with someone as contemptible as Rhianna Davies.
Alexis’s eyes swept over the gaunt, haggard face staring horrified up at him. His stomach clenched. Rhianna Davies might be mercenary, an irresponsible drug-addict, but his son had cried for her…
Piercing like a needle into his memory, he heard the pinched little voice whispering, almost inaudibly, at his oh-so-carefully phrased question this morning, ‘Mummy…I want Mummy.’
His nails dug into his palms. Dear God—a child crying for his mother…
A mother who never came back…
Memory gutted through him, drenching him with remembered pain, making him hear the heartbroken crying of a child for its mother. With a wrench he silenced the voice he could still hear inside his head, as if it were yesterday, not thirty long years ago.
No. Enough memories. They were no use now.
All that was needed now was his most honed negotiation skill. Rhianna Davies held the key to his son—he had to find a way to turn it. And his emotions—seething, swirling like a black inky pit inside him—were only going to get in the way of doing so. Ruthlessly, he schooled himself. Time for finesse now, not the indulgence of emotion.
Regaining control, he let his eyes rest on her appalled expression. He brought to the forefront of his mind what he had concluded her long-term plan was to be. Obviously Rhianna Davies had kept his son from him quite deliberately, so she must have been biding her time, planning on producing him at a time of her choosing, when she would gain the greatest advantage from the disclosure.
That she had not done so as soon as she’d known she was pregnant could only have been because she had not, at that stage, been sure of his paternity. A woman as free with her favours as he knew her to be could easily have had any number of contenders for the privilege of impregnating her. Perhaps she had not been sure enough of his contribution to risk challenging him with a DNA test. Better, she must have reasoned, for her to have waited until the boy had grown sufficiently for his Greek heritage to be visible in his features. Then she would be on much safer ground to claim him as her child’s father.
Well, fate had taken a hand, and disclosure had come prematurely. From his point of view that could only be a good thing. She had lost the advantage of timing. Indeed—his eyes swept over her haggard features once more—she had lost a lot more advantages as well.
Her beauty, for one.
Grimly, he could only be glad of it. Rhianna Davies’s beauty had made him lose his self-control, had caused an indulgence he should never have allowed himself. But he was safe from her wiles now, all right. The gaunt death’s head staring up at him held no allure for him—or any male.
Except—and the thought stabbed at him—a heartbroken little boy, with nothing left to cling on to but his battered teddy bear…
He took a sharp, inward breath and opened negotiations.
The most critical of his life.
He was playing for his son—and he had to win.
Rhianna stared. It was a vision, a nightmare—it had to be. It had to be! Alexis Petrakis was gone—gone for ever! Thrust into the oblivion of the past, nailed down in a box with the key buried so deep she would never open it again! For five long, gruelling years she had kept it buried—had had so much else to worry about, agonise about, exhaust herself with, that it had been all but obliterated from her mind.
Self-preservation had helped her keep the past buried, unremembered. Because to remember Alexis Petrakis would have been to remember everything he had done to her—everything she had allowed him to do.
Everything he had said to her on that hideous, hideous morning.
She had crawled away from his hotel suite shaking with shame, with revulsion at herself— at him—wanting only to hide for ever.
Instead she’d had to go back, face her father, tell him…tell him she had failed. Failed to save his company, the one thing in his
Alexis’s eyes swept over the gaunt, haggard face staring horrified up at him. His stomach clenched. Rhianna Davies might be mercenary, an irresponsible drug-addict, but his son had cried for her…
Piercing like a needle into his memory, he heard the pinched little voice whispering, almost inaudibly, at his oh-so-carefully phrased question this morning, ‘Mummy…I want Mummy.’
His nails dug into his palms. Dear God—a child crying for his mother…
A mother who never came back…
Memory gutted through him, drenching him with remembered pain, making him hear the heartbroken crying of a child for its mother. With a wrench he silenced the voice he could still hear inside his head, as if it were yesterday, not thirty long years ago.
No. Enough memories. They were no use now.
All that was needed now was his most honed negotiation skill. Rhianna Davies held the key to his son—he had to find a way to turn it. And his emotions—seething, swirling like a black inky pit inside him—were only going to get in the way of doing so. Ruthlessly, he schooled himself. Time for finesse now, not the indulgence of emotion.
Regaining control, he let his eyes rest on her appalled expression. He brought to the forefront of his mind what he had concluded her long-term plan was to be. Obviously Rhianna Davies had kept his son from him quite deliberately, so she must have been biding her time, planning on producing him at a time of her choosing, when she would gain the greatest advantage from the disclosure.
That she had not done so as soon as she’d known she was pregnant could only have been because she had not, at that stage, been sure of his paternity. A woman as free with her favours as he knew her to be could easily have had any number of contenders for the privilege of impregnating her. Perhaps she had not been sure enough of his contribution to risk challenging him with a DNA test. Better, she must have reasoned, for her to have waited until the boy had grown sufficiently for his Greek heritage to be visible in his features. Then she would be on much safer ground to claim him as her child’s father.
Well, fate had taken a hand, and disclosure had come prematurely. From his point of view that could only be a good thing. She had lost the advantage of timing. Indeed—his eyes swept over her haggard features once more—she had lost a lot more advantages as well.
Her beauty, for one.
Grimly, he could only be glad of it. Rhianna Davies’s beauty had made him lose his self-control, had caused an indulgence he should never have allowed himself. But he was safe from her wiles now, all right. The gaunt death’s head staring up at him held no allure for him—or any male.
Except—and the thought stabbed at him—a heartbroken little boy, with nothing left to cling on to but his battered teddy bear…
He took a sharp, inward breath and opened negotiations.
The most critical of his life.
He was playing for his son—and he had to win.
Rhianna stared. It was a vision, a nightmare—it had to be. It had to be! Alexis Petrakis was gone—gone for ever! Thrust into the oblivion of the past, nailed down in a box with the key buried so deep she would never open it again! For five long, gruelling years she had kept it buried—had had so much else to worry about, agonise about, exhaust herself with, that it had been all but obliterated from her mind.
Self-preservation had helped her keep the past buried, unremembered. Because to remember Alexis Petrakis would have been to remember everything he had done to her—everything she had allowed him to do.
Everything he had said to her on that hideous, hideous morning.
She had crawled away from his hotel suite shaking with shame, with revulsion at herself— at him—wanting only to hide for ever.
Instead she’d had to go back, face her father, tell him…tell him she had failed. Failed to save his company, the one thing in his
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