What did she want? he wondered, not for the first time. She didn’t want to leave the child; she didn’t want to stay. Lukas still wasn’t sure if she was playing a high-stakes game, or if she simply didn’t know what she wanted.
Hardly a woman to trust with a child, he thought in derisive dismissal. With a child’s love.
Still, he had use of her, as did the child. He wasn’t ready to release her just yet.
* * *
THAT NIGHT FOR dinner Rhiannon dressed in the outfit she’d worn yesterday to the reception—now slightly crumpled, but still clean at least.
She’d fed Annabel in the kitchen, under the eye of Adeia, the kindly housekeeper and cook. After giving the baby a bath in the huge tub in her adjoining bathroom, she’d put Annabel to sleep in the middle of the wide bed in her room. There were no travel cots, but Lukas had assured her one would be found by the next day.
Dinner, she’d been informed, was in the villa’s dining room, and she was expected there at half past seven.
Rhiannon drew in a shaky breath and examined her reflection.
Her hair had turned wild and curly due to the moisture in the sea air, and no amount of brushing or spray would tame it. She’d abandoned any pretence at styling it, and settled for a slick of lipstick, a dab of perfume, and her old outfit.
It wasn’t as if she were trying to impress either Theo or Lukas. Though she dreaded seeing the older man again. His words rang in her ears.
Bastard.
That was all he saw Annabel as. What would he think, she wondered with wry bitterness, if he knew she was illegitimate too?
What would Lukas think? Would he judge her an unfit mother? Damn her for the circumstances of her birth, as Theo seemed willing to do?
Rhiannon threw back her shoulders, her mouth hardening into a grim line. That wasn’t going to happen. Because she was going to stick around. No matter what they said. No matter what they did.
After checking that Annabel was deeply asleep—exhausted, no doubt, by the upheavals of the day—Rhiannon headed downstairs. The wide, sweeping staircase led to a tiled foyer flanked with mahogany double doors that led to the villa’s reception rooms.
Lukas came into the foyer from one of the rooms at the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles. He wore a light grey button-down shirt, expensive and well made, and charcoal trousers cinched with a leather belt. He looked comfortable, walking with the innate arrogant grace of someone who was used to being watched, admired, obeyed.
He swept her with a cool gaze that made Rhiannon uncomfortably aware of her unruly hair, her crumpled outfit. Her position weak, helpless.
Hopeless.
Who was she kidding? She might put on a face of bravado, but that was all it was. False courage. If Lukas didn’t want her here, there was nothing she could do to convince him to let her stay.
She swallowed, realising afresh how out of her depth she truly was.
Out of her mind.
Lukas said nothing, merely took her arm to lead her into the dining room.
The table was set, and Theo stood by the wide windows that overlooked the shoreline. The stars were just visible in a lavender sky, and a few lights twinkled on the water.
‘Are there boats out there?’ Rhiannon asked, moving closer to the window to look.
‘Journalists,’ Theo replied flatly. ‘Hoping to get a good photo. They know if they come too close we can prosecute.’ He spoke slowly, deliberately, as if she were stupid. Rhiannon bit her lip, bit down the annoyance at the man’s condescension, and turned to Lukas.
‘Have they followed you out here already?’
‘They’ve followed you,’ Theo interjected. He smiled, but his eyes were hard. ‘Something to do with what you said, I should think. My son’s baby.’
Rhiannon flushed at the condemnation in his tone. ‘I’m sorry. I was desperate, and I didn’t realise the tabloids would make such a fuss.’
Theo looked unconvinced. ‘Didn’t you? Haven’t you read the papers before? The Petrakides family has, alas, been mentioned many times before.’
‘Have they?’ Rhiannon lifted her chin, her eyes shooting amber sparks. ‘I do not read those kinds of papers, Mr Petrakides.’
Theo’s mouth hardened, and he jerked a shoulder towards the table. ‘Shall we?’
He was gentleman enough to wait to sit until she was seated, but Rhiannon didn’t like the way he so quickly and coldly assessed her. Dismissed her. Lukas, she feared, felt the same way. He was simply better at hiding his feelings.
It didn’t matter anyway. She couldn’t let it matter.
Adeia brought in the first course—vine leaves stuffed with rice and herbs, and a separate dish of olives and feta marinated in olive oil.
It looked excellent, and with an audible growl of her stomach Rhiannon realised how hungry she was.
The first course was followed by moussaka, and a rack of lamb with herbs and served with rice.
It was delicious, and by the time dessert arrived—a nut cake flavoured with cloves and cinnamon—she was so full she felt the waistband of her skirt pinch uncomfortably.
She was also aware of Theo’s disapproval of his son. He never said anything outright; in fact he spoke slowly, as if he wanted to use as few words as possible, and even chose those with care.
Still, she saw the disapproval in the tightening of his mouth, the flatness in his eyes, the biting edge of his tone.
Lukas, to his credit, remained mild and relaxed throughout the whole meal, although Rhiannon noticed how his eyes darkened, blanked. His fist bunched on the tablecloth before he forced himself to shrug, nod, smile. Dismiss.
She wondered at the tension in the relationship, what secrets the Petrakides family harboured. What secrets Lukas hid behind the neutral expression, the cold eyes.
This was Annabel’s family. Fear and uncertainty churned in Rhiannon’s stomach as she thought of giving up her ward to these people.
She couldn’t. And she didn’t have to, she reminded herself. Not yet. Maybe never.
After cups of strong Greek coffee, Theo jerkily excused himself to bed. He walked stiffly from the room, leaving Rhiannon and Lukas alone amidst the flickering candles and the remnants of a fantastic meal.
‘That was wonderful…thank you.’ She dabbed at her lips with her napkin, suddenly aware of a palpable tension.
Lukas was rotating his coffee cup slowly between strong, brown fingers, his expression shuttered.
He looked up when she spoke, smiled easily, the darkness of his eyes clearing like the sun coming from behind storm clouds. ‘You’re not going to end the evening so soon?’
‘It’s late…I’m tired…’ She should be tired, but right now her senses were humming in a way that made her feel gloriously awake and alive. She knew to stay, to linger in the dim, intimate atmosphere of the room, would be dangerous for both of them.
For some reason this attraction had sprung up between them—a powerful force that they both had to avoid…for Annabel’s sake.
And for her own.
‘Will you walk with me on the beach?’ Lukas asked. ‘There need not be enmity between us, Rhiannon.’
‘Is that so?’ Rhiannon tried to laugh; it came out brittle. ‘It’s easy for you to say that, Lukas. You’re holding all the cards.’
‘I think,’ Lukas said