‘Does that reassure you?’ Anatole asked.
No! she wanted to shout. No! Absolutely nothing about this insane idea reassures me!
But what was the point of saying that? Of course the idea was insane and absurd and outrageous—but Anatole Telonidis was taking it seriously. Talking about it as if it were really going to happen.
Am I really going to go through with this? Go through with marriage to a man I never knew existed forty-eight hours ago?
‘Lyn?’
His deep, accented voice interrupted her troubled emotions. She jerked her head up and felt the impact of his gaze, felt the flurry in her veins that came as his eyes rested on her, his look enquiring.
‘Are we agreed?’ he asked.
She bit her lip. She wanted time—time to think, to focus! But how would that help? The longer she delayed, prevaricated, the more likely Anatole Telonidis would get impatient and set his lawyers on to the task of making a formal application to adopt Georgy himself.
She took a breath, ragged and uneven. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK, I’ll do it.’
JULIA JAMES lives in England with her family. Harlequin Mills & Boon® were the first ‘grown-up’ books she read as a teenager, alongside Georgette Heyer and Daphne du Maurier, and she’s been reading them ever since. Julia adores the English and Celtic countryside, in all its seasons, and is fascinated by all things historical, from castles to cottages. She also has a special love for the Mediterranean—’The most perfect landscape after England!’—and considers both ideal settings for romance stories. In between writing she enjoys walking, gardening, needlework, baking extremely gooey cakes and trying to stay fit!
Recent titles by the same author:
PAINTED THE OTHER WOMAN
THE DARK SIDE OF DESIRE FROM DIRT TO DIAMONDS FORBIDDEN OR FOR BEDDING?
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Securing the Greek’s Legacy
Julia James
For Franny, my dearest friend, in her brave fight against cancer—a fight shared by so many.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
ANATOLE TELONIDIS STARED bleakly across the large, expensively furnished lounge of the penthouse apartment in the most fashionable part of Athens. It was still as untidy as it had been when his young cousin Marcos Petranakos had last walked out of it a few short nightmare weeks ago, straight to his death.
When their mutual grandfather, Timon Petranakos, had phoned his older grandson he had been distraught. ‘Anatole, he’s dead! Marcos, my beloved Marcos—he’s dead!’ the old man had cried out.
Smashed to pieces at twenty-five, driving far too fast in the lethal supercar that had been Timon’s own present to Marcos, given in the wake of their grandfather’s recent diagnosis with cancer.
The death of his favourite grandson, whom he had spoiled lavishly since Marcos had lost his parents as a teenager, had been a devastating blow. Timon had since refused all treatment for his cancer, longing now only for his own death.
Anatole could understand his grandfather’s devastation, his mind-numbing grief. But the fallout from Marcos’s tragic death would affect more lives than their own family’s. With no direct heir now to the vast Petranakos Corporation, the company would pass to an obscure Petranakos relative whose business inexperience would surely, in these parlous economic times, lead inevitably to the company’s collapse and the loss of thousands of jobs, adding to the country’s sky-high unemployment levels.
Though Anatole had his own late father’s business empire to run—which he did with tireless efficiency and a pressing sense of responsibility—he knew that, had Marcos lived, he could have instilled a similar sense of responsibility into his hedonistic young cousin, guiding him effectively. But the new heir—middle-aged, self-important and conceited—was resistant to any such guidance.
Frustration with the fate awaiting the Petranakos Corporation—and its hapless workforce—Anatole started on the grim process of sorting out his young cousin’s possessions. Bleakly, he began his sombre task.
Paperwork was the first essential. As he located Marcos’s desk and set about methodically sorting out its jumbled contents a familiar ripple of irritation went through him. Marcos had been the least organised person he’d known—receipts, bills and personal correspondence were all muddled up, demonstrating just how uninterested Marcos had been in anything other than having a good time. Fast cars, high living and an endless procession of highly temporary females had been his favoured lifestyle. Unlike Anatole himself. Running the Telonidis businesses kept him too occupied for anything more than occasional relationships, usually with busy, high-powered businesswomen he worked with in the world of finance.
Frustration bit at Anatole.
If only Marcos had married! Then there might have been a son to inherit from Timon! I’d have kept the Petranakos Corporation safe for him until the child grew up!
But to the fun-seeking Marcos marriage would have been anathema! Girls had been for casual relationships only. There’d be time later for getting married, he’d always said.
But there was to be no later...
Grim-faced, his honed features starkly etched, Anatole went on sorting through the papers in his cousin’s desk. Official in one pile, personal in another. The latter pile was not large—not in this age of texting and the internet—but one drawer revealed a batch of three or four envelopes addressed to Marcos in cursive Roman script with a London postmark and UK stamps. Only one had been opened.
Anatole frowned. The lilac-coloured envelopes and the large, looping script suggested a female writer. Though Marcos’s dramatic death had been splashed across the Greek tabloids, a British girlfriend might not have heard of