‘Well, why else are you here if you haven’t come looking for a hand-out?’
‘I don’t have to stay here and listen to your insults.’
‘Oh, but I am afraid that you do. You aren’t going anywhere,’ he said with silky menace as he glittered her a brittle look. ‘Until we get this thing sorted out.’
This thing happened to be their son, thought Laura—until she realised with a pang that maybe the Greek’s angry words had the ring of truth to them. Because Alex was her son, not his. Constantine had never been a part of his life. And maybe he never would be. For a moment she felt a wave of guilt as Constantine’s black gaze pierced through her like a sabre.
‘Just by telling me you have involved me—like it or not,’ he continued remorselessly as his gaze burned into her. ‘Didn’t you realise that every action has consequences?’
‘You think I don’t know that better than anyone?’ she retorted, stung.
Something in her response renewed the slam of his heart against his ribcage, and Constantine narrowed his eyes, searching for every possible flaw in her argument the way he had learnt to do at work—an ability that had made him a formidable legend within the world of international shipping. ‘So why didn’t you tell me about this before—like seven years ago?’
She still wanted to turn and run, but she doubted that her feet would obey her brain’s command to walk, let alone run. ‘I tried …’ She saw the scorn on his face. ‘Yes, I tried! I tried tracking you down—but you weren’t especially easy to trace.’
‘Because I hadn’t meant it to be anything more than a one-night stand!’ he roared, steeling himself against the distressed crumpling of her lips.
‘Then don’t you talk to me about consequences,’ she whispered.
There was a pause as he watched her struggling to control her breathing, her grey eyes almost black with distress. ‘So what happened?’ he persisted.
Laura sucked in a low, shuddering breath. ‘I managed to find out the address and phone number of your headquarters in Athens.’ She had been completely gobsmacked to discover that her scruffy jeans-wearing, slightly maverick Greek lover turned out to be someone very important in some huge shipping company. ‘I tried ringing, but no one would put me through—and I sent you a letter, but it obviously never reached you. And I’ve tried several times since then.’
Usually around the time of her son’s birthday, when Alex would start asking questions, making her long to be able to introduce the little boy to his father.
‘The result has always been the same,’ she finished bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter how I’ve broached it or what approach I’ve made—every time I’ve failed to even get a phone call with you.’
Constantine was silent for a moment as he considered her words, for now he could imagine exactly what must have happened. An unknown English girl ringing and asking to be put through to Kyrios Constantine—why, she would have been swatted away as if she were a troublesome fly buzzing over a plate of food. Likewise any letters. They would have been opened and scrutinised. Who would have made the decision not to show him? he wondered, and then sighed, for this was something he could believe.
The ancient Greek troop formation of a tightly-knit and protective group known as the phalanx still existed in modern Greece, Constantine thought wryly. It was not the right of his workers to shield him, but he could see exactly why they had done it. Women had always shamelessly pursued him—how were his staff to have known that this woman might actually have had a case. Might, he reminded himself. Only might.
There was a pause. ‘Do you have a photo?’ he demanded. ‘Of the child?’
Laura nodded, swallowing down her relief. At last! And surely asking to see a picture of Alex was a good sign? Wouldn’t he set eyes on his gorgeous black-eyed son and know in an instant that there could only be one possible father? ‘It’s … it’s in my handbag—downstairs in the staff cloakroom. Shall I go and get it?’
He was strangely reluctant to let her out of his sight. As if she might disappear off into the night and he would never see her again. But wouldn’t that be the ideal scenario? The question came out of nowhere, but Constantine pushed it away. He stared down into those deep grey eyes and inexplicably his mouth dried. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘But I’ll …’
Black brows were raised. ‘You’ll what?’
She had been about to say that she would be sacked if she were seen strolling through the hotel with one of the guests—but, come to think of it, it wasn’t as if she was planning to work here again. ‘People will talk,’ she said. ‘If you’re seen accompanying one of the waitresses to the staff cloakroom.’
‘So let them talk,’ he snapped. ‘I think it is a little late in the day for you to act concerned after your dramatic entrance into my suite!’ And he pulled open the door and stalked out, leaving Laura to follow while he spoke in rapid Greek to the two guards.
They rode down in the penthouse lift, which seemed to have shrunk in dimension since the last time she had been in it. Laura was acutely aware of his proximity and the way his powerful frame seemed to dominate the small space. She was close enough to see the silken gleam of his skin and to breathe in that heady masculine tang which was all his. Close enough to touch …
And Constantine knew that she was aware of him; he could sense it in the sudden shallowness of her breathing—the way a pulse began fluttering wildly beneath the fine skin at her temple. Did she desire him now, as women always did, and was anger responsible for the answering call in his own body? The sudden thick heat at his groin? The furious desire to open her legs and bring her right up against him, so that he could thrust deep into her body and spill out some of his rage? What was it about this plain little thing which should suddenly have him in such a torrent of longing?
He swallowed down the sudden unbearable dryness in his throat as the lift came to a halt and the door slid open on some subterranean level of the hotel he hadn’t known existed. Laura began to lead the way through a maze of corridors until she reached the women’s cloakroom.
‘Wait here,’ she said breathlessly.
But he reached out and levered her chin upwards with the tips of his fingers, feeling her tremble as he captured her troubled gaze with the implacable spotlight of his own.
‘Don’t run away, will you?’ he murmured, with silky menace.
Laura stilled. In the light of all the vicious accusations he had hurled at her, his touch should have repelled her—but it did no such thing. To her horror, it reminded her of what it was like to be touched by a man, and the hard, seeking certainty of this man’s particular touch.
With an effort she jerked her head away. ‘I wasn’t pl-planning to.’
‘Hurry up,’ he ordered, as the heat at his groin intensified—for he had seen the sudden darkening of her eyes and sensed her body’s instinctive desire for him. That in itself was nothing new—women always desired him—what perplexed him was the answering hunger which stirred in his blood.
Laura nodded. ‘I … I can’t stay in this uniform. I’d better change while I’m in there—so I may be a couple of minutes.’
‘I’ll wait,’ he ground out, but her words triggered an unwanted series of explicit and strangely powerful memories as the door closed behind her. Of the young woman who had shed her clothes with such unashamed pleasure—taking him into her pink and white body and gasping out her pleasure. Had that same woman conceived his child that night? he found himself asking, the question spinning round and round in his brain as he stared at the dingy wall of the staff corridor.
Laura took off her uniform and,