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The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride
Kate Hewitt
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Harlequin Presents
They’re the men who have everything—except brides…
Wealth, power, charm—what else could a heart-stoppingly handsome tycoon need? In the GREEK TYCOONS miniseries, you have already been introduced to some gorgeous Greek multimillionaires who are in need of wives.
Now it’s the turn of popular Harlequin Presents author Kate Hewitt, with her sensual romance The Greek Tycoon’s Convenient Bride
This tycoon has met his match, and he’s decided he has to have her…whatever that takes!
Kate Hewitt
THE GREEK TYCOON’S CONVENIENT BRIDE
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
All about the author…
Kate Hewitt
KATE HEWITT discovered her first Harlequin romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it, too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately, they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older.
She studied drama in college and shortly after graduation moved to New York City to pursue a career in theater. This was derailed by something far better—meeting the man of her dreams, who happened also to be her older brother’s childhood friend. Ten days after their wedding they moved to England, where Kate worked a variety of different jobs—drama teacher, editorial assistant, youth worker, secretary and finally mother.
When her oldest daughter was a year old, Kate sold her first short story to a British magazine. Since then she has sold many stories and serials, but writing romance remains her first love—of course!
Besides writing, she enjoys reading, traveling and learning to knit—it’s an ongoing process and she’s made a lot of scarves. After living in England for six years, she now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children and, perhaps someday, a dog.
Kate loves to hear from readers, You can contact her through her Web site, www.kate-hewitt.com.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PROLOGUE
HE WATCHED her from the shadows.
Lukas Petrakides stood behind the camouflaging fronds of a palm tree, his eyes tracking the young woman as she slipped from her hotel room onto the silky sand of the beach.
Dark, wild curls blew around her face and her slender arms crept around herself in a hug that was pitiably vulnerable.
He hadn’t meant to stumble upon her—or anyone—here. He’d been consumed with a restless energy, his mind full of plans for the new resort that had just opened here in the Languedoc, minutes from a sleepy village, stretching out to a pristine beach.
He’d needed to escape the confines of his own suite, his own mind, even if just for a moment.
The wind and the waves shimmering beneath a diamond sky had soothed him, and he’d slipped off his shoes, rolled up the cuffs of his trousers, and strode down the smooth, white sand.
And had found her.
He didn’t know what had drawn him to her, why that slender form seemed to hold so much grace, beauty, desire.
Sorrow.
Her head was bowed, her shoulders slightly slumped. The look of someone in grief or pain.
Still he felt a blaze of feeling deep within. A need. A connection.
He took one step towards her, an impulse, an instinct, before checking himself. He knew his presence here would cause questions, complications he couldn’t afford.
He had to keep his reputation above the faintest reproach. He always had. So he stood in the shadows, watched her walk towards the waves, and wondered.
She stood on the shore, the waves lapping her bare feet, and gazed out at the calm waters of the Mediterranean. She threw one worried glance over her shoulder towards the sliding glass door of her hotel room, as if someone were there, waiting, watching, as he was.
Who waited for her in there? A boyfriend? Husband?
A lover?
Whoever it was, it was none of his business.
If he were a different man—with a different life, different responsibilities—he might not check that impulse. He might walk up to her, say hello, make conversation.
Nothing sleazy or sordid; he didn’t want that. Just honest conversation, a shared moment. Something real and warm and alive.
The desire for it shook him, vibrated deep in his being. He shook his head. It was never going to happen.
A bitter smile twisted his lips as he watched her. She dropped her arms, raised her face to the moon-bathed sky. The breeze off the sea moulded her cheap sundress to the slight contours of her body. Her curves were boyish at best, yet Lukas still felt a stirring of desire.
A desire he wouldn’t act upon. Couldn’t. As the only son of his father, the only heir to the Petrakides real estate fortune, he carried too many responsibilities to shrug them off lightly for a mere dalliance with a slip of a girl. For a moment’s connection.
He would never let it be anything more.
His grey eyes hardened to pewter. He thought he heard her give a little shuddering sigh, but perhaps it was the wind. Perhaps it was his imagination.
Perhaps that sound had come from him.
She jerked her head around sharply, and he drew in a breath as he stepped back, deeper into the shadows. Had he made a sound—one that she’d heard?
Her gaze swept the beach, fastened on the sliding glass door to her hotel room. She hadn’t seen him, he realised; something from inside the room—a person? A man?—had beckoned her.
Her body sagged slightly, her arms dropping to her sides, her head bowed as she turned to head back inside.
Lukas watched her go, wondered who—what—had called her. Why did she look so sorrowful, as if the weight of the world rested on those slight shoulders?
He knew how that felt. He understood about crippling weight.
The sliding glass door closed with a click, and, suppressing another wave of longing, Lukas turned to head back to his private suite.
CHAPTER ONE
RHIANNON DAVIES checked her reflection one last time before nodding to the babysitter.
‘Right…I should only be an hour or two.’ She glanced uncertainly at the baby sitting on the floor, chewing on her house keys and looking at her with dark, soulful eyes. ‘She might need a nap in a little while.’
The babysitter, a stout Frenchwoman with an impassive expression, nodded once before stooping to pick Annabel up in her arms.
Rhiannon watched, noticed how the older woman’s arms went comfortably around Annabel’s chubby middle and carried her with a confident ease she had yet to feel herself.
‘I don’t think she’ll cry,’ she ventured, and was answered with another brisk nod.
In the two weeks since Annabel had been in her care, the baby had hardly cried at all. Despite the whirl of events, the change of both home and mother, she simply regarded the world with big, blank eyes. Rhiannon suspected the poor mite was in shock.
That was why she was here, she told herself firmly, not for the first time, ignoring the pangs of guilt and longing stabbing her middle. Her heart.
She had come to France, to this exclusive resort, to Lukas Petrakides, to give Annabel some stability. To give her love.
Annabel stuck a fist in her mouth and chewed while gazing in blank curiosity at the woman who’d come so abruptly into her life.
Rhiannon.
They hadn’t bonded, Rhiannon acknowledged, hadn’t really tried. It was too strange, too difficult, too sad.
She’d never even held a baby before Leanne, pale-faced, wide-eyed, had thrust a sleeping Annabel into her arms. Take her.
Rhiannon’s arms had closed around the solid little form as a matter of instinct, but her arms had been at awkward angles and she hadn’t been sure how to cuddle.
Annabel had woken up with a furious screech.
‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’ Hesitantly Rhiannon stroked one satiny cheek. Annabel simply blinked.
It was better this way, she knew. Better they didn’t get attached. Then it would be so much easier to say goodbye.
A lump formed in her throat; she forced it down. She would do what she had to do to secure Annabel’s future and, more importantly, her happiness.
No matter what the cost.
She stole one last look at her reflection: dark curls, mostly tamed behind her ears, a face pale but with a sprinkling of freckles in stark relief, a smart if inexpensive skirt, and a matching sleeveless top in aquamarine. Modest, businesslike. Appropriate.
Suppressing a sigh, she slipped out of the hotel room.
The sun was bright, the air fresh and clean as she walked along the outside corridor. The newest Petra Resort, situated in this remote, exclusive corner of the Languedoc province of France, was simple, spare and elegant. Having arrived in darkness, she now took note of the bougainvillaea spilling from terracotta pots, the climbing vines, the clean colours.
It had cost her half a month’s salary—far more than she could possibly afford—to book even the cheapest room at the resort on its opening weekend. If there hadn’t been a last-minute cancellation she wouldn’t have got in at all.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath that was meant to steady her jangling nerves, Rhiannon hoped this journey would be worth it. For Annabel.
She closed her eyes briefly. This was all so, so crazy.
Only a fortnight ago Leanne had exploded back into her life—and out again just as quickly. Leaving confusion and Annabel in her wake. And the name of Annabel’s father.
Rhiannon bit her lip as fresh doubts assailed her, washed over her in a sickening wave. What if Lukas refused to talk to her? Or, worse, denied his responsibility? When she’d attempted to contact him by telephone she hadn’t made it past the first hurdle.
We’ll give Mr Petrakides your message.
Yeah, right. The disbelief and scorn had been obvious, shaming. They hadn’t even taken her number or her name.
Then she’d read in the local newspaper that a new Petra resort was opening in France, seen that Lukas Petrakides would be there at a reception for the resort’s first guests. She knew it was a chance—perhaps the only one—for Annabel to know her father. Her family.
Every child needed parents. Real ones, not strangers who took them out of duty, obligation.
She believed that with all her heart. She wanted more for Annabel. She wanted to give her a family. She didn’t know where she herself would fit into that equation, if at all. The thought had first chilled her; now it merely numbed.
She understood about sacrifice. She was prepared.
Rhiannon walked down several corridors, looking for the lounge that the resort had advertised as the location for the ‘Meet and Greet’ reception.
Whenever a new Petra resort opened—and now there had to be half a dozen—Lukas Petrakides, the founder’s son and CEO of the company, came to meet with his guests.
