Greek Mavericks: Winning The Enigmatic Greek

CHAPTER SIX

ARISTON STARED OUT of the vast windows, but for once the travel-brochure views of his island home failed to impress him. He might as well have been in a darkened cave for all the notice he took of the sapphire sea and silver sand, or the neglected cup of coffee which had been cooling on his desk for the last half-hour. All he could see was a pair of bright green eyes and a pair of soft, rosy lips—and pale hair which had trickled through his fingers like moonlight.

What was his problem? he wondered impatiently as he stood up with a sudden jerking movement which made the cup rattle. Why did he persist in feeling so unsettled when all should have been well in his world? Weeks had passed since Keeley Turner had fallen eagerly into his arms during a sexual encounter which had blown his mind but ended badly. She had flown back to London the next morning, refusing to meet his eye and saying nothing other than a tight-lipped goodbye before turning her back on him. But she had taken the money he’d given her, hadn’t she? Had shown no qualms about accepting the additional sum he had included. He’d thought he might receive an angry email telling him what he could do with his money—wasn’t that what he’d hoped might happen?—along with some furious tirade suggesting he might be offering payment for services rendered. But no. She was a woman, wasn’t she—and what woman would ever turn down the offer of easy money?

And that had been that. He hadn’t heard from her since. He told himself that was a good thing—that he had achieved what he had set out to achieve and bedded a woman whose memory had been haunting him for years. But infuriatingly, little had changed. In fact, it seemed a whole lot worse. Surely by now he shouldn’t still be thinking about her, or the way it had felt to press his lips to her pulsating heat as she had orgasmed right into his mouth. Was it because he wasn’t used to a woman walking away from him, or because he couldn’t help admiring the tempestuous show of spirit she had displayed when she had stormed away? Or just because she’d been the hottest lover he’d ever had?

But after yet another disturbed night he found himself wondering where was the closure he’d been chasing and why he hadn’t tried a little harder to keep her here a bit longer, so he could have got her out of his system. Should he have softened his answers to her questions with a little diplomacy and told her what she wanted to hear, instead of giving it to her straight? His mouth hardened. It didn’t matter. He didn’t like lies and it was too late to go back over that now. What was done was done.

At least Pavlos had announced his engagement to the beautiful Marina, with a wedding planned for early next year. His brother was happy—he’d called him just last night from Melbourne and told him so, and Ariston felt as if his work was done. That all was well within the Kavakos dynasty—its future now ensured...if only this damned disquiet would leave him.

But it didn’t leave him, despite a schedule spent travelling across much of Southeast Asia—and although he threw himself into his work even more single-mindedly than usual, he remained as unsettled as ever. Which was why he found himself making an unplanned trip to England on his private jet, telling himself it was always useful to pay an unexpected visit to his London office because it kept his staff on their toes. And besides, he liked London. He kept a fully staffed apartment there which he used at different times during the year—often when the summer heat of Lasia was at its most intense. But even in London he found himself struggling to concentrate on his latest shipbuilding project or enjoy the fact that the company had been featured in the prestigious Forbes magazine in a flattering article praising his business acumen.

He told himself it was curiosity—or maybe courtesy—which made him decide to call on Keeley, to see how she was doing. Maybe she’d calmed down enough to be civil to him. He felt the beat of anticipation. Maybe even more.

He had his car drop him down the road from her bedsit and when he knocked on the door, the long silence which followed made him think nobody was home. A ragged sigh escaped from his lungs. So that was that. He could leave a note, which he suspected would find its way straight into the bin. He could try calling but something told him that if she saw his name on the screen, she wouldn’t pick up. And that had never happened to him before either.

But then the door opened a little and there was Keeley’s face peering out at him through the narrow crack—her expression telling him he was the last person she had expected to see. Or wanted to see. His eyes narrowed because she looked terrible. Her blonde hair hung in limp strands as if it hadn’t been washed in days, her face was waxy white and she had deep shadows beneath her eyes. He’d never seen a woman who had paid such scant attention to her appearance—but then he’d never made an impromptu call like this before. ‘Hello, Keeley,’ he said quietly.

Keeley stiffened, her knuckles tightening over the doorknob as she stared into Ariston’s searing blue eyes and a wave of horror washed over her. What in heavens name was he doing here—and how was she going to deal with it? Her instinct was to slam the door in his face but she’d tried that once before without success and, besides, she couldn’t do that, could she? Not in the circumstances. She might despise him but she needed to talk to him and it just so happened that fate had scheduled that unwanted prospect without her having to arrange it herself. She found herself wishing she’d had time to brush her hair or put on clothes she hadn’t fallen asleep in, but maybe it was better this way. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him making a pass at her when she looked like this. Why, he must be wondering what had possessed him to take someone like her to his bed.

‘You’d better come in,’ she said.

He looked surprised at the invitation and she understood why. After the way they’d parted he must have thought she’d never want to see him again. But no matter how much she wished that could be true, she couldn’t turn him away—just as she couldn’t turn the clock back. She had to tell him. It was her duty to tell him.

Before he worked it out for himself.

‘So what brings you here today, Ariston?’ she said, once they were standing facing each other in the claustrophobically small sitting room. ‘Let me guess... Pavlos is back in London and you’ve decided to check whether or not I’ve got my greedy hooks in him. Well, as you can see—I’m here on my own.’

He gave a short shake of his head. ‘Pavlos is engaged to be married.’

‘Wow,’ she said, feeling winded though she wasn’t sure why. ‘Congratulations. So you got what you wanted.’

He shrugged. ‘My wish to see my brother happily settled with a suitable partner has been fulfilled, yes.’

‘But if Pavlos is safe from my supposed clutches, then what brings you to New Malden?’ She frowned. ‘An area like this isn’t exactly a billionaire’s stomping ground, is it? And I don’t recall leaving anything behind on your island which might need “returning”.’

‘I was in London and I thought I’d drop by to see how you are.’

‘How very touching. Do you do that with all your ex-lovers?’

His mouth hardened. ‘Not really. But then, none of my lovers have ever walked out on me like that.’

‘Oh, dear. Is your ego feeling battered?’

‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ he said drily.

‘So now you’ve seen how I am.’

‘Yes. And I don’t like what I see. What’s the matter, Keeley?’ His frowning blue gaze stayed fixed on her face. ‘You look sick.’

Keeley swallowed. So here it was. He’d given her the perfect opportunity to tell him her life-changing news. She was surprised he hadn’t worked it out for himself and if he’d bothered to look harder at her baggy shirt, he might have noticed the faint curve of her belly beneath. She opened her mouth to tell him but something made her hesitate. Was it self-preservation? The sense that once she told him nothing was ever going to be the same?

‘I have been sick,’ she admitted, before the words came out in a bald rush. ‘Actually, I’m pregnant.’

He didn’t catch on, not straight away—or if he did, he didn’t show it.

‘Congratulations,’ he said evenly. ‘Who’s the father?’

It was a reaction she should have anticipated but stupidly she hadn’t and Keeley felt hurt. She wanted to tell him that only one man could possibly be the father but he probably wouldn’t believe her and why should he? She hadn’t exactly acted with any restraint where he was concerned, had she? She’d fallen into his arms—not once, but twice and made it clear she’d wanted sex with him. Why wouldn’t a chauvinist like Ariston Kavakos imagine she behaved like that all the time? She licked her lips.

‘You are,’ she said baldly. ‘You’re the father.’

His face showed no reaction other than a sudden coldness which turned his eyes into sapphire ice. ‘Excuse me?’

Was he expecting his cool question to prompt her into admitting that she’d made a mistake, and he wasn’t going to be a daddy after all? That she was trying it on because he was so wealthy? The temptation to do just that and make him go away was powerful, but her conscience was more powerful still. Because he was the father—there was no getting away from that and the important thing was how she dealt with it. Suddenly, Keeley knew that, despite her morning sickness and ever-present sensation of feeling like a cloth which had been wrung out to dry, she now needed to be strong. Because Ariston was strong. And he was a dominant male who would ride roughshod over her to get what it was he wanted, if she let him.

‘You heard me,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re the father.’

His face darkened as he studied her and suddenly she got an idea of just how formidable an opponent he might be in the boardroom.

‘How do you know it’s mine?’

She flinched. ‘Because you’re the only one it could be.’

‘I only have your word for that, Keeley. You were no virgin.’

‘Neither were you.’

He gave a cruel smile. ‘Like I told you—it’s different for men.’

‘You think I would lie about something like this?’

‘I don’t know—that’s the thing. I know very little about you. But I’m a wealthy man. There are undoubted benefits to getting pregnant by someone like me. So was it an accident, or did you plan it?’

‘Plan it? You think I deliberately got myself pregnant, just to get my hands on your money?’

‘Don’t look so outraged, Keeley. You wouldn’t believe the things people would do for money,’ he said, his gaze flicking over her coldly. ‘Or maybe you would.’

‘You seem to be very good at dishing out blame, but I’m not going to carry the entire burden.’ She sucked in a deep breath as she walked over to the window sill. ‘I always thought contraception was the joint responsibility of both parties.’

Ariston met her shadowed eyes and was surprised by a sudden wave of compassion—and guilt. How many times had he made love to her that night? His brow furrowed. Just twice, before she’d kicked him out of her bed and announced that she was leaving the island. Had he been careful that second time, or had he...? His heart missed a beat. No. He hadn’t. He’d been so aroused that in his sleepy and already sated state he had slipped inside her without bothering to put on a condom. How the hell had that happened, when he was traditionally always the most exacting of men?

And hadn’t it felt beyond blissful to feel her bare skin against his? Her slick wet heat against his hardness. Had some protective instinct made his mind shut down so that only just now was he remembering it?

His heart was thundering as he watched her, noting the way she had slumped against the window sill. When she leaned back like that he could see the curve of her belly and for the first time noticed that her already generous breasts were even bigger than usual. She was undeniably pregnant—so should he simply take her word that he was the father?

But memories of his mother—and many of the women in between—made him wary. He knew all about lies and subterfuge because they’d been woven into the fabric of his life. He knew what people would do for money. He had learnt caution at an early age because he’d needed to. It had protected him from some of the darker things which life had thrown at him and Pavlos, so why shouldn’t he seek its protection now?

‘You’re right, of course. Contraception is the responsibility of the man and the woman,’ he said. ‘But that still doesn’t answer my question with any degree of satisfaction. How do I know—or you know—that I’m the father of your baby?’

‘Because...’

He saw her bite her lip as if she was trying to hold the words back but then they came tumbling out in a passionate torrent.

‘Because I’ve only ever had sex once before!’ she declared. ‘One man, one time, years ago—and it was a disaster, okay? Does that tell you everything you need to know, Ariston?’

He felt a dark and primitive rush of pleasure. It all added up now. Her soft sense of wonder when he’d made love to her. Her disbelieving cries as she had come. These all spoke of a woman achieving satisfaction for the first time, not someone who’d been around the sexual block a few times. But what if she was lying? What if she was simply using the skills of an actress, learnt at the knee of her mother? His mouth hardened. Surely he owed it to himself to demand a DNA test—if not now, then at least when the child was born.

But her waxy complexion and tired eyes were making him stall and he was surprised by another wave of compassion. He forced himself to sift through the available facts and the possible solutions. Despite her lack of qualifications, she wasn’t stupid. She must realise that he’d come at her with all guns blazing if he discovered he’d been bamboozled by a false paternity claim.

He glanced around the shabby little room, trying to impose some order on his whirling thoughts. Fatherhood had never been on his agenda. He accepted that he was a difficult man who didn’t believe in love, who didn’t trust women and who fiercely guarded his personal space—and those factors had ruled out the forced intimacy of marriage. The desire to carry on his own bloodline had always been noticeable by its absence and he’d always supposed that Pavlos would be the one to provide the necessary heirs to take the Kavakos empire forward.

But this disclosure altered everything. In a few short minutes he could feel something changing inside him, because if this was his child then he wanted a part of it. A big part of it. His heart clenched. For how could it be any other way? Why would he not want to stake a claim on his own flesh and blood? He looked into Keeley’s wary eyes and thought this must be the last thing she wanted—an unplanned baby with a man she loathed. And no money, he reminded himself grimly. Her circumstances were more impecunious than most. So why not offer her the kind of inducement which would suit them both?

‘So when were you going to tell me?’ he demanded. ‘Or weren’t you going to bother?’

‘Of course I was. I was just...waiting for the right time,’ she said, with the voice of someone who had been putting off the inevitable. ‘Only it never seemed to come.’

He frowned. ‘Why don’t you sit down in that chair? You don’t look very comfortable standing there and you really should be comfortable, because we need to talk.’

Her chin jutted forward but she didn’t defy him, though he noticed that she stared straight ahead as she made her way towards a battered armchair. Yet despite her unwashed hair and sloppy grey sweat-pants, Ariston couldn’t help his body from reacting as she walked past him. He could feel the tautness and the tension hardening his muscles and the instinctive tightening low in his abdomen. What was it about her which made him want to impale her whenever she came near?

She sank down onto the chair and lifted up her face to his. ‘So talk,’ she said.

He nodded, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he looked at her. ‘I don’t imagine you wanted to be a mother,’ he began.

She shrugged. ‘Not yet, no.’

‘So how about I free you of that burden?’

She must have misunderstood him because her arms instantly clamped themselves around her belly as if she was shielding her unborn child and suddenly she was yelling at him. ‘If you’re suggesting—’

‘What I’m suggesting,’ he interrupted, ‘is that I have you moved from this miniature hell-hole into a luxury apartment of your choice. That you are attended by the finest physicians in the land, who will monitor your pregnancy and make sure that you both maintain tip-top health. And after the birth...’

‘After the birth...what?’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if she’d suddenly got an inkling of what he was about to say.

‘You give up your baby.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘Or rather, you give it to me.’

There was a pause. ‘Could you...could you repeat that?’ she said faintly. ‘Just so I can be sure I haven’t misunderstood your meaning.’

‘I will raise the child,’ he said. ‘And you can name your price.’

She didn’t speak for a moment and he was taken aback by the naked fury which blazed from her green eyes as she scrambled to her feet. For a minute he thought she was about to hurl herself across the room and attack him and wasn’t there a part of him which wanted her to go right ahead? Because a fighting woman was a woman who could be subdued in all kinds of ways and suddenly he found himself wanting to kiss her again. But she didn’t. She stood there, her hands on her hips, her breath coming quick and fast.

‘You’re offering to buy my baby?’

‘That’s a rather melodramatic way of putting it, Keeley. Think of it as a transaction—the most reasonable course of action in the circumstances.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘I’m giving you the opportunity to make a fresh start.’

‘Without my baby?’

‘A baby will tie you down. I can give this child everything it needs,’ he said, deliberately allowing his gaze to drift around the dingy little room. ‘You cannot.’

‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ariston,’ she said, her hands clenching. ‘You might have all the houses and yachts and servants in the world, but you have a great big hole where your heart should be. You’re a cold and unfeeling brute who would deny your baby his mother—and therefore you’re incapable of giving this child the thing it needs more than anything else!’

‘Which is?’

‘Love!’

Ariston felt his body stiffen. He loved his brother and once he’d loved his mother, but he was aware of his limitations. No, he didn’t do the big showy emotion he suspected she was talking about and why should he, when he knew the brutal heartache it could cause? Yet something told him that trying to defend his own position was pointless. She would fight for this child, he realised. She would fight with all the strength she possessed, and that was going to complicate things. Did she imagine he was going to accept what she’d just told him and play no part in it? Politely dole out payments and have sporadic weekend meetings with his own flesh and blood? Or worse, no meetings at all. He met the green blaze of her eyes.

‘So you won’t give this baby up and neither will I,’ he said softly. ‘Which means that the only solution is for me to marry you.’

He saw the shock and horror on her face.

‘But I don’t want to marry you! It wouldn’t work, Ariston—on so many levels. You must realise that. Me, as the wife of an autocratic control freak who doesn’t even like me? I don’t think so.’

‘It wasn’t a question,’ he said silkily. ‘It was a statement. It’s not a case of if you will marry me, Keeley—just when.’

‘You’re mad,’ she breathed.

He shook his head. ‘Just determined to get what is rightfully mine. So why not consider what I’ve said, and sleep on it and I’ll return tomorrow at noon for your answer—when you’ve calmed down. But I’m warning you now, Keeley—that if you are wilful enough to try to refuse me, or if you make some foolish attempt to run away and escape...’ he paused and looked straight into her eyes ‘... I will find you and drag you through every court in the land to get what is rightfully mine.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

AS SHE PREPARED for Ariston’s visit next morning, Keeley stared at her white-faced reflection in the mirror and gritted her teeth. This time she wouldn’t lose her temper. She would be calm and clear and focussed. She would tell him she couldn’t possibly marry him but that she was willing to be reasonable.

She washed her hair and put on a loose cotton dress and a sudden desire to impose some order made her give her bedsit an extra-special clean—busying herself with mop and duster. She even went down to the local market and bought a cheap bunch of flowers from the friendly stallholder who implored her to, ‘Cheer up, love! It might never happen!’

It already had, she thought gloomily as she crammed the spindly pink tulips into a vase as she waited for the Greek tycoon to arrive.

He was bang on time and she hated her instinctive reaction when she opened the door to see him in an exquisite pale grey suit, which today didn’t make him look remotely uncomfortable. In fact, he came over as supremely relaxed as well as looking expensive and hopelessly out of place in her crummy little home. She didn’t want to shiver with awareness whenever she looked at him, nor remember how it had felt to be naked in his arms, yet the erotic images just kept flooding back. Was she imagining the faint triumph which curved those cruel lips of his—as if he was perfectly aware of the way he made her feel? He can’t make you do anything you don’t want him to, she reminded herself fiercely. You might be carrying his baby but you are still a free agent. This is modern England, not the Middle Ages. He can hardly drag you up the aisle against your will.