Defying Drakon

Gemini was very aware of Drakon standing beside her as they went down in the lift together. Of a return of that sexual tension that had occurred earlier when he had taken her in his arms—if it had ever gone away…

If she were honest with herself, she hadn’t really held out much hope of Drakon being receptive to her unusual offer to buy Bartholomew House from Lyonedes Enterprises when she’d agreed to have dinner with him this evening. She’d already known that as far as Lyonedes Enterprises was concerned it really wasn’t a very practical offer. So having him turn down that offer had come as no real surprise.

The physical awareness that had sprung so readily to life between them earlier and that was still so tangibly evident most definitely was…

‘What are you doing?’ Gemini gasped as the lights flickered and the lift came to a sudden halt between floors. Drakon had reached out and pressed one of the buttons on the panel before turning to look at her, his expression as dark and unreadable as his eyes as he looked down at her for several tension-filled seconds. ‘Drakon…?’

THE LYONEDES LEGACY

Nothing—and no one—

dares to stand in the way of these Greek tycoons

With the strength and allure of Adonis,

these two Greek cousins stand proud

at the head of their empire.

Their Achilles’ heel?

Beautiful women.

This month…

Drakon Lyonedes is accustomed to

having any beauty he wants, but Gemini Bartholomew

proves a surprising challenge!

Coming Soon…

Markos Lyonedes, the charming rogue, conceals a will

of steel every bit as forceful as his cousin’s!

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Recent titles by the same author:

THE TALK OF HOLLYWOOD

SURRENDER TO THE PAST

TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE

(The Scandalous St Claires)

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Defying Drakon

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My family. You know who you are!

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHO is she?’ Markos asked.

Drakon had telephoned down to his cousin Markos’s office just a few minutes ago, and was now in one of the many rooms of the penthouse apartment on the thirtieth floor of the Lyonedes Tower building in Central London, where Drakon stayed whenever he was visiting from the company’s New York offices. Markos, naturally, preferred to live away from the building where he worked every day.

Drakon’s full attention was focused speculatively on one of several security monitors in front of him as he watched the young woman on the monochrome screen pacing restlessly up and down the room she had been escorted to several minutes ago by Max Stanford, his Head of Security, after causing something of a disturbance in the reception area situated on the ground floor of the building.

She was a tall and willowy young woman, the dark blouse she wore—possibly black or brown—clinging to the outline of small pert breasts, while slim-fitting low-rider jeans revealed a tantalising glimpse of the flatness of her abdomen before curving lovingly over her bottom and the length of her legs. She was probably aged somewhere in her mid to late twenties, with just below shoulder-length straight hair—blonde? Her face was arrestingly beautiful: delicately heart-shaped and dominated by light-coloured eyes. Damn this black and white screen! She had a small straight nose and sensuously full lips.

He glanced at Markos as his cousin came to stand beside him. The family resemblance and their Greek nationality were more than obvious in their harshly sculptured olive-skinned features. Both men were dark-haired and over six feet tall, although at thirty-four Markos was two years Drakon’s junior.

‘I’m not sure,’ Drakon answered. ‘Max telephoned a few minutes ago and asked me what I wished him to do with her,’ he continued. ‘Apparently when he removed her from Reception she refused to tell him anything other than that her name is Bartholomew and she has no intention of leaving the building until she has spoken either to you or me—but preferably me,’ he added dryly.

Markos’s eyes widened. ‘Any relation to Miles Bartholomew, do you think?’

‘Could be his daughter.’ Drakon had met Miles Bartholomew several times before the other man’s death in a car crash six months ago, and there was a definite facial resemblance between him and the young woman they could see on the screen now. Although at sixty-two Miles’s hair had been silver, and his tall frame wiry rather than willowy and graceful.

‘What do you suppose she wants?’ Markos prompted curiously.

Drakon’s dark eyes narrowed on the impatiently pacing woman, his mouth thinning to an uncompromising line. ‘I have absolutely no idea. But I have every intention of finding out.’

Markos’s brows rose. ‘You intend talking to her yourself?’

Drakon gave a humourless smile at his cousin’s obvious surprise. ‘I have asked Max to bring her to me here in ten minutes’ time. It is to be hoped she will not have worn a hole in a very expensive carpet before then.’

Markos looked thoughtful. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea with our current connection to Bartholomew’s young and beautiful widow?’

Drakon deliberately turned his back on the screen. ‘Max’s alternative was to have her arrested for trespassing and/or disturbing the peace. A move at best guaranteed to bring unnecessary and unwanted publicity to Lyonedes Enterprises,’ he said, ‘and at worst to have an adverse effect on our relationship with Angela Bartholomew.’

‘True,’ his cousin conceded. ‘But isn’t it setting something of a precedent to give in to this type of emotional blackmail?’

Drakon arched arrogant dark brows. ‘You are expecting there to be more than one determined young woman in London at the moment who feels the need to stage a sit-in in the reception area of Lyonedes Enterprises until she has been allowed to talk to the company’s president?’

Markos gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘You’ve only been in England for two days—hardly long enough for you to have broken any female hearts as yet.’

Drakon’s expression remained impassive. ‘If, as you say, hearts have been broken in the past, then it has not been my doing; I have never made any secret of the fact that I have no interest in marrying at this time.’

‘If ever!’ His cousin snorted.

Drakon shrugged. ‘No doubt there will come a time when an heir becomes necessary.’

‘Just not yet?’

His mouth thinned. ‘No.’

Markos eyed him teasingly. ‘Miss Bartholomew seems to have piqued your interest…’

There were only two people in the world who would dare to speak to Drakon in this familiar way: his cousin and his widowed mother.

The two men had grown up together in the family home in Athens. Markos had come to live with his aunt and uncle and slightly older cousin after his parents were killed in a plane crash when he was eight years old. It was that closeness, and the fact that they were related by blood, which allowed the younger man certain freedoms of expression where Drakon was concerned. If anyone else but Markos had dared to make a comment on or question Drakon’s private life like that, he would very quickly have found himself on the other side of the door. After being suitably and icily chastened, of course.

‘I am…curious as to her reasons for coming here,’ he acknowledged slowly.

His cousin glanced towards the screen. ‘She’s certainly beautiful…’

‘Yes, she is,’ Drakon acknowledged tersely.

Markos shot him another sideways glance. ‘Maybe I could sit in on the meeting?’

‘I think not, Markos,’ he dismissed with dry humour. ‘Whatever Miss Bartholomew wishes to talk to me about, she has gone about it in a very unorthodox manner. I do not think the Vice-Chairman of Lyonedes Enterprises showing an admiring interest in her is going to suitably convey our displeasure at her behaviour!’

Markos gave an unrepentant grin. ‘Do you have to spoil all my fun?’

Drakon smiled in acknowledgement of his cousin’s roguish reputation with the ladies even as he glanced down at the plain gold watch secured about his wrist. ‘Thompson should be arriving shortly for his ten o’clock appointment. I will join the two of you in your office in ten minutes.’

The other man arched teasing brows. ‘Are you sure that will be long enough with the lovely Miss Bartholomew?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded.

Drakon gave one last glance at the young woman on the screen before striding through to the sitting room of the spacious apartment to stand in front of one of the huge picture windows that looked out over the London morning skyline, hearing his cousin leaving the penthouse a few seconds later as his own brooding thoughts continued to dwell on the impudent Miss Bartholomew.

He had taken over as head of the Lyonedes family business empire on the death of his father ten years ago, and now, aged thirty-six, Drakon knew he was rarely surprised by anything anyone did or said—and was certainly never intimidated by their actions. He was the one whose very presence invariably intimidated others; never the other way about.

And whatever reason Miss Bartholomew felt she had for her unacceptable behaviour, she would very shortly be made aware of that fact…

Gemini stopped pacing and turned to frown at the middle-aged man who had earlier introduced himself only as Head of Security for Lyonedes Enterprises as he finally returned to the elegantly furnished room he had made her prison fifteen minutes ago, before abandoning her there and locking the door behind him as he left.

No doubt he had gone off to take instruction from Markos Lyonedes as to what was the best thing to do with her—or maybe he hadn’t bothered with that and had just telephoned the police to have her arrested! She doubted the visiting totally elusive Drakon Lyonedes, President of Lyonedes Enterprises, would even be informed of something so trivial as a young woman refusing to leave the building until she was allowed to speak to him.

Gemini had every reason to know just how elusive he was. She had desperately tried repeatedly to make an appointment to speak to the man since she’d learnt of his arrival in England two days ago. But as she had remained stubbornly unwilling to give her reasons as to why she wanted the appointment, her request had been politely but firmly refused by Markos Lyonedes’s secretary.

Oh, she had been invited to send in her C.V. to the personnel manager—as if she would ever want to work for a circling shark like Drakon Lyonedes!—but had been refused an appointment with him or his cousin, who was Vice-Chairman of the company in charge of the London-based offices. Leaving her with no alternative, Gemini had finally decided determinedly, than to stage a sit-in in the ground floor reception area of Lyonedes Tower.

Only to be firmly removed within minutes of her arrival and locked in a room pending dispatch!

‘Let’s go.’ The tough-looking Head of Security, dressed all in black, his grey hair shaved to a crewcut, stepped back in order to allow her to precede him out of the room. He was probably ex-military.

‘I expected handcuffs at the very least!’ she drawled as she strolled past him into the marble hallway.

He arched iron-grey brows. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’

Was that amusement she saw in those hard blue eyes? No, surely not! ‘Nothing like that, I assure you,’ Gemini said dryly.

‘That’s what I thought.’ He nodded as he took a vice-like grip of her arm. ‘And handcuffs wouldn’t look good in front of the other visitors.’

That remark might have been funny if the man hadn’t looked so deadly serious when he made it! ‘Where are you taking me?’ she prompted with a frown, having tried to resist that steely hold and only succeeded in bruising her arm as the now grim-faced man all but frogmarched her down a long and silent hallway towards the back of the building. ‘I asked—’

‘I heard you.’ He came to a halt beside a lift before deftly punching a security code into the lit keypad.

He’d heard her, but obviously had no intention of satisfying her curiosity. ‘I’m sure this building is far too modern to have a dungeon,’ she commented.

‘But it does have a basement.’ He shot her a narrow-eyed glance as the lift doors opened, and he pulled her in beside him before pressing one of the buttons.

The movement was made altogether too fast for Gemini to be able to see which button he had pressed before the doors closed behind them and the lift began to move. Down? Or up? Whichever it was, the lift was moving so fast her stomach seemed literally to somersault! Or maybe that was just her slightly shredded nerves? She hadn’t particularly enjoyed coming to Lyonedes Tower this morning and making such a nuisance of herself, and the dangerous-looking man standing so still and silent beside her certainly didn’t inspire confidence as to her future wellbeing!

Maybe trying to force a meeting between herself and either Markos or Drakon Lyonedes hadn’t been such a good idea after all?

It had seemed perfectly logical and straightforward when Gemini had considered her options earlier that morning, as she sat in the kitchen of her apartment. But here and now, on her way to goodness’ knew where, with a hatchet-faced man who looked as if he was more than capable of killing with his bare hands, it seemed far less so.

It was all Drakon Lyonedes’s fault, of course. If the man didn’t make it so impossible for people to see or speak with him then there would be no reason for her to resort to such drastic measures as she had this morning. As it was…

Her chin rose defensively as she chanced a glance at the grimly silent man standing beside her. ‘Kidnapping is a serious offence, you know.’

‘So is making a public nuisance of yourself,’ he came back remorselessly.

‘Lyonedes Tower isn’t exactly public!’

‘Keep telling yourself that, love.’ Once again she thought she caught a glimpse of humour in those steely blue eyes, before it quickly dissipated and only the steel remained.

‘There’s nowhere for me to escape to, stuck in this lift, so it’s probably safe to let go of my arm now—’ She broke off abruptly as the lift came to a gliding halt and the doors slid silently open in front of her.

Not into a basement. Or a dungeon. But into the unlikeliest-looking office Gemini had ever seen…

Probably because it wasn’t an office, she realised as Mr Grim pulled her with him into a huge and elegant sitting room. The thick-pile carpet beneath her booted feet was a rich cream colour, and several brown leather armchairs and a huge matching L-shaped sofa were placed near the marble fireplace. Occasional tables bore vases of cream roses, and a matching cream piano stood in one corner of the room, a bar area in another. She easily recognised some of the numerous paintings on the cream walls as being priceless works of art by long-dead artists, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the wall directly in front of her displayed an amazing view of the London skyline.

So—definitely not the basement, then!

‘I will ring you when it is time for Miss Bartholomew to leave, Max.’

‘Sir.’

Gemini only vaguely registered the Head of Security as he stepped silently back into the lift and departed. She turned sharply to locate the owner of that deep and authoritative voice, her eyes widening in shock as she saw the man silhouetted in front of a second wall of windows, instantly knowing she was looking at the tall, powerful, olive-skinned Drakon Lyonedes himself.

It was perfectly obvious that he was far from pleased. The expression on his handsome face was even grimmer than the one on his Head of Security’s.

Drakon Lyonedes was over six feet tall, with wide shoulders, a powerful chest, and long legs clearly defined in a tailored and obviously expensive charcoal-grey suit worn over a white silk shirt and pale grey tie. His dark hair was cut ruthlessly short, and piercing coal-black eyes were set in a face that looked as if it had been hewn from granite. None of the rare photographs of Drakon Lyonedes that had very occasionally appeared in the newspapers over the years had even begun to scratch the surface of the aura of power that surrounded him like an invisible cloak.

Not just power, Gemini realised as an icy shiver ran the length of her spine, but danger—like that of a deadly predator waiting to pounce on its prey.

A powerful and deadly predator who now had her firmly fixed in his sights!

Drakon’s expression remained unreadable as he took in the colour version of the determined Miss Bartholomew. The straight, shoulder-length hair he had thought might be a pale blonde was in fact an unusual white-gold—the same colour as the long stretches of sandy beach that surrounded his private island off the coast of Greece. Her complexion was the palest ivory, and a perfect background for her eyes, which he could now see were the same deep aquamarine colour as the warm Aegean Sea, and shielded by thick dark lashes. Her full and sensuous lips were an unglossed and natural rose.

In fact she did not appear to be wearing any make-up at all, which was most unusual in his experience…

‘Mr Lyonedes, I presume?’ she enquired softly, moving with a natural grace as she stepped further into the private sitting room of the penthouse apartment.

‘Miss Bartholomew.’ Drakon remained unsmiling in response to what had obviously been an attempt at humour on her part. ‘Max informs me that you have been most…insistent in your desire to speak with me.’

‘Does he?’ She continued to stare at him with those aquamarine eyes.

‘Sitting on the floor of the reception area and refusing to move till you had either spoken to myself or my cousin would appear to be an act of determination, yes,’ he pointed out.

‘Oh, yes. That.’ Gemini grimaced as she tried to gather her scrambled thoughts together—a situation she readily admitted had been brought about by this man’s totally overpowering presence! ‘Max soon took care of that for you, though,’ she said, remembering the ease with which the security man had placed his hands beneath her elbows and just lifted her up from the floor and out of the reception area to that secure room.

Dark brows rose. ‘You are on a first-name basis with my Head of Security?’

‘I think it’s fair to say I’m on an only name basis with him—he didn’t introduce himself to me earlier, so I know him by the name you just called him.’ She shrugged. ‘And I wouldn’t have needed to be quite so determined if you’d made yourself more accessible,’ she said lightly. After all, she could afford to be a little more amenable now that she was actually in the presence of the man himself.

‘And why would I wish to do that?’ He seemed genuinely baffled by her statement.

‘Because—Oh, never mind.’ Gemini gave a dismissive shake of her head.

Drakon noticed how the movement caused that cascade of white-gold hair to be caught in the sun’s rays, and found himself wondering if the colour was natural or from a bottle. Only to add an inner admonishment for allowing even that small personal interest to creep into this meeting. ‘You do realise that causing a nuisance of yourself on private property is—’

‘A serious offence,’ she finished heavily. ‘Yes, your Head of Security has already made it more than clear that you would have been quite within your rights to call the police and have me arrested rather than agree to see me.’

Drakon gave a hard and humourless smile. ‘Oh, believe me, that possibility has not yet been dismissed.’

‘Oh.’ Uncertainty briefly flickered in her eyes as she drew herself up to her full height of possibly five feet ten inches in the two-inch-heeled boots she was wearing. The shirt that fitted so flatteringly over her breasts and the flatness of her abdomen was black in colour, the jeans that clung to that enticingly curvaceous bottom a light blue. ‘I only did what I did because I so badly needed to talk to you—’

‘Would you care for coffee?’

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘Coffee?’ Drakon indicated the bar area, where a full pot of coffee had been brought up to him earlier and left on the black marble surface along with several black mugs.

‘Is it decaf?’

He raised dark brows. ‘I think possibly Brazilian, as that is my preferred blend…’

‘Then, no, thank you,’ she refused politely. ‘Unless it’s decaffeinated most coffees give me a migraine.’

‘Would you like me to send down for some that is decaffeinated?’

‘No, really. I’m fine.’ She smiled.

Drakon had absolutely no idea why he had even made the offer; the sooner the two of them talked and she departed, the better! ‘You do not mind if I do?’ He didn’t wait for her reply before walking over to the bar and pouring a cup of the steaming and aromatic brew, lifting the unsweetened liquid to his lips and slowly taking a sip as he used the respite in conversation to study her over the rim of the mug.

If, as he thought, this young woman was the daughter of Miles Bartholomew and the stepdaughter of Angela Bartholomew, then she did not appear or behave at all as one might have expected of the only child of a multimillionaire industrialist. Her clothing was as casual as that of any of the dozens of young women Drakon had seen as he was driven from the airport into central London two days ago, her unusually coloured hair was styled simply in straight layers and—as he had already noted—the fragile loveliness of her face appeared bare of make-up. Her fingernails were short and unvarnished on long and elegant hands, and she raised one to flick a wayward strand of that long white-gold hair over her shoulder.

The appearance of Miles Bartholomew’s daughter—if this was she—was indeed unexpected. Her familiar manner towards Drakon—with a complete lack of the awe with which he was usually treated!—was even more so…

He placed the black mug carefully back on the bar beside him before walking softly, unhurriedly, across the room until he stood only inches away from her. Their gazes were almost on a level as she stood only three or four inches shorter than his own six feet and two inches in height.

‘We appear to have omitted to introduce ourselves. As you have already guessed, I am Drakon Lyonedes. And you are…?’

‘Gemini,’ she blurted out. ‘Er—Gemini Bartholomew. I’m Miles Bartholomew’s daughter.’ She thrust out a hand, her cheeks having become coloured the same beguiling rose as the fullness of her lips.

Gemini…

Drakon inwardly appreciated how well that name suited her as he took the slenderness of her hand in his much larger one. The name was as unusual and beautiful as this young woman was herself…

‘And what is it you believe that only I can do for you, Miss Bartholomew?’