Bound To Her Greek Billionaire. Rebecca Winters

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      Midmorning Takis sat with his partners in the private dining room on the second floor of the castello. This was the first time he’d had a chance to speak to them after returning from Crete. So far he was no closer to knowing what to do about his worry over his parents and he wanted their opinions. Vincenzo had asked that breakfast be brought up from the kitchen, but Takis had lost his appetite and only wanted coffee.

      “You don’t have to make any kind of a rash decision right now,” his friend counseled. “Rather than just a weekend visit, why don’t you simply go back to Tylissos for a couple of weeks? We’ll be fine without you. Stay with your family, see what you can do to help out. Surely if there’s something wrong with either of your parents, you’ll pick up on it and go from there.”

      As usual, Vincenzo, the present-day Duc di Lombardi, made sense.

      Cesare Donati, whose oversight of the restaurant had turned the hotel into the place to dine in all of Europe, eyed him over his cup of coffee. “What would be wrong by going home and asking them outright if there’s a problem they don’t want you to know about? Do it in front of the whole family so if anyone squirms, you’ll see it.”

      That was good advice too. Cesare wasn’t one to hold back. He acted on instincts, thus the reason he was the best restaurateur on five continents.

      “I’m listening, guys, and am taking both ideas under consideration.” Two weeks with his family would give him enough time to get the truth out of them. While he was there he could also track down the woman he’d seen at the funeral whose image wouldn’t leave his mind.

      While he was deep in thought, his phone rang. Takis checked the caller ID. It was the front desk. He clicked on. “Yes, Sofia?” The woman was Swiss-born and spoke six languages.

      “Sorry to bother you when I know you’re in a meeting, but a woman I don’t recognize has flown to Milan and come to the castello to see you. She’s not a tour guide and says it’s of vital importance, but she didn’t explain the nature of her business. She had no card. Her last name is something like Tierrun.”

      “What’s her nationality?”

      “She sounds American to me.” Maybe she’d been sent from his headquarters in New York for a special reason, but Takis found it strange that his assistant hadn’t said anything. “Do you wish to meet with her, or shall I make an appointment?”

      Takis had no idea what this was all about, but he might as well take care of it now. “I’ll be right there. Take her back to my office.” He rang off and glanced at his friends. “I’ve got to meet someone downstairs. Thanks for the much needed advice. I’ll talk to you later.”

      * * *

      Lys followed the concierge down a hall lined with several doors. She opened the one on the right. “Mr. Takis will be with you in a minute. Make yourself comfortable. Would you care for coffee or tea while you wait?”

      “Nothing, thank you.”

      After the woman left, Lys sat down near the desk. On the top of it were several little framed snapshots of what she assumed were family photos. Some she surmised were of his parents, some were his siblings and small children. Along with those pictures was a small statue of King Minos, the mythological leader of the great Minoan civilization on Crete, who was clothed in mythology.

      As she continued to look around the uncluttered room, a cry escaped her lips. Hanging on the wall across from her was a large framed picture of a younger Nassos with a lot of black hair, standing on the deck of his yacht in a sport shirt and trousers. Takis must have taken it with a camera and had sent the photo to be enlarged. There were no other pictures.

      With pounding heart she jumped up from the chair and walked over to get a closer look. Nassos’s signature was in the bottom right hand corner. He’d personalized it. Bravo, Takis. He signed everything with a flourish.

      Seeing him so alive and vital in the picture brought tears to her eyes. He would be thrilled if he knew his autographed photo hung in the office of his unofficial protégé in the most prominent spot. The fact that this man had honored Nassos this way told her a lot about his character and she knew he was deserving of the gift he was about to receive.

      Lys heard a little rap on the open door and whirled around.

      She hadn’t known what she’d expected to see. Only her imagination could have provided that. But it wasn’t the tall, hard-muscled male so striking in a rugged way who’d just walked in his office...an olive-complexioned man come to life from ancient Crete though he was dressed in a stone-colored business suit and tie.

      “Oh—” she cried softly because the sight of him caused her thoughts to reel.

      Those penetrating hazel eyes of his put her in mind of one of those heroic dark-blond warriors depicted in frescos on the walls of temples and museums. She studied his arresting features, remembering one prince who could have been his double. The five o’clock shadow on his firm jaw gave him a sensual appeal she hadn’t been prepared for.

      While she continued to stare at him, she realized he’d been examining her the way someone did who couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He gave her a slight nod. “The woman at the desk thought you were American, but didn’t quite get your name.” The man spoke English with a heavy accent she found exciting.

      “I’m Lys Theron,” she said in Greek.

      A look of astonishment crossed over his face. “Wait,” he said, as if sorting out a puzzle. “Theron... Kristos Theron. He was your father?”

      “Yes.”

      Clearly her answer shocked him.

      “He was a wonderful man. It came as a terrible blow when I heard about the plane crash. He’d been very kind to me. I’m so sorry you lost him.”

      “So am I.”

      The second she’d spoken, silence enveloped the room’s interior. His eyes seemed to go dark from some unnamed emotion. A hand went to the back of his neck, as if he were questioning what he’d just heard. “I saw you at Nassos’s funeral last weekend,” he murmured in Greek.

      His admission shook her to the core. “You were there?”

      “That’s right. I wouldn’t have missed it. Aside from my father, Nassos Rodino was the finest man I ever knew. His death came as a great shock to me.”

      He’d been at the church! No wonder he’d stared so hard at her, but she hadn’t seen him. Her pain had been too great.

      She took a deep breath. “To know you flew to Heraklion to honor him, and that you have his photograph hanging in this office, would have meant the world to him.”

      A strange sound came out of him. “You’re a relation of his?”

      “I was seventeen when my father died. Nassos was his best friend and became my guardian. He took me back to Crete where I lived with him and his wife.”

      He shook his head. “I can’t credit it. You and I never met, yet your father and Nassos are the reason I have a life here.”

      “I’ve heard about you for years and have been wanting to meet you. You’re the brilliant son of Nikanor Manolis from Tylissos. Nassos’s belief in you was clearly deserved.”

      His chest rose and fell visibly. “His support was nothing short of a miracle,” he whispered.

      “A miracle couldn’t work if the seeds of greatness weren’t already there.”

      Another unearthly quiet emanated from him, prompting her to speak. “I was sixteen when I first learned about you. Nassos came to visit often and asked my father if he’d give you a job at the hotel in New York. I thought it was so wonderful that they wanted to help you so you could go to college. They really believed in you!”

      He moved closer. “Your father’s close friendship with Nassos made it possible for me to work and go to