The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby. Clare Connelly

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       PROLOGUE

      BEING EQUAL NUMBER TWO on the international rich list might have made Leonidas Stathakis the envy of the world, but Leonidas knew from personal experience that money was a poor substitute for having what you really wanted in life.

      Billions in the bank didn’t take away the empty throb of loss that dogged your steps when you’d had to bury your loved ones.

      Being rich didn’t take away the grief, nor the guilt, nor the pain and the sense of impotence at knowing you had put someone in harm’s way—that you had failed to protect them.

      This was his fourth New Year’s Eve without his family. The fourth year he’d seen draw to a close with only memories of his wife, Amy, and their two-year-old son, Brax.

      It felt like a lifetime.

      When he closed his eyes, he saw her as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. He’d never forget the way she smiled, as though she’d struck a match inside and happiness was exploding out of her.

      How could someone so full of life and vitality simply cease to exist? For all her strength, she’d been so weak at the end, so fragile. Ploughed into while walking Brax to the playground. What chance did either of their bodies stand against that hunk of metal, commanded by a madman?

      Hair that had been a vibrant russet with eyes that were the same shade as the ocean beyond this hotel; he saw her as she’d been in life, and then, as she’d been in death.

      He would never forget Amy Stathakis, nor the violent fate that had awaited her, murdered because of his father’s criminal activities.

      Dion Stathakis had destroyed their family, and, with Amy and Brax’s death, had destroyed Leonidas’s life.

      Anger surged inside him and he curved his fingers more tightly about his Scotch glass, wondering how many of these he’d had. Not so many as to dull the pain yet, though in his experience it took more than a few quick drinks in a bar to get anywhere near the obliteration he sought. Especially at times like this, when his memories were at their clearest.

      Happiness surrounded him. Loud, exuberant noises of celebration. People seemed to love marking the close of a year, celebrating the arrival of a new one, and he could understand that. At one time, he’d felt just the same—he had celebrated life with Amy.

      Now, every day was something to be got through. Every year was simply something he survived—without them. His very existence was a betrayal. How many times had he thought he would give his life to return theirs? He was the son of the criminal bastard—he, Leonidas, should have paid for his father’s crimes. Not his innocent wife and their beautiful son.

      Bitterness threatened to scorch him alive.

      He threw his Scotch back and, without his signalling for another, a hostess arrived at his table, replacing it with a substitute, just as he’d requested. There were some perks to being the owner of the place, and this was one of them.

      He lifted his head towards her in acknowledgement, noting dispassionately how attractive she was. Blonde hair, brown eyes, a caramel tan and pale pink lips that were quick to turn into a smile. A nice figure, too. She had the kind of looks he had once found irresistible.

      But not any more.

      Yes, he could have opened himself to the hint of desire that stirred inside him. That started in his gut and, as his eyes dropped to her breasts, to the hint of lace he could see beneath the cotton shirt she wore, spread like flame, threatening to make him hard right there in the skyline view bar of his six-star hotel on Chrysá Vráchia.

      But he refused the impulse. He turned his attention to his Scotch, taking pleasure in denying his body any hint of satisfaction on that score. It had been four years. Four years without Amy, four years without knowing the pleasure of a woman. It was a habit he had no intention of breaking…