Even her mild officiousness was turning him on—as was the pure, clean tone of her accent. He looked up, narrowing his eyes against the sun. ‘Why not?’
‘Because … because I’m afraid the management have a rule about no jeans being allowed.’
‘But I’m hungry,’ he murmured. ‘Very hungry.’ He gave her a slow smile as he looked her up and down. ‘So what do you suggest?’
As a recipient of that careless smile, the girl was like putty in his hands. She suggested serving him tea at an unseen side of the hotel, by a beautiful little copse of trees. Giggling, she smuggled out sandwiches, and scones with jam and something he’d never eaten before nor since, called clotted cream. And when she finished work she agreed to have dinner with him. Her name was Laura and it made him think of laurels and the fresh green garlands which ancient Greeks wore on their heads to protect them. She was sweet—very sweet—and it was a long time since he’d held a woman in his arms.
The outcome of the night was predictable—but her reaction wasn’t. Unlike the wealthy sophisticates he usually associated with, she played no games with him. She had a vulnerability about her which she wasn’t afraid of showing. But Constantine always ran a million miles from vulnerability—even though her pink and white body and her grey eyes lured him into her arms like a siren.
In the morning she didn’t want to let him go—but of course he had to leave. He was Constantine Karantinos—heir to one of the mightiest shipping dynasties in the whole of Greece—and his destiny was not to stay in the arms of a small-town waitress.
How strange the memory could be, thought Constantine—as the images faded and he found himself emerging into real-time, standing in a luxury London penthouse with that same waitress standing trembling-lipped in front of him and telling him she had conceived a child that night. And how random fate could be, he thought bitterly, to bring such a woman back into his life—and with such earth-shattering news.
He walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a tumbler of water—more as a delaying tactic than anything else. ‘Do you want anything?’ he questioned, still with his back to her.
Laura thought that a drink might choke her. ‘No.’
He drank the water and then turned round. Her face looked chalk-white, and something nagged at him to tell her to sit down—but his anger and his indignation were stronger than his desire to care for a woman who had just burst into his life making such claims as these.
A son ….
‘I wore protection that night,’ he stated coldly.
Laura flinched. How clinical he sounded. But there was no use in her having pointless yearnings about how different his reaction might have been. She knew that fantasies didn’t come true. Try to imagine yourself in his shoes, she urged herself. A woman he barely knew, coming back into his life with the most momentous and presumably unwelcome news of all.
‘Obviously it failed to do what it was supposed to do,’ she said, her voice as matter-of-fact as she could make it.
‘And this child is you say … how old?’
‘He’s seven.’
He felt the slam of his heart and an unwelcome twist of his gut. Constantine turned and stared out of the vast windows which overlooked the darkened park before the unwanted emotions could show on his face. A son! Above the shadowed shapes of the trees he could see the faint glimmer of stars and for a moment he thought about the stars, back home, which burned as brightly as lanterns. Then just as suddenly he turned back again, his now composed gaze raking over her white face, searching for truth in the smoky splendour of her eyes.
‘So why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he demanded. ‘Why wait seven long years? Why now?’
Laura opened her mouth to explain that she’d tried, but before she had a chance to answer him she saw his black eyes narrow with cynical understanding.
‘Ah, yes, but of course,’ he said softly. ‘Of course. It was the perfect moment, wasn’t it?’
Laura frowned. ‘I don’t know what you’re—’
But her thoughts on the matter were obviously superfluous, for ruthlessly he cut through her words as if he were wielding a guillotine. ‘You wait long enough to ensure that I can have no influence—even if the child is mine. How is it that the old saying goes? Give me a child until he is seven and I shall give you the man.’ He took a step towards her, his posture as menacing as the silken threat in his voice. ‘So what happened? Did you read the papers and hear that that Karantinos stock has soared, and then decide that this was the optimum time to strike? Did you think that coming out with this piece of information now would put you in a strong bargaining position?’
‘B-bargaining position?’ echoed Laura in disbelief. He might have been talking about a plot of land … when this was their son they were discussing.
His voice was as steely cold as his eyes. ‘I don’t know why you’re affecting outrage,’ he clipped out. ‘I presume you want money?’
Automatically, Laura reached her hand out and steadied herself on a giant sofa—afraid that her trembling knees might give way but determined not to sit down. Because that would surely put her in an even weaker position—if she had to sit looking up at him like a child who had been put on the naughty chair. But even her protest sounded deflated. ‘How dare you say that?’ she whispered.
‘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
