Hot Picks: Exotic Propositions

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.’

Rhiannon pressed Annabel to her, inhaled her clean, innocent scent. She felt as if she’d just received an unexpected glimpse into Lukas’s mind, perhaps even into his heart.

Who were the people he was talking about? Whose messes had he cleaned up? She could hardly ask, and she doubted Lukas would volunteer answers anyway. Yet it provided a flickering of understanding, even compassion, of why he rated responsibility so highly.

Annabel grizzled, and Rhiannon knew she needed a bottle and a nap. She headed upstairs, mind and heart still whirling.

Several hours later Annabel was fed and bathed, having spent an exhausting and enjoyable afternoon playing with her new toys. Rhiannon gave her a bottle before settling her in the new cot—not a lightweight travel one, but a sturdy pine frame bed, with soft pink blankets.

Rhiannon knew some assistant must have picked out the clothes and toys for them. All Lukas had had to do was issue a terse order over the phone. It had been a responsibility to him, a duty fulfilled.

Yet he’d wanted to…

She slipped on the white blouse and turquoise trousers, admiring the silkiness of the material, the way the clothes skimmed her figure, highlighted what slight curves she had without clinging or revealing.

Her hair fell in its usual curls around her face, wild and untamed, but her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed with…what? Nervousness? Expectation?

Excitement.

Lukas was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled when he saw how she was dressed—a smile that for one soul-splitting second lit his eyes with feral possession and made both Rhiannon’s heart and her step stumble.

She grasped the wrought-iron banister, her fingers curling around it for balance.

His smile turned polite, a courtesy, and he murmured, ‘I like that outfit on you.’

‘Someone who works for you has good taste,’ Rhiannon quipped, to give herself time to recover from that one brief, scorching look.

Lukas raised his eyebrows. ‘Why do you think I hired someone to buy you clothes?’

Rhiannon checked herself. ‘Didn’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I chose all the things myself, on the internet, and had them flown over.’

Was he teasing? A faint blush stole across her cheeks, rendered her speechless. The idea that Lukas himself had picked out the clothes, decided what she would like, what she would look good in, knew her size—it was so personal, so intimate…The thought burned her as much as his touches had.

He watched her with dark, knowing eyes—eyes that knew how discomfited she was, and perhaps enjoyed it.

He said nothing, merely took her firmly by the elbow, his hand dry and warm, and led her into the dining room.

Theo stood by his chair as they entered, stiff and straight, his shoulders thrown back, a haughty look hardening his features.

Rhiannon didn’t take it to heart. She knew it was not directed towards her, but was rather a defence against compassion or, worse, pity.

She smiled at the older man. He looked away.

The meal Adeia served was again delicious, and Rhiannon found she could almost relax. Theo said little, but Lukas kept up a flow of conversation about the islands, Athens, business. All fairly innocent, innocuous topics that made Rhiannon drop her guard for one treacherous moment.

Then a phone rang, trilled against Lukas’s chest, and he slipped a mobile from his breast pocket. ‘Excuse me…Hello?’ His face darkened and he stood, turning away from Rhiannon. He spoke in rapid Greek before covering the mouthpiece of the little phone and saying, ‘I need to take this privately. I beg your pardon.’

Rhiannon watched him go, her heart starting a slow, heavy thud.

Theo spoke what was already screaming through her own mind.

‘That will be Christos.’

‘Perhaps now,’ Rhiannon said, as steadily as she could, ‘we will get to the bottom of this.’

Theo’s eyes glittered, and he said the one word with effort. ‘Perhaps.’

The room was silent, heavy with tense expectation. Rhiannon couldn’t eat, couldn’t even pretend to pick at her food. Adeia cleared the plates and brought in the little cups of thick black coffee that burned down Rhiannon’s throat like acid.

Still Lukas did not come.

What was going on? What was being said?

And, most importantly, what was going to happen?

Theo watched her, his eyes bright. Rhiannon tried not to let his stare unnerve her, even though her throat was dry, and she felt as if she would choke on her own words.

Finally Lukas returned, his face blank. ‘Rhiannon, may I speak with you? In the study.’

‘You can say it here,’ Theo protested, his tone angry even though his words were halting. ‘Is Christos the father?’

‘I will speak to Rhiannon first. Excuse us, Papa.’

Woodenly Rhiannon followed him to a dark, wood-panelled room, with bookshelves lining all the walls except for a picture window that looked out directly onto a rocky outcropping, an unforgiving line of shore.

‘That was Christos on your phone, wasn’t it?’ she said into the silence. ‘Did he say…?’

‘Yes, he did.’ Lukas thrust his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘He admitted everything. Meeting Leanne, using my name, taking her to Naxos. He repeated the story you told me almost exactly, and I hadn’t even told him what you’d said.’

‘It’s not as if he would make it up,’ Rhiannon said, her voice sounding stilted, unnatural. Why did this hurt? she wondered. It was no more than either of them had expected.

‘I wouldn’t put anything past Christos. He was adamant, in fact, that he had used protection, but mistakes can happen.’

‘Annabel is not a mistake!’ Rhiannon looked up, a fierce golden light in her eyes. She realised she was trembling.

‘Not to you, perhaps,’ Lukas agreed. ‘But to Christos she is nothing more than that. As soon as possible I will begin adoption proceedings. Christos is delighted with the solution.’ His mouth tightened briefly, and Rhiannon had a flickering of perception that Christos was not the kind of person who expressed his delight. No doubt he’d expected Lukas to take care of his child…his bastard. Thought it was Lukas’s responsibility, as Lukas himself did.

‘Obviously such action will require help on your part. As Annabel’s current legal guardian, you will have to go through court to sign such rights over to me.’

Rhiannon stiffened. ‘I told you, I’m staying in her life. I’m not signing anything over.’

Lukas sighed. ‘Rhiannon, the last thing I want is a custody case. But Annabel is my great-niece—my blood relation.’

‘Blood is so important to you?’

‘Of course it is!’

Rhiannon shook her head, refusing to admit just how backed into a corner she was. ‘Christos hasn’t taken a paternity test yet—’

‘No, but it is a mere formality now. He will take one when he returns to Athens.’

‘Then we have a little time to work something out,’ Rhiannon said. She drew herself up, met his gaze full-on. ‘Because I don’t want a court case either, Lukas, but I’m not bowing out simply because you feel you have more rights. Leanne didn’t come to you when she thought you were the father. She came to me. That says something.’

‘Oh?’ Lukas was still—dangerously so. Rhiannon already knew what ran deep beneath those still waters. His eyes were a lethal silver, his expression like that of a predator right before it snapped open its jaws, devoured its prey. ‘What does it say to you?’

‘That Leanne trusted me to love Annabel.’

‘Yet you were going to give her away.’

She refused to be drawn. ‘I’ve already explained why I was prepared to do that—and, as I’ve said, things are different now. I’m staying.’

Lukas raised his eyebrows. ‘For ever?’

Rhiannon swallowed. For ever was a long time. Yet she could hardly walk away when Annabel was older and more attached to her. She could hardly walk away at all.

‘You haven’t thought this through, have you, Rhiannon?’ Lukas jeered softly. ‘You’re full of big ideas about loving Annabel, but you’re not quite sure how it works out in the details. The duties.’

‘I…’

‘Because if you want to be her mother, if you want to love her, then you have to stay. You’ll have to make your home in Greece. You’ll have to live in the Petrakides pocket. You’ll have to—’ he finished with heavy emphasis ‘—become my responsibility…if I’m prepared to accept it.’

Rhiannon’s mouth opened, and after a moment of silent struggling she finally choked out, ‘I will never, ever, be someone’s responsibility again.’

‘It’s not your choice.’

‘It is my choice,’ she countered fiercely. ‘And just because you have an overdeveloped sense of what you’re required to do in life it doesn’t mean I have to fall neatly in with those plans! I’ll stay in Annabel’s life, but on my own terms, and not in “the Petrakides pocket”, as you so snidely put it! I will provide for myself, live by myself, be completely independent…’ She trailed off, running out of self-righteous steam at his look of blatant disbelief.

‘That,’ he said with quiet, final derision, ‘is not going to happen. Do you actually think for one second that you can set up house somewhere and have me visit at weekends? My dreaded sense of duty requires a bit more action than that.’

Rhiannon pushed her hands through her hair. She wanted to slow down her whirling mind—knew she couldn’t think through real solutions when her head felt as if it was spinning and her heart burned within her. ‘I could be her nanny…’

‘That is not your decision to make.’

‘You can’t cut me out of her life like this!’ Rhiannon cried, her voice jagged, desperate.

‘I can do whatever I want,’ Lukas said bluntly. ‘If you want to drag this through court, you can. But you will be bankrupted and vilified in the process. I will win any case, Rhiannon. Be assured.’

‘Would you be so cruel?’ she whispered, and he shrugged.

‘I have Annabel’s best interests at heart. I want to provide her with a secure, stable environment, and frankly I’m not sure you fit into that picture.’

Rhiannon shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving until Christos takes the paternity test. We have some time to think of a plan that is beneficial to everyone.’

Lukas nodded brusquely, his face tight. ‘Very well. We can speak about this later.’

Rhiannon nodded. She would have to think of a better game plan—a clearer idea of just how she could remain in Annabel’s life without being beholden to Lukas Petrakides. How he would let her.

Right now, it seemed impossible.

She opened the study door, saw Theo outside, and realised he’d probably heard every word. She couldn’t summon enough emotional energy to care. Jerking her head in a nod of goodnight, she walked stiffly out of the study and up the stairs.

In her room Annabel was sleeping soundly, and Rhiannon slipped out of the silky clothes and into her old pyjamas—a tee-shirt and pair of boxer shorts. A silky nightgown, modest and yet achingly sensual, had been included in the box of clothes, but she couldn’t wear something so intimate. Not if Lukas had had anything to do with the choosing.

Lukas. She couldn’t escape him, couldn’t run from the way he affected her. Angered her. And yet he made her ache, need. Wonder, want.

Want. Why couldn’t Lukas let himself want anything? What a cold existence—to deny yourself any pleasure simply because it was pleasing to you…made you happy. Was that why he hadn’t slept with a woman for two years?

There had to be a lot of sexual repression going on there. Rhiannon smothered a rueful smile. If anyone was sexually repressed, it was her. One burning look from Lukas and she was on fire. He moved towards her and she melted. She’d never reacted to any man like that. She’d never had the chance.

Like Lukas, she acknowledged, she hadn’t given in to desire. Hadn’t allowed herself to want. There had been no time, no opportunity. And duty to her parents had bound her with loveless cords.

Unlike Lukas, she wanted love…not duty. She wanted more.

Rhiannon watched the moon sift silver patterns over the floor, listened to Annabel’s soft breathy sighs of sleep, and felt miles from such relaxation herself.

Her stomach growled, and she realised that she’d eaten hardly anything at dinner.

She was hungry.

She slipped out of bed, opened her door as quietly as possible. It had to be past midnight. The house was quiet and still. Surely no one would notice—no one would mind—if she slipped down to the kitchen and grabbed a roll?

She tiptoed down the hallway, feeling strangely guilty. She stopped when she heard music.

It was coming from downstairs, floating from behind the closed door of the lounge, and it was haunting. Sad, melodious, beautiful.

Rhiannon walked downstairs, stood in front of the door, and listened. The music spoke to her soul and made her ache. Who was playing?

Stealthily, she pushed the door with the tips of her fingers and peeked in.

Lukas was at the piano, absorbed in his playing. His long, lean fingers moved gracefully over the keys, evoking that sound, that glorious emotion.

Rhiannon didn’t know if she’d made a noise, or if the door had creaked, or if perhaps Lukas had just sensed her, but he looked up, his face freezing into a blank mask, his hands stilling on the keys.

‘No…don’t stop. It’s beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’

She knew that polite, impersonal tone. Knew it and hated it. She took a step into the room. ‘I didn’t realise you played the piano.’

‘Not many people do.’

Rhiannon bit her lip. Something about that music, that soulful melody, made her want to breach his defences, to break that blank mask and find the man living, breathing, wanting underneath. ‘Did you take lessons when you were a child?’

‘No.’ Lukas eased the cover over the keys. ‘I taught myself.’

Rhiannon gasped in surprise; she couldn’t help it. Anyone who played like that had to have natural talent, but to teach himself…? He must have been a prodigy.

‘You’re surprised,’ Lukas remarked with a sharp little laugh. ‘No doubt you think such a cold, restrained man shouldn’t be able to play beautiful music.’

‘Lukas…’ Rhiannon didn’t know what to say—hadn’t expected him to remember her words from earlier. Hadn’t thought they might hurt him. ‘I always wanted to learn to play the piano,’ she admitted.

‘Did you have lessons?’

She shook her head, a sudden lump in her throat. She thought of the dusty piano in the front room of her parents’ house, never touched, never played. It had been strictly off-limits to her.

Lukas watched her for a moment, his eyes dark, fathomless, then he slid over on the piano bench and lifted the cover up again. ‘Come here.’

‘Wh…what?’

He patted the seat next to him. ‘Your first lesson.’

Surprised, touched, Rhiannon moved forward. She sat next to him, thigh to thigh, creating a spark of awareness deep within her.

‘Here.’ He placed her hands on the keys, then laid his own hands gently on top. ‘This is an E.’ He plucked one note, moving her own fingers. ‘And this is a D.’ He continued playing notes, moving her fingers, until Rhiannon recognised the tune.

‘“Mary Had A Little Lamb”!’

He smiled, a flash of whiteness. ‘You need to start somewhere.’

‘Yes…’ She was suddenly achingly conscious of his hands on hers, the closeness of their bodies, the intimacy of the moment. Her heart began to thud, desire pooled in her middle, and she could only sit there helpless. Shameless.

‘Why did you come down here?’ Lukas asked, breaking the moment.

‘I was hungry,’ Rhiannon admitted. ‘I didn’t eat much at dinner, and then I heard…’

‘Then you should go to the kitchen.’ He rose from the piano bench. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

She followed him into the wide, friendly room at the back of the villa, its stainless steel counter-tops and appliances softened by the colourful prints on the wall and the scrubbed pine table.

Lukas opened the refrigerator. ‘What would you like?’ he asked over his shoulder. ‘Bread, salad, or…?’ His smile glinted with sudden mischief as he brought out a plate. ‘The nectar of the gods?’

He proffered a tray holding a large slice of baklava, the traditional Greek dessert, dripping with nuts and honey. Rhiannon’s mouth watered.

‘Definitely the nectar,’ she said, and, smiling as if he had expected no less, Lukas cut her a generous slice.

She’d thought he would give it to her on a plate, with a fork. Instead he offered it to her from his own hand, lifting the filo pastry to her lips for her to take a bite.

There was a challenge in his eyes, heady, seductive, and the atmosphere changed. Just as it had before, the simple exchange turned into something potent, filled with possibilities both wonderful and terrifying.

No. This time she would not play his game. He wanted her to literally eat from his hand, and she would not do it. She knew how this ended—had experienced it before—with him thrusting her away.

She wasn’t going to give herself the chance to be rejected. Again.

‘Thank you.’ She took the baklava from his hand and took a bite.

Lukas watched, one hip braced against the counter-top, his eyes following her movements as she self-consciously tried to eat the dessert.

Baklava was not an easy thing to eat at the best of times, and it was incredibly difficult when you had a spectator. Rhiannon was conscious of the flakes of pastry on her lips, the drip of honey on her chin.

Lukas reached out, touched the drip on her chin and licked his thumb. ‘Sweet.’

‘Don’t.’

He raised his eyebrows, his gaze still heavy lidded, and waited.

‘Don’t,’ she repeated, her voice a raw whisper. She set the baklava on the counter, wiped the honey from her mouth. ‘You don’t even want to. You don’t even like me…’

Lukas’s eyes flared with startled awareness. ‘Why do you think I don’t like you?’ he murmured, and before Rhiannon could protest he was drawing her to him, his hands cupping her face, her head tilted back to meet his own regretful gaze. ‘I fight with myself every day,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to want you because of me, not because of you. Never because of you.’ His lips were inches from hers. ‘You drive me wild, Rhiannon. When I’m near you I can’t think. I can only…’ his voice came out in a jagged rasping of sound ‘…want.’