The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride

Whoever it was, it was none of his business.

If he were a different man—with a different life, different responsibilities—he might not check that impulse. He might walk up to her, say hello, make conversation.

Nothing sleazy or sordid; he didn’t want that. Just honest conversation, a shared moment. Something real and warm and alive.

The desire for it shook him, vibrated deep in his being. He shook his head. It was never going to happen.

A bitter smile twisted his lips as he watched her. She dropped her arms, raised her face to the moon-bathed sky. The breeze off the sea moulded her cheap sundress to the slight contours of her body. Her curves were boyish at best, yet Lukas still felt a stirring of desire.

A desire he wouldn’t act upon. Couldn’t. As the only son of his father, the only heir to the Petrakides real estate fortune, he carried too many responsibilities to shrug them off lightly for a mere dalliance with a slip of a girl. For a moment’s connection.

He would never let it be anything more.

His grey eyes hardened to pewter. He thought he heard her give a little shuddering sigh, but perhaps it was the wind. Perhaps it was his imagination.

Perhaps that sound had come from him.

She jerked her head around sharply, and he drew in a breath as he stepped back, deeper into the shadows. Had he made a sound—one that she’d heard?

Her gaze swept the beach, fastened on the sliding glass door to her hotel room. She hadn’t seen him, he realised; something from inside the room—a person? A man?—had beckoned her.

Her body sagged slightly, her arms dropping to her sides, her head bowed as she turned to head back inside.

Lukas watched her go, wondered who—what—had called her. Why did she look so sorrowful, as if the weight of the world rested on those slight shoulders?

He knew how that felt. He understood about crippling weight.

The sliding glass door closed with a click, and, suppressing another wave of longing, Lukas turned to head back to his private suite.

CHAPTER ONE

RHIANNON DAVIES checked her reflection one last time before nodding to the babysitter.

‘Right…I should only be an hour or two.’ She glanced uncertainly at the baby sitting on the floor, chewing on her house keys and looking at her with dark, soulful eyes. ‘She might need a nap in a little while.’

The babysitter, a stout Frenchwoman with an impassive expression, nodded once before stooping to pick Annabel up in her arms.

Rhiannon watched, noticed how the older woman’s arms went comfortably around Annabel’s chubby middle and carried her with a confident ease she had yet to feel herself.

‘I don’t think she’ll cry,’ she ventured, and was answered with another brisk nod.

In the two weeks since Annabel had been in her care, the baby had hardly cried at all. Despite the whirl of events, the change of both home and mother, she simply regarded the world with big, blank eyes. Rhiannon suspected the poor mite was in shock.

That was why she was here, she told herself firmly, not for the first time, ignoring the pangs of guilt and longing stabbing her middle. Her heart.

She had come to France, to this exclusive resort, to Lukas Petrakides, to give Annabel some stability. To give her love.

Annabel stuck a fist in her mouth and chewed while gazing in blank curiosity at the woman who’d come so abruptly into her life.

Rhiannon.

They hadn’t bonded, Rhiannon acknowledged, hadn’t really tried. It was too strange, too difficult, too sad.

She’d never even held a baby before Leanne, pale-faced, wide-eyed, had thrust a sleeping Annabel into her arms. Take her.

Rhiannon’s arms had closed around the solid little form as a matter of instinct, but her arms had been at awkward angles and she hadn’t been sure how to cuddle.

Annabel had woken up with a furious screech.

‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’ Hesitantly Rhiannon stroked one satiny cheek. Annabel simply blinked.

It was better this way, she knew. Better they didn’t get attached. Then it would be so much easier to say goodbye.

A lump formed in her throat; she forced it down. She would do what she had to do to secure Annabel’s future and, more importantly, her happiness.

No matter what the cost.

She stole one last look at her reflection: dark curls, mostly tamed behind her ears, a face pale but with a sprinkling of freckles in stark relief, a smart if inexpensive skirt, and a matching sleeveless top in aquamarine. Modest, businesslike. Appropriate.

Suppressing a sigh, she slipped out of the hotel room.

The sun was bright, the air fresh and clean as she walked along the outside corridor. The newest Petra Resort, situated in this remote, exclusive corner of the Languedoc province of France, was simple, spare and elegant. Having arrived in darkness, she now took note of the bougainvillaea spilling from terracotta pots, the climbing vines, the clean colours.

It had cost her half a month’s salary—far more than she could possibly afford—to book even the cheapest room at the resort on its opening weekend. If there hadn’t been a last-minute cancellation she wouldn’t have got in at all.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath that was meant to steady her jangling nerves, Rhiannon hoped this journey would be worth it. For Annabel.

She closed her eyes briefly. This was all so, so crazy.

Only a fortnight ago Leanne had exploded back into her life—and out again just as quickly. Leaving confusion and Annabel in her wake. And the name of Annabel’s father.

Rhiannon bit her lip as fresh doubts assailed her, washed over her in a sickening wave. What if Lukas refused to talk to her? Or, worse, denied his responsibility? When she’d attempted to contact him by telephone she hadn’t made it past the first hurdle.

We’ll give Mr Petrakides your message.

Yeah, right. The disbelief and scorn had been obvious, shaming. They hadn’t even taken her number or her name.

Then she’d read in the local newspaper that a new Petra resort was opening in France, seen that Lukas Petrakides would be there at a reception for the resort’s first guests. She knew it was a chance—perhaps the only one—for Annabel to know her father. Her family.

Every child needed parents. Real ones, not strangers who took them out of duty, obligation.

She believed that with all her heart. She wanted more for Annabel. She wanted to give her a family. She didn’t know where she herself would fit into that equation, if at all. The thought had first chilled her; now it merely numbed.

She understood about sacrifice. She was prepared.

Rhiannon walked down several corridors, looking for the lounge that the resort had advertised as the location for the ‘Meet and Greet’ reception.

Whenever a new Petra resort opened—and now there had to be half a dozen—Lukas Petrakides, the founder’s son and CEO of the company, came to meet with his guests.