Rhiannon stiffened. ‘I told you, I’m staying in her life. I’m not signing anything over.’
Lukas sighed. ‘Rhiannon, the last thing I want is a custody case. But Annabel is my great-niece—my blood relation.’
‘Blood is so important to you?’
‘Of course it is!’
Rhiannon shook her head, refusing to admit just how backed into a corner she was. ‘Christos hasn’t taken a paternity test yet—’
‘No, but it is a mere formality now. He will take one when he returns to Athens.’
‘Then we have a little time to work something out,’ Rhiannon said. She drew herself up, met his gaze full-on. ‘Because I don’t want a court case either, Lukas, but I’m not bowing out simply because you feel you have more rights. Leanne didn’t come to you when she thought you were the father. She came to me. That says something.’
‘Oh?’ Lukas was still—dangerously so. Rhiannon already knew what ran deep beneath those still waters. His eyes were a lethal silver, his expression like that of a predator right before it snapped open its jaws, devoured its prey. ‘What does it say to you?’
‘That Leanne trusted me to love Annabel.’
‘Yet you were going to give her away.’
She refused to be drawn. ‘I’ve already explained why I was prepared to do that—and, as I’ve said, things are different now. I’m staying.’
Lukas raised his eyebrows. ‘For ever?’
Rhiannon swallowed. For ever was a long time. Yet she could hardly walk away when Annabel was older and more attached to her. She could hardly walk away at all.
‘You haven’t thought this through, have you, Rhiannon?’ Lukas jeered softly. ‘You’re full of big ideas about loving Annabel, but you’re not quite sure how it works out in the details. The duties.’
‘I…’
‘Because if you want to be her mother, if you want to love her, then you have to stay. You’ll have to make your home in Greece. You’ll have to live in the Petrakides pocket. You’ll have to—’ he finished with heavy emphasis ‘—become my responsibility…if I’m prepared to accept it.’
Rhiannon’s mouth opened, and after a moment of silent struggling she finally choked out, ‘I will never, ever, be someone’s responsibility again.’
‘It’s not your choice.’
‘It is my choice,’ she countered fiercely. ‘And just because you have an overdeveloped sense of what you’re required to do in life it doesn’t mean I have to fall neatly in with those plans! I’ll stay in Annabel’s life, but on my own terms, and not in “the Petrakides pocket”, as you so snidely put it! I will provide for myself, live by myself, be completely independent…’ She trailed off, running out of self-righteous steam at his look of blatant disbelief.
‘That,’ he said with quiet, final derision, ‘is not going to happen. Do you actually think for one second that you can set up house somewhere and have me visit at weekends? My dreaded sense of duty requires a bit more action than that.’
Rhiannon pushed her hands through her hair. She wanted to slow down her whirling mind—knew she couldn’t think through real solutions when her head felt as if it was spinning and her heart burned within her. ‘I could be her nanny…’
‘That is not your decision to make.’
‘You can’t cut me out of her life like this!’ Rhiannon cried, her voice jagged, desperate.
‘I can do whatever I want,’ Lukas said bluntly. ‘If you want to drag this through court, you can. But you will be bankrupted and vilified in the process. I will win any case, Rhiannon. Be assured.’
‘Would you be so cruel?’ she whispered, and he shrugged.
‘I have Annabel’s best interests at heart. I want to provide her with a secure, stable environment, and frankly I’m not sure you fit into that picture.’
Rhiannon shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving until Christos takes the paternity test. We have some time to think of a plan that is beneficial to everyone.’
Lukas nodded brusquely, his face tight. ‘Very well. We can speak about this later.’
Rhiannon nodded. She would have to think of a better game plan—a clearer idea of just how she could remain in Annabel’s life without being beholden to Lukas Petrakides. How he would let her.
Right now, it seemed impossible.
She opened the study door, saw Theo outside, and realised he’d probably heard every word. She couldn’t summon enough emotional energy to care. Jerking her head in a nod of goodnight, she walked stiffly out of the study and up the stairs.
In her room Annabel was sleeping soundly, and Rhiannon slipped out of the silky clothes and into her old pyjamas—a tee-shirt and pair of boxer shorts. A silky nightgown, modest and yet achingly sensual, had been included in the box of clothes, but she couldn’t wear something so intimate. Not if Lukas had had anything to do with the choosing.
Lukas. She couldn’t escape him, couldn’t run from the way he affected her. Angered her. And yet he made her ache, need. Wonder, want.
Want. Why couldn’t Lukas let himself want anything? What a cold existence—to deny yourself any pleasure simply because it was pleasing to you…made you happy. Was that why he hadn’t slept with a woman for two years?
There had to be a lot of sexual repression going on there. Rhiannon smothered a rueful smile. If anyone was sexually repressed, it was her. One burning look from Lukas and she was on fire. He moved towards her and she melted. She’d never reacted to any man like that. She’d never had the chance.
Like Lukas, she acknowledged, she hadn’t given in to desire. Hadn’t allowed herself to want. There had been no time, no opportunity. And duty to her parents had bound her with loveless cords.
Unlike Lukas, she wanted love…not duty. She wanted more.
Rhiannon watched the moon sift silver patterns over the floor, listened to Annabel’s soft breathy sighs of sleep, and felt miles from such relaxation herself.
Her stomach growled, and she realised that she’d eaten hardly anything at dinner.
She was hungry.
She slipped out of bed, opened her door as quietly as possible. It had to be past midnight. The house was quiet and still. Surely no one would notice—no one would mind—if she slipped down to the kitchen and grabbed a roll?
She tiptoed down the hallway, feeling strangely guilty. She stopped when she heard music.
It was coming from downstairs, floating from behind the closed door of the lounge, and it was haunting. Sad, melodious, beautiful.
Rhiannon walked downstairs, stood in front of the door, and listened. The music spoke to her soul and made her ache. Who was playing?
Stealthily, she pushed the door with the tips of her fingers and peeked in.
Lukas was at the piano, absorbed in his playing. His long, lean fingers moved gracefully over the keys, evoking that sound, that glorious emotion.
Rhiannon didn’t know if she’d made a noise, or if the door had creaked, or if perhaps Lukas had just sensed her, but he looked up, his face freezing into a blank mask, his hands stilling on the keys.
‘No…don’t stop. It’s beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
She knew that polite, impersonal tone. Knew it and hated it. She