The Dimitrakos Proposition. Lynne Graham

by the older kids. Tabby, having grown up in a violent home, had been much more used to defending herself than the younger girl. Sonia, after all, had once been a loved child in a decent family and tragically orphaned by the accident in which her parents died. In comparison, Tabby had been forcibly removed by the authorities from an abusive home and no longer knew whether her parents were alive or dead. There had been a few supervised visits with them after she was first taken away, many attempts to rehabilitate her mother and father and cobble the family back together, but in reality her parents proved to be more attached to their irresponsible lifestyle than they had ever been to their child.

      Acheron Dimitrakos worked steadily at his laptop, making no effort to start up a conversation. Tabby compressed her generous mouth and studied him. She knew he had already decided that she was a rubbish person from the very bottom of the social pile. She knew he had taken one look and made judgements based on her appearance...and, doubtless, her use of bad language, she conceded with a sneaking feeling of shame.

      But then she doubted he knew what it felt like to be almost at the end of your tether. He was so...self-possessed, she decided resentfully, her violet gaze wandering over his bold bronzed profile, noting the slight curl in his thick black hair where it rested behind his ear and the extraordinary length of his dense inky-black eyelashes as he scrutinised the screen in front of him. Imagine a boyfriend with more impressive lashes than you have yourself, she ruminated, unimpressed, her soft mouth curling with disdain.

      It annoyed her that he looked even more gorgeous in the flesh than he had in the magazine photographs. She had believed the photos must’ve been airbrushed to enhance his dark good looks but the evidence to the contrary was right before her. He had high aristocratic cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose and the wide, sensual mouth of a classic Greek statue. He was also extremely tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped and long-legged—in fact, he was graced with every attractive male attribute possible.

      Not a nice, caring person though, she reasoned staunchly, determined to concentrate on his flaws. Indeed, thinking of how he had outright refused to take any interest in Troy and Sonia’s daughter, it was a challenge to understand why he should be suddenly bothering to come and see Amber now. She decided that she had made him feel guilty and that, after all, he had to have a conscience. Did that mean that he would support her application to adopt Amber? And even more importantly, would his opinion carry any weight with Social Services?

      * * *

      Acheron could not concentrate, which annoyed the hell out of him. Tabby Glover never sat still, and the constant movements of her slight small body on the seat beside him were an irritating distraction. He was too observant, he thought impatiently as he noted the bitten nails on her small hands, the shabbiness of her training shoes, the worn denim of jeans stretched taut over slender thighs, and he suppressed a sigh. He was out of his depth and although he had told Stevos to return to his office he was not enjoying the course he had set himself on. After all, what did he know about a young child’s needs? Why did he feel guilty that he had already made up his mind to the hard fact that this young woman was not a fit sole guardian for a baby girl?

      When the car came to a halt, Tabby slid out of the limo and bounced down the steps to stick her key in the front door of the basement flat. Here goes, she conceded nervously as she spread wide the door.

      Ash froze one step inside, aghast at the indoor building site that comprised her accommodation. There was scaffolding, buckets and tools lying around, wires dangling everywhere, plasterboard walls. Tabby thrust open the first door to the left of the entrance.

      Acheron followed her into a small room, packed with furniture and a table bearing a kettle and mini-oven and scattered with crumbs. Baby equipment littered almost every other surface. A teenage girl was seated on the bed with work files spread around her and when she saw Tabby she gathered up her files with a smile and stood up to leave. ‘Amber’s been great. She had a snack, enjoyed her bottle and she’s been changed.’

      ‘Thanks, Heather,’ Tabby said quietly to the girl who lived in the apartment above. ‘I appreciate your help.’

      The child was sitting up in the cot wedged between the bed and the wall on one side. Acheron surveyed the child from a safe distance, noting the mop of black curls, the big brown eyes and the instant dazzling smile that rewarded Tabby’s appearance.

      ‘How’s my darling girl?’ Tabby asked, leaning over the cot to scoop up the little girl and hug her tight. Chubby arms wrapped round her throat while curious brown eyes inspected Acheron over Tabby’s shoulder.

      ‘What age is she?’ Ash enquired.

      ‘You should know,’ Tabby said drily. ‘She’s over six months old.’

      ‘Do the authorities know you’re keeping her here?’

      A flush of uneasy colour warmed Tabby’s cheeks as she sat down on the bed because Amber was getting heavier by the day. ‘No. I gave them Jack’s address. He’s a friend and he bought this apartment to renovate and sell on. He’s allowing us to stay here out of the goodness of his heart. He hasn’t the space for us at his own place.’

      ‘How can you live in such a squalid dwelling with a young child and believe that you’re doing the best you can for her?’ Acheron condemned.

      ‘Well, for a start, it’s not squalid!’ Tabby flared defensively and hurriedly rose to set Amber back into her cot. ‘It’s clean. We have heating and light and there’s a fully functional bathroom through that door.’ She pointed a hand to the opposite wall, and the gesture fell down in effectiveness because her arm shook and she hurriedly lowered it again. Tears were suddenly stinging the back of her eyes, and her head was starting to thump with the onset of a stress headache. ‘For the moment I’m just doing the best I can but we’re managing.’

      ‘But you’re not managing well enough,’ Ash stated curtly. ‘You shouldn’t be keeping a young child in accommodation like this.’

      Her brow pulsing with the band of tension tightening round it, Tabby lifted her hands to release the weight of her hair from the ponytail. Acheron watched a torrent of long blonde hair fall down to her waist and finally saw something he liked about her appearance: blonde hair that was natural unless he was very much mistaken, for that pale mass had no dark roots or streaky highlights.

      ‘I’m doing the very best I can,’ Tabby countered firmly, wondering why he was staring at her, her self-conscious streak on override, her pride still hurting from the ‘squalid’ comment.

      ‘And how are you supporting yourself?’ Acheron asked with a curled lip.

      ‘I’m still cleaning. I didn’t lose all my clients when I had to close my business down, and those I kept I’m still working for. I take Amber with me to the jobs. Most of my clients are out at work anyway so her coming with me doesn’t bother them,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘Take a look at her. She’s clean and well fed and happy. We’re rarely apart.’

      Ash assimilated the information with a grim twist of his expressive mouth. ‘I’m sorry, but your best isn’t good enough. Nothing I’ve seen here will convince me otherwise. You don’t have a proper home for the child. You’re clearly living on the poverty line—’

      ‘Money isn’t everything!’ Tabby protested. ‘I love her and she loves me.’

      Ash watched the slender blonde lean over the cot rail to gently stroke the little girl’s head and saw the answering sunny smile that the gesture evoked. No such love or tenderness had featured in his childhood experience, and he fully recognised the fact, but he was also bone-deep practical and not given to changing his mind mid-course. ‘Love isn’t enough on its own. If you had a supportive family to back you and a proper home to raise her in I might feel differently, but you on your own with her in this dismal room and dragging her out with you to cleaning jobs is wrong,’ he pronounced with strong conviction. ‘She could do better than this, she should have better than this and it is her needs and not your own that you should be weighing in the balance.’

      ‘Are you saying that I’m selfish?’ Tabby prompted in disbelief,