Kate Hewitt - Wed in Greece - The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride / Bound to the Greek

Rhiannon watched her, trying to ignore the ache of longing within her, the churning fear at the thought of the future. She wanted simply to enjoy the sun-kissed moment.

Lukas had been completely wrong in thinking she wanted to give Annabel away; it hurt to think he’d judged her so readily, thought so little of her.

It was the last thing she wanted. She’d fought desperately with her conscience over the matter; her heart had wanted to keep the baby, but her mind had told her the father had a right to know. A right to love.

And, her conscience had argued, wasn’t it selfish for a single woman in Rhiannon’s precarious financial position to keep a child she had no real right to simply because she wanted someone to love? To be loved by someone?

Wasn’t it selfish and pathetic?

Yet now, she thought grimly, she might not have the opportunity. Paternity suits, custody battles…

She should have considered this sooner, she supposed. She should have thought of all the possible outcomes to confronting Lukas Petrakides. If only her heart hadn’t deceived her with promises of fairy tale endings and happily-ever-afters.

She really was pathetic.

Annabel looked up, gurgled and pointed, and Rhiannon froze. She knew. She could feel him behind her, picture his easy, long-limbed stride.

‘Good morning.’ Lukas approached them and crouched down next to Annabel. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt and olive-green shorts. He looked clean and strong and wonderful.

Rhiannon tore her gaze away. ‘Good morning.’

‘Sleep well?’ He gave her a questioning glance even as he held Annabel’s chubby fist, poured sand into her waiting palm. She giggled in delight.

‘No,’ Rhiannon confessed irritably. ‘Did you?’

His smile was rueful, honest. ‘No.’

She was gratified by the admission, although she remained silent.

‘She’s a cheerful little thing, isn’t she?’ Lukas said after a moment, as Annabel grabbed his hands and attempted to bring one lean finger towards her open mouth. ‘And teething too, I suppose?’

‘Watch out—she has two front teeth, and they’re sharp.’

Gently Lukas disengaged his finger from Annabel’s grasp. ‘Thank you.’

‘If Christos is Annabel’s father, who will look after her?’ Rhiannon asked suddenly. She needed to know. An idea had begun to form in her mind—hopeless, impractical, her only chance. ‘She’ll need a nanny, won’t she?’ she continued, and Lukas regarded her shrewdly.

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Better for it to be someone she knows,’ Rhiannon continued, and Lukas’s mouth tightened.

‘Infants form attachments easily. In any case, if she is Christos’s child, I will adopt her.’

The thought weighed as heavily as a stone on her heart. She swallowed, looked away.

Lukas laid a steadying hand on her arm. ‘I realise your own adoptive parents might not have been ideal, but this will be different.’

‘Oh?’ Rhiannon forced herself to look at him. ‘How?’

‘I will care for her—’ Lukas began, looking slightly, strangely discomfited.

‘My parents cared for me too.’ Rhiannon cut him off. ‘But let me tell you, Lukas, duty is a hard parent. It doesn’t kiss your scrapes better, or cuddle you at night, or check for monsters under the bed. It doesn’t make you feel loved, make you believe that no matter what happens, what you do, there’ll be a place to come home to, arms to put around you. Duty,’ she finished flatly, ‘is a cold father.’ She stared blindly down at the sand, trying to rein her emotions, her memories, back under control.

Lukas’s fingers grasped her chin, tilted it so she was looking at him, and she knew he could see the hurt, the pain shadowing her eyes.

‘Is that how your father was?’ he asked quietly. ‘Your mother?’

Rhiannon shrugged. ‘I don’t blame them. They did the best they could.’

‘But it wasn’t enough, was it? And you’re afraid that Annabel will suffer as you did?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. ‘And shouldn’t I be? You’ve already shown me what a cold, restrained person you are.’

The look he gave her was full of hidden heat. ‘Have I?’ he murmured, his tone so languorous that Rhiannon jerked her chin from his hand, scooted a few feet away.

‘Yes. In terms of how you see your responsibility towards Annabel.’

He shrugged, spread his hands. ‘I can only promise to do what is right. To give her every opportunity, every comfort.’

‘That’s not enough.’

‘It will have to be.’

She knew it was more than most men would give—more than she had any right to expect. But it wasn’t enough. She wouldn’t let it be enough.

Because she knew how duty without love became a burden, a weight. A resentment. As it had become with her. Lukas couldn’t see that, couldn’t understand.

A loud whirring filled the air, and Rhiannon blinked up in surprise as a helicopter came into sight.

‘That’s not the press, is it?’ she asked, one hand shading her eyes, and Lukas shook his head.

‘No, it is a Petrakides helicopter.’ He pointed to the side of the craft. ‘See the entwined Ps? That is our emblem.’

Rhiannon saw the entwined letters, first in the Roman alphabet, then in Greek. ‘What is a Petrakides helicopter doing here?’ she asked.

Lukas took her hand in his, tugged. ‘Come and see.’ There was a surprising smile on his face, like that of a little boy, and, scooping up Annabel, Rhiannon followed him to the landing pad.

A young Greek man emerged from the helicopter as they approached, and Lukas called a greeting. The man called back, and began unloading boxes and parcels from the body of the chopper.

Rhiannon stood back uncertainly, until Lukas beckoned her. ‘Come. These things are for you.’

‘For me?’ she repeated blankly.

‘Yes…for you and Annabel.’

He took Annabel from her, jiggling the baby on his hip, so she could inspect the parcels. Hesitantly Rhiannon opened one box to find it full of baby toys, brightly coloured, soft and enticing.

‘You shouldn’t have…’ she began, and he shrugged her protestation aside.

‘Of course I should.’

More boxes revealed clothes—play clothes for Annabel, sensible, sturdy, and well made.

‘Open that one.’ A faint smile curved his mouth upwards, softened his face, his eyes.

Raising her eyebrows, too curious not to obey, Rhiannon opened the box he’d indicated.

‘More clothes…’ Not for Annabel, though. For her. She held up a white cotton blouse—simple, flowing, with scalloped lace along its scooped neckline. She found trousers, loose and comfortable, in turquoise silk. A sundress, lemon-yellow, with skinny, flirty straps. She lowered the dress, her hands bunching in the filmy material.

‘You really shouldn’t have.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Lukas agreed quietly, his teasing little smile still flickering along her nerve endings, ‘but I wanted to.’

It came out almost unwillingly, and Rhiannon found herself saying, ‘You don’t like to want things?’

‘No, I don’t,’ he admitted, and there was a hardness to his tone that caused the light, happy atmosphere to evaporate. Even Annabel noticed, and squirmed in Lukas’s arms.

‘Why not?’ Rhiannon asked, uncertainty causing her voice to waver just a little bit.

‘Because wanting—giving in to your desires—causes misery and ruin. Not only for yourself, but for everyone around you.’ Lukas spoke flatly. His face was hard, his eyes as flat and cold as steel. ‘I’ve spent my life cleaning up other people’s messes, paying for their mistakes. Mistakes that could have been avoided if they hadn’t given in to selfish whims, desires. If they’d only done their duty—as I have done and you seem to think so lightly of.’ With a curt nod, he handed Annabel back to her. ‘I’ll have these boxes delivered to your room. Dinner is at half past seven.’