The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride. Кейт Хьюит

She grabbed his hand; he removed it with distaste.

      ‘Is that so? Because I’m prepared to give you nothing. Goodbye, Miss Davies.’

      Before Rhiannon could form a reply, one last appeal, a hand clamped none too gently on her arm.

      ‘This way, miss.’

      He was kicking her out! Humiliated fury washed through her in sickening waves as the security guard tugged her firmly from her stool. She stumbled to her feet, threw a hand out to the bar to steady herself.

      Lukas Petrakides watched impassively with cool grey eyes.

      Rhiannon hated him then.

      ‘You can’t do this,’ she said in a furious whisper, and he raised one eyebrow.

      ‘Then you don’t know me very well.’

      ‘I don’t want to know you! I want to talk to you!’

      The guard was tugging her backwards, and Rhiannon was forced to follow him, stumbling, while a murmur of curious whispers and titters followed her, surrounded her in a mocking chorus.

      Lukas watched, arms folded, eyes hard, expression flat.

      This was her last chance. Her only hope.

      ‘You have a baby!’ she shouted, and was rewarded with a ripple of shocked murmurs in the crowd and a look of stunned disbelief on Lukas’s face before she was pulled through the doorway and out of sight.

      CHAPTER TWO

      YOUhave a baby.

      Lukas barely registered the din of speculative gossip that rang out around him. Someone spoke to him, an excited jabber. He merely shrugged before forcing himself to reply politely.

      You have a baby.

      Absurd. Impossible. The woman was a liar.

      He knew that—knew she was just another common blackmailer, a petty thief looking for a handout.

      He’d seen them, dealt with them before. He’d recognised the patter as soon as she’d started, the female flattery disguising the threat underneath.

      Mutual friends. Something he needed to hear.

      Hardly.

      He just didn’t understand why he felt so disappointed.

      Last night, when he’d seen her on the beach, he’d felt a connection. And then when she’d shown up at the reception, met his gaze, walked towards him with a smile that was tender, uncertain and yet filled with promise, he’d felt it again. Deep, real, alive.

      False. All he’d felt was cheap, easy desire. Lust masquerading as need.

      His disappointment was no more than he deserved for giving in to desire for something—someone—for even a moment.

      Wanting was weakness. Desire was dangerous. He’d seen the shameful results, lived with them every day.

      He had responsibilities, duties, and those were what counted. What mattered.

      Nothing else did.

      Nothing else could.

      He knew the drill: his guards would take her to a discreet office kept for just this purpose, make her sign a gagging order, and show her the door.

      He’d never see her again.

      Yet suddenly he wanted to know. Needed to know just what her game was—what information she pretended to have, what she hoped to get.

      Then he’d forget her completely.

      ‘Excuse me…Pardon…’ He repeated the phrase in several languages as the crowd mingled and jostled for his attention, moving past everyone with firm decision.

      He pushed through the double doors, strode down the corridor towards the lobby.

      What had she expected? That he would believe her dirty little tale and cut her a cheque? He shook his head slowly, disbelief and fury pouring through him, scalding his soul.

      Had she been planning her little manoeuvre last night, on the beach? Was there someone else involved? Some man waiting greedily back in their hotel room?

      Or was she playing another game? Selling her story to a tabloid? The gossip rags had so little dirt to dish on him, it wouldn’t surprise him if they were paying people to make it up.

      He strode into the lobby, heard the flutter of greeting from an army of receptionists and ignored them, making for the small office, its door discreetly tucked behind a potted palm in one corner of the spacious room.

      He paused outside the door, listening. Waiting to hear what ridiculous tale she would spin.

      ‘I don’t want money!’ He heard her furious denial, shook his head. What was she playing for? A bigger bribe?

      ‘Sign this statement, Miss Davies.’ Tony, one of his two security guards, spoke with weary patience. ‘By signing it you agree not to sell or disclose any information regarding Mr Petrakides, the Petrakides family, or Petrakides Properties. Then you will leave this resort. Petrakides Properties will pay for one night’s accommodation in a local hotel as redress. Your belongings will be sent there this evening.’

      Lukas heard the silence through the door, felt her incredulity, her fury, her fear. His hand rested on the knob.

      ‘That’s not possible.’ Her voice was a whisper, with a thread of steel through its core.

      ‘It is in every way possible,’ Tony replied flatly. ‘And as soon as you sign the statement, it will be put into effect.’

      ‘I’ll sign the statement,’ Rhiannon replied with barely a waver. ‘But you cannot throw me out of this resort. There is a baby in my hotel room, and that child belongs to Lukas Petrakides!’

      Lukas’s hand tightened on the knob as shock and outrage battled for precedence. Had the lying slut actually brought a baby as proof? Used an innocent child in her despicable scheme? It was vile. He should have her arrested, prosecuted…

      The Petrakides family’s policy, however, was to remove any instigators as quickly and quietly as possible. Prosecution, in this case, was not an option.

      For a brief moment Lukas imagined his father’s reaction when the tabloids printed the story about his so-called child. He knew someone at the party would dish the goods.

      His mouth tightened; his heart hardened. She wasn’t worth the trouble she’d put him to.

      ‘If that is so,’ Lukas’s security guard said after a tiny, tense pause, ‘then I will escort you to your hotel room to collect this child. Then you will go.’

      There was a silence. When her voice came out, however, it shocked him. It was small and sad and defeated.

      ‘You have this all wrong,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I don’t want to blackmail anyone—least of all Lukas Petrakides. I simply have reason to believe his daughter is in my care, and I thought he should know that…know her.’ This last came out in a sorry, aching whisper that created an answering throb in Lukas’s midsection. His gut, not his heart.

      She was sincere, even if she was mistaken. Or she was a phenomenal actress. He forced himself not to care. Then he shook his head slowly. She had to be acting, faking. How on earth she could possibly believe she had his child when he had never seen her before—what could she be playing at?

      Still he paused. Wondered. Wanted to know.

      And he realised with damning weakness—need—that he wanted to see her again.

      He turned the knob.

      Rhiannon choked back a scream of frustration and defeat. This had gone so horribly, horribly wrong. No one believed her; no one even cared.

      From Lukas Petrakides down, all she’d come up against were