Читать книгу The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride - Кейт Хьюит, Kate Hewitt - Страница 9

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.’