them? Take her for dinner and then back to your place…’

Leonidas turned away from his brother, looking out of the window of the limousine as Rome passed in a beautiful, dusk-filled blur. He thought of Hannah, his body tightening, his chest feeling as if it were filling with acid. ‘No.’

‘You cannot live the rest of your life like this,’ Thanos insisted quietly, his tone serious now, their banter forgotten. There weren’t many people on earth who could speak plainly to the great Leonidas Stathakis, but Thanos was one of them, and always had been. Side by side they’d dealt with their father’s failings, his criminality, his convictions, the ruin he’d brought on their fortune and the Stathakis name.

Side by side, they’d rebuilt it all, better than before, returning their family’s once-great wealth—many times over. They were half-brothers, only three months apart in age, and they’d been raised more as twins since Thanos was abandoned on their doorstep by his mother at the age of eight. Their insight into one another was unique.

Leonidas understood Thanos as nobody else did, and vice versa. Leonidas knew what it had done to Thanos, his mother abandoning him, choosing to desert him rather than find a way to manage his dominant character traits.

‘What would you do?’ Leonidas drawled, but there was tension in the question. Tension and despair.

Thanos expelled a sigh; the car stopped. Thousands of screaming fans were outside on the red carpet, here to catch a glimpse of the A-list Hollywood stars who’d featured in the film of the premiere they were attending.

‘I can’t say. I get it—you miss Amy. What happened to her and Brax—do you think I don’t feel that? You think I don’t want to reach into that prison cell and strangle our father with my bare hands for what he exposed you to? But, Leonidas, you cannot serve her by living half a life. Do you think Amy would have wanted this for you?’

Leonidas swept his dark eyes shut, the panic in his gut churning, the sense of self-disgust almost impossible to manage. ‘Don’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Do not speak to me of Amy’s wishes.’

But Thanos wasn’t to be deterred. ‘She loved you. She would want you to live the rest of your life as you did before. Be happy. Be fulfilled.’

‘You think I deserve that?’

‘It was our father’s crimes that killed her, not yours.’

‘But if she hadn’t met me…’ Leonidas insisted, not finishing the statement—not needing to. Thanos knew; he understood.

‘It’s been four years,’ Thanos repeated softly. ‘You have mourned and grieved and honoured them both. It’s time to move forward.’

But Leonidas shook his head, his time on Chrysá Vráchia teaching him one thing and one thing only: it would never be time. He had failed Amy during their marriage, in many ways; he wouldn’t fail her now.






‘Tuna salad, please,’ Hannah said over the counter, scanning the lunch selections with a strange sense of distaste, despite the artful arrangements. In the four months since arriving in London and taking up a maternity-leave contract as legal secretary to a renowned litigator, Hannah had grabbed lunch from this same store almost every day.

Her boss liked the chicken sandwiches and she the tuna. She waited in the queue then grabbed their lunches and made her way back to the office as quickly as she could.

There was a wait for the lift and she stifled a yawn, sipping her coffee. Her stomach flipped. She frowned. The milk tasted funny.

‘Great,’ she said with a sigh, dropping it into a waste bin. Just what she needed—spoiled milk.

But when she got to her desk and unpeeled her sandwich, she had the strangest sense that she might vomit. She took one bite of the sandwich and then stood up, rushing to the facilities. She just made it.

It was as she hovered over the porcelain bowl, trying to work out whether she was sick or suffering from food poisoning, that dates began to hover in her mind. Months of dates, in fact, without her regular cycle.

Her skin was damp with perspiration as she straightened, staring at the tiled wall with a look of absolute shock.

No way.

No way could she be pregnant. Her hand curved over her stomach—it was still flat. Except her jeans had felt tight on the weekend, and she’d put it down to the sedentary job.

But what if it wasn’t just a little weight gain? What if she was growing thick around the midsection because she was carrying Leonidas Stathakis’s baby?

She gasped audibly, pushing out of the cubicle, and ran the taps, staring at herself in the mirror as the ice water ran over her fingertips.

Surely it wasn’t true? It was just a heap of coincidences. She had a tummy bug and her weight gain was attributable to the fact she was chained to a desk for twelve-hour days. That could also account for her recent exhaustion.

That was all.

Nonetheless, when she left the office much later that day, still feeling unwell, Hannah ducked into a pharmacy around the corner from the Earl’s Court flat she’d rented a room in.

She’d do a pregnancy test. There was no harm in that—it was a simple precaution.

In the privacy of her the bathroom, she unsealed the box, read the instructions, and did precisely what they said. She set an alarm on her phone, to tell her when two minutes was up.

She didn’t need it, though.

It took fewer than twenty seconds for a second line to appear.

A strong, vibrant pink, showing that she was, indeed, pregnant.

With Leonidas Stathakis’s baby.

‘Oh, jeez.’ She sat down on the toilet lid, and stared at the back of the door. Her hand curved over her stomach and she closed her eyes. His face appeared in her mind, unbidden, unwanted, and unflinchingly and just as he had been for months in her dreams, she saw him naked, his strong body and handsome face so close to her that she could breathe him in, except he was just a phantom, a ghost.

But not for long.

It shouldn’t have happened. Despite the fact she’d torn his note into a thousand pieces and left it scattered over the marble bench-top of the luxurious penthouse kitchen, his words were indelibly imprinted into her mind.

Well, regardless of his regret, and the fact he hadn’t respected her enough to say that to her face, she’d have to see him again.

There was nothing for it—she had to face this reality, to tell him the truth.

And she would—when she was ready.






Hannah checked the name against the piece of paper she clutched in her hand, looking around the marina with a frown on her face.

There was some event on, Capri Sailing Week or some such, and the whole marina was bursting with life. Enormous boats—or ‘superyachts’, as she’d been told they were called—lined up like swans, so graceful and imposing in the evening sun.

She knew from the search she’d done on the Internet that Stathakis Corp owned a boat that took part in the event. She also knew that Leonidas and his brother came to the event annually on their own ‘superyacht’. Photos had shown her a suntanned Leonidas relaxing on the deck, casting his eye over the race.

She’d closed out of the images as quickly as she could.

She didn’t need to see him again. Not like that.

This was going to be quick, like ripping off a plaster. She’d tell him she was pregnant—not that she’d really need words. At more than five months along, she was quite visibly carrying a baby.

She’d been so tempted just to call him. To deliver the news over the phone and leave it at that, just as he’d written her a note instead of having the courage to face her the next morning.

But it was cowardly and she wasn’t that. They were having a baby together—she couldn’t ignore the ramifications of their night together and nor could he. At least she knew that, no matter what happened next, he’d regretted that night.

He’d regretted it, he wished that it hadn’t happened, and he’d treated her with complete disdain and disrespect, skulking out in the middle of the night, leaving a note! It wasn’t as if she’d have begged him for more—they’d both agreed to it being one night only. It was the salt in the wound of him vanishing, not even bothering to say goodbye.

That was the man she was having a child with.

She grabbed hold of that thought; she needed to remember that.

The Stathakis yacht was the biggest in the marina, and it was pumping with life and noise. Her eyes skimmed the yacht, running over the partygoers moving around with effortless grace, all scantily clad, from what she could see. Music with a heavy beat sounded loud and somehow seductive, so something began to beat low in her abdomen. There were staff, too, their crisp white shirts discernible even at a distance, the trays they carried overflowing with champagne flutes.

She narrowed her eyes, lifting a hand and wiping it over her forehead. She was warm—the sun was beating down, even now in the early evening, and she’d been travelling since that morning.

She was tired, too, the exhaustion of the first trimester not giving way in the second.

She moved closer to the yacht, mindful on her approach that security guards stood casually at the bridge that led to the deck.

As she approached, one of the men spoke to her in Italian. At her blank expression, he switched to Greek and then, finally, English. ‘Can I help you, miss?’

‘I need to see Leonidas Stathakis. It’s important.’

The security guard flicked his gaze over Hannah, his expression unchanging. ‘It’s a private party.’

She had expected this resistance. ‘If you tell him my name, I’m certain he’ll want to see me.’

The guard’s scepticism was obvious. ‘And that is?’

‘Hannah. Hannah May.’ Her voice was soft, her Australian accent prominent.

The guard spoke into his walkie-talkie, the background noise of the party coming through louder when he clicked the button at its side. She discerned only her own name in the rapid delivery of information. Then, he clicked the walkie-talkie back to his hip.

‘He says you can go up.’

‘Thank you.’

Nerves were jangling inside her, doubts firing in her gut. Maybe she should turn around. Go back to London, or even Australia, far away. Call him with this information. Or not. She had no idea. She just knew suddenly the thought of coming face-to-face with Leonidas filled her with ice.

She was going to be sick.

‘Miss? Are you okay?’

But she’d come all this way. She’d grappled with this for weeks now, she’d faced the reality of being pregnant with Leonidas’s baby, trying to work out the best way to tell him. She had to tell him—there was nothing for it.

‘I will be.’

Yes, she would be. She needed simply to get this over with. The faster the better. ‘This way?’ she prompted, gesturing towards the boat.

‘And to the left.’

Hannah’s smile was tight as she surveyed the crowd, not particularly relishing the idea of weaving her way through so many people. ‘Thank you.’

She stepped onto a platform and then went up a set of polished timber and white stairs. At the top, another guard opened a section of the boat’s balustrade, forming a gate. The noise was deafening up here. She braced herself for a moment, frozen to the spot as she recognised at least a dozen Hollywood celebrities walking around in a state of undress. Men, women, all in their bathers, suntanned, impossibly slender and toned with very white teeth and enormous eyes.

Hannah stared at them self-consciously, this world so foreign to her, so foreign to anything and anyone she knew. These people were his friends?

There was a loud noise, a laugh, and then the splashing of water. She turned, chasing the interruption, to see a handsome man standing above the pool, a grin on his chiselled face. It wasn’t Leonidas, but she recognised him nonetheless from the few photos she’d pulled up while trying to find out how to contact Leonidas.

Thanos Stathakis, the playboy prince of Europe, all golden and carefree, and surrounded by a dozen women who were quite clearly vying for a place in his bed. She pulled a face, straightened her spine and began to cut through the party.

She didn’t belong here. She didn’t want to be here. She just needed to tell him and get out.

‘Miss May?’ A woman wearing a crew uniform approached Hannah, a professional smile on her pretty face. ‘This way, please.’

Hannah nodded stiffly, falling into step beside the woman, almost losing her footing when she saw a Grammy award–winning singer breeze past, laughing, arm in arm with the undisputed queen of talk-show television.

Hannah stared after them, her heart pounding. She felt like a fish way, way out of water. The crew member pushed a door open and Hannah followed, grateful for the privacy and quiet the room afforded.

‘Would you like anything to drink, miss?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

She waited until she was alone and then scanned the room, her eyes taking in the obvious signs of wealth that were littered without care. The yacht was unlike anything she’d ever seen, the last word in luxury and money. Designer furniture filled out this room, a television the size of her bed on one wall, and through the glass partition a huge bedroom with a spa against the windows.

Leonidas’s bedroom?

Her pulse picked up a notch and on autopilot she wandered towards it, her heart hammering against her chest as she pushed the door open.

Yes. She couldn’t say how she knew, only there was something in the air, his masculine, alpine fragrance that instantly jolted her senses.

She backed out quickly, as though the very fires of hell were lining the floor in there.

She had to do this. She would tell him, and then leave, giving him a chance to digest it, and to consider her wishes. This would be over in minutes.

Minutes.

She waited, and with each moment that passed her nerves stretched tighter, thinner, finer and more tremulous, so, five minutes later, she honestly thought she might pass out.

She was on the brink of leaving the room and going in search of Leonidas herself when the door burst inwards and he strode into the room, wearing only a pair of swimming shorts, and a look that—in the seconds before surprise contorted his expression—showed his impatience with her arrival.

He was partying.

He was probably the centre of attention, being just as fawned over and celebrated as his brother. Jealousy tore through her, but Hannah told herself it was outrage. Outrage that she’d been agonising over the baby they were going to have while he’d slipped out of bed and gone back to his normal life as though it had never happened.

If she’d held even a single shred of hope that he might be glad to see her, it disappeared immediately.

‘Hannah.’ His eyes roamed her face and then dropped lower, until he was staring at her stomach, and she felt the force of his shock, the reverberation of his confusion. It slammed into the room, slammed against her, and if she weren’t so consumed with her own feelings she might almost have felt sympathy for him.

‘Yes.’ She answered the unspoken question, her voice slightly shaky. ‘I’m pregnant. And you’re the father.’




CHAPTER FOUR (#u4211c2fb-f8ca-5516-a7f7-43c243996385)


HIS EYES SWEPT SHUT, almost as if he could wipe this meeting from reality, as if he would open his gaze and she’d be gone. It wasn’t until that moment Hannah realised that she’d been partly hoping he would react well to this news. While neither of them had planned this, nor wanted it particularly, a baby was still cause for celebration, wasn’t it?

Apparently not.

When he opened his eyes and his gaze pierced her soul, it was with a look of rejection, and panic.

‘No.’ He glared at her. ‘This cannot be happening.’

Hannah curved a hand around her stomach, trying to be generous, to remember he was shocked, that she’d had time to adjust to this news and he was being presented with it all now.

‘Really?’ She arched a brow, her obvious pregnant state contradicting that.

He swore in his native tongue and moved towards a bar in the corner, pulling out two bottles of mineral water. He stalked towards her and held one out and she took it without thinking, her fingers curving over the top.

But, oh, she was so close to him now, and the last five months disappeared, everything disappeared, except this wave of intense recognition and need, that same spark of hunger that had incinerated her on New Year’s Eve.

Her breath escaped her on a hiss; she stood frozen to the spot, her eyes glued to his, her face tilted upwards, her body on alert for his nearness. It was an instant, visceral, physical reaction and it shook her to the core.

But even before her eyes, Leonidas’s surprise was giving way to comprehension. His jaw tightened and he nodded slowly, releasing the water bottle into her grip and stepping away from her, turning to stare at the ocean.

‘How do you feel?’

She was surprised by the question—she hadn’t expected it, this rapid assimilation of information, acceptance and then a hint of civility.

‘I’m mostly okay.’ She nodded, opening the bottle and taking a sip gratefully. ‘I’m quite tired but otherwise fine.’

He didn’t react. ‘Do you know what gender it is?’

Hannah nodded again, but he wasn’t looking. ‘Yes.’ She reached into her handbag, her fingers fumbling a little as she lifted out an ultrasound picture. ‘Here.’

At that word, he turned slowly, his expression grim, his gaze lowering to the flimsy black and white photograph. He made no effort to take it.

‘It’s a girl,’ she said quietly.

He still didn’t reach for the picture, but his eyes swept shut as though he were steeling himself against this, as though it wasn’t what he wanted. Hurt scored her being. But before she could fire that accusation at him, he was shooting another question at her.

‘When did you find out?’

She swallowed in an attempt to bring moisture back to her dry throat. ‘A while ago,’ she admitted.

‘When?’

A hint of guilt flared in her gut but she reminded herself she’d done nothing wrong.

‘I’ve known for a few weeks.’

He stared at her, long and hard, for several moments. ‘You didn’t think I deserved to know when you did?’

She shook her head once, from one side to the other. ‘You didn’t think I deserved more than to wake up to a crummy note?’

He froze, completely still, and the sound of the glamorous party outside the room thumped and crashed. Hannah didn’t move. She glared at him, waiting for his answer.

It came swiftly, his brow furrowing. ‘So this was payback? Retaliation of some kind?’

She shook her head. ‘What? No. It was nothing like that.’ She sucked in a breath, not wanting to be dragged off topic. ‘I just wanted a chance to get used to this before I had to deal with you.’

‘And you are now used to it?’ he demanded, heat in the question.

She let out a small laugh, but it was a sound completely without humour. ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever adjust.’

‘I don’t want anything from you, Leonidas,’ she said firmly, not registering the way something like admiration sparked in his eyes. ‘I had no idea who you were that night, nor that you’re worth a squillion dollars. I have no interest in asking you for any kind of support payment or whatever.’ She shuddered in rejection of the very idea.

‘I mean it. This isn’t my way of asking you to support me in any way. I don’t want that.’

He spoke then, his voice low and husky. ‘So what do you want?’

She bit down on her lip then immediately stopped when he took a step closer, his eyes on the gesture, his body seemingly pulled towards hers.

‘I want…to know you’ll be a part of her life,’ she said quietly, her own childhood a black hole in her mind, swallowing her up. She would do whatever she could to make sure her own daughter never had to live with the grief she’d felt.

He was quiet, watching her, and nervousness fired in Hannah’s gut. ‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ she said thickly. ‘I would happily never see you again. But our daughter deserves to know both her parents.’ She lifted a hand, toying with the necklace she wore, running her finger over the chain distractedly. Hannah needed the security of knowing their child would have two people who loved her, two people in case something happened to one of them.

‘I appreciate this news is probably an even bigger inconvenience to you than it was to me,’ she said simply. ‘I understand you didn’t want this. You were very clear about that.’ She cleared her throat, sidestepping him and moving towards the windows that framed a sensational view of the waters off the coast of Capri. ‘But we are having a child together, and I don’t want her to grow up thinking she’s not wanted.’ Hannah’s voice cracked and she closed her eyes, sucking in breath, needing strength.

‘You want me to be a part of our daughter’s life?’

‘Yes.’ The word rushed out of her. She spun around, surprised to find Leonidas had come to stand right behind her, his eyes on hers, his expression impossible to comprehend.

‘And what kind of part?’




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