Mediterranean Tycoons: Wealthy & Wicked: The Sabbides Secret Baby / The Greek Tycoon's Love-Child / Bought by the Greek Tycoon

Phoebe glanced down at her son. He was lucky and so was she.

Being a teacher was an advantage for a single mum, she thought contentedly. She had the same holidays as the infant school, and next week she could relax with Ben. They were going to redecorate his bedroom. She had never got around to removing the baby blue décor, and Ben now wanted either racing car or dinosaur-printed wallpaper, but he had not decided yet.

‘Mum! Mum!’ he yelled, and stopped, forcing her to stop as well.

‘Yes, darling, what is it?’ she asked.

‘Can I have a car like that one over there on my wall?’ He was pointing at a car parked on the opposite side street of the street.

She chuckled. It was a low-slung lethal-looking black monster, with huge wheels, illegally parked in front of the post office—just the sort to appeal to young boys or old, she thought dryly.

‘Mum, Mum—can we go and see what kind of car it is…?’

But Phoebe barely heard Ben’s excited request as the car door opened and a man stepped out.

Long and lean, he wore black hip-hugging jeans and a heavy black rollneck sweater, and he looked as dark and dangerous as the car…

Jed Sabbides…

She watched in stunned amazement as in a few lithe strides he was over the road and standing in front of her.

‘Phoebe, this is a surprise. I thought it was you, but the child threw me when I heard him call you Mum.’

His deeply voiced greeting set every nerve in her body on edge, and she could do nothing about the sudden leap in her pulse. Steeling herself to remain calm, she glanced up at him and politely said, ‘Hello, Jed,’ conscious of her son at her side.

‘I wasn’t aware you had a child. Nobody told me.’ Jed’s piercing black gaze sliced through her like a knife, and she had never seen such rage—quickly controlled as he turned his attention to her son.

‘Hello, young man. I heard you telling your mum you liked my car.’ He smiled down at Ben. ‘It is the latest model Bentley convertible.’

‘Wow! Does that mean the roof comes off?’ Ben asked with eyes like saucers.

‘Yes, at the press of a button. Would you like to see inside? Or I have a better idea—let’s go for a drive.’

‘No,’ Phoebe snapped, tugging Ben closer to her side. ‘He knows he must never get into a stranger’s car.’ And she wished he had not yelled ‘Mum!’ quite so loud—not that it would have made much difference.

Jed turned his head and stared down at her, and the look in his eyes made her blood freeze.

‘Admirable. But you and I are not strangers, Phoebe, so there is no harm in introducing me to your son, is there?’ he queried silkily.

He knew…That was her first thought, then common sense prevailed. Jed might have his suspicions, but he could not possibly know for certain—and she was not about to tell him.

She stood very still and moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue as she considered her options. She could walk off with Ben and ignore Jed, or to allay any suspicion he might have she could be polite. Good manners won.

‘Ben,’ she said, looking down into her son’s upturned face, ‘this is Jed.’ She swallowed hard, forcing a smile to her stiff lips. ‘We used to know each other.’ She would not lie and call the man a friend. ‘Say hello.’

Ben looked at her with a hint of puzzlement in his eyes, then shifted his gaze to stare solemnly up at Jed. ‘Hello, Jed. I am Benjamin Brown. I live at Peartree Cottage, Manor House Lane in Martinstead.’

Phoebe wanted to scream. Last year she had spent weeks teaching Ben to say his name and address, in case he ever got lost, and now he reeled it off to the last man she would ever want to know it.

Then her traitorous son looked back at her, a big grin on his face. ‘So now can I have a ride in the man’s car, Mum?’

She shook her head helplessly—her son was as sharp as a tack—and before she could answer Jed cut in.

‘Yes, of course you can, Ben. I’ll give you and your mum a lift home.’

How dared Jed presume to answer Ben for her? He had no right, and her maternal instincts were aroused along with her temper. She told him straight.

‘No, you won’t. Apart from anything else—’ like deciding in his high-handed manner what they would do, she thought scathingly ‘—it is illegal for a child to travel in a car unless a child seat is fitted, and I doubt you have one or that this model is equipped to have one fitted.’ She cast a disparaging glance at the black monster. ‘We will walk home.’

‘But, Mum—’

‘Sorry, son. Your mother is right.’

Jed glanced at her, and she saw the cynical twist to his lips. Her heart sank to her boots at his casual use of the word son. She suspected it was not casual at all…

Somehow he knew. But how he had found out she had no idea—and, given the one memorable occasion Jed had clearly told her he didn’t want a child, saying having a child was not on his agenda, why he was getting involved surprised her…

‘Yes, but there is a seat in Mum’s car you can use if you come home with us. Can he, Mum?’

‘What?’ She stared at Ben, the bright, clever child she was so proud of, and wished just for once he was not so smart. He had an answer for everything and was usually right—just like his father, she thought despairingly, and heard Jed laugh.

‘Good idea, Ben, if your mother will agree.’

Two sets of identical brown eyes fixed on her, anticipating her answer. The boy’s pleading, the man’s hard and mocking.

The last thing she needed was for Jed to know she still had the car he had given her—the hairclip at the ball had been enough of an embarrassment—and she wanted to say no. Instead she prevaricated.

‘I don’t think that is a good idea. It is quite difficult, taking the child seat in and out of my car. Plus it is getting late, and you have to have your tea—and remember, Ben, your bedtime is seven-thirty.’ She listed every excuse she could think of. ‘And I am sure Mr Sabbides is a very busy man. Maybe some other time.’

‘Not so busy. But I take your point about the seat, Phoebe.’ His tone mocked her. ‘I have an idea.’ Glancing at his watch, he smiled down at Ben. ‘While you and your mum go home for tea I have a few calls to make. But I’ll be back by six, with a car seat, and we can go for a spin then—how does that sound?’

Horrendous, Phoebe thought bitterly. But, seeing the beaming smile on her son’s face as he asked her if that was okay, she hadn’t the heart to disappoint him again.

‘If Mr Sabbides is sure, that is fine with me,’ she lied.

‘I’m sure.’

He gave her a cold, hard glance, and she had the sinking sensation he was not just talking about a car ride. But with a bit of luck, she thought, clutching at straws, even Jed might not find it so easy to procure a car seat in the rural depths of Dorset at four thirty on a Friday evening. Weymouth on the coast was the nearest town with shops that sold such things, and he might give up, or get lost…

The last would be her preference.

‘I will be back, Phoebe. You can count on it.’

His voice was deep and menacing, and it made her want to grab her son and run. But instead she met his dark eyes with her own icy blue, her lips twisting in a bitter smile as a memory of another time and place replayed in her mind. ‘So you say.’

Jed had said the exact same words to her when he had left to go to Greece for his father’s birthday and he had lied then. Remembering the past gave her the determination to stand up to him. He had not wanted a child five years ago, and he sure as hell was not getting hers now…

‘Believe it,’ he declared, and ruffling Ben’s hair with his hand added, ‘See you at six, Ben.’ He strode back to his car and drove off.

Jed Sabbides clasped the wheel white-knuckled and manoeuvred the car at a reckless speed through the narrow country lanes towards Weymouth, his head spinning. He hadn’t been expecting to meet them. He had merely stopped at Martinstead post office to ask directions to Peartree Cottage, and had just slid back behind the wheel of his car when he’d caught sight of Phoebe walking down the drive of the house opposite.

She was wearing a red wool jacket, a short black skirt, black leggings and black ankle boots. With her pale hair knotted on top of her head and her face free of make-up she’d looked stunning and as sexy as hell. Then his attention had focused on the child holding her hand, and even though he had been half expecting it he had frozen in shock. The child at her side looked very like photos of himself at that age…

Ben was his. He would bet his life on it. But it made no sense…

A week ago, looking at the picture of mother and son, he had felt his suspicion aroused. The first thing he had done when he’d got to London was contact Marcus and arrange to have dinner with him the following night. Over a leisurely meal, after reminiscing about their student days, the past in general, Jed had quizzed him about the miscarriage without mentioning that Phoebe had had another baby. He didn’t want to look like a paranoid idiot! Marcus had confirmed there could be no doubt Phoebe that lost her baby. He had consulted with Dr Norman at the time and read the medical notes. The sex of the child had been indistinct. Then, having drunk more than he should, Marcus had admonished Jed for leaving such a delightful young woman and had recalled that she had not kept her appointment at his clinic—not surprising, under the circumstances.

Jed had made no comment; there was no reason for Marcus to know it had been the other way round. His ego had taken enough of a battering where Phoebe was concerned. He’d seen his old friend safely home—and the next morning he had tried to double-check with Dr Norman—who unfortunately had died some time ago.

Was it possible the doctors had been wrong?

They had to have been! Somehow Phoebe had lied and fooled them all into believing she had miscarried. Because when he had approached her earlier he had seen the same look of fear and panic in her eyes he had noticed at the ball, when his suspicions she was hiding something had first been aroused.

Hiding his son from him…If he was right, she needed to be very afraid, and he vowed to make her suffer for every day of Ben’s life he had missed.

While Ben happily played on the kitchen floor with his racing cars, Phoebe prepared their dinner, her thoughts in turmoil.

Jed suspected something. He had to. Because it could not possibly be a coincidence he was here. Martinstead was well off the beaten track, with a single road through the village that led only to Gladstone Manor. Residents and visitors had to drive in and out the same way. But who could have told him? Not Julian. She was sure he was far too discreet.

Carrying two plates of grilled sausages, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots across the kitchen, she put them on the scrubbed pine table and, turning, picked Ben up and gave him a big hug. She needed to hold him to reassure herself that Jed was no threat to their happy life.

‘Your favourite sausages because I love you,’ she told him, then let him wriggle out of her arms and onto the chair. Kissing the top of his head, she sat down on the chair opposite. She had never felt less like eating in years, but she managed a few mouthfuls—more for Ben’s sake than hers. She had to set a good example.

Oh, God! What kind of example would a ruthless, cold-hearted man like Jed be to her son, with his fast cars and faster women?

In that moment her mind was made up. Jed had no proof Ben was his, and as long as she denied it there was precious little he could do about it. If he tried she would show him he could not intimidate her, and would fight him every step of the way…

Phoebe looked at the clock. Six-forty-five—Jed was late…She cleared the table and washed the dishes in between answering a constant flow of questions from Ben about Jed’s car, and what the time was, and when the man was coming back. With a bit of luck Jed would never return. The heartless jerk had never returned when he’d promised her he would—why would his promise to her child be any different? Ben might be upset for a while, but he would get over his disappointment—problem solved.

‘Right Ben.’ She dropped down beside him on the floor in the sitting room. When it had reached half past six she had finally persuaded him to settle down and watch the children’s channel on television. ‘Bathtime, story and bed.’

‘But what about my ride in the car? Your friend promised.’

The disappointment in his brown eyes touched her heart. He was so young and innocent, and she did not want to be the one to destroy his trust. ‘He must have been delayed; maybe he will come another day.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Oh, I am sure he will.’ A wry smile curved her mouth as Ben leapt to his feet, his happiness restored—while hers was in danger of being destroyed with the arrival of Jed into her nice, well-ordered life.

‘Okay, can I have the speedboat in the bath?’ he asked—just as the doorbell rang.

Oh, hell! She swore under her breath, but Ben was already out of the sitting room and running to the front door.

Phoebe followed and opened the door. Jed was standing on the doorstep, a broad smile on his face for Ben, who had pushed past her.

‘You came back. Mummy said you would.’

‘Your mummy knows me well. And I have got a child seat fitted, so if she agrees we can take that ride now.’

‘You are late,’ Phoebe snapped, angry because to her horror her heart had leapt at the sight of him and she realised she found Jed as incredibly attractive as ever. ‘Ben’s bedtime is seven-thirty.’

But she wasn’t surprised Jed had managed to get a car seat. The man could find a lake in a desert if he wanted too. What did surprise her was that he had got a state-ofthe-art child and booster seat combined, fitted in the front passenger seat. She wasn’t sure it was allowed by law for a child to travel in the front seat, but when she tried to remonstrate with Jed he dismissed her concern, informing her the shop that had sold him the seat had assured him it was okay.

‘Well, it had better be a quick trip,’ she finally conceded.

Fifteen minutes later she was sitting stiffly in the back seat of the car, silently simmering with resentment. Jed had demonstrated as soon as they got in the car how the roof rolled back, much to Ben’s delight. She supposed she should be grateful he had closed the damn thing. But all she felt was a growing sense of dread. There was no escaping the fact that Ben was happy and completely at ease with his new-found friend, and she wondered what evil trick of fate had landed her in this mess.

She could hear the excitement in Ben’s voice as Jed gave him what sounded like instructions on how to drive over the roar of the engine. She wanted to yell at him that her son was only four, and tell him to slow down while she was at it. But she knew it would be futile. She had forgotten Jed’s penchant for driving like a bat out of hell.

Glancing out of the window, she saw they were actually at Bowesmartin. It usually took her thirty minutes to get to the town, but Jed had covered the distance in half the time. She hoped he got a speeding ticket, and wished she had not told him to make the ride quick as Ben had to go to bed soon.

Hoist by her own petard, she thought wryly.

More than she could ever have imagined possible, she realised a minute later, when the car ground to a halt as the traffic lights outside Bowesmartin Cottage Hospital changed to red and she heard Ben chattering happily to Jed.

‘That’s where I went when I broke my arm, and the man said I was very brave when he mended it,’ she heard Ben bragging cheerfully. ‘Mum had me there, and I am a miracle baby—because I had a twin, but it died before I was born.’

Phoebe closed her eyes, the colour draining from her face. Why, oh, why had she taken the advice in the baby books so literally and told her son the truth? She must have been crazy—because now it had come back to bite her with a vengeance.

‘That is very interesting, Ben,’ she heard Jed respond.

She opened her eyes and saw he was watching her in the driving mirror.

‘Out of the mouths of babes, Phoebe?’ he mocked, and the gleam of bitter triumph in his eyes chilled her to the bone.

‘I am not a baby. I am nearly five and a big boy now,’ Ben stated, saving her from responding. Thankfully Jed’s attention was diverted from her back to Ben.

Phoebe stared blindly out of the window as the lights changed and Jed drove on. Ben was a miracle baby, and her mind drifted back to the past as the familiar landscape sped by.

She had been back living with Aunt Jemma for nearly two months when she had finally told her aunt about her disastrous love affair and the miscarriage she had suffered. The reason being that a week earlier she had visited her local GP because she had still been suffering from slight nausea and a bloated feeling, and she had been worried something was wrong. She had told her GP she had suffered a miscarriage seven weeks earlier, but she couldn’t recall the name of the London hospital, only Dr Norman. She’d seen no point in mentioning Jed or Dr Marcus, though privately she had been worried she had been too hasty leaving London without having the D&C procedure.

Phoebe could still remember the sense of awe and wonderment after her GP had asked a few pertinent questions and then examined her and sounded her stomach as well as her chest. She had told her she was about sixteen weeks pregnant, and the baby was fine. He’d arranged for her to have an ultrasound scan at the local hospital and told her she had nothing to worry about. It was a rare occurrence, but originally she must have been carrying twins—not identical—and had lost only one.

Chapter Five

PHOEBE considered herself lucky that five years ago she had failed to keep her appointment with Dr Marcus for the D&C procedure after all…But she didn’t feel lucky now as she walked out of Ben’s bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. He was fast asleep, her beloved innocent child, but she knew she would get no sleep tonight, with Jed’s threat still ringing in her ears.

When they had arrived back at the cottage earlier Ben had thanked Jed for the ride in his car, then added, ‘It is a super car, but I like the colour of Uncle Julian’s better. His is bright red.’

Phoebe had had to smile at the look of masculine pique on Jed’s handsome face.

‘So, Ben, you like red and Uncle Julian, hmm?’

‘Yes—he is my friend and Mum’s, like you,’ Ben had replied happily as they’d walked up the path to the door.

‘I will remember that,’ Jed had offered as he’d said goodbye to Ben.

Phoebe’s smile had vanished when his dark head had bent towards her.

‘Uncle Julian be damned! I will be back later, and you’d better have some answers ready,’ he’d hissed with sibilant softness, before walking off.

Thinking about Jed’s threat was doing her no good at all, Phoebe decided as she entered her bedroom and removed her now damp clothes—bathing Ben was a lively operation at the best of times. She dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a blue shirt and, picking up a brush from the dresser, pulled out the few pins remaining in her once elegant topknot. She gave her a hair few vigorous strokes before flicking the long length behind her ears and fastening it with a simple band, then left the bedroom.

Quietly she descended the stairs and turned towards the kitchen at the back of the cottage. A soothing cup of tea that was what she needed. There was no point stressing over a knock on the door that might never happen, so she picked up the kettle, took it to the sink, filled it with water and switched it on. She opened one of the kitchen cupboards and took out a mug, a faint smile curving her mouth. It had been a present from Ben last Christmas, with the help of Aunt Jemma, and the inscription on the white porcelain proclaimed the owner to be the ‘Best Mum in the World’.

A timely reminder! Her position was clear, and if Jed Sabbides turned up again all she had to do was remember she was a great mum and tell him to take a hike…

Phoebe carried the mug of tea into the sitting room and sank down on the long, large soft-cushioned sofa that curved into an open end, in a modern take on a chaise longue, and faced the fireplace. Her aunt had insisted on buying the sofa, saying she had spent sixty years with old-fashioned furniture and wanted something different. Actually, it worked quite well—though Ben spent a lot of time perched on the open end because it was closest to the television…

She took a sip of her tea and thought of lighting the log fire, but it wasn’t worth it this late, she decided. Picking up the remote, she switched the television on, flicking through the channels, but there was nothing that captured her interest.

Sighing she glanced around the room. She loved this house—her home…It had originally been a nineteenth-century stone-built semi-detached farm labourer’s cottage, two up and two down, belonging to her aunt. When the cottage next door had come on to the market four years ago, with the help of a diamond necklace and some other unwanted jewellery Phoebe had bought it.

With Aunt Jemma’s agreement she had converted the two into one good-sized detached house. Consequently the entrance hall was surprisingly spacious, with a single new wide oak staircase. On one side was the sitting room, which stretched from front to back, and on the other side the original front room had been left to provide a dining room that doubled as a study. At the rear was a large L-shaped family kitchen, and upstairs there was a bathroom and three double bedrooms—her aunt’s with an en-suite bathroom—a family bathroom, her own room, and the third bedroom over the hall: Ben’s room…A gravel drive ran down one side of the house, and with a new garage built at the bottom of the garden the conversion was complete. And a great success Phoebe thought, glancing contentedly around.

A big armchair stood at one side of the fireplace, with a tall standard lamp behind it and a mahogany bureau against the wall. On the other side was the television. In the centre was a coffee table, and a Persian rug in shades of turquoise was spread in front of the fire, providing a nice contrast with the oak wood floor. Beneath the front window was an antique desk and chair of her aunt’s, and beneath the back window an old sailor’s trunk Phoebe had picked up at a car boot sale that was ideal for storing some of Ben’s toys. Maybe not the height of fashion, but in the soft glow of the standard lamp it was warm and welcoming—a real family room.

Unfortunately she had a sinking feeling that her happy home might be about to change, if Jed had his way. Draining her mug of tea, she rose to her feet and headed back to the kitchen.

She was worrying for nothing, she told herself deter-minedly. Jed could not take her child unless she let him, and she was not that dumb. She rinsed out the mug and put it back in the cupboard, and with a last look around the kitchen decided to mark papers for a while.

Ensconced in the study over an hour later, she was chuckling over an essay Elizabeth Smith—one of her sixteen-year-old students—had written. According to her, the French Resistance fighters in World War II had used the internet to publicise their cause!

Then she heard the knock on the door. She toyed with the idea of not answering, but she didn’t want Ben disturbed and reluctantly got to her feet. Moment of reckoning, she thought as she walked down the hall, rubbing her suddenly damp palms down her slender thighs. It could only be one man.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

It was dark out, but the light from the hall illuminated the tall figure of Jed, his hand raised as if to knock again—but then patience had never been one of his virtues, she recalled. When he wanted something, be it a business deal or a woman, he went straight for his objective with all the skill and guile at his disposal. As far as she knew he had never failed. But there was always a first time, she told herself…