life he loved above all else, far more than his discarded wife and daughter—because how could a mere family compare with his obsession to design yachts?
If I had managed to save his company…
The old, familiar taunting scraped at her. If she had been able to do the one thing that her father had craved, needed above all else…
Oh, then he would have loved her! Surely then he would have loved her?
But she had failed. That vile, hideous night had seen to that, had destroyed both her self-respect and her last hope of salvaging her father’s company and so saving him from dwindling down through his remaining years, stricken by stroke, bereft of the one thing that had given his life meaning, increasingly ill, increasingly cantankerous, increasingly difficult to look after. Blaming her for not being the son he had wanted her to be, who would have been useful to him—not a useless girl, unable even to save his company, and now, worst of all, saddled with a fatherless bastard baby…
And all the time, like some grinding, relentless mill of God, their new poverty had crushed them exceeding fine, until they’d been reduced to living in a council flat on a sink estate that no one else wanted to live on and she had become carer to both her infant son and her invalid father, eking out their existence on state benefit.
Until the bitter, painful end had come to her father’s life, draining the very last of her worn, exhausted energies…
Tiredness sapped her. She lay there now, in her hospital bed, and despair swept over her.
After all she had gone through in the last five years, now was the worst of all. Nicky—gone.
There Alexis stood, once more dominating her vision, obliterating the rest of the world for her! Once more an overpoweringly tangible and oppressive presence. Taller, it seemed than she remembered, and darker-hued. His Mediterranean origins were obvious—not just in his colouring , but in his stance. And, most vivid of all, the arrogance, that dominance of the Mediterranean male. Exacerbated a thousand times by the knowledge of his wealth, his power.
Power.
That was what Alexis Petrakis radiated.
Fear froze through her.
Why was he here? How was he here?
And worst of all—most terrifying of all—what did he want?
Out of nowhere the answer iced through her.
Nicky.
Fear bit like a wolf at her heart. No! He couldn’t know about Nicky! He couldn’t!
Sanity fought its way through her terror. Even if Alexis Petrakis had found out about Nicky, the last thing he’d do would be to care about him!
Unless it were to ensure her silence about him. To tell her not to even think of wanting financial support. But she had never, ever thought to do that! Alexis Petrakis was the last man on earth she wanted her or Nicky to have anything to do with.
So what was he doing here now?
Dread filled her.
For one long, last moment Alexis stood looking down at the haggard woman lying there. He’d had her moved to a private ward—not for her sake, but for his. Not only did he not want to talk to her in a public ward, but in a private ward he could ensure she had no access to a phone. She wouldn’t be phoning the tabloid press with some scandalous story of a Greek tycoon’s illegitimate son living in a council flat, with his drug addict mother!
He wondered, coldly, how she was going to play it. She was, as he knew to his cost from five years ago, a superb actress.
But he’d taken her by surprise; that was obvious from her stunned reaction. She looked terrified—and well she might.
Rage spurted through him again, and he crushed it back.
She stared at him, face stricken, features twisting.
‘Why are you here?’ Her voice was thin, strained. He could hear the tension in it. Inside him, the emotions he was holding back, leashed so tight it was taking him more effort than he’d thought possible to keep them in check, were nipping and snarling at him like a pack of caged wolves.
‘You don’t know?’
Her
If I had managed to save his company…
The old, familiar taunting scraped at her. If she had been able to do the one thing that her father had craved, needed above all else…
Oh, then he would have loved her! Surely then he would have loved her?
But she had failed. That vile, hideous night had seen to that, had destroyed both her self-respect and her last hope of salvaging her father’s company and so saving him from dwindling down through his remaining years, stricken by stroke, bereft of the one thing that had given his life meaning, increasingly ill, increasingly cantankerous, increasingly difficult to look after. Blaming her for not being the son he had wanted her to be, who would have been useful to him—not a useless girl, unable even to save his company, and now, worst of all, saddled with a fatherless bastard baby…
And all the time, like some grinding, relentless mill of God, their new poverty had crushed them exceeding fine, until they’d been reduced to living in a council flat on a sink estate that no one else wanted to live on and she had become carer to both her infant son and her invalid father, eking out their existence on state benefit.
Until the bitter, painful end had come to her father’s life, draining the very last of her worn, exhausted energies…
Tiredness sapped her. She lay there now, in her hospital bed, and despair swept over her.
After all she had gone through in the last five years, now was the worst of all. Nicky—gone.
There Alexis stood, once more dominating her vision, obliterating the rest of the world for her! Once more an overpoweringly tangible and oppressive presence. Taller, it seemed than she remembered, and darker-hued. His Mediterranean origins were obvious—not just in his colouring , but in his stance. And, most vivid of all, the arrogance, that dominance of the Mediterranean male. Exacerbated a thousand times by the knowledge of his wealth, his power.
Power.
That was what Alexis Petrakis radiated.
Fear froze through her.
Why was he here? How was he here?
And worst of all—most terrifying of all—what did he want?
Out of nowhere the answer iced through her.
Nicky.
Fear bit like a wolf at her heart. No! He couldn’t know about Nicky! He couldn’t!
Sanity fought its way through her terror. Even if Alexis Petrakis had found out about Nicky, the last thing he’d do would be to care about him!
Unless it were to ensure her silence about him. To tell her not to even think of wanting financial support. But she had never, ever thought to do that! Alexis Petrakis was the last man on earth she wanted her or Nicky to have anything to do with.
So what was he doing here now?
Dread filled her.
For one long, last moment Alexis stood looking down at the haggard woman lying there. He’d had her moved to a private ward—not for her sake, but for his. Not only did he not want to talk to her in a public ward, but in a private ward he could ensure she had no access to a phone. She wouldn’t be phoning the tabloid press with some scandalous story of a Greek tycoon’s illegitimate son living in a council flat, with his drug addict mother!
He wondered, coldly, how she was going to play it. She was, as he knew to his cost from five years ago, a superb actress.
But he’d taken her by surprise; that was obvious from her stunned reaction. She looked terrified—and well she might.
Rage spurted through him again, and he crushed it back.
She stared at him, face stricken, features twisting.
‘Why are you here?’ Her voice was thin, strained. He could hear the tension in it. Inside him, the emotions he was holding back, leashed so tight it was taking him more effort than he’d thought possible to keep them in check, were nipping and snarling at him like a pack of caged wolves.
‘You don’t know?’
Her
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