His Love-Child: The Greek Tycoon's Love-Child / The Spaniard's Love-Child / The Millionaire's Love-Child

Sinking down onto an over-stuffed sofa, Willow tried to relax. She was a woman with a successful career and perfectly capable of looking after herself, nothing like the impressionable teenager she had once been. She was worrying about nothing; it was just as Theo said—a drink between old friends. Well, not exactly friends, she corrected. They were two people who had spent one explosive night together nine years ago. It still puzzled her why Theo had bothered following her to the airport that day; maybe he had thought it was the polite thing to do, even for someone of his low morals.

She studied him stealthily through the thick veil of her lashes. Light glinted on the silver wings of his thick black hair, highlighting his autocratic profile, a straight blade of a nose, with a square chin and firmly chiselled lips. The intervening years since their first meeting had been good to him. The laughter lines around his gorgeous eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth simply added character to an almost too beautiful face. He had shed his jacket and she noticed how his silk shirt fitted immaculately over his broad shoulders and muscular chest. Narrow-hipped and long-legged, he had the perfect male triangular torso.

He also had the kind of presence and dangerous good looks that made him stand out in any crowd. Add immense wealth and an air of virile masculinity and he was irresistible to the opposite sex… and he knew it. This was why he felt confident enough to joke about his age. Theo would be a handsome devil till the day he died, and the thought of him did nothing for Willow’s body temperature.

She watched his brows draw together in concentration as he expertly opened the champagne, and for a second the breath caught in her throat. She had seen the exact same expression on Stephen’s face, and suddenly Willow’s eyes turned to blue ice. She had been in danger of forgetting just how much of a threat Theo Kadros was to her life. Straightening up in the seat, she held out her hand to take the flute of champagne he offered with a cool smile on her face. ‘Thank you.’

The sofa depressed as he lowered his long length down beside her, and, turning slightly, fixed her with his gleaming black eyes. ‘To The Mole who turned into a swan.’ Willow’s blue eyes widened in surprise, and he grimaced slightly. ‘My English is not perfect. I think I probably got the phrase wrong. But you know what I mean. Congratulations, Willow.’

Their glasses clinked and she hastily took a sip of the sparkling liquid, forcing herself to keep smiling. There was nothing wrong with his English, and he was perfectly well aware of the fact. So why the pretence? The use of her schoolgirl nickname ‘Mole’ worried her too. She certainly had not told him about that and it made her wonder just how much Theo actually knew about her.

‘So tell me, what made you start writing?’

‘Well, as you are obviously aware, my nickname at school was Mole, which I might add I hate. I’m surprised that a man of your intelligence needs to ask any more,’ she said dryly.

‘Humour me,’ he prompted, discreetly refilling their glasses.

Why not? Talking about her work was a much safer subject than reminiscing about their brief past, Willow thought. She told him how she got her first book published, and deftly fielded his questions about where she lived now. She returned the query and asked where he lived. Theo confirmed what she already knew, that he spent most of his time jetting around the world, but that his actual home was in Greece.

‘You have a very busy life,’ Willow murmured, her blue eyes lifting to his. ‘But you seem to thrive on the pressure.’

Theo gave a nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I work hard and play hard.’ Moving towards her, he casually slid his arm along the back of the sofa behind her, much too close for Willow’s comfort.

‘Well, your lifestyle would not suit me,’ she blurted. The friendly atmosphere between them seemed suddenly fraught with tension. ‘I like a quiet life spending time in one place. I don’t like travelling.’ She knew she was babbling but could not seem to stop. ‘I don’t like change.’ His broad shoulders were angled towards her, and she was starkly aware of the aggressively male body beneath the immaculately tailored silk shirt, and the length of his muscular thigh lightly pressing against her leg.

‘I can respect that,’ Theo murmured, ‘in some in-stances—for example, your hair.’ Willow could not prevent the involuntary jerk of her head as his hand stroked casually over the back of it. ‘I am glad you were never tempted to have it cut.’

‘Yes, well, my grandmother was very traditional. My mother’s job took her all over the world so Grandma virtually brought me up, and she would never dream of cutting my hair. When she was a child her parents were quite strict. They never worked on Sunday, certainly had no television, and the females of the family were not allowed to have their hair cut.’

She stopped and, picking up her glass from the table, she gulped down the rest of the champagne. A foolish thing to do, she realised, because Theo had been quietly topping her glass up. Her brain went into idiot mode when he was around, and nervous tension was making her tell him much more than he needed to know. She glanced up at his handsome face with wary, suspicious eyes. She had to stop rambling on, and get out of here quick before she really let something slip.

‘My thanks go to your grandmother. It would be sacrilege to cut such beautiful hair,’ Theo murmured and raised a dark sardonic eyebrow. ‘But surely, Willow, you aren’t trying to tell me that a woman of your age and beauty could be content with all the restrictions your grandmother adhered to? For instance, I am sure there must have been many men in your life since we last met.’

‘No. Yes, well…’ She faltered, her voice dying away beneath his mocking gaze. Suddenly anger came to her rescue. He had some nerve asking about her love life given he was the world’s worst playboy. ‘Only one,’ she snapped, thinking of her son, Stephen.

Theo gazed down at her with an enigmatic gleam in his dark eyes. ‘I’m inclined to believe you.’

‘Thanks,’ she said with an edge of sarcasm in her tone. In the sophisticated world he inhabited people changed their lovers as often as their clothes. ‘But enough about me.’ Willow realised that she desperately needed to change the subject, and fast. ‘So tell me, what is your sister, Anna, doing now?’

‘Ah, yes, Anna,’ he said blandly, the gleam of mockery in his gaze. Her blunt attempt to change the subject had been noted, but he was prepared to humour her. ‘Anna is now married and the proud mother of two delightful daughters. As their uncle I spoil them rotten, or so Anna tells me.’

Willow immediately knew it had been a big mistake to ask. The sensual tension simmering underneath what she hoped was a cool, attentive expression vanished and she was now flooded with guilt. She had never thought of Theo as the sort of man who would like children. But it was obvious by the softening of his features and the humour in his eyes as he spoke of his nieces that he adored the girls. How much more would he adore his own son?

‘You must visit her some time. She will be delighted to see you again.’

‘Yes,’ Willow said, leaping to her feet. ‘Maybe some time, but now I really must go.’ The champagne and the companionable chat and, Willow realised, she had been falling under the sophisticated charm of the man all over again. Theo was an enormous threat to her life and she had to remember that.

Theo rose to his feet and placed two hands on her slender shoulders. A disturbing surge of awareness skated down her spine. ‘I think Anna always felt a bit guilty she did not do more for your eighteenth birthday. She was under the impression that you left the party early and went to your room because you were bored. I didn’t enlighten her,’ he concluded with a broad grin, his dark eyes inviting her to share the memory.

Watching his lips part over brilliant white teeth, Willow found herself remembering just how incredible those firm lips had felt on her own mouth and body. She felt heat curl and grow inside her, awakening sensations she didn’t want to feel. Mortified by her own instant reaction, she fought back the total body blush that he had aroused in her, with his reminder of just whose room she had shared.

She tilted her chin and bravely held his gaze. But she could do nothing about the long-forgotten sensations that had begun to flare to volatile life inside her. ‘Tell Anna from me she has nothing to feel guilty about,’ she said, forcing her voice into an approximation of polite concern. ‘And, pleasant though the last hour has been, I really see no point in getting in touch with Anna again. We only met the once, and I have never heard from her since. I think it would be better to keep it that way.’ And that includes you, she implied, but never said. She wasn’t that brave.

Theo was a highly intelligent man—let him draw his own conclusions. She refused to recognise the sudden pang of regret that squeezed her heart. Theo Kadros was banned from her life, however handsome, however tempting, and her own innate honesty forced her to admit, on a purely sexual level, that she was indeed tempted.

‘Now you really must excuse me, I—’ she began.

‘If you thought like that then I am surprised you agreed to have a drink with me,’ Theo murmured, his dark eyes narrowing intently on her upturned face. ‘And very flattered.’ His astute gaze dropped to the lush curve of her mouth and his hands tightened slightly on her shoulders. ‘So why did you, I wonder?’

Willow knew she had made an error of judgement. He had a mind like a razor and she had aroused his curiosity. She should have refused his offer the minute she’d seen him and stuck to it. To try and play it cool was one thing, but to give the man the least suspicion she had anything to hide would be fatal. She had to act and act fast.

With a deliberate lowering of her lashes, she allowed her gaze to sweep seductively down his body, lingering for a moment on the hard line of his jaw, before finally levelling to meet his own dark eyes that were now studying her.

‘You must know you are a hard man to refuse, Theo,’ she said softly. ‘I thought there would be no harm in a drink for old times’ sake, as you said.’ With a smile pinned to her lips, she added, ‘Thank you, it has been very nice, but I really must go.’

‘Is it all men or just me you are afraid of?’ he asked astutely, his responding smile grim. But before Willow could form a reply he suddenly demanded, ‘Tell me what really happened to make you run away from me the first time we met? After hearing from Emma about you, seeing you again today, and with the benefit of hindsight, I don’t buy your reason you gave me at the airport. I think it is much more likely you were caught by surprise by your own sensuality and got a little more than you bargained for. I think you were running scared, and still are. If I am right, I am sorry.’

Anger simmered inside her, but she managed to keep a smile stuck to her lips. His conceit in his prowess as a lover and his casually given belated apology only served to incense her further. But she forced herself to hide it. Willow knew that if this man ever found out just how much more she had got from him all those years ago, the world would not be a big enough place for her to hide from his fury.

Fear and guilt tamed the furious retort that she would have liked to have given him, but instead she meekly agreed. ‘Something like that, I suppose. But no hard feelings, Theo. And now I really must go.’

‘As you wish, but first…’ Theo growled softly and pulled her into the hard length of his powerful body. His wide, sensual mouth came crashing down on hers, and, taking advantage of her shocked gasp, he slid his tongue possessively between her parted lips, discovering the moist interior.

For a heartbeat she was frozen in shock, but only for a heartbeat. Twisting, she tried to escape the heady pressure of his mouth. She didn’t want this… could not have this… But try as she might she could not escape. Then the hands that had been holding her so firmly against him began sliding over the curves of her body. Willow’s eyelids drifted down in helpless response to the exquisite sensuality of his touch, the pressure of his mouth slowly changing. No longer savage, his lips moved skilfully over hers, drugging in their expertise, and a sensation too delicious to be painful clenched her stomach.

Her body betrayed her, exactly as it had done nine years ago, a liquid heat flowing through her veins. She was eighteen again and lost in the wondrous sensations of her first and only love.

His mouth gentled on hers, and shaped it to his own. His tongue sought out the moist dark depths again, and desire fierce and hot surged through her. Willow was instantly overwhelmed in a tidal wave of long-forgotten sensations. No, not forgotten—brutally suppressed to save her sanity. But now the dam was broken. Her slender body arched, pressing into the hard heat of his, her hands reaching to clasp around his neck.

‘I want you,’ Theo muttered harshly against her mouth. ‘God, how I want you.’

The words weren’t necessary; she felt it in the pressure of his fiercely aroused body as he moved urgently against her. Her fingers tangled in the silken hair of his head, and her tongue duelled with his in the ever-increasing hunger of their kiss.

Nine long years of celibacy added to the fervour with which she responded to his mouth. Her back arched as he swiftly pulled down the zipper in the back of her dress, and she groaned as for an instant he broke contact. Theo eased her dress down to her waist, and curved an arm around her. His hand splayed up her naked back, and his dark head swooped, his mouth finding hers again. Then with his free hand he found the small clip in the front of her bra.

Willow was drugged by the dark magic of his touch and her head fell back over his arm. She groaned as his fingers trailed over the soft swell of her breast. She opened her dazed eyes, and looked up into burning black, and for a split second she hesitated.

Theo’s molten black eyes seared into hers, mesmerising in their intensity. His hand at her back slipped up further and freed the loosely tied scarf so her hair flowed in silken black waves down her back.

‘This is how I remember you,’ Theo grated, his other hand cupping her breast. His long fingers trailed over the already taut nipple and a devilish gleam of pure male triumph shone in his dark eyes.

‘Helplessly aroused and aching.’ His fingers plucked at the swollen peak of her breast, sending shafts of sensation from her breast to the apex of her thighs. His night-black eyes blazed triumphantly over her slender milk-white body that arched provocatively over his strong arm. ‘Dear God! My memory does not do you justice, Willow. You are more incredibly beautiful than in my wildest dreams, or, I should say, nightmares,’ he grated with a trace of bitterness in his tone.

If he had not been holding her she would have collapsed in a puddle at his feet, her body shuddering in an overload of sensation. When he lifted his gaze to hers she saw the savage desire and hunger that he made no attempt to disguise and her heart threatened to burst from her chest.

She tried to speak, but his dark head descended again and brushed surprisingly gently over her softly parted lips. ‘I need to taste you again.’ he husked. ‘Make sure you’re real.’

His lips skimmed her throat to fasten hungrily over the rosy peak of one breast. She drew in a sharp, agonised breath, and her hand gripped his shoulder, the other slipping beneath his shirt, trailing over his hot, smooth skin. She felt his reaction in the tiny imperceptible jerk, and then suddenly he was lifting her and pressing her down on the sofa they had just vacated.