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She snuck a look at him from beneath her lowered lashes, saw he was staring at their hands too, watching his own thumb flick along her palm with an almost clinical interest, as if he too were captive to a greater need than either one of them had ever anticipated or experienced.
Then his eyes met hers, and Rhiannon was rocked to her core by the blatant need, the open hunger in them.
He reached out his other hand, slowly, deliberately, and tangled it in her hair. Rhiannon’s mouth opened soundlessly, yet she didn’t resist as he pulled her towards him, nearly out of her chair. He leaned forward, his lips a breath away from hers.
‘I want to do this.’ He spoke in a ragged whisper; it was a confession.
Rhiannon’s head swum dizzily. So do I. Yet she couldn’t quite say it.
Lukas must have sensed her unspoken permission, or perhaps he didn’t require it, for he touched his lips to hers once—a brush, a flicker, a promise.
Then the promise deepened into a certainty as his tongue plundered her mouth, took possession of her soul. Rhiannon’s fingers bunched on his shoulders, clawed for purchase, for sanity.
Somehow she had slipped out of her chair, was kneeling on the hard tiled floor between Lukas’s powerful thighs. She could feel his arousal against her heart.
His mouth continued to cover hers, plunging, plundering. Taking everything. His hands fisted in her hair, drawing her closer, binding her to him.
The kiss went on endlessly. She’d never felt so treasured, so desired, so needed.
So loved.
The thought was a cold slap of reality, a mocking laugh in the stillness of their entwined bodies.
There was no love involved here. She barely knew this man. All he felt for her was contempt, suspicion. She wanted him—oh, yes—and he wanted her.
But that was all.
Sex.
She pulled away, wincing as her hair tangled around Lukas’s fingers. He was completely still, his hand still snarled in her hair, staring at her as if she were a stranger—as if he were a stranger to himself.
His breathing was ragged, uneven, and so was hers.
‘I’m sorry.’ He looked appalled, angry. Yet Rhiannon had a feeling that anger was not directed at her. Carefully he unwound the strands of hair from his fingers, smoothed the curls back from her fevered brow. ‘That shouldn’t have happened.’
‘No,’ Rhiannon agreed shakily, although the sense of loss she felt would have sent her to her knees if she hadn’t already been there.
Lukas helped her back into her chair. ‘Clearly I’ve been without a woman for too long,’ he said with a cool smile, and Rhiannon’s own mouth twisted in bitterness.
‘That’s what that was about? Sex?’ Of course it was. She was such a pathetic fool, thinking for one second it could ever be anything more.
Lukas sat back, looking surprised. ‘Obviously I desire you. I desired you when I first saw you.’
‘In the bar.’
He looked discomfited for the barest of moments before he gave a quick, sharp nod. ‘Yes. Before any of this happened with the child the desire was there. It was real.’
Real and warm and alive. Yet it was just desire—cheap and easy.
Even desire could be a burden.
It wasn’t love, and Rhiannon knew that was what she needed. Wanted.
She’d just never had it.
‘We should go to bed. Sleep,’ she amended hastily, and Lukas acknowledged her slip of the tongue with a wry nod. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Yes, it has.’
Rhiannon reached for her plate and he stilled her movement with one hand on her arm, his fingers curling around her wrist. ‘Perhaps that was a moment of comfort we both needed,’ he said. ‘It won’t happen again.’
He spoke in warning, as if he thought she might expect a replay. Did she seem so desperate?
Rhiannon’s nerves were splintered, her emotions in tatters.
None of this was supposed to happen.
‘Well, thank you,’ she finally said, her voice strained and low, ‘for that courtesy.’ And without another word, not trusting herself to speak or meet his frowning gaze, she slipped through the door.
She heard him leave the suite from the safety of the locked bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, her fists in her hair, her lips still burning from his kisses.
Perhaps it was a moment of comfort we both needed.
Damned by compassion. Pity. No doubt his misguided sense of responsibility striking once again. He’d been trying to comfort her.
She didn’t want comfort.
She wanted love.
She wanted it for herself, wanted it for Annabel.
She felt a terrible, hollow certainty that she wouldn’t find it here.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WE NEED TO leave. Now.’
Rhiannon sat up in bed, blinking sleep from her eyes, clutching the covers to her chest. Annabel was still asleep, and Lukas stood in the doorway of her suite, fully dressed, his lithe body coiled and tense.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘What I’m talking about,’ he bit out, ‘is the press in front of this resort—thanks to the little stunt you pulled yesterday at the reception.’ He pulled a rolled-up newspaper from his pocket and threw it on the bed.
Rhiannon unfurled it with shaking fingers and a leaden heart.
Secret Playboy? Lukas Petrakides Discovers his Love-child. Furious Mother Booted Out of Newest Resort! the headline screamed. There was even a picture—a grainy shot from a telephoto lens—of the two of them on the beach. The paparazzi photographer had clearly waited for his moment, Rhiannon realised with a sinking feeling. It was towards the end of their conversation yesterday afternoon, when they had clearly been in an argument.
Thank God they hadn’t got a photo of their kiss last night. Just the memory caused a flush to crawl up her throat.
She looked up, met Lukas’s blazing eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘We can discuss this later,’ he informed her tersely. ‘Right now we need to leave. I have a private jet departing in twenty minutes for Greece. You and Annabel will be on it.’
‘Greece?’ Rhiannon repeated stupidly, and he slashed a hand through the air.
‘Yes—to safety! You can’t stay here now the press have wind of this story. Once they know we’ve gone, they’ll give up the chase. For the moment. I don’t want the press hounding the resort’s guests, and I don’t want them finding you or Annabel. The last thing I need is more sordid details.’
That was what she was, Rhiannon thought. A sordid detail. She opened her mouth to reply, but Lukas cut her off before she could frame a syllable.
‘Get dressed. I’ll wait outside the door.’
He flung open the door just as Annabel let out her good-morning howl of hunger.
Rhiannon scooped her up, prepared a bottle with clumsy fingers and a whirling mind. She dressed herself quickly, then found something for Annabel to wear, threw some nappies and the prepared bottle in a bag, and stepped outside.
‘I’m ready.’
‘Good.’ Lukas had been leaning against the wall, arms folded, but now he pushed off and stood back to sweep her with an assessing gaze.
Rhiannon was conscious of her faded jeans and worn tee-shirt. Annabel had already dribbled on her shoulder. Lukas’s mouth tightened as he looked at her, whether in disapproval or displeasure Rhiannon didn’t know, but she forced herself not to care.
‘Someone will bring your bags to the jet. Let’s go,’ he said, and as he strode quickly down the corridor she had no choice but to follow, Annabel screeching in protest.
* * *
LUKAS SAT BACK in the plane seat and rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the stabbing tension which had lodged there since he’d seen those damn newspapers this morning.
He knew the news would be all over France, all over Greece, all over the world. His father would have seen it this morning. He would be furious.
Lukas had failed him, failed the family, by allowing such lies to be smeared across papers and television screens.
Yet Lukas dismissed the thought of his father in contemplation of the woman shrouded in misery opposite him. Rhiannon sat with Annabel on her lap, her face averted towards the window.
Lukas felt an unwelcome twinge of unease. He no longer believed Rhiannon was a blackmailer, yet he still didn’t trust her. He couldn’t trust a woman who was willing to give up a child entrusted into her care, no matter what excuse she gave…or what she had convinced herself to believe.
He suspected she’d persuaded herself it was for the best, that she was acting nobly, yet he saw the truth in her hunched position, in the awkward way she held the baby.
She wasn’t used to children, he thought. She probably lived in a chic little flat that wasn’t equipped for infants. No doubt she was eager to get back to her life…her lover. The thought made his expression harden in distaste…and in remembrance.
It doesn’t matter to me. Take him.
He shook his head, banishing the memory, the mocking voice.
This was a different situation, a different woman…even if some aspects seemed the same.
His thoughts shifted to the baby in Rhiannon’s arms. Her dark, curly hair and soulful eyes reminded him of photographs of himself as a baby. She had the look of a Petrakides. If Annabel was indeed Christos’s daughter, which to Lukas now seemed a near certainty, there could be no question of her future. It would be in Greece, with the Petrakides family.
And, he acknowledged with grim certainty, Rhiannon Davies would not fit into that picture at all.
The baby gave a little shuddering sigh, and Rhiannon stroked her downy hair, a tender smile lighting her face. Lukas watched, feeling a now-familiar tightening in his gut. In his heart.
She looked as if she cared for the child, but he couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to. It would be much easier for everyone, he mused, if there was no emotional attachment between Rhiannon and Annabel. Still, even if there were, he was confident he could convince her to return to Wales, to relinquish through the courts her guardianship of the child. All it took was the right price.
He watched Rhiannon smooth an errant curl back from her forehead, and he was suddenly stabbingly reminded of his own hand in those tangled curls, drawing her to him, tasting her wine-sweetened lips, burrowing himself in the warmth of her.
The kiss last night had been a mistake. A mind-blowing, sense-scattering event, but an error nonetheless. He’d wanted her; he still did. He didn’t completely understand his desire for such a slight, average-looking woman, but he acknowledged the truth of it. Perhaps he had been without a woman for too long; perhaps it was something more.
It didn’t matter. He never gave in to desire, never catered to need.
What mattered was his family, the Petrakides name, and his duty towards it. That was all.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER the jet landed on the airstrip of the Petrakides private island.
Rhiannon stared numbly out of the window at the sparkling blue-green of the Aegean Sea, at the rocky shore leading up to landscaped gardens and a long, low, rambling villa of whitewashed stone.
‘Come,’ Lukas said, taking her hand as he helped her out of the plane. ‘My father will be waiting.’
Rhiannon transferred a sleeping Annabel to her other shoulder as she stepped out into the sunshine. The air was hot and dry, the sky a hard, bright blue.
She inhaled the dry, dusty scent of rosemary and olive trees, combined with the salty tang of the sea. Annabel stirred, rubbed her eyes with her fists, and then looked around in sleepy wonder.
‘Wait here.’ Lukas stayed her with one firm hand, his countenance darkening with suppressed tension by the second.
A man was striding stiffly towards them. Tall, spare and white haired. Rhiannon had no doubt this was Theo Petrakides, founder of the Petrakides real estate empire. And he looked furious.
She stepped backwards into the shadow of the plane as the two men squared off.
Theo said something in rapid Greek; Lukas replied. A muscle bunched in his jaw but his voice was flat and calm, his posture almost relaxed.
This was a man in control. A man who did not give in to emotions, whims. Desires.
What about last night? Rhiannon shook her head in denial of the question her heart asked but her mind wouldn’t answer.
Last night had been a moment of weakness for both of them and, as Lukas had said, it wouldn’t happen again.
They were still speaking in rapid but controlled tones. Then Annabel let out a squeal as a gull soared low overhead, and Theo Petrakides’s sharp grey gaze swung to her.
Rhiannon froze, her arms tight around a now struggling Annabel. Her heart rate was erratic and fast as the older man walked slowly towards her. He stood in front of her, a flat look in his eyes.
‘This is the child? Christos’s child?’ he said slowly in English.
‘We don’t know yet for certain,’ Rhiannon managed carefully, her voice a cracked whisper.
‘His bastard.’
She jerked back as if slapped, saw the frank condemnation in Theo’s eyes. She glanced involuntarily at Lukas, saw him shake his head in silent warning. Still, fury bubbled up within her, gave her courage.
