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Rhiannon gazed down at her sleeping form with a mixture of longing and desperation. What now? What future could they have? What future could she offer this child?
‘I tried,’ she whispered as she gently touched one chubby fist. ‘I really tried.’
‘Whose child is that really, Miss Davies?’
The harsh voice had her whirling around. Lukas stood in the doorway, his face composed, closed. Cold.
‘How did you get in?’ she demanded, and he shrugged.
‘I own the hotel, Miss Davies. I can enter whichever room I please.’
‘It’s a violation of privacy—’
‘If anyone is going to speak of violation, it should be me,’ he replied. ‘Whose child is that?’
‘Not yours, apparently,’ Rhiannon snapped. ‘And you don’t need to know anything else. You’re not involved, Mr. Petrakides, as you were kind enough to remind me.’ She turned away, stuffing her belongings into the cheap suitcase.
He watched, nonplussed. Rhiannon was conscious of the mess of the room: the spill of cosmetics by the bathroom sink, a bra hanging on the back of the chair. She grabbed the garment and stuffed it in the bag, saw how Lukas’s lips quirked in a rueful smile.
She glared at him. ‘Why are you here?’
In response he moved closer to the cot and studied Annabel.
‘This Leanne is the mother?’ he asked after a moment.
‘I told you she was!’ Rhiannon replied in exasperation. What was he playing at? Why did he care now?
‘And you really believed her?’ Lukas continued slowly. ‘That she had an affair…with me?’
Rhiannon paused. He sounded different—as if he might believe she actually wasn’t in on the so-called scam. ‘She had no reason to lie,’ she said after a moment. In her mind she could picture Leanne’s wasted body, hear the cough that had racked her thin frame.
‘Didn’t she?’ There was a cynical edge to his voice that Rhiannon didn’t like. ‘Surely,’ he continued, turning away from Annabel, ‘you must realise that she was hoping for this exact situation? Even if I didn’t acknowledge the child—which she no doubt expects—I might be willing to cut a generous cheque to keep this unfortunate episode from reaching the press. I guard my reputation very closely, Miss Davies, as you undoubtedly know. Where is this Leanne now? Waiting nearby? Or back in Wales?’
Rhiannon could only stare, her mind whirling at the bleak, base picture he’d painted.
‘No, she’s not waiting for anything,’ she said finally, unable to meet his incredulous, derisive look. ‘She’s dead.’
The events of the last two weeks danced crazily before her eyes—Leanne’s arrival on her doorstep, her rapid descent to death, guardianship thrust upon Rhiannon without any warning. How could she explain such a chain of fantastic events to Lukas Petrakides? To anyone? It would sound made up; he wouldn’t believe her. He would think it was just part of some nefarious blackmailing scheme.
She let out a wild hiccup of laughter, her arms wrapping around herself as a matter of self-protection. Self-denial.
Lukas muttered something under his breath, then moved towards her. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Before Rhiannon could protest, he pushed her onto the edge of the bed. His hands burned her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. She felt their warmth and strength like a brand.
‘You’re in shock,’ he stated flatly, rummaging in the room’s minibar and coming up with a small plastic bottle filled with a clear liquid.
‘I’m not in shock,’ she protested, even as her insides wobbled and rebelled. ‘I’m…I’m sad.’ She knew it sounded pathetic; she could tell Lukas thought so too by the way he raked her with one uncomprehending glance.
He wouldn’t understand, of course. He didn’t care about Annabel, and he probably wondered why she seemed to. Rhiannon closed her eyes.
She’d only known the baby two weeks. She still hadn’t quite figured out how to hold her, and bottle feedings were awkward. The nappies she put on fell off half of the time. She wasn’t used to infants, to their noise and dribble. Yet she loved her. At least, she knew she would love her, if she was given the chance.
If she let herself have the chance.
She’d known from the moment Leanne named Lukas Petrakides as the father that she would give Annabel up if she needed to. If he wanted her to.
And she’d hoped he would…for Annabel’s sake. Annabel’s happiness.
Lukas poured the liquid into a glass and put it into her hand. Her fingers closed around it and she opened her eyes.
‘Drink.’
She squinted dubiously at the glass and drank. Only to promptly splutter it all over the carpet—and Lukas’s shoes.
‘What is that stuff?’ she exclaimed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her throat burned all the way to her gut, which churned in rebellion.
‘Brandy. You’ve never had it, I take it?’
‘No.’ Rhiannon gazed up at him resentfully. ‘You could have warned me.’
Lukas took out a handkerchief and handed it to her. ‘It was for the shock.’
‘I told you I wasn’t in shock!’
‘No? You just looked as if you were about to faint.’
‘Thanks very much!’ Rhiannon’s eyes blazed even as hectic, humiliated colour flushed her face. She lowered her voice for Annabel’s sake, and it came out in a resentful hiss. ‘I admit the last fortnight has been a bit crazy. I have every right to look pale.’
She struggled upwards, for control, only to have him place his hands on her shoulders and push her gently, firmly back down onto the bed.
‘Sit down.’
His palms were flat against her breastbone, his fingers curling around her shoulders. Suddenly everything was different. The hostility in the room was replaced with a tension of a completely different kind.
Desire.
Rhiannon gasped at his sudden touch, at the rush of surprised feeling it caused within her.
Lukas’s mouth flickered in a smile—a sardonic, knowing curve of his lips. His head was bent towards hers, his face inches from her own. Her eyes traced the hard line of his mouth, a mouth with lips as full and soft and kissable as an angel’s.
Some angel. Lukas Petrakides, with his dark hair and countenance, looked more like a demon than a cherub. But he was a handsome devil at that. And dangerous.
Her whole body burned with awareness of this man—his body, his presence, his scent. He smelled of pine and soap, a simple fragrance that made her inhale. Ache. Want.
He looked down at her for a moment, regret and wonder chasing across his face, darkening his eyes to iron. His hands were still on her shoulders, tantalisingly close to her breasts, which seemed to ache and strain towards him, towards his touch.
What would it be like to kiss him? To feel those sculpted lips against hers, to caress that lean jaw? Rhiannon’s face flamed. She was sure her thoughts and her desire were obvious. She could feel the hunger in her own eyes.
She tried to look away. And failed.
This was about Annabel.
Her mind screeched a halt to her careening heart, and she dragged in a desperate breath.
This wasn’t about her—her need to be touched. Loved.
‘No…’ It came out as a shaky whisper, a word that begged to be disbelieved. ‘Don’t.’
Lukas stilled, then dropped his hands from her shoulders.
Rhiannon felt bereft, empty. Stupid. A moment of desire, intense as it was, was only that. A moment.
A connection. He stood up, raked a hand through his hair. The room was silent save for their breathing, uneven and ragged, and Annabel’s little sighs.
She hiccupped in her sleep, and Lukas turned, startled. He’d forgotten the baby—as she had, for one damning moment.
‘We don’t want to wake her up,’ he said after a moment. ‘Come outside.’ He opened the sliding glass door that led outside.
The beach in front of the hotel room was private, separate from the crowded public area and blissfully quiet.
Rhiannon kicked off her heels and dug her toes in the cool, white sand. The sun was starting to sink in an azure sky, a blazing trail of light shimmering on the surface of the water.
It was the late afternoon of a day that had gone on for ever.
‘What has happened in the last fortnight?’ Lukas finally asked, his face averted.
She shook her head, tried to focus. ‘Leanne—Annabel’s mother—was a childhood friend of mine,’ she began stiltedly, words and phrases whirling through her mind. None seemed to fit, to explain the sheer impossibility and desperation of Leanne’s situation. Of her own situation. Where to begin? How to explain?
Why would he care?
Why had he come back?
‘And?’ Lukas prompted, his voice edged with a bite of impatience. His hands were on his hips, his powerful shoulders thrown back, grey eyes assessing. Calculating.
Rhiannon looked up; her vision was blurred. She blinked quickly, almost wanting another sip of that terrible brandy to steady her nerves. Shock them into numbness, at least.
‘She came to me after she’d been diagnosed with lung cancer and asked me to be Annabel’s guardian. She only had a few weeks to live. She’d lived hard already, so she didn’t seem that surprised. She told me she’d never expected to live long.’
‘A waste of a life.’ It was a brutal, if accurate, assessment.
‘To be fair to Leanne,’ Rhiannon said quietly, ‘she didn’t have much to live for. She was a foster child, shipped from one family to the next. She’d always been a bit wild, and when she came to live in our little town in Wales, well…’ She shrugged. ‘There wasn’t much room for a girl like Leanne. People tried to reach out to her at first, but I don’t…I don’t think she understood how to accept love. She pushed everyone away, grew wilder and wilder, and eventually no one wanted her around any more.’
‘Yet you were her friend?’
‘Yes…but not a very good one.’ Rhiannon felt a familiar pang of guilt deep inside. She could have done more, helped more. Yet the needs of her own family had taken precedence; they always had. ‘We lost touch after school,’ she admitted, after a moment when they had both seemed lost in their own separate thoughts. ‘I never bothered to try and reconnect.’
‘Yet she came to you when she was dying, to care for her child?’ Lukas raised an eyebrow in obvious scepticism.
‘I was the only person she trusted enough to care for Annabel,’ Rhiannon said simply. ‘There was no one else. There never had been.’ The realisation made her ache. It was also the leaden weight of responsibility that rested heavily on her shoulders, her heart.
She would not let Leanne down.
She would not let Annabel down.
She saw Lukas’s eyes narrow, his mouth tighten, and realised with an uncomfortable twinge that she was wasting his time. He should be at the reception, meeting and greeting, drinking and laughing.
Flirting.
‘But this has nothing to do with you,’ she said. ‘As you have already made abundantly clear.’ She shook her head. ‘Why are you here?’
Lukas was silent for a moment, his eyes, his face, his tone all hard. Dark. ‘Because I’m afraid it may have something to do with me,’ he said finally, ‘after all.’
‘What? Are you saying…you did…?’
‘No, of course not.’ Lukas waved a hand in impatient dismissal. ‘I don’t lie, Miss Davies.’
‘Neither do I,’ Rhiannon flashed, but he merely flung out one hand—an imperious command for her to still her words, her movements.
His fingers, she saw, were long, lean and brown, tapering to clean, square nails. It was a hand that radiated both strength and grace.
She gave herself a mental shake; it was just a hand.
Why did he affect her so much? Why did she let him?
Was she just so desperate for someone—anyone—to want her? To want Annabel.
‘I’d like you to tell me how Leanne came to mention my name. After the little stunt you pulled at the reception, the tabloids will be filled with stories about my secret love-child.’ His face twisted in a grimace, and Rhiannon flinched. ‘I want to know all the facts.’
‘I wouldn’t have said anything if you’d listened,’ Rhiannon snapped, unrepentant. ‘Instead of assuming some sordid blackmail story—’
‘Just tell me, Miss Davies.’ He spoke coldly, and Rhiannon realised that even though he’d returned, even though he’d shown a moment of compassion, of understanding, he still didn’t believe her. Didn’t trust her.
She drew in a wavering breath. ‘I told you. She said she met you at a club in London. You took her to Naxos. To be honest…’ She looked up at him with frank eyes. ‘The man she described was younger than you are—a bit more…debonair, I suppose.’
He raised his eyebrows, his mouth curving in mock outrage. ‘You don’t think I’m debonair?’
The humour in his voice, in his eyes, surprised her. Warmed her. Rhiannon found she was smiling back in wry apology. It felt good to smile. It eased the pain in her heart. ‘It’s not that…’ She could hardly explain the difference between the man before her and the man Leanne had described.
Her friend’s glowing phrases had been indications to Rhiannon of a player—a man who lived life full and hard, just as Leanne had. The descriptions of Lukas Petrakides in the press hadn’t matched up, but Rhiannon had been prepared to believe that the man with the sterling reputation had enjoyed one moment—well, one weekend—of weakness. Of pleasure.
She hadn’t blamed him for it. It had made him seem more human. More approachable.
‘She discovered she was pregnant several weeks later,’ she finished. ‘By that time she’d lost contact with you. She realised it had only been a weekend fling.’
‘Something she was used to, apparently?’
‘Don’t judge her!’ Rhiannon’s eyes flashed angry amber as she looked up at him. ‘You never knew her, and you don’t know what it’s like to live a life where no one cares what happens to you. Leanne had no one. No one,’ she emphasised. ‘She was just looking for a little love.’
‘And she found a little,’ Lukas agreed tersely. ‘Did she try to get in touch with the father?’
She shook her head. ‘No, she didn’t see the point. She was sad, of course, but pragmatic enough to realise that a man like—like you wouldn’t be interested in supporting her or her illegitimate child.’
‘Surely she could have used the money?’
Rhiannon shrugged. ‘She was proud, in her own way. It had been clear from the outset that it was a weekend fling. I suppose,’ she added slowly, ‘she didn’t want to be rejected by someone…again. At least this was on her own terms.’
Pity flickered across his face, shadowed his eyes. ‘A sad life,’ he said quietly, and Rhiannon nodded, her throat tight.
‘Yes.’
‘So Annabel’s own mother didn’t bother notifying the father of her child, but you did?’
Rhiannon met his gaze directly. ‘Yes.’
‘Why come all this way? Why not call?’
‘I tried. Your receptionist led me to believe you wouldn’t get my messages. And you didn’t, did you?’
Lukas shrugged. ‘I’m an important man, Miss Davies. I receive too many messages, solicitations.’
‘No doubt.’ She didn’t bother to hide the contempt in her voice. ‘Too important to consider your own daughter.’
‘She’s not mine.’
‘Then why are you here?’ Rhiannon demanded. ‘Why did you come back? Did you suddenly conveniently remember that you did go to Naxos after all?’
His eyes blazed silver—an electric look that sizzled between them so that Rhiannon took an involuntary step back.
‘I told you I did not lie.’
Rhiannon believed him. So why was he here? What did he want?
‘You took the chance,’ Lukas continued, ‘that I would want to know this child, and no doubt support it.’
‘I didn’t come here for money,’ Rhiannon snapped. ‘As I believe I’ve said before.’
‘Not blackmail money,’ Lukas replied, unfazed by her anger. ‘Maintenance. If this Annabel were indeed my child, you would certainly be within your rights to think that I would support her financially.’
Rhiannon was disconcerted by his flat, businesslike tone. Was it all about money to people like him? ‘That’s true,’ she agreed carefully. ‘But that isn’t why I came. If I’d just wanted money I would have filed a court order. I came because I believe children should know their parents. If there was any chance you might love your daughter—that you might want her…’ Her voice wavered dangerously and she gulped back the emotion that threatened to rise up in a tide of regret and sorrow. ‘I had to take that chance.’ She didn’t want to reveal so much to Lukas, to a man who regarded her as if she were a problem to be resolved, an annoyance to be dealt with.
Lukas stared at her, his eyes narrowed, yet filled with the cold light of comprehension. He looked as though he’d finally figured it out, and he scorned the knowledge.
‘You didn’t come for money,’ he said slowly, almost to himself. ‘You came for freedom.’
‘I told you—’
‘To give this baby away,’ he finished flatly, and every word was a condemnation, a judgement.
‘I want to do what’s best for Annabel!’ Rhiannon protested, her voice turning shrill. ‘Whatever that is.’
‘A convenient excuse,’ he dismissed.
Rhiannon clenched her fists, fury boiling through her. Yet mixed with it was guilt. There was a shred of truth in Lukas’s assessment. She had been prepared to give Annabel up…but only because it was the right thing to do.
It had to be.
‘There’s no need for this,’ she said in a steely voice. ‘So why don’t you just go? And so will I.’ She turned back to the sliding glass door.
‘No one is going anywhere.’
The command was barked out so harshly that Rhiannon stopped, stiffened from shock. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You will not go,’ Lukas told her shortly. ‘This matter has not been resolved.’
‘This matter,’ Rhiannon retorted, ‘has nothing to do with you!’
‘It has everything to do with me,’ he replied grimly, ‘since you have involved me in such a public way. You won’t leave until I’ve had some answers.’ He paused, reining in his temper with obvious effort. ‘Answers you’ve been looking for too, perhaps?’
Rhiannon glared at him, but she didn’t move. He was right, she knew. He was involved now, and that was her fault. She owed him a few more minutes of her time at least.
‘Why do you think your friend lied?’ he asked abruptly.
Rhiannon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t think she had lied—she’d no reason. She was dying. I thought she’d want me to know Annabel’s father, even if she never intended for me to get in touch with him.’
‘She told you not to?’
‘No, she didn’t say anything about that. She just…’ She swallowed, forced herself to continue. ‘She just asked me to care for her. Love her.’ Her throat ached and she looked down.
‘A mother’s dying request?’
Rhiannon couldn’t tell if he was being snide or not. She gulped. ‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘She had nothing to gain by lying. I honestly think she believed she was with Lukas Petrakides…with you.’
Lukas stiffened, his expression becoming like that of a predator that had scented danger. There was no fear, only awareness.
‘But we both know it wasn’t me.’ His mouth twisted wryly, but there was a hard edge of bitter realisation in his eyes. ‘So it had to have been someone else…someone who told her my name.’
Rhiannon shook her head in confusion. ‘Who would do that?’
Lukas muttered an expletive in Greek under his breath. ‘I should have considered it,’ he said, his face hardening into resolve. ‘He’s done it before.’
Rhiannon felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice. She didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to cross over. She just wanted to tiptoe quietly away.
‘Who are you talking about?’ she asked faintly, and when Lukas met her gaze his face was full of grim realisation.
‘My nephew.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOUR NEPHEW?’ RHIANNON stared at him in blank incredulity. He looked angry, determined. Hard. ‘But how…? I mean why…?’
She’d come here with the assumption—the belief—that Lukas Petrakides was Annabel’s father. A man of integrity, honour, responsibility. A man who would love her.
She wasn’t prepared for alternatives.
She didn’t want them.
‘Why would your nephew use your name?’ she finally asked as Lukas continued to stare, arms folded, his expression implacable. ‘Who is he, anyway?’
‘My nephew, Christos Stefanos, has used my name before.’ Lukas stared out at the shifting colours of the sea—blue, green, scarlet and orange in the setting sun. ‘I think he might have used it again with your friend. He’s twenty-two, wild, irresponsible, unscrupulous,’ he continued in a flat tone. ‘He often travels to London—his mother, my sister Antonia, lives there. He could very well have met your Leanne in some club there, flown her to Naxos on a whim, and discarded her after a weekend. It is,’ he finished with scathing emphasis, ‘entirely within his character to do so.’
Rhiannon’s thoughts were flying, whirling round and round in frightened, desperate circles. Lukas Petrakides as Annabel’s father was one thing. He was known to be steady, responsible. A good father figure. That was why she had come.
This Christos was something else entirely.
‘But why?’ she asked again, clutching at one seemingly improbable thread.
‘To impress your friend?’ Lukas shrugged. ‘Or more likely to annoy me. He likes to give me bad press, although the tabloid journalists are wise to him by now. They usually ignore his little peccadilloes.’
‘But surely people—the press—would know he wasn’t you?’
Lukas’s mouth twisted in harsh acknowledgement. ‘I keep a low profile. There are few photographs of me, and Christos has a family resemblance. He only does it outside of Greece—he knows he can’t get away with it there.’ He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘It has been an annoyance in the past, but now it poses…’
‘A major inconvenience?’ Rhiannon finished, and he gave her a cool look.
‘A challenge, certainly.’
Rhiannon was silent for a moment. Her thoughts chased themselves down dark tunnels that led to implications her heart shied away from. There was too much new information. Too much to think about…to wonder about. To be frightened about.
‘From the sound of him, I don’t think he would make a good father,’ she finally said. ‘Would he?’
Lukas was ominously silent. ‘I cannot say he is particularly suited for the role.’
‘Or interested in it?’ Rhiannon surmised, feeling sick. She’d come to France to find Annabel’s father…but not this. Not some young, rakish sot who couldn’t care less. Not someone who would openly reject her.
‘No, probably not,’ Lukas agreed after a tense moment.
‘He won’t want Annabel,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘Will he?’
Lukas’s expression was like steel. Flint. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘He won’t.’
Rhiannon shook her head. This was so far from what she’d hoped. Dreamed. She realised now that the happily-ever-after she’d been planning in her head was a fantasy, pathetic and unreal. Could she leave Annabel with a man who didn’t want her?
Could she take her home?
Nothing made sense. Nothing felt right.
‘What are you going to do?’ Rhiannon asked. She didn’t like giving control to Lukas, no matter how used to it he was. She just didn’t know what to do next.
Lukas was studying her in an odd way, his mouth twisting in a grimace of acknowledgement. ‘You really don’t want her,’ he stated flatly. ‘That’s why you came, isn’t it? To give her up…to anyone willing to take her.’
‘If that were true,’ Rhiannon snapped, ‘I would have left her with Social Services. Don’t mistake me, Mr Petrakides. I have Annabel’s best interests at heart.’
‘Undoubtedly.’ It came out as a sneer.
Rhiannon shook her head. If Lukas wanted to judge her for giving up a child she couldn’t truly call her own—if he thought her attempt to find Annabel’s father was suspect—then fine. She refused to exonerate herself. She didn’t need to.