Greek Affairs: Tempted by the Tycoons: The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride / The Greek Tycoon's Unexpected Wife / The Greek Tycoon's Secret Heir

‘Better for it to be someone she knows,’ Rhiannon continued, and Lukas’s mouth tightened.

‘Infants form attachments easily. In any case, if she is Christos’s child, I will adopt her.’

The thought weighed as heavily as a stone on her heart. She swallowed, looked away.

Lukas laid a steadying hand on her arm. ‘I realise your own adoptive parents might not have been ideal, but this will be different.’

‘Oh?’ Rhiannon forced herself to look at him. ‘How?’

‘I will care for her—’ Lukas began, looking slightly, strangely discomfited.

‘My parents cared for me too.’ Rhiannon cut him off. ‘But let me tell you, Lukas, duty is a hard parent. It doesn’t kiss your scrapes better, or cuddle you at night, or check for monsters under the bed. It doesn’t make you feel loved, make you believe that no matter what happens, what you do, there’ll be a place to come home to, arms to put around you. Duty,’ she finished flatly, ‘is a cold father.’ She stared blindly down at the sand, trying to rein her emotions, her memories, back under control.

Lukas’s fingers grasped her chin, tilted it so she was looking at him, and she knew he could see the hurt, the pain shadowing her eyes.

‘Is that how your father was?’ he asked quietly. ‘Your mother?’

Rhiannon shrugged. ‘I don’t blame them. They did the best they could.’

‘But it wasn’t enough, was it? And you’re afraid that Annabel will suffer as you did?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. ‘And shouldn’t I be? You’ve already shown me what a cold, restrained person you are.’

The look he gave her was full of hidden heat. ‘Have I?’ he murmured, his tone so languorous that Rhiannon jerked her chin from his hand, scooted a few feet away.

‘Yes. In terms of how you see your responsibility towards Annabel.’

He shrugged, spread his hands. ‘I can only promise to do what is right. To give her every opportunity, every comfort.’

‘That’s not enough.’

‘It will have to be.’

She knew it was more than most men would give—more than she had any right to expect. But it wasn’t enough. She wouldn’t let it be enough.

Because she knew how duty without love became a burden, a weight. A resentment. As it had become with her. Lukas couldn’t see that, couldn’t understand.

A loud whirring filled the air, and Rhiannon blinked up in surprise as a helicopter came into sight.

‘That’s not the press, is it?’ she asked, one hand shading her eyes, and Lukas shook his head.

‘No, it is a Petrakides helicopter.’ He pointed to the side of the craft. ‘See the entwined Ps? That is our emblem.’

Rhiannon saw the entwined letters, first in the Roman alphabet, then in Greek. ‘What is a Petrakides helicopter doing here?’ she asked.

Lukas took her hand in his, tugged. ‘Come and see.’ There was a surprising smile on his face, like that of a little boy, and, scooping up Annabel, Rhiannon followed him to the landing pad.

A young Greek man emerged from the helicopter as they approached, and Lukas called a greeting. The man called back, and began unloading boxes and parcels from the body of the chopper.

Rhiannon stood back uncertainly, until Lukas beckoned her. ‘Come. These things are for you.’

‘For me?’ she repeated blankly.

‘Yes … for you and Annabel.’

He took Annabel from her, jiggling the baby on his hip, so she could inspect the parcels. Hesitantly Rhiannon opened one box to find it full of baby toys, brightly coloured, soft and enticing.

‘You shouldn’t have …’ she began, and he shrugged her protestation aside.

‘Of course I should.’

More boxes revealed clothes—play clothes for Annabel, sensible, sturdy, and well made.

‘Open that one.’ A faint smile curved his mouth upwards, softened his face, his eyes.

Raising her eyebrows, too curious not to obey, Rhiannon opened the box he’d indicated.

‘More clothes …’ Not for Annabel, though. For her. She held up a white cotton blouse—simple, flowing, with scalloped lace along its scooped neckline. She found trousers, loose and comfortable, in turquoise silk. A sundress, lemon-yellow, with skinny, flirty straps. She lowered the dress, her hands bunching in the filmy material.

‘You really shouldn’t have.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Lukas agreed quietly, his teasing little smile still flickering along her nerve endings, ‘but I wanted to.’

It came out almost unwillingly, and Rhiannon found herself saying, ‘You don’t like to want things?’

‘No, I don’t,’ he admitted, and there was a hardness to his tone that caused the light, happy atmosphere to evaporate. Even Annabel noticed, and squirmed in Lukas’s arms.

‘Why not?’ Rhiannon asked, uncertainty causing her voice to waver just a little bit.

‘Because wanting—giving in to your desires—causes misery and ruin. Not only for yourself, but for everyone around you.’ Lukas spoke flatly. His face was hard, his eyes as flat and cold as steel. ‘I’ve spent my life cleaning up other people’s messes, paying for their mistakes. Mistakes that could have been avoided if they hadn’t given in to selfish whims, desires. If they’d only done their duty—as I have done and you seem to think so lightly of.’ With a curt nod, he handed Annabel back to her. ‘I’ll have these boxes delivered to your room. Dinner is at half past seven.’

Rhiannon pressed Annabel to her, inhaled her clean, innocent scent. She felt as if she’d just received an unexpected glimpse into Lukas’s mind, perhaps even into his heart.

Who were the people he was talking about? Whose messes had he cleaned up? She could hardly ask, and she doubted Lukas would volunteer answers anyway. Yet it provided a flickering of understanding, even compassion, of why he rated responsibility so highly.

Annabel grizzled, and Rhiannon knew she needed a bottle and a nap. She headed upstairs, mind and heart still whirling.

Several hours later Annabel was fed and bathed, having spent an exhausting and enjoyable afternoon playing with her new toys. Rhiannon gave her a bottle before settling her in the new cot—not a lightweight travel one, but a sturdy pine frame bed, with soft pink blankets.

Rhiannon knew some assistant must have picked out the clothes and toys for them. All Lukas had had to do was issue a terse order over the phone. It had been a responsibility to him, a duty fulfilled.

Yet he’d wanted to …

She slipped on the white blouse and turquoise trousers, admiring the silkiness of the material, the way the clothes skimmed her figure, highlighted what slight curves she had without clinging or revealing.

Her hair fell in its usual curls around her face, wild and untamed, but her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed with … what? Nervousness? Expectation?

Excitement.