Hot Picks: Exotic Propositions. Кейт Хьюит

been dying.

      ‘How do I know?’ Lukas raised one eyebrow, as if daring her to make him answer such a question.

      ‘I mean…’ Rhiannon felt humiliating colour flood her face. ‘There must have been women…’ She assumed, despite his unsullied reputation, that there still were women. There were always women. Attractive, wealthy, discreet, willing to give and receive pleasure—satisfy a need.

      ‘Ah.’ His smile was mocking, bittersweet. ‘But there you’re wrong, Miss Davies. There have been no women. Not for two years.’

      His face remained impassive even as Rhiannon gaped in shock. She wasn’t sure why she should find this so surprising; she hadn’t slept with anyone in the last two years. Or, for that matter, ever.

      Lukas Petrakides, however, exuded raw strength, powerful virility. The idea that he’d gone without women—without sex—for such a length of time seemed ludicrous. Impossible.

      Men like him thrived on passion…needed it. Didn’t they?

      Was Lukas really different? Was he gay? The thought was absurd. Cold, then…? Although there seemed nothing cold about him.

      Was he just incredibly restrained?

      After her mind had stopped whirling she realised with cold, stark clarity just what this meant.

      Annabel couldn’t possibly be Lukas’s child.

      She’d come here for nothing.

      ‘Are you…sure?’ she asked, her voice a rusty croak. Yet she knew what an inane question it was—just as she knew he was telling the truth. In some bizarre, inexplicable way, she trusted him. Trusted his word.

      ‘I don’t forget such things. If there was any possibility of course I would have a paternity test taken. If the child were indeed mine I would care for it. Naturally.’

      Rhiannon shook her head. She didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to consider the utter waste of her travelling to France, spending far more money than she ever should have on a hotel and, worse, losing any hope of a better life for Annabel.

      Lukas Petrakides was not Annabel’s father. Rhiannon stared, her mind forming one impossible denial after another. She wanted to cry. To cry for Annabel, for herself.

      For lost dreams of the father-daughter reunion she’d been dreaming of for years.

      It was never going to happen.

      But she wasn’t going to cry.

      ‘I’m sorry your little charade didn’t pay off,’ Lukas said with a cold smile. ‘But at least you can be thankful that I won’t press charges. You and your…prop will vacate the premises within the next fifteen minutes.’

      ‘My prop?’ Rhiannon repeated blankly, before she realised he was talking about a person. A child. Annabel. ‘You still think this is a blackmail attempt?’ She shook her head, surprised at the rush of relief that Annabel would not be tied to a man who thought so little of her, of humanity. ‘Why can’t you believe I came here with your interests—Annabel’s interests—at heart? I didn’t come for money, Mr Petrakides. I came to find Annabel a father.’

      ‘Charming.’ Lukas’s eyes were flat, cold and hard. ‘Since you didn’t, you can leave.’

      Rhiannon knew he didn’t believe her, and she forced herself not to care. She didn’t need to impress Lukas Petrakides; she was out of his life, and so was Annabel.

      Yet it still hurt.

      She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. ‘Fine. I’m sorry I wasted your time.’

      Lukas jerked his head in the semblance of a nod. Rhiannon forced herself to continue, even though she didn’t want to accept anything from this man…to need anything from him.

      ‘You mentioned another hotel as redress? Could I have the details, please?’ Colour scorched her cheeks. If she’d had any money left she wouldn’t have asked, but she was desperate, and they needed a place to stay until their flight tomorrow.

      ‘The information will be at the front desk by the time you leave.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Stiff with dignity, her legs trembling, she walked out of the room. Lukas’s eyes seemed to burn into her back.

      She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She was stronger than that. Tougher. In all the years of loneliness, disappointment, and grief, her eyes had remained dry. They would remain so now.

      Lukas watched her go, his lips twisting in a mocking smile. She’d given up quite easily when she realised he wasn’t playing ball. She was obviously an amateur at the blackmail game—as was this mysterious Leanne.

      Had they honestly thought they could pin something on him—him, Lukas Petrakides? That he would bow to their outrageous demands?

      Something pricked him, pricked his conscience, and he realised with a jolt of uncomfortable surprise what it was. Guilt.

      Why should he feel guilty?

      Because she so obviously didn’t want your money. She hadn’t actually asked for a single euro.

      Had he assumed the worst?

      He shook his head. The baby wasn’t his, and the friend Leanne had to have been lying. She’d have to know she hadn’t slept with him!

      And yet…what if Rhiannon hadn’t known?

      What if she’d been duped?

      Lukas hesitated; he didn’t like uncertainty. He didn’t like not knowing.

      So, he decided grimly, he would find out.

      Rhiannon’s mind was numb as she paid off the babysitter and began packing her paltry possessions. Annabel was asleep in the travel cot, one arm flung above her head, her breath coming in soft little sighs.

      Rhiannon gazed down at her sleeping form with a mixture of longing and desperation. What now? What future could they have? What future could she offer this child?

      ‘I tried,’ she whispered as she gently touched one chubby fist. ‘I really tried.’

      ‘Whose child is that really, Miss Davies?’

      The harsh voice had her whirling around. Lukas stood in the doorway, his face composed, closed. Cold.

      ‘How did you get in?’ she demanded, and he shrugged.

      ‘I own the hotel, Miss Davies. I can enter whichever room I please.’

      ‘It’s a violation of privacy—’

      ‘If anyone is going to speak of violation, it should be me,’ he replied. ‘Whose child is that?’

      ‘Not yours, apparently,’ Rhiannon snapped. ‘And you don’t need to know anything else. You’re not involved, Mr. Petrakides, as you were kind enough to remind me.’ She turned away, stuffing her belongings into the cheap suitcase.

      He watched, nonplussed. Rhiannon was conscious of the mess of the room: the spill of cosmetics by the bathroom sink, a bra hanging on the back of the chair. She grabbed the garment and stuffed it in the bag, saw how Lukas’s lips quirked in a rueful smile.

      She glared at him. ‘Why are you here?’

      In response he moved closer to the cot and studied Annabel.

      ‘This Leanne is the mother?’ he asked after a moment.

      ‘I told you she was!’ Rhiannon replied in exasperation. What was he playing at? Why did he care now?

      ‘And you really believed her?’ Lukas continued slowly. ‘That she had an affair…with me?’

      Rhiannon paused. He sounded different—as if he might believe she actually wasn’t in on the so-called scam. ‘She had no reason