Irresistible Greeks: Secrets and Seduction

‘Apparently the canteen opens soon. We’ll go down for breakfast once Nuala has had hers,’ Cristo said decisively.

The night had been long and his reflections deep and interminable, Cristo acknowledged heavily, fighting off the exhaustion dogging him. He had watched Erin and the child who might be his daughter sleep. He had remembered the early years of his own childhood with the fortitude of an adult, processing what he had learned from those unhappy memories, already knowing what he must do while striving to greet rather than flinch from the necessity.

Erin took Nuala into the bathroom to freshen up. She was stiff from spending the night in the chair and slow to respond to her daughter’s innocent chatter. She did what little she could to tidy herself but her raincoat, silk top and linen trousers were creased beyond redemption and without make-up she could do nothing to brighten her pale face and tired, shadowed eyes.

‘Obviously you’ll want DNA tests done,’ Erin said over breakfast, preferring to take that bull by the horns in preference to Cristo feeling that he had to make that demand. ‘I’ll agree to that.’

‘It would make it easier to establish the twins as my legal heirs,’ Cristo agreed, his expression grave. ‘But I believe that that is the only reason I would have it done.’

‘You’re saying that you believe me now?’ Erin prompted in a surprised undertone.

Cristo gave her a silent nod of confirmation and finished his coffee. By the time they returned to Nuala’s bedside the doctors’ round had been done and the ward sister informed them that they could take Nuala home as soon as they liked.

Lorcan, already prepared by his grandmother for the truth that he was about to meet his father, was in full livewire mode, behaving like a jumping bean from the instant Cristo entered the small sitting room of Deidre and Erin’s terraced home. Lorcan scrambled onto a stool and stood up to get closer to the tall black-haired male but, dissatisfied with the height differential, leapt off the stool and clambered onto the coffee table instead.

‘Get down, Lorcan,’ Erin instructed, stooping to gather up the pile of magazines that her son had sent flying to the floor while her mother cooed over Nuala like a homing pigeon. ‘Right now …’

When Cristo focused on the little boy he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. With his coal-black curls and impish dark eyes, Lorcan was a dead ringer for every photograph Cristo had ever seen of himself at the same age. His stare darkened in intensity, shock reverberating through his big powerful length as he made that final step towards accepting what he was seeing as fact: he was a father.

‘I’m going to count to five, Lorcan,’ Erin warned, her tension level rising. ‘One … two …’

Lorcan performed a handstand and grinned with delight at Cristo from upside down. ‘Daddy do this?’ he asked expectantly.

‘Don’t!’ Erin gasped as Cristo bent down.

But, mercifully, Cristo had not been about to perform a handstand. He had merely bent to lift his son off the coffee table and turn him the right side up while Lorcan shrieked with excitement. ‘Hello, Lorcan,’ Cristo murmured evenly. ‘Calm down.’

Unfortunately Lorcan was in no mood to calm down. When Cristo returned him to the floor, Lorcan began to scramble over every piece of furniture in the room at high speed while loudly urging Cristo to watch what he could do. Erin almost groaned out loud as Nuala bounded from her side to try and join in the ruckus. Cristo snatched his daughter out of harm’s way. ‘Show Lorcan your arm,’ he instructed her.

Nuala showed off her cast, small mouth pouting. ‘Hurts,’ she informed her brother, who moved closer to inspect the injured arm.

Erin crouched down. ‘And we have to be very careful with Nuala’s sore arm,’ she told her son.

Lorcan touched the cast enviously. ‘Want it,’ he said.

‘You should take them out to the park to let off some steam,’ Deidre Turner suggested, beaming at Cristo, who was returning the cushions Lorcan had knocked off the sofa. ‘Oh, never mind about that—I’m used to tidying up every five minutes!’

Erin swallowed a yawn. ‘The park? That’s a good idea. I’ll just go and get changed first.’

Hurtling upstairs to her small bedroom, Erin could not quite come to grips with the knowledge that Cristo was in her home. It felt like some crazy dream but there was something horribly realistic about the fact that both her children were acting up like mad and revealing their every wild and wonderful fault. What did Cristo really think about them? How did he really feel? And why did she care about that side of things? After all, naturally he wanted to see both children to satisfy his curiosity, but she doubted that his interest went much deeper than that. Respecting the cool temperature of a typical English spring, Erin donned straight-leg jeans, knee-length boots and a blue cable knit sweater. She brushed her hair, let it fall round her shoulders and made use of a little blusher and mascara before she felt presentable. Presentable enough for what? For Cristo? Shame engulfed her like a blanket. Why was she so predictable? Why was she always worrying about what Cristo thought of her? Only last month she had seen Cristo in a gossip column squiring a beautiful model with hair like gold silk and the glorious shape of a Miss World! Cristo specialised in superstar women with the kind of looks that stopped traffic. His ex-wife, Lisandra, was an utterly ravishing brunette. Erin had never been in that class and had often wondered if that was why he had lost interest in her.

But now she knew different, she reminded herself wretchedly as she went downstairs. Now she knew that Cristo had dumped her because he believed she was a total slut who had gone behind his back and slept with another man. Was it better to know that or worse?

A twin apiece, they walked a hundred yards to the park. Cristo had sent his limo driver off to locate and buy car seats for the children. Lorcan took exaggerated big steps as he concentrated on stepping only on the lines between the flagstones. Nuala hummed a nursery rhyme and pulled handfuls of leaves off the shrubs they passed until Cristo told his daughter to, ‘Stop it!’

Without hesitation, Nuala threw herself down on the pavement and began to kick and scream.

‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ Erin hissed in frustration. ‘She’s tired and cross and her arm’s hurting her. Of course she’s not in a good mood.’

‘You can’t let her vandalise people’s gardens,’ Cristo replied drily and he bent down and picked Nuala up. Her daughter squirmed violently, flailed her fists and screamed full throttle.

Cristo took a couple of fists in the face before he restored order. ‘No,’ he said again.

‘Yes!’ Nuala shrieked back at him, unleashing the full tempest of her toddler temper.

Erin was trying not to cringe and cave in to her daughter’s every demand as she saw faces appearing at windows overlooking the street.

‘Want slide,’ Lorcan whinged, tugging at his mother’s jacket. ‘Want swings.’

‘So, this is what it feels like to be a parent,’ Cristo commented, flexing his bruised jaw with a slight grimace, his stunning eyes pure black diamond brilliance as if on some weird level he was actually enjoying the challenge.

‘They’re a handful sometimes … not all the time,’ Erin stressed, walking on, keen to reach the park where noisy childish outbursts commanded less attention.

Lower lip thrust out, Nuala told Cristo, ‘Want down.’

‘Say please,’ Cristo traded.

‘No!’ Nuala roared.

‘Then I’ll carry you the rest of the way like a baby.’

Nuala lost her head again and screamed while her brother chanted delightedly, ‘Nuala’s a baby!’ as he walked by his mother’s side.

Silence fell only as they reached the gates of the park.

‘Please,’ Nuala framed as if every syllable hurt.

Cristo lowered his daughter slowly back onto her own feet.

‘I hate you!’ Nuala launched at him furiously, snatching her hand free of his and grabbing her mother’s free hand in place of it. ‘I don’t want a daddy!’

As Cristo parted his lips to respond Erin cut in, ‘Just ignore it … please.’

Once she sat down on the mercifully free bench in her accustomed spot, Erin murmured, ‘The best way to handle the twins is with distraction and compromise. Going toe to toe with them simply provokes a tantrum.’

‘Thanks for the heads-up. I’m going to need it. I believe I used to throw tantrums,’ Cristo confided. ‘According to my foster mother, I too was a challenging child.’

‘Tell me something I couldn’t have guessed.’ Erin laughed, abstractedly watching the breeze ruffle his cropped hair into half curls, so very similar to his son’s. As she met his spectacular amber and honey coloured eyes framed by sooty lashes, it was as if a hand grabbed her heart and squeezed and possibly that was the moment that she understood that she would never be entirely free of Cristo Donakis. That was not simply because she had given birth to children who had inherited his explosive personality. It was because she enjoyed his forceful character, his strength of purpose and persistence and the very fact he could sit on an old bench in a slightly overgrown and rundown park and seem entirely at home there in spite of his hand-stitched shoes, gold cufflinks and a superbly well-cut suit that still looked a million dollars even after he had sat up all night in it. He might be arrogant but he was hugely adaptable, resourceful and willing to learn from his mistakes.

‘I should tell you about my marriage,’ Cristo said flatly.

‘You never mention your ex-wife,’ she remarked helplessly, disconcerted by the sudden change of subject and the intimacy of the topic as she watched Lorcan play on the swings and Nuala head down to the sandpit, her cast protected by the cling film Erin had wrapped round it. It wasn’t like Cristo to volunteer to talk about anything particularly private.

‘Why would I? We were only married for five minutes and now we’re divorced,’ Cristo fielded coolly.

‘Have you stayed friends?’

‘We’re not enemies,’ Cristo stated after a moment’s thought on that score. ‘But we move in different social circles and rarely see each other.’

‘Was it a case of marry in haste and repent at leisure?’ Erin pressed tautly. ‘Did you know her well before you married her?’

‘I thought I did.’ Cristo bit out a sardonic laugh. ‘I also thought it was time I got married. My foster parents, Vasos and Appollonia, had been urging me to marry for a couple of years. It was the only thing they had ever tried to influence in my life and I did want to please them,’ he admitted gruffly. ‘I met Lisandra at a dinner party at their home. I already knew her but not well. We seemed to be at the same stage in life, bored with the single scene. We got married three months later.’

‘So what went wrong?’ she almost whispered, recognising the shadow that crossed his lean, darkly handsome face.

‘About a year after we married, Lisandra decided that she wanted a child. I agreed—it seemed like the natural next step.’ His shapely mouth tightened and compressed. ‘When she got pregnant, she was ecstatic and she threw a party to celebrate. Both our families were overjoyed at the prospect of a first grandchild.’

‘And you—how did you feel about it?’ Erin prompted hesitantly.

‘I was pleased, happy Lisandra was happy, grateful she had something new to occupy her. She got bored easily,’ Cristo admitted stonily. ‘And a couple of months into the pregnancy Lisandra got cold feet.’

‘Cold feet?’ Erin queried with a frown, her attention locked to the air of harsh restraint etched in his lean strong face that indicated that, while his voice might sound mild, his inner feelings were the exact opposite.

‘My wife decided she wasn’t ready to have a child after all. She felt too young for the responsibility and trapped by her condition. She decided that the only solution to her regrets and fears was a termination.’

Erin released her pent up breath in a sudden audible hiss. ‘Oh, Cristo—’

‘I tried to talk her out of it, reminding her that we could afford domestic staff so that she need never feel tied down by our child.’ He breathed in slow and deep and bitter regret clouded his dark eyes. ‘But I failed to talk her round to my point of view. She had a termination while I was away on business. I was devastated. Our families had to be told. My foster mother, who was never able to have a child of her own, had a nervous breakdown when she found out—she just couldn’t handle it. Lisandra’s parents were distressed but they supported their daughter’s decision because they had never in their entire lives told her that, no, she couldn’t have everything and do anything she wanted …’

‘And you?’ Erin prodded sickly, feeling guilty that she had not even suspected that a truly heartbreaking story might lie behind his divorce.

Cristo linked lean brown hands and shrugged a fatalistic broad shoulder. ‘I suppose I couldn’t handle it either. Intellectually I don’t know what Lisandra and I would have done with a child whose mother didn’t want it and resented its very existence but I still couldn’t forgive my wife for the abortion. I tried, she tried, we both tried but it was just there like an elephant in the room every time we were together. I made her feel guilty, she made me feel angry. I saw too much in her that I didn’t like and I didn’t think she would ever change, so I asked her for a divorce.’

‘I’m so sorry, Cristo … really, very sincerely sorry,’ Erin murmured shakily, a lump forming in her throat as she rested a slender hand briefly on his arm in a gesture of support. ‘That must have been a shattering experience.’

‘I only told you because I want you to understand why I can’t walk away from Lorcan and Nuala. If that’s what you’re expecting or even hoping for, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.’

Erin paled, wondering what he was telling her and fearfully insecure about what his next move might be.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CRISTO wasn’t accustomed to feeling powerless but that was exactly how he felt after his consultation with a top London lawyer.

An unmarried father, he learned at that crucial meeting, had virtually no rights over his children under English law and even a married father, lacking his wife’s support and agreement, might well have to fight through the courts to gain any access to his offspring. Furthermore he had no grounds on which to complain about any aspect of the twins’ upbringing. In spite of the fact that he had not contributed to his children’s upkeep they were currently living within the security of their mother and grandmother’s home with all their needs adequately provided for.

‘Marrying the twins’ mother is really the only remedy for a man in your position,’ he was told succinctly.

It was not good news on Cristo’s terms for he loathed any situation outside his control. The DNA testing, achieved and completed within ten days of his first meeting with Lorcan and Nuala had merely confirmed what Cristo already knew and accepted. He was a father and the twins were his flesh and blood, a connection he was incapable of ignoring or treating lightly. He could not move on with his life without them. While he knew that Erin had done her best he also recognised that the twins would require firmer boundaries before they got much older. Yet did that mean that he was to overlook the less acceptable elements in Erin’s character? A woman who had stolen from him? For the first time ever he acknowledged grudgingly that that charge did not quite add up. If Erin was mercenary why hadn’t she taken more advantage of his financial generosity while she was with him? Why on earth would a woman who craved more money have refused to accept valuable diamond jewellery from him? That made no sense whatsoever. He resolved to take a fresh look at the irregularities that had been found in the accounts of the Mobila spa during Erin’s employment there. But before the press got hold of the story—as he was convinced they inevitably would—he required a decent solution, not only to his and Erin’s current predicament but also for the future. Some arrangement that would endure for as long as the children needed their parents’ support. Recognising the direction his thoughts were taking him in, Cristo felt anger kicking in again.

On the exact same day, Erin was tackling a difficult personal matter with Sam. They were standing in his temporary office, the larger original room having been taken over by a team from Donakis Hotels, who were working to ensure a smooth changeover of ownership. The sale was complete. Sam was only still making himself available for consultation out of loyalty to his hotel group and former employees.

The older man knitted his brows, a shocked look in his blue eyes. ‘Cristo Donakis is the twins’ father?’ he repeated in astonishment.

‘I felt I should mention it. My mother has been telling people and I wanted you to hear it from me, rather than as a piece of gossip,’ Erin admitted stiffly.

‘But when you met here neither of you even admitted that you knew each other.’

‘I hadn’t seen Cristo since we broke up and my natural inclination was to keep my personal life private.’

Sam Morton dealt her a hurt look that made her flush with discomfiture. ‘Even from me?’

‘When I walked into your office that day and saw Cristo standing there it was such a shock that I wasn’t exactly thinking straight,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I should have come clean afterwards but it was very awkward.’

‘No, you’re quite right. Your private life should be private. I assume it was Cristo you were working for in London?’

Erin nodded. ‘I resigned when we split up.’

‘I should have made that connection from your original CV. But Donakis let you down badly when you were pregnant,’ Sam completed drily.

‘There was a misunderstanding,’ Erin declared, her eyes evasive. ‘Cristo had no idea I was pregnant and there was no further communication between us.’

‘But you tried very hard to get in touch with him,’ Sam reminded her.

‘It was just one of those things, Sam.’

Sam’s nostrils flared. ‘So, he’s forgiven for putting you through hell.’

‘It’s not like that. Cristo knows about the children now and we’re trying to work through that as best we can.’

‘Are you getting involved with him again? No, scratch that!’ Sam advised abruptly. ‘I have no right to pry.’

Erin thought about Italy and screened her expressive eyes. ‘I don’t know how to answer that question—it’s complicated?’ she joked uneasily.

‘I hope it’s the right thing for you. I’d hate to see you unhappy again,’ Sam pronounced feelingly. ‘You gave Donakis one chance. Who’s to say he deserves another?’

Well, her mother for one thing, Erin reflected wryly as she caught up with her emails ten minutes later. In her mother’s eyes, Cristo had gone from being the most reviled womanising male in Europe to being a positive favourite. And all within the unlikely space of a mere ten days! His regular visits, his interest in the twins, his good manners, his tactful ability to defer to her mother’s greater knowledge when it came to the children, his insistence that Deidre Turner join them when they went out to eat had all had an effect. Cristo had shone like a star at every opportunity and was piling up brownie points like a miser with a barn full of treasure chests. Erin, on the other hand, was finding the new order confusing and hard to adapt to.

Cristo was no longer her lover. That weekend in Italy, that single night of passion, did in retrospect seem more like the product of her imagination than anything that had actually happened. Now Cristo visited their home to see Lorcan and Nuala and stayed in one of his newly acquired hotels when he was in the area. He was wary and deep down inside that fact hurt Erin. She could remember another Cristo, a guy who had raced through the door to greet her eagerly when he’d been away for a while, unashamedly passionate, openly demonstrative, not picking his words, not hiding behind caution. This new Cristo was older and much cooler. He was polite, even considerate, but reserved when it came to more personal stuff. Even the confidences he had unexpectedly shared with Erin in the park still troubled her.

His wife’s termination had deeply wounded Cristo and possibly made him think more deeply than many men about what a child might mean to him. Now Erin was seeing the results of that more solicitous outlook in practice, for Cristo undoubtedly wanted to do as much as possible to help her with their children. When he visited, he played with them, took them out with Erin in tow and had even helped to bathe them one evening after Erin fell asleep on the sofa after work. He was demonstrating that he could be a hands-on father and the kids were already very partial to his more energetic presence. Erin was impressed but more than a little concerned as to where all this surprising attention was likely to lead.

What did Cristo really want from her? Acceptance of his role? Could it be that simple? Could Cristo, for possibly the very first time in his life, be playing it straight? Or was there a darker, more devious plan somewhere in the back of his mind? Cristo Donakis did not dance to other people’s tunes. He always had an agenda. Unfortunately for Erin she was unable to work out what that agenda might be and what it might entail for her and her children. In addition she was especially worried that Cristo still harboured serious doubts about her honesty. It was time she tackled Sally Jennings, she reflected ruefully. Somehow she had to prove her innocence of theft. But would Sally even agree to speak to her? It occurred to her that it might well be wiser to arrive to see Sally at Cristo’s flagship London spa without a prior announcement of her intent. She decided to take a day’s leave and tackle Sally. Would she get anywhere? She didn’t know but it was currently the only idea she could come up with.

The phone by her bed rang at six the following morning and, ruefully knuckling the sleep from her eyes, Erin sat up in bed. ‘Yes?’

It was Cristo. ‘Erin?’

‘Why are you waking me up at this time of the morning?’

‘A deputy editor I’m friendly with has just called me with a tip-off. Apparently there’s a story in the pipeline about you, me and the twins. The publication he named is particularly sleazy so I don’t think the article will contain anything that your family or mine would want to read.’

Erin’s face froze. ‘But why? Who on earth would be interested in reading about us?’

‘Erin …’ Cristo sighed, mustering patience for he was more accustomed to dealing with people who took tabloid attention in their stride and even courted it for the sake of their careers or social status. ‘I’m a very wealthy man, recently divorced …’

Lorcan darted through the bedroom door, scrambled under the duvet with his mother and tucked cold feet against her slim thighs. His sister was only a few steps behind him.

Erin was squashed up against the wall as Nuala joined them in the bed. ‘If it’s true, if there is going to be a story, there’s nothing we can do to prevent it.’

‘Yes, there is,’ Cristo contradicted. ‘I can get you and the children out of that house and put you somewhere the paparazzi can’t get near you for a photo opportunity. Then I can organise a PR announcement concerning my new status as a father and, once that’s done, the press will lose interest.’

Erin breathed in deep. She certainly didn’t fancy the press on her doorstep, but she was much inclined to think that he was taking the matter too seriously. ‘Cristo, I have a job. I can’t just drop everything and disappear.’

‘Of course you can. You work for me now,’ he reminded her. ‘Pack. I’ll make the arrangements. A car will pick you up to take you to the airport.’

‘But I haven’t agreed yet.’

‘I will do whatever it takes to protect you and the twins from adverse publicity,’ Cristo cut in forcefully, exasperation lending his dark deep drawl a rougher edge. ‘I don’t want some innuendo-laden piece appearing in print about us.’