The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride. Kate Hewitt

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ