Hot Picks: Exotic Propositions. Кейт Хьюит

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.

      Lukas was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled when he saw how she was dressed—a smile that for one soul-splitting second lit his eyes with feral possession and made both Rhiannon’s heart and her step stumble.

      She grasped the wrought-iron banister, her fingers curling around it for balance.

      His smile turned polite, a courtesy, and he murmured, ‘I like that outfit on you.’

      ‘Someone who works for you has good taste,’ Rhiannon quipped, to give herself time to recover from that one brief, scorching look.

      Lukas raised his eyebrows. ‘Why do you think I hired someone to buy you clothes?’

      Rhiannon checked herself. ‘Didn’t you?’

      He shrugged. ‘Maybe I chose all the things myself, on the internet, and had them flown over.’

      Was he teasing? A faint blush stole across her cheeks, rendered her speechless. The idea that Lukas himself had picked out the clothes, decided what she would like, what she would look good in, knew her size—it was so personal, so intimate…The thought burned her as much as his touches had.

      He watched her with dark, knowing eyes—eyes that knew how discomfited she was, and perhaps enjoyed it.

      He said nothing, merely took her firmly by the elbow, his hand dry and warm, and led her into the dining room.

      Theo stood by his chair as they entered, stiff and straight, his shoulders thrown back, a haughty look hardening his features.

      Rhiannon didn’t take it to heart. She knew it was not directed towards her, but was rather a defence against compassion or, worse, pity.

      She smiled at the older man. He looked away.

      The meal Adeia served was again delicious, and Rhiannon found she could almost relax. Theo said little, but Lukas kept up a flow of conversation about the islands, Athens, business. All fairly innocent, innocuous topics that made Rhiannon drop her guard for one treacherous moment.

      Then a phone rang, trilled against Lukas’s chest, and he slipped a mobile from his breast pocket. ‘Excuse me…Hello?’ His face darkened and he stood, turning away from Rhiannon. He spoke in rapid Greek before covering the mouthpiece of the little phone and saying, ‘I need to take this privately. I beg your pardon.’

      Rhiannon watched him go, her heart starting a slow, heavy thud.

      Theo spoke what was already screaming through her own mind.

      ‘That will be Christos.’

      ‘Perhaps now,’ Rhiannon said, as steadily as she could, ‘we will get to the bottom of this.’

      Theo’s eyes glittered, and he said the one word with effort. ‘Perhaps.’

      The room was silent, heavy with tense expectation. Rhiannon couldn’t eat, couldn’t even pretend to pick at her food. Adeia cleared the plates and brought in the little cups of thick black coffee that burned down Rhiannon’s throat like acid.

      Still Lukas did not come.

      What was going on? What was being said?

      And, most importantly, what was going to happen?

      Theo watched her, his eyes bright. Rhiannon tried not to let his stare unnerve her, even though her throat was dry, and she felt as if she would choke on her own words.

      Finally Lukas returned, his face blank. ‘Rhiannon, may I speak with you? In the study.’

      ‘You can say it here,’ Theo protested, his tone angry even though his words were halting. ‘Is Christos the father?’

      ‘I will speak to Rhiannon first. Excuse us, Papa.’

      Woodenly Rhiannon followed him to a dark, wood-panelled room, with bookshelves lining all the walls except for a picture window that looked out directly onto a rocky outcropping, an unforgiving line of shore.

      ‘That was Christos on your phone, wasn’t it?’ she said into the silence. ‘Did he say…?’

      ‘Yes, he did.’ Lukas thrust his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘He admitted everything. Meeting Leanne, using my name, taking her to Naxos. He repeated the story you told me almost exactly, and I hadn’t even told him what you’d said.’

      ‘It’s not as if he would make it up,’ Rhiannon said, her voice sounding stilted, unnatural. Why did this hurt? she wondered. It was no more than either of them had expected.

      ‘I wouldn’t put anything past Christos. He was adamant, in fact, that he had used protection, but mistakes can happen.’

      ‘Annabel is not a mistake!’ Rhiannon looked up, a fierce golden light in her eyes. She realised she was trembling.

      ‘Not to you, perhaps,’ Lukas agreed. ‘But to Christos she is nothing more than that. As soon as possible I will begin adoption proceedings. Christos is delighted with the solution.’ His mouth tightened