Greek Affairs: Claiming His Child: The Greek's Million-Dollar Baby Bargain / The Greek Millionaire's Secret Child / The Greek's Long-Lost Son

‘I have longed to meet you for many years, my dear child,’ she said in her warm voice. She tucked Ann’s hand in her arm. ‘Come,’ she said.

Ann was in a daze, scarcely able to believe what was happening. They left the store and were conveyed by chauffeured car to the hotel where the Theakis party were evidently staying—one of London’s premier hotels, overlooking Green Park.

Ann only had eyes for Ari who, realising he had a brand-new admirer, took full advantage, chattering away to her. Yet, despite her undivided attention to the little boy, Ann could not help but feel the dark, glowering presence of his uncle, his anger at her vibrating from every pore, condemning her for her temerity in daring to be there. She ignored it. What did she care if Nikos Theakis were wishing her to oblivion? She returned the compliment tenfold!

Her only concern was Ari.

Her heart clenched again as she took in the miraculous reality of seeing her nephew here, now, in the flesh—a little boy, no longer a baby, no longer only a wrenching memory….

Lunch passed in a daze as well. What she ate she had no idea. She had no idea of anything except the fact she was sitting at a table with Ari, asking him all the questions a child his age would be ready to answer—his favourite toys and stories and activities. He regaled her copiously, prompted sometimes by his nanny, Tina, and sometimes by his grandmother.

His uncle, however, spoke only when referred to by his nephew. This, however, was not seldom, and Ann could see that Nikos Theakis was regarded as a high authority and the fount of great wisdom by his nephew. What she also had to accept—and she knew she should be glad of it—was how patient and attentive he was to Ari, and how Ari showed no timidity or reticence with him. As for his grandmother—it was obvious to Ann that Ari was the apple of her eye.

Across the years, the ghost of her voice, so heartrending in the letter she had written for Ann, echoed in her head: He will be cherished and loved throughout his life.

Oh, Carla, thought Ann, her throat catching with emotion. You can be happy—you can be happy at how safe and loved your son is!

A small beringed hand was laid lightly on her wrist. It was Ari’s grandmother. ‘You are thinking of your sister?’ she said, her eyes kind.

Ann could only nod, unable to speak. The older woman smiled sadly.

‘We do not know why they were taken from us—your sister and my dear son—but we know they gave us a gift beyond price. And I am so pleased—so pleased, my dear—that you are here with us now, after far, far too long away from Ari.’

Again, Ann could not speak—but this time not because of the emotion of grief. What could she say to this kind, sympathetic woman of how cruel the separation had been for her? How cruel, too, her surviving son’s strictures on Carla and herself.

She looked away—and straight into dark, hard eyes. Time buckled, and it was if she were once more standing in front of Nikos Theakis in her dingy flat, with him looking at her as if she were a cockroach. Almost she dropped her eyes under that killing basilisk gaze, but then she rallied, her chin lifting slightly, her eyes clashing with his. Then, as she continued to hold his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down, his expression began to change. She didn’t know what it was, but something shifted in those hooded night-dark eyes, and as it shifted something quivered down the length of her spine … something that suddenly made her snap her gaze away after all.

Then Ari made some childishly amusing remark, causing her to smile, as well as his grandmother and nanny, and the moment was gone.

As the meal came to an end, Sophia Theakis took Ann’s hands again, drawing her to her feet.

‘For the moment, alas, we must say goodbye again, while I place myself in the hands of my doctors.’ She spoke lightly, but Ann wondered what it was that had brought her to London for medical treatment. Then Ari’s grandmother was speaking again. ‘But this must not be the end of our acquaintance. Within a week I shall be returning to Greece for our Easter celebrations, and then, dear child, if it is at all possible, I shall count it the greatest pleasure if you will be my guest there. On Sospiris you shall finally have a chance to make up for the years you have lost with little Ari.’ She smiled benignly.

‘My son will make all the arrangements. Nikos—’ She spoke swiftly in Greek, clearly giving him some kind of instruction. He nodded curtly at the end.

‘I will indeed,’ he said grimly. ‘With the greatest pleasure, I will escort Miss Turner to her destination.’

Dark eyes rested on Ann, and she did not need to be a mind-reader to know where it was that Nikos Theakis wanted her destination to be. Somewhere exceedingly hot would do nicely. With flames.

Nikos closed his hand over the rich material of her coatsleeve, his grip tightening on the arm beneath. Tightly leashed anger lashed within him, as it had been doing since his incredulous gaze had first landed on the figure daring—daring!—to speak to his mother in the toy store.

Theos mou, he should have expected this! Should have expected that the girl would make such an attempt! Doubtless the million pounds he’d paid her off with had all been frittered away by now.

His brow darkened. Had it been deliberate? Positioning herself in that toy store, richly arrayed as she was in the spoils of her ill-gotten gains? Of course it had! Why was he even questioning it? What else would a girl like her have been doing in a toy store of all places? No, she must have plotted it deliberately, after discovering—he had yet to find out how!—that his mother was visiting London with Ari, and seeking the opportunity to put herself forward. More fool him for not having expected it. For letting her take him totally by surprise …

In more ways than one. For a moment Nikos felt again the second of the two shocks that had hit him as he’d recognised the woman accosting his mother. Not the rage that had signalled the moment he registered that it was Ann. But the other one. The one that had almost made him look twice, as if his eyes were deceiving him. Deceiving him that the woman with the knockout face and figure could possibly be the same drab, unkempt girl he’d last seen four years ago.

But then, he thought cynically, it was amazing what a million pounds to spend on herself could achieve by way of improvement! Sleek, beautiful hair, subtle make-up, flattering designer clothes and—his cynicism deepened—an expensive winter tan on flawless skin. Oh, yes, Miss Ann Turner with a million pounds at her disposal could well afford never to be drab and repellent ever again! Now she could look every inch a man-trap, like her trollop of a sister …

Not that she was anything like as blatant as her sister. Carla Turner had flaunted the kind of sugar-babe looks that pulled men in the most obvious way possible—including his gullible brother!—but Ann Turner was in a quite different style.

Classy.

The word came to him, and irritated him even more. Yet the woman whose arm his own was now pinioning had fitted in as effortlessly with the hotel dining room and their party as if she had been born to it.

His eyes went to her rigid profile, and assessed it.

Yes, classy. Her soigné hairstyle, the discretion of her make-up and the restrained chic of her outfit all created that image.

But it was more than just classiness …

His eyes lingered, and he felt again, angering him, the same reaction he’d felt as his eyes had first settled on her. He knew what it was, that reaction—it was a familiar one to him, and one he usually enjoyed. But not when it came in response to a woman like the one he was frog-marching out of the hotel and away from his family … who should never have been allowed to contaminate it in the first place.

What the hell had his mother been thinking of? But even as he posed the question he knew the answer. He’d deliberately sheltered her from the sexually sordid truth about Andreas’ disastrous involvement with Carla Turner, and the financially sordid truth about her sister. So no wonder she had taken Ann Turner at face value.

Anger bit in him again—he would have loved to expose the girl for the worthless sham she was, but he would not upset his mother. His brother’s death had nearly destroyed her, and Ari had become her only reason to keep going. With her health still frail, he would never upset her by exposing the truth about Ann Turner. But a free lunch was all the girl was going to get. Nothing more.

He thrust her inside a taxi at the hotel entrance, and came in after her. Immediately she slid to the farthest side of the seat, away from him. Illogically, the move annoyed him. Who did Ann Turner think she was to flinch away from him?

He ordered the taxi driver to ‘just drive’. Then he turned on his target.

Ann tried to keep the maximum distance from him, but Nikos Theakis seemed to take up far too much space—exacerbated by the way he’d thrown his arm along the back of the seat, stretching out his long legs into the well of the cab.

Four years had made him even more formidable and grim-faced—and his impact was just as overpowering. He was still ludicrously good-looking, but now he looked tougher than ever. He must be into his thirties now, she reckoned swiftly, and the last remnants of youth were long gone. He looked hard, arrogant, and as self-assured as ever. Wealth and power radiated from him. A lot more radiated from him as well …

No! She crushed down the realisation. It was as inappropriate now as it had been four years ago. Worse than inappropriate—wrong. Wrong to pay the slightest attention to the fact that Nikos Theakis had the kind of looks to turn female heads for miles around. The only thing about Nikos Theakis she had to register was that she hated him …

Hated him for despising Carla, hated him for taking Ari from her, hated him for paying her to take him …

No—she wouldn’t think about that either. It was gone, in the past. And the money was spent, too. All gone now. So she would not let him intimidate her now any more than he had four years ago. She sat in her corner, back stiff, and met his coruscating gaze unflinchingly. It seemed to make him angrier yet. With a rasp in his deep voice he began his attack.

‘Doubtless, Miss Turner, you think yourself very clever indeed, insinuating yourself into my family thanks to my mother’s innocence and kind nature!’ His dark eyes narrowed viciously. ‘But make no mistake. You will not be allowed to capitalise on scraping an acquaintance with her. This,’ he assured her grimly, ‘was your first and last meeting.’

Nikos Theakis’ mouth tightened. Irrelevantly, Ann registered the sensual twist to it, and then he was continuing his condemnation of her.

‘You have no place in my nephew’s life—no place—do you understand? That was the agreement you made, was it not, four years ago, when you sold your dead sister’s baby to me for cash?’

The scorn in his voice excoriated her. Ann felt herself flushing beneath its venom. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but his eyes flicked over her like a whip.

‘And I can see just where the cash went.’ His hand, resting along the back of the seat, dipped to touch the fleece of her coat’s shoulder, trailing one finger down her upper arm. ‘Cashmere,’ he murmured, his tone changing suddenly from angry to smooth, his long lashes sweeping down over his eyes. ‘So soft. So warm.’ His mouth twisted. ‘So expensive. Tell me,’ he went on in that dangerous voice, ‘has the million pounds all gone? Is that why you have decided to break your agreement and try to stick your greedy little fingers into the Theakis honey pot once more?’

The hand was still on Ann’s sleeve, idly brushing the soft fabric. It should have been a harmless gesture, but it wasn’t. It should have been intangible through the layers of her coat and the sleeve of her dress beneath, but it wasn’t. Ann felt that light touch all the way through to her skin. Felt it, out of nowhere, cut right through her anger and resentment to reach the quick …

Her heart started to beat more heavily and her eyes were dragged to his. They were very dark, the eyes of Nikos Theakis, half closed as they surveyed her all over, from the pale gleaming crown of her gilt-blonde head, sweeping on across the fine bones of her face, dwelling a moment on her long-lashed grey eyes, then on down the slender curves of her body to the long, shapely length of her stockinged legs.

The breath caught in her throat. It was that moment again—the one that had happened so fleetingly, so briefly, at the end of lunch—the one that she had deliberately ignored, refused to acknowledge. But now she could not ignore it …

Four years ago this man had consigned her to the realms of the sexually repulsive. He’d cast one look at her messy, drab appearance and dismissed her.