His Love-Child: The Greek Tycoon's Love-Child / The Spaniard's Love-Child / The Millionaire's Love-Child

She had succumbed to flattery and paid the price for it. Hadn’t her grandmother always said, ‘Get too big for you boots, and the chances are you will end up without any’? If she had thought the thing through logically she would never have taken the risk of exposing herself to the press, and especially not Stephen…

Willow straightened up as she heard the sound of a car approaching. A big black Mercedes almost filled the narrow road. Surprised, she watched as the car drew level with her garden. A car door slammed and the figure of a tall dark man appeared. He stared at her across the roof of the car, and the blood froze in her veins. He must have seen the newspaper, and put two and two together.

Theo’s hard black eyes swept over Willow from head to toe. He noticed her exquisite face framed by the silken mass of black hair tumbling over her shoulders; the long cotton dress skimming her slender figure, baring her arms, and just the merest hint of firm white breasts, and, lower, a glimpse of leg and ankles. He wanted to kill her.

Once he had taken her innocence and felt thoroughly ashamed of himself when he had discovered how young she was. Anger, regret and guilt had plagued him, and almost unmanned him. In consequence he had resumed a sexual relationship with Dianne, and had hastily leapt into a marriage that had never been going to last. The reason being the image of Willow’s exquisite body, wildly responsive in his arms, was etched into his brain for all time.

For years he had still ached to possess this one woman again; hers was the face that haunted his waking and sleeping dreams.

Only yesterday he had thought the gods were smiling on him and had given him a second chance. A harsh, cynical smile twisted his wide, sensual mouth. Not any more… She was no innocent deserving sympathy, never had been… She was a secretive, conniving bitch, and she had committed the most heinous crime against him and his family it was possible to envisage, and he had every intention of making her pay.

‘The original earth mother—how charming,’ he mockingly opined, strolling around the bonnet of the car.

Standing frozen to the spot, Willow couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Theo Kadros, but it was impossible. It was a five-hour drive from London. That was in the middle of the night with no traffic on the roads. There was no way he could have made the journey this morning. His tall, broad-shouldered frame was immaculately clad in a dark blue pinstriped business suit. A pale blue silk shirt emphasised his bronzed features and was complemented by a finely striped tie.

‘What, nothing to say, Willow?’ She simply stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest as he opened the garden gate and in a few lithe strides stopped inches from her.

‘Cat got your tongue, Willow?’ His black eyes, as cold as ice, stared down into hers.

‘Hello, Theo, nice to see you again.’ She made a polite response, too shocked to do anything else, and looked be-musedly past him to the car. ‘How did you get here?’

‘Let’s be civil, by all means,’ Theo drawled scathingly. ‘My private jet was waiting at London City airport. I was supposed to attend a meeting this morning and then fly out to Greece this evening; instead I had my pilot fly me to Exeter airport, and arranged for a car to be waiting. It is barely an hour’s drive to here.’

‘Oh, I see.’ And in that moment she saw a lot more than she wanted too. Theo, his great body taut, was watching her with a hard, challenging gleam in his dark eyes, and her heart sank like a stone. Did she really have the strength to protect her son from this man, to fight him? A man of his wealth and power. A man who could hop in his jet and appear on her doorstep at the drop of a hat. But, more, did she have the right? She was no longer sure.

‘Hi, Willow. Congratulations on the award.’ A voice floated over the garden gate. Willow looked nervously over Theo’s shoulder, and then smiled at Tess’s husband cycling past on his way home.

‘Thanks, Bob.’ And she waved.

‘Damn it to hell!’ Theo suddenly exploded, and, grabbing her arm in an iron grip, he dragged her towards the open front door and shoved her into the hall, slamming the door behind him. ‘You can cut out the country-girl routine in front of me, Willow. You are the most devious bloody woman I have ever met,’ he snarled. ‘My God! Why didn’t you tell me I had a son?’

‘How did you find me?’ she shot back. She knew her publisher would never reveal her address. Willow realised that if Theo got the idea she was hiding something it would simply confirm his suspicions. Not waiting for an answer, she added, ‘And anyway, what makes you think my child has anything to do with you?’ she demanded in a cool, polite voice. Inside she was shaking like a leaf.

‘Don’t bother to deny it,’ he said harshly, his fingers tightening on her arm. ‘I saw the photograph in the newspaper. I had my people check the boy’s birth date at the register office, and, surprise, surprise, he was born at home, at this address. It was not terribly difficult to discover, Willow.’

‘No. Oh, no,’ she murmured. Her worst fear had been realised. Bowing her head to evade his searing gaze, she knew with a despairing sense of inevitability that her world would never be the same again.

‘You dare to deny it?’ he declared contemptuously, completely misreading her negative response. ‘Then I will see you in court, and show you up for the little liar you are. By the time my lawyers are finished with you, you will be begging me to see our son. Believe me, Willow, I can and I will do it.’ The cold menace in his voice sent shivers of fear down her spine. ‘You have deprived me of my child for eight years.’ Grasping her chin with his free hand, he tilted her face up to his.

‘Hanging your head in shame now? It is a bit late for that, Willow,’ he opined scathingly, forcing her to look at him. ‘Because it was not only me you deprived of the child.’ The hard bones of his jaw and chin tightened with suppressed emotion. ‘The one thing my father wanted before he died was to see me with a family of my own. He died three years ago, and went to his grave never knowing he had a grandson, all because of you.’ The bitterness in the black eyes that held hers chilled her to the bone. ‘No more lies, Willow. Where is my son? I want to see him now!’

‘He is at school until three-thirty.’ She told the truth; there was no point trying to deny it. ‘And I’m sorry about your…’ She was about to finish, but as she looked into his bitter, hate-filled eyes the words of conventional sympathy stuck in her throat. When Stephen was born, it had never entered her head that, by not informing the father, at the same time she might be depriving a decent old man of a much-longed-for grandson.

‘Oh, you are going to be sorry. I can promise you that.’ Theo tightened his grip and she winced.

‘You’re hurting me,’ she snapped, the physical pain cutting through her mental anguish and restoring some of her usual spirit. She refused to feel guilty about Theo’s father. If Theo himself had not been a two-timing swine of a man and already married when Stephen had been born things might have worked out differently. If anyone was to blame it was Theo, she thought scathingly, and his hedonistic lifestyle.

‘You don’t know what pain is… yet.’ He smiled a cold, humourless smile, but did release her and glanced around the small wood-panelled hall.

Theo had to look away from her because for the first time in his life he felt dangerously close to inflicting violence on a woman. He battled to contain his rage and noted a door on either side of the hall. Both doors were partially opened, one revealing the living room, and the other a dining-room-cum-study. A third door at the rear led to the kitchen, and a narrow steep staircase led to the upper floor. ‘I might have guessed,’ Theo drawled with a negative shake of his dark head. It was like stepping back in time, the perfect hideaway. Her friends had not been far wrong when they had nicknamed her The Mole.

Guessed what? Willow wondered, but said nothing. She continued to watch him with wary eyes, and began nervously rubbing her bare arm where his fingers had left their mark. Theo’s tall, broad figure seemed to fill the small hall, making her feel positively claustrophobic in her own home. She frantically racked her brain for some way to get rid of him.

His temper now back under control, Theo cast her a cynical glance. ‘I will wait in here, and, as you did not turn up for our breakfast together,’ he said with biting sarcasm, ‘you can make me lunch.’ With this, he strolled through the open living-room door.

Make him lunch! He was in her house for less than two minutes and already he was ordering her around. The cool cheek of the man. Willow silently fumed but followed behind him, knowing exactly what he was going to encounter next. She decided that she was not going to warn him… Let him knock himself out, the arrogant devil.

Low oak beams crossed the plastered ceiling. The room was furnished with all her grandmother’s old oak furniture, and knick-knacks and it hadn’t changed much since she was a child. She had modernised some rooms, but essentially the style was seventeenth century, in keeping with the house.

As she walked through the door she watched as Theo turned around in the middle of the room, and deftly dipped his head, narrowly missing one of the low beams. Trust him to duck in time, she thought bitterly, but then by all accounts he’d spent his whole life ducking and diving in the business world, which was why he was so filthy rich. She eyed him balefully. He had never looked more foreign, more Greek to her than he did right now, and she wondered how on earth she was going to come to some agreement with him over Stephen.

‘You certainly fit your nickname—The Mole.’ Theo raised one black sardonic eyebrow. ‘Buried away in an ancient dark-beamed house, overlooking the river in a tiny village that does not even appear on a map, blindly keeping yourself and my son hidden from sight.’

She allowed no one to attack her home, or her lifestyle, and certainly not a jet-setting, womanising multimillionaire with more money than sense. She had seen in magazines the huge villa Theo had built for his wife, Dianne, and hadn’t been impressed.

‘I like it,’ she snapped back, ‘and so does Stephen. It is our home, and we have lots of friends and are very happy here.’

But his sarcastic comment had hit a nerve; she had always been a secret, sensitive person, and very much a creature of habit. When she had lost both her grandmother and mother in a few short months, almost everyone in the village had rallied around the pregnant eighteen-year-old. This house, which she had known all her life, had become her sanctuary; she loved the place. Free of a mortgage and with her mother’s life insurance policy, and the income she received from her writing, she had been able to stay here with her son, safe and secure among friends.

She had given up any thought of going to university, not willing to move across the country and live among strangers. She also hated the idea of putting her baby into a crèche when she could stop where she was and look after him herself. But she also knew that she did tend to ignore anything that might upset her cosy lifestyle.

Realistically she had known for some time that Stephen wanted to meet his father. He had dropped plenty of hints, and she’d known she was going to have to do something about it. Maybe subconsciously she had allowed her editor to talk her into going to London and revealing her true identity as a first step towards facing up to her wider responsibility and seeking out Theo Kadros.

Even so, she sure as hell had not expected him to turn up on her doorstep today and start making derogatory comments about her house. She could feel her anger increasing by the minute.

‘You were not invited to my home, Theo, and I don’t do lunches. So please, feel free to leave.’ She stared defiantly up at him, the atmosphere between them crackling with tension.

‘No, you are not getting rid of me so easily this time, Willow,’ Theo responded, casually lowering his long length down onto the leather sofa. He glanced up into her furious blue eyes, his own a bland, unemotional black. ‘I am staying here until I get my son.’

Not until he saw his son, she noted, but until he got his son, a statement of fact issued with all the cool assurance of a man who always got what he wanted. She doubted if the person was born who could get one over the mighty Theo Kadros. The fact that she had managed to do so for eight years was a miracle in itself. But in the face of his calm assumption that he would get his son her fears for the future were increased a thousandfold.

‘He is not your son,’ she began, her blue eyes flashing defiance. ‘He—’

‘You little bitch,’ he cut in, leaping to his feet, and in one swift movement he grasped a clump of her hair and twisted the thick silken strands around his wrist and tugged her head back. His other arm latched around her waist and hauled her hard against him.

‘You still dare to deny it. You dare to play games with me even now,’ he grated, his self-control completely deserting him. She saw the glitter of violent fury in his black eyes, and for a moment her heart quaked with fear.

But she refused to be intimidated. Stephen was her son; and she was prepared to fight for him. She knew instinctively that she could not afford to appear weak in front of Theo Kadros.

‘Get your hands off me, you b—’ she gasped, but was prevented from saying any more by a second cruel tug on her hair.

‘I’d like to strangle you,’ he snarled, ‘but you aren’t worth swinging for.’ And his mouth crashed down on hers with a cruel force that drove the breath from her body.

She was crushed against him so closely she was aware of every bone in his huge body. She only had a brief fleeting glimpse of the merciless intent in his dark eyes before his mouth hardened and he forced her lips apart and began a ruthless exploration of the moist interior of her mouth. It was a savage and hungry passion that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with a primitive male desire to punish and dominate.

She tried to resist but his hand curved around the back of her head, and held her immobile while he continued to plunder her mouth. He eased the pressure a little to allow her to breathe and a slight moan escaped her. Then the hand at her waist was holding her crushed against his lower body, slid over the curve of her buttocks and made her instantly aware of his fiercely aroused state. At the same time the punishing pressure of his mouth subtly altered, and, to her horror, a treacherous heat ignited deep down inside her.

She closed her eyes tightly; it should not be like this, her mind cried. Shaken as she was by the destructive power of his passion she was still capable of realising that he was using his superior sexual expertise as a weapon to deliberately humiliate her. But with the ever-softening sensuality of Theo’s lips and tongue and his hand moving up her body to her breast, the fine cotton of her dress no barrier as deftly the first few buttons flew open, Willow knew she was in imminent danger of falling under his spell all over again.

She wasn’t wearing a bra and his hand cupped her naked breast, his thumb sliding over the tender peak, and she was helpless to prevent her body responding. She groaned a low, soft sound of both desire and despair intermingled, and involuntarily her slender arms linked around his neck. She then surrendered to the heat, the hunger and the fierce wave of passion suddenly sweeping through her body.

Theo slowly raised his dark head. ‘That’s better, Willow,’ he said roughly. His long fingers were still covering her breasts, deliberately moving from one to the other, playing with the aching, rigid peaks. She opened her eyes, and gazed up into his darkly attractive face, hot and breathless with sensual excitement.

He was staring down at her, unable to hide the desire in his eyes, his breathing as erratic as hers, a muscle beating in his jaw. But his voice was remarkably steady as he added, ‘Now I know coming to an arrangement will not be a problem.’ She caught the gleam of cynical triumph in his smouldering eyes and it was like a douche of cold water.

What on earth was she doing? She must be mad. This man wanted her son, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours she was lying in his arms, her dress half off, gazing at him like a besotted fool. Terrified by her own emotional frailty, she wrenched herself from his arms and darted out of the room. She ran into the kitchen, fumbling with the buttons of her dress, her legs trembling and almost collapsing with shame and embarrassment.

Leaning over the sink, she turned on the cold-water tap and splashed her face with water in a desperate attempt to cool her overheated flesh. Straightening, she picked up the hand towel from the rail and dried her face. Coffee, thick and black, that was what she needed. She realised it had been a long night and an even more harrowing morning and she needed to start thinking sensibly and quickly. She filled the kettle and reached for the jar of coffee in the cupboard with a hand that shook.

‘Ah, there you are.’ Spinning around, she almost dropped the coffee jar as Theo, her nemesis, walked in.

Willow glared at him. He’d removed his tie, and the open-necked shirt only served to draw her attention to his strong, tanned throat. She gulped and felt hot colour return to her cheeks as she recalled how only minutes ago her arms had been wrapped intimately around that throat. It was so unfair—he looked even more incredibly attractive than ever, and he was in total control, she thought bitterly.

‘Coffee. Good, I could do with a cup, and I hope your hasty exit means you are going to make me lunch. I am starving,’ Theo drawled smoothly, and, as cool as a cucumber, pulled out one of the four pine chairs that surrounded the square breakfast table and sat down. ‘We can talk just as easily in here.’

She didn’t trust herself to speak, and simply stared at him as his dark, curious gaze swept around the room, lingering on the window that opened out onto the back garden and the fields beyond.

‘One thing I will say for this little house, it does have rather good views.’ Theo turned his dark head towards her, his eyes taking in her beautiful face still tinged scarlet with embarrassment. His gaze flickered over her slender figure before lingering on the bodice of her dress, where in her haste she had fastened the buttons in the wrong buttonholes, and the curve of one breast was exposed to reveal the dark aureole surrounding a small, tight nipple. ‘Both outside and in,’ he added.

As a gentleman he should tell her, but after what she had done to him he had no inclination to act the gentleman. Let her find out for herself, and in the meantime he could sit back and enjoy the view. He glanced up into her wary eyes, a broad smile slashing across his handsome face, his dark eyes lit with amusement.

His grin was so open that for a moment Willow was tempted to respond, but, tearing her gaze away, she muttered, ‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ and she turned back to the bench. Reaching up for two cups, she plonked them down on the worktop. ‘But I will make you a coffee.’ At least that way she could keep her back to him for a while. ‘There is a good pub and restaurant a few miles back the way you came that serves a very nice lunch, if you are really hungry.’ With a bit of luck he would take himself off to the pub and, with a bit of breathing space, she might just possibly get her chaotic thoughts into some kind of order before she had to pick up Stephen.

‘You don’t really imagine for a minute that I am going to leave you alone,’ he prompted, moving across the room to lean casually against the bench beside her. ‘And surely you cannot be so cruel as to refuse to feed a starving man? Because of you, Willow, I ate very little breakfast.’

She ignored his barbed reminder and cast him a sidelong glance. ‘You don’t look like any starving man I have ever seen. But, if you insist, I think I have some eggs and homemade bread rolls.’ Slowly it was beginning to dawn on Willow that there was no point in fighting Theo. She needed to keep her temper, and her arguments, for the big issue: Stephen.

Ten minutes later she placed a plate containing a cheese omelette and salad on the table in front of Theo, accompanied by the butter dish and a basket of crusty bread rolls.

Willow did not want to eat, in fact she felt sick, but Theo had insisted she join him. His earlier anger appeared to have vanished and she agreed, hoping to keep him sweet. As she watched Theo wolf down his food with apparent enjoyment she pushed hers around the plate, pretending to eat, her stomach curled in knots of nervous tension.

‘That was excellent, Willow. I must say you surprised me. The omelette was perfect and the bread rolls were a work of art; you are a wonderful cook.’ Theo grinned, leaning back in his chair. ‘I don’t think I have ever had a girlfriend who made her own bread,’ he offered, amusement in his tone.

Rising to her feet, she collected the plates and glanced down at him. ‘You still haven’t,’ she responded bluntly. ‘Your type of girlfriends are well-documented fashion plates who probably don’t have the time between visiting the beautician’s and the hairdresser, and of course pandering to your every whim, to do anything else,’ she ended dryly. Turning, she crossed to the dishwasher and loaded the plates, and then plugged in the kettle. ‘More coffee?’ she asked without looking around. Theo disturbed her on so many levels she was having trouble concentrating.

‘Yes.’ She nearly jumped out of her skin as the affirmative was murmured very close to her ear. She had not heard his silent approach, and he was now standing right behind her. ‘But I think you are going to need the coffee more before this day is out, because you are quite wrong, Willow.’

No humour now. Willow heard the threat in his voice, and she straightened up, her shoulders tense, but she was incapable of turning around as his warm breath brushed against her cheek.

‘True, you are no longer my girlfriend—that was a short-lived but very productive episode, as I have just discovered. But, make no mistake, I am no longer the poor fool who was put off by your lie about the morning-after pill,’ he drawled silkily. ‘This time I don’t just want you as a girlfriend. This time I’ll marry you if I have to, but I do want my son.’

‘What?’ She spun around. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’ she exclaimed, horrified at his suggestion.

Theo stared down at her for a long moment, taking in the stunned expression in her dazzling blue eyes. He then gave a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Tough.’ He paused, one dark brow arching sardonically, ‘But it is not your choice, Willow. It is mine.’

‘You can’t say that,’ she cried, agitation making her voice rise. ‘It’s ridiculous. Marriage is a diabolical suggestion.’

He gave a scornful laugh. ‘Nowhere near as diabolical as you depriving me of my son for eight years. I had to learn of his existence, even his name, from a cheap tabloid. Well, you are not getting the chance to humiliate me, or lie to me, again. If we marry our son will have both parents. It is the simplest solution and the only thing we need to discuss is what you have told Stephen about his absent father.’ He stared down at her, ferocious tension written into every hard line of his strong face as he added in a voice devoid of all emotion, ‘And if you made the mistake of telling him I was dead, I might very well kill you myself.’

The threat was there in his eyes and in the powerful body towering over her. Suddenly something seemed to snap in Willow’s brain, and without thinking she lashed out at him, her hand connecting hard on his lean cheek. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me, you no-good womanising bastard. No one ever deprived you of anything in your life, and you have the nerve to threaten me and my son.’

Theo stared down at her, his eyes cold as ice. ‘That was a very stupid thing to do, Willow. I want my son, but I don’t have to take you. My offer of marriage was one of kindness, but a court order will do just as well,’ he drawled cynically.