Greek Mavericks: The Greek's Unforgettable Secret. Кейт Хьюит

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      This was not the way he had imagined it would be when he brought Lizzie into his new home for the first time. They had only looked at it from the beach before, because—ironically—they’d had to get back for Thea’s concert. Fresh from making love to Lizzie, he’d had the crazy notion of sweeping her into his arms and carrying her across the threshold. And then they’d make love on every surface in the house.

      Not this time.

      He led the way into a lavishly equipped but as yet unoccupied study. The room was spectacular. A wall of glass faced the electric blue bay, and the desk was a long, plain piece of wood, its only ornament a computer. The surface of the desk was as smooth as glass. He’d planned, prepped and planed it himself, finishing it with beeswax.

      As Lizzie ran her fingertips over the surface he remembered the pleasure he’d had making it, the simple joy of working with his hands. Creating things like the desk allowed him to escape the rattle of business for a while and just be. Simplicity in all things always gave him pleasure. Honesty did the same.

      He drew a breath and turned to face Lizzie.

      ‘Damon, I—’

      He silenced her with a raised hand. ‘Please. Sit down.’

      ‘I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.’

      The tension in Lizzie’s voice was like a taut band on the point of snapping. He felt no pity. Beyond knowing that if she broke down it would delay things and get them nowhere, he felt no empathy at all. He positioned himself with his back to the window while Lizzie remained by the door. He saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, but then it was gone. She was determined to stand up to him. But he held all the cards and she held none—they both knew that.

      Although he hadn’t forgotten Lizzie’s determination to refuse him equal rights, and the fact that he wasn’t even mentioned on Thea’s birth certificate…

      On reflection, it seemed that perhaps Lizzie held the trump card.

      Her arms were ramrod-straight against her sides, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were like polished ivory. The blood had drained from her cheeks and her eyes were huge in the ashen wasteland of her face. He had experienced emotion briefly, when Thea had played the violin, but whatever his daughter had unlocked was gone now. It was for Thea alone. He dealt with all problems the same way—by being incisive and emotion-free—and he would do that now.

      ‘You don’t know her,’ Lizzie told him quietly, as if anticipating what he might say. ‘Thea doesn’t know you. You can’t just walk into her life and claim her, Damon.’

      ‘You don’t know what I can do.’

      Her lips had turned white. She knew the power he wielded.

      Her brow pleated. ‘Are you trying to intimidate me?’

      ‘Never,’ he stated factually. ‘I am simply trying to reclaim what’s mine.’

      ‘And what then?’ she asked him tensely.

      ‘That’s what I have to find out. I have to find a solution.’

      ‘We have to find a solution,’ Lizzie argued quietly.

      ‘You’ve lost your chance,’ he said frankly. ‘It’s my turn now. I think you should sit down. We have to put our personal differences aside and consider what’s best for Thea.’

      ‘Thea is all I ever think about,’ Lizzie assured him, with a blaze of passion in her eyes.

      ‘I haven’t been given that chance,’ he pointed out with supreme restraint.

      The disappointment he felt in Lizzie was acute. She was as shallow as the rest of them. Self-interest ruled her. She might never have told him that they had a daughter together if he hadn’t walked into that restaurant in London. She would have kept Thea to herself.

      Pain stabbed him when he thought about the years that had been lost. He had to turn away for a few moments and pour them both a glass of iced water to give him something else to focus on while his rage subsided.

      ‘Why aren’t you angry?’ Lizzie demanded.

      He almost laughed.

      ‘Are you incapable of feelings?’

      ‘Declara!’

      He’d spilled the water on his desk. Incapable of feelings? This entire situation had rocked the foundations of his life.

      Snatching up a cloth, he mopped up the spill before turning to face her. ‘Perhaps you can afford to be emotional, but I can’t. How would it look in business if I railed at my competitors and made every decision on a wave of passion?’

      ‘This isn’t a business decision,’ she fired back. ‘This is our daughter. Thea.’

      ‘I’m glad you’ve finally remembered,’ he countered with scorn.

      ‘So this is just another exercise in winning for you?’ Lizzie suggested.

      ‘Far from it.’

      She had no idea of the turmoil inside him. He’d only ever known happy, uncomplicated love—love without boundaries, the type of love that a parent gave to a child, the style of unconditional love that his parents had given to him. It was love without demands, love that would sacrifice everything, and he hadn’t been given the chance to experience that same love with Thea.

      The love he felt for Thea already was incalculable. It was as if eleven years had been compacted into a single day of knowing and loving his child. His head was reeling with love. Eleven years of Thea’s existence had been lost, never to be reclaimed. From the night of her conception to the night before her birth, when she’d been nothing more than a tiny light waiting to take a tilt at life, and on to this moment, here in his study, where he was talking about Thea to her mother.

      All of those precious moments were lost. Everything that had been Thea before now had gone, never to be reclaimed.