Annie West - Greek Affairs - Tempted by the Tycoons - The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride / The Greek Tycoon's Unexpected Wife / The Greek Tycoon's Secret Heir

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 mid-section. 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.