getting the hell out of there. But where she lived affected his children.
‘It’s a mess!’ he snapped.
‘Well, it’s my mess!’ she said defiantly.
‘Not necessarily.’
Rebecca stared at him—wondering how she could be so tired when she’d only just got up. They had told her at the hospital that she would get weary, but somehow she had thought that she’d be able to overcome any rogue fatigue through a sheer sense of will and determination. And she had been wrong. She had just fed, bathed and changed her two adorable little black-haired babies and now felt as if she had been wrung out to dry and then rained on all over again.
But Xandros’s words made her eyes narrow with suspicion—because she had come to recognise the menace which underpinned that particularly silky tone of his. Her fatigue suddenly receded into the background. ‘What do you mean?’ she questioned.
He paused to give his statement significance—as he had done at high-powered boardroom meetings all his life. ‘Just that what you choose to do in your life is entirely up to you, agape mou—but when it involves my children, then I surely have some say in the matter? Some influence as to how I think they should be brought up. And where.’
Rebecca swallowed, suddenly nervous as her mind skittered over all the possible replies she might make—knowing that it had to be the right reply when she was dealing with a man like Xandros. If she objected on the grounds that they weren’t together as a couple any more—mightn’t he think she was hinting that she’d like them to be? And yet—did he really have any rights to lay down the law about the twins’ upbringing? Soon he would be gone—back to America and the life he had there. A life which did not include her or the boys, and never would.
‘Do you really think it’s any of your business?’ she questioned.
He felt the sudden stirring of battle-lines being drawn and the adrenalin began to course through his veins. He had expected to feel nothing but impartial interest towards these two children who had sprung from his loins. He had told himself that it was simply curiosity which had compelled him to fly to Britain to see them. But he had been wrong.
During the three nights when she had been with them in hospital his thoughts had run riot in a way which was uncharacteristic—but the one thought which had overridden every other was that he wanted some part of his sons’ lives.
‘I plan to make it my business,’ he said.
Rebecca heard the unmistakable challenge in his voice and something inside her quailed because she didn’t doubt him, not for a moment. Imagine all the resources a man like Xandros could summon up to support any claim he might wish to make. It would need a strong and very rich woman to fight him—and, while she was working on the strength bit, she couldn’t just snap her fingers to put herself on an equal financial footing with the Greek billionaire.
Wouldn’t it be better to try to accommodate his wishes, rather than engaging in some kind of battle which he would be bound to win? He lived in America, for heavens’ sake! Contact with him would be minimal, if she played this carefully. So do it.
‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked cautiously.
He glared at the door which led through to the tiny kitchenette. ‘Well, for a start—this place is much too small.’
Rebecca nodded, knowing she’d sound both stubborn and ignorant if she disagreed—because he was right. ‘And?’
‘And I want you to move somewhere bigger.’
She sighed. She wasn’t stupid. It had taken her about three seconds of being home with the babies to realise that the place simply wouldn’t do—no matter how much she had tried to justify it in her head beforehand. But even if she touched the money which Xandros had been paying into her account—generous as it was—it still wouldn’t go anywhere near a decent deposit on a bigger home. ‘It isn’t as easy as that, Xandros. Property in London is astronomically expensive.’
‘I can afford it.’
‘Yes, I know you can.’ She swallowed. ‘And what if I said that I didn’t want to accept your—’
‘Charity?’ he intercepted sarcastically, his black eyes glittering with growing impatience. ‘But this isn’t about charity—or your misplaced feelings of pride. In fact, this has nothing to do with you, Rebecca—but my desire to ensure that my children don’t grow up with less space than your average battery hen has to contend with!’
She stared at him. ‘How dare you say something as hurtful as that?’
He shrugged, uncaring of her rage, or her hurt. ‘Because it’s the truth. You know it is.’ His mouth hardened with determination. ‘Whereas I am offering you the opportunity to move somewhere more suitable. You can live anywhere you like in this city. Anywhere at all.’
Pride or no pride, Rebecca wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt a shiver of real longing at what he was proposing. He was blazing into her life and offering to rescue them all—and how many people ever got this kind of Cinderella chance to move from scullery to palace in one leap? But at what price?
She lifted her head to meet his gaze full on. ‘And what if I say no?’
His expression was hard and uncompromising. Would she really dare to try to oppose his wishes? Did she know what kind of an adversary she would be taking on? ‘I wouldn’t advise saying no,’ he warned softly.
His stony black gaze bored into her and, for possibly the first time, Rebecca realised what she was up against. Yes, he was enormously rich and that kind of wealth could buy you untold power, but with Xandros it was something much more than wealth.
She saw the steely determination to get exactly what he wanted—fired by some primitive urge to fight for the very best for his children. And could she really condemn him for having their best interests at heart? Could she? Would two increasingly mobile and lively little boys thank her for turning down the offer of a lifetime, simply because their father didn’t love her? Pride was a terrible reason for denying her sons what was rightfully theirs.
‘If … if I did agree—you mean I can choose where to live?’ she questioned uncertainly.
Xandros turned away to look out of the window—as if checking to see whether the rain had stopped, but in reality to hide his small smile of triumph, knowing that he had won.
‘Of course you can choose,’ he murmured.
‘JUST what kind of house do you like, Rebecca?’ Xandros demanded impatiently one morning as he stood in her sitting room, which felt like a sauna and looked like a laundry—there were so many Babygros steaming dry on the radiator. Who would have thought that at this time in his life he would find himself sleeping on a woman’s sofa in such a confined space? Moodily, he stared at all the specifications she had been shown and which she had rejected. ‘Anything specific?’
Rebecca forced herself to concentrate on house details, and not on the moody expression on his dark, rugged face. Choosing a place to live when there were no financial limitations actually made a decision
