Книга - Theseus Discovers His Heir

Theseus Discovers His Heir
Michelle Smart


The Prince’s secret love child!Shocking news has rocked the Mediterranean principality of Agon. Prince Theseus – second in line to the throne – is rumoured to have fathered a secret love child.Reports surfaced the moment stunning royal biographer Joanne Brooks was hired to memorialise King Astraeus’s reign. But it seems she’s brought more than pens and paper!Witnesses suggest that five years ago our one-time bad boy Prince travelled the world in disguise and met Joanne Brooks as engineer ‘Theo Patakis’. This reporter wants to know how Ms Brooks will react when our commanding Prince wants to claim his child and his bride!







Joanne’s head buzzed and burned, every pulse in her body hammering.

Working frantically, she clicked through dozens of pictures until she found one that showed him alone. She enlarged it.

It was him.

For an age she did nothing but hold her son so tightly she could feel the thrum of his little heart vibrate through his back.

How was it possible?

No wonder her five years of searching for Theo had been fruitless. She’d assumed living in the age of social media would make it an easy task, but had been foiled at every turn. It hadn’t stopped her looking. She’d never given up hope of finding him.

But she might have searched for a thousand years and would still never have found him. The man she’d been seeking didn’t exist.

It had all been a big fat lie.

Toby’s father wasn’t Theo Patakis, an engineer from Athens. He was Theseus Kalliakis. A prince.


You are formally invited to the Jubilee Gala of His Majesty King Astraeus of Agon as he commemorates 50 years on the throne. Join us as we celebrate

The Kalliakis Crown (#ulink_2a54ad5a-b681-5423-a9b8-6cded99f52d7)

Royal by birth, ruthless by nature

This warrior nation’s fierce Princes—Talos, Theseus and Helios—each have their own special gift to give their grandfather, the King. But none of them is expecting the three women who challenge their plans … and steal their hearts!

Discover the passion behind the palace doors … watch as destinies are forged … and get swept up in a torrent of emotion in this powerful new trilogy by Michelle Smart!

Don’t miss

Talos Claims His Virgin December 2015

Theseus Discovers His Heir January 2016

Helios Crowns His Mistress February 2016


Theseus Discovers His Heir

Michelle Smart




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading (and writing) them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire with her husband and two young Smarties.


This book is dedicated to Jo aka ‘Cat’. Who has been there with me every step of the way.


Contents

Cover (#udc7819a5-b57e-5018-94ad-094aebe52929)

Introduction (#ubb7d4b43-c3e1-5273-8f1f-045168a5c71b)

The Kalliakis Crown (#ub5ae87e1-8e33-546b-8607-9f59494aded0)

Title Page (#u87660274-be8f-544c-8d72-1a1bda52df39)

About the Author (#u1022e8aa-1edf-5a41-bd15-2aaf62d94c34)

Dedication (#u40f9d50b-dbd2-50b0-bb20-ec0020cdc97a)

CHAPTER ONE (#u97377a42-b64a-5dfd-b3d7-352b938219dd)

CHAPTER TWO (#ueae0cb27-e1bb-596f-8180-f6071f66ed3b)

CHAPTER THREE (#u4eacb817-297d-5c93-b7b1-8d7d2a00f4b4)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u9fd2c280-2600-5f30-9f9f-71874efb4494)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_cf4a0607-8efa-5d5a-a108-d0c92b917491)

JOANNE BROOKES COVERED her mouth to stifle a yawn and blinked rapidly to keep her eyes open. She was quite tempted to shove the thick pile of papers aside and have a nap at the small kitchen table, but she needed to read and digest as much as she could.

The floor creaked behind her and she turned to see Toby poke his head around the door of the tiny living space.

‘What are you doing up, you little monkey?’ she asked with a smile.

‘I’m thirsty.’

‘You’ve got water in your room.’

He gave an impish grin and padded over to her, his too-short pyjamas displaying his bare ankles. He hoisted himself up onto her lap and pressed his warm face into her neck.

‘Do you have to go away?’

Wrapping her arms tightly around his skinny frame, Jo dropped a kiss in Toby’s thick black hair. ‘I wish I didn’t.’

There was no point in explaining the finer details of why she had to leave for the island of Agon in the morning. Toby was four years old and any kind of rationalising normally went right over his head.

‘Is ten days a long time?’ he asked.

‘It is to start with, but before you know it the time will have flown by and I’ll be home.’ She wouldn’t lie to him, and could only dress her departure up into something bearable. Her stomach had been in knots all day, knitted so tightly she hadn’t been able to eat a thing.

They’d only spent two nights apart since Toby’s birth. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t even have considered going. It would have been a flat-out no.

‘And just think what fun you’ll have with Uncle Jonathan,’ she added, injecting a huge dose of positivity into her voice.

‘And Aunty Cathy?’

‘Yes—and Aunty Cathy. And Lucy.’

Her brother and his wife lived in the local town with their year-old daughter. Toby adored them almost as much as they adored him. Even knowing that he would be in safe, loving hands, Jo hated the thought of being apart from him for such a long time.

But Giles, her boss, had been desperate. Fiona Samaras, their in-house biographer, who was working on the commemorative biography of the King of Agon, had been struck down with acute appendicitis. Jo was only a copywriter, but that didn’t matter—she was the only other person who spoke Greek in the specialist publishing house she worked for. She wasn’t completely fluent, but she knew enough to translate the research papers into English and make it readable.

If the biography wasn’t complete by a week on Wednesday there wouldn’t be time for it to be copy-edited and proofread and sent to the printers, who were waiting to print five thousand English language copies and courier them to the Agon palace in time for the gala.

The gala, exactly three weeks away, was to be a huge affair, celebrating fifty years of King Astraeus’s reign. If they messed up the commemorative biography they would lose all the custom they’d gained from Agon’s palace museum over the decades. Their reputation as a publisher of biographies and historical tomes would take a battering. Possibly a fatal one.

Jo loved her job—loved the work, loved the people. It might not be the exact career she’d dreamed of, but the support she’d received throughout the years had made up for it.

Giles had been so desperate for her to take on the job that he’d promised her a bonus and an extra fortnight’s paid leave. How could she have said no? When everything was factored in, she hadn’t been able to.

She’d been through the emotional mill enough to know she would survive this separation. It would rip her apart but she would get through it—and Toby would too. The past five years had taught her to be a survivor. And the money would be welcome. She would finally have enough to take Toby to Greece and begin the task of tracking down his father.

She wondered if she would have any time to begin her search whilst she was on Agon. Although Agon wasn’t technically a Greek island, its closest neighbour was Crete and its people spoke Greek—which was why Jo had been the person her boss had turned to.

‘We’ll speak every day on the computer while I’m gone,’ she said now, reiterating what she’d already told him a dozen times that day.

‘And you’ll get me a present?’

‘I’ll get you an enormous present,’ she promised with a smile.

‘The biggest present in the world?’

She tickled his sides. ‘The biggest present I can stick in my suitcase.’

Toby giggled and tickled her neck. ‘Can I see where you’re going?’

‘Sure.’ She manoeuvred him around so that he faced her desk, pulled her laptop closer to them and clicked a button to bring it out of hibernation.

Having had only a day to prepare for the trip, she’d spent hours making arrangements for herself and Toby while trying to familiarise herself with the biography she needed to finish. She hadn’t yet had the time to do any research on the island she was travelling to.

Keeping an arm around her son’s waist to secure him on her lap, she typed ‘Agon Royal Palace’ into the search bar and selected images.

Toby gasped when he saw what appeared and pressed a finger to the screen. ‘You’re going there?’

Jo was just as taken with the images, which showed an enormous sprawling palace that evoked romantic thoughts of hot Arabian nights.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Will you have your own room?’

‘I’ll get an apartment in the palace.’

Until that moment she hadn’t had time to consider the fact that she would be staying in a royal palace for ten nights. She moved her cursor down the screen slowly, looking for a better picture.

‘Will you meet the King?’

She smiled at the eagerness in Toby’s voice. She wondered how he would react if she were to tell him that she and Toby were distantly—very distantly—related to the British royal family. He’d probably spring to the ceiling with excitement.

‘I’ll be working for the King’s grandson, who’s a prince, but I might meet the King too. Shall I find a picture of him?’

She typed in ‘King of Agon’ and hit the search button.

She supposed she should send Toby back to bed, but she really didn’t want to—not when he was so warm and snuggly on her lap, and especially not when she knew he wouldn’t be warm and snuggly on her lap again for another ten days.

The search revealed hundreds, if not thousands of pictures of the King. Scrolling through them, she thought how distinguished he looked. There were pictures of him with his late wife, Queen Rhea, who had died five years ago, others with his eldest grandson and heir, Helios, and one of King Astraeus standing with all three of his grandsons—one of whom must be Theseus, the Prince she would be directly reporting to...

She stared hard at the picture of the King and his grandsons and felt the hairs on her arms lifting. With a hand that suddenly seemed to be filled with lead, she enlarged the photo to fill the screen.

It couldn’t be.

Making sure not to squash her son, she leaned forward and adjusted the screen so she could peer at it more closely. The picture was too grainy for her to see with any certainty.

It couldn’t be...

‘Are those men kings too?’ Toby asked.

She couldn’t speak, could only manage a quick shake of her head before she clicked on to another picture of the King with his grandsons.

This photo was of a much higher quality and had been taken from less distance.

Her head buzzed and burned, every pulse in her body hammering.

Working frantically, she clicked through dozens of pictures until she found one that showed him alone. She enlarged it.

It was him.

For an age she did nothing but hold her son so tightly she could feel the thrum of his little heart vibrating through his back.

How was it possible?

Two hours later she was still there on her laptop, searching through everything the internet had to offer about Prince Theseus Kalliakis. Somehow she’d managed to pull herself out of the cold stupor she’d slipped into at seeing Theo’s face on the screen for long enough to tuck Toby back into bed and kiss him goodnight.

All that ran through her head now was crystal clarity.

No wonder her years of searching for Theo had been fruitless. She’d assumed that living in the age of social media would have made it an easy task, but she had been foiled at every turn. It hadn’t stopped her looking. She’d never given up hope of finding him.

But she might have searched for a thousand years and would still never have found him. Because the man she’d been seeking didn’t exist.

It had all been a big lie.

Toby’s father wasn’t Theo Patakis, an engineer from Athens. He was Theseus Kalliakis. A prince.

* * *

Prince Theseus Kalliakis stepped out of his office and into his private apartment just as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out and put it to his ear.

‘She’s on her way,’ said Dimitris, his private secretary, without any preamble.

Theseus killed the call, strode into his bedroom and put the phone on his bureau.

He’d spent most of the day sleeping off the after-effects of the Royal Ball his older brother, Helios had hosted the night before, and catching up on reports relating to the various businesses he and his two brothers invested in under the Kalliakis Investment Company name. Now it was time to change out of his jeans and T-shirt.

He would greet Miss Brookes, then spend some time with his grandfather while she settled in. His grandfather’s nurse had messaged him to say the King was having a good spell and Theseus was loath to miss spending private time with him when he was lucid.

Nikos, his right-hand man, had laid out a freshly pressed suit for him. Theseus had heard tales of royalty from other nations actually being dressed by their personal staff, something that had always struck him as slightly ludicrous. He was a man. He dressed himself. His lips curved in amusement as he imagined Nikos’s reaction should he request that the man do his shirt buttons up for him. All Nikos’s respect would be gone in an instant. He would think Theseus had lost his testosterone.

Once dressed, he rubbed a little wax between his hands and worked it quickly into his hair, then added a splash of cologne. He was done.

Exiting his apartment, he headed down a flight of stairs and walked briskly along a long, narrow corridor lit up by tiny ceiling lights. After walking through three more corridors he cut through the palace kitchens, then through four more corridors, until he arrived at the stateroom where he would meet Fiona Samaras’s replacement.

Murmured voices sounded from behind the open door. The replacement had clearly arrived—something that relieved him greatly.

His grandfather’s illness had forced the brothers to bring the Jubilee Gala forward by three months. That had meant that the deadline for completing a biography of his grandfather—which Theseus had tasked himself with producing—had been brought forward too.

His relationship with his grandfather had never been easy. Theseus freely admitted he’d been a nightmare to raise. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the outdoor pursuits which had come with being a young Agon prince, but had openly despised the rest of it—the boundaries, the stuffy protocol and all the other constraints that came with his title.

His demand for a sabbatical and the consequences of his absence had caused a further rift between him and his grandfather that had never fully healed. He hoped the biography would go some way to mending that rift before his grandfather’s frail body succumbed to the cancer eating at it.

Five years of exemplary behaviour did not make up for almost three decades of errant behaviour. This was his last chance to prove to his grandfather that the Kalliakis name did mean something to him.

But first the damn thing needed to be completed. The deadline was tight enough without Fiona’s appendicitis derailing the project further.

Her replacement had better be up for the task. Giles had sworn she was perfect for it... Theseus had no choice but to trust his judgement.

Dimitris stood with his back to the door, talking to the woman Theseus assumed to be Despinis Brookes.

‘You got back from the airport quickly,’ he said as he stepped into the stateroom.

Dimitris turned around and straightened. ‘Traffic was light, Your Highness.’

The woman behind him stepped forward. He moved towards her, his hand outstretched. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Brookes,’ he said in English. ‘Thank you for coming at such short notice.’

He would keep his doubts to himself. She would be under enough pressure to deliver without him adding to it. His job, from this point onwards, was as support vehicle. He would treat her as if she were one of the young men and women whose start-up businesses he and his brothers invested in.

His role in their company was officially finance director. Unofficially he saw himself as chief cheerleader—good cop to his younger brother Talos’s bad cop—there to give encouragement and help those people realise their dreams in a way he could never realise his own. But woe betide them if they should lie to him or cheat him. The few who’d been foolish enough to do that had been taught a lesson they would never forget.

He wasn’t a Kalliakis for nothing.

He waited for Miss Brookes to take his hand. Possibly she would curtsey. Many non-islanders did, although protocol did not insist on it unless it was an official function.

She didn’t take his offered hand. Just stared at him with an expression he didn’t quite understand but which made the hairs on his nape shoot up.

‘Despinis?’

Possibly she was overwhelmed at meeting a prince? It happened...

In the hanging silence he looked at her properly, seeing things that he’d failed to notice in his hurry to be introduced and get down to business. The colour of her hair was familiar, a deep russet-red, like the colour of the autumn leaves he’d used to crunch through when he’d been at boarding school in England. It fell like an undulating wave over her shoulders and down her back, framing a pretty face with an English rose complexion, high cheekbones and generous bee-stung lips. Blue-grey eyes pierced him with a look of intense concentration...

He knew those eyes. He knew that hair. It wasn’t a common colour, more like something from the artistic imagination of the old masters of the Renaissance than anything real. But it was those eyes that really cut him short. They too were an unusual shade—impossible to define, but evocative of early-morning skies before the sun had fully risen.

And as all these thoughts rushed through his mind she finally advanced her hand into his and spoke two words. The final two little syllables were delivered with a compacted tightness that sliced through him upon impact.

‘Hello, Theo.’

* * *

He didn’t recognise her.

Jo didn’t know what she’d expected. A hundred scenarios had played out in her mind over the past twenty hours. Not one of those scenarios had involved him not remembering her.

It was like rubbing salt in an open, festering wound.

Something flickered in his dark eyes, and then she caught the flare of recognition.

‘Jo?’

As he spoke her name, the question strongly inflected in a rich, accented voice that sounded just as she imagined a creamy chocolate mousse would sound if it could talk, his long fingers wrapped around hers.

She nodded and bit into her bottom lip, which had gone decidedly wobbly. Her whole body suddenly felt very wobbly, as if her bones had turned into overcooked noodles.

His hand felt so warm.

It shouldn’t feel warm. It should feel as cold as his lying heart.

And she shouldn’t feel an overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Straightening her spine, Jo tugged her hand out of his warm hold and resisted the impulse to wipe it on her skirt, to rid herself of a touch she had once yearned for.

‘It’s been a long time,’ she said, deliberately keeping her tone cool, trying to turn her lips upwards into the semblance of a smile.

But how could you smile when your one and only lover, the man you’d spent five years searching for, the father of your child, didn’t remember your face?

How could you force a smile when you’d spent five years searching for a lie?

Dimitris, the man who’d collected her from the airport and introduced himself as His Highness’s private secretary, was watching their interaction with interest.

‘Do you two know each other?’

‘Despinis Brookes is an old acquaintance of mine,’ said Theo—or Theseus—or whatever his name was. ‘We met when I was on my sabbatical.’

Oh, was that what he’d been doing on Illya? He’d been on a sabbatical?

And she was an acquaintance?

She supposed it was better than being described as one of his one-night stands.

And at least he hadn’t had the temerity to call her an old friend.

‘I saw a picture of you on the internet last night when I was researching your island,’ she said, injecting brightness into her tone, giving no hint that she’d even thought of him during the intervening years. ‘I thought it looked like you.’

She might not have much pride left after spending the last four years as a single mother, but she still had enough to be wounded and not to want to show it, especially as they had an audience. One thing motherhood had taught her was resilience. In fact it had taught her a lot of things, all of which had made her infinitely stronger than she’d been before.

Theseus appraised her openly, his dark brown eyes sweeping over her body. ‘You look different to how I remember you.’

She knew she was physically memorable—it had been the bane of her childhood. Red hair and a weight problem had made her an easy target for bullies. Having Toby had been the kick she’d needed to shift the weight and keep it off. She would never be a stick-thin model but she’d grown to accept her curves.

She might be a few stone lighter, and her hair a few inches longer, but there was nothing else different about her.

‘Your hair’s shorter than I remember,’ she said in return.

Five years ago Theseus’s hair—so dark it appeared black—had been long, skimming his shoulders. Now it was short at the back, with the front sweeping across his forehead. On Illya she’d only ever seen him in shorts and the occasional T-shirt. Half the time he hadn’t bothered with footwear. Now he wore a blue suit that looked as if it had cost more than her annual food bill, and shoes that shone so brightly he could probably see his reflection in them.

‘You’re looking good, though,’ she added, nodding her head to add extra sincerity to her words.

What a shame that it was the truth.

Theo—or Theseus—or His Highness—wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever met, but there was something about him that captured the eye and kept you looking. A magnetism. He had a nose too bumpy to be considered ideal, deep-set dark brown eyes, a wide mouth that smiled easily and a strong jawline. This combined with his olive colouring, his height—which had to be a good foot over her own five foot four inches—and the wiry athleticism of his physique, gave the immediate impression of an unreconstructed ‘man’s man’.

Her awareness of him had been instant, from the second he’d stepped into Marin’s Bar on Illya with a crowd of Scandinavian travellers hanging onto his every word. She’d taken one look at him and her heart had flipped over.

It had been a mad infatuation. Totally crazy. Irrational. All the things she’d reached the age of twenty-one without having once experienced had hit her with the force of a tsunami.

But now she was five years older, five years wiser, and she had a child to protect. Any infatuation had long gone.

Or so she’d thought.

But when he’d strode through the door of the stateroom the effect had been the same; as if the past five years had been erased.

‘Different to all those years ago,’ Theseus agreed, looking at his watch. ‘I appreciate you’ve had a long day, but time is against us to get the biography complete. Let’s take a walk to your apartment so you can freshen up and settle in. We can talk en route.’

He set off with Dimitris at his side.

Staring at his retreating back, it took Jo a few beats before she pulled herself together and scrambled after them.

Dull thuds pounded in her brain, bruising it, as the magnitude of her situation hit her.

For all these years she’d sworn to herself that she would find Toby’s father and tell Theo about their son. She’d had no expectations of what would happen afterwards, but had known that at the very least she owed it to Toby to find him. She’d also thought she owed it to Theo to tell him he had a child.

But Theo didn’t exist.

Whoever this man was, he was not the Theo Patakis she had once fallen in love with.

Theseus wasn’t the father of her son; he was a stranger dressed in his skin.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_7e60d955-53e5-50d8-81b6-159a8fefb66d)

‘VISITORS TO THE palace often get lost, so I’ve arranged for a map to be left in your apartment,’ Theseus said as they climbed a narrow set of stairs.

‘A map? Seriously?’ She would remain civil if it killed her. Which it probably would.

So many emotions were running through her she didn’t know where one began and another ended.

He nodded, still steaming ahead. Her legs were working at a quick march to keep up with him as he turned into a dark corridor lit by tiny round ceiling lights.

‘The palace has five hundred and seventy-three rooms.’

‘Then I guess a map could come in handy,’ she conceded, for want of anything else to say.

‘There will not be time for you to explore the palace as you might like,’ he said. ‘However, we will do everything in our power to make your stay here as comfortable as it can be.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, trying not to choke on her words.

‘Are you up to speed with the project?’

‘I read a good chunk of it on the plane,’ she confirmed tightly.

As the deadline for the biography’s completion was so tight, Fiona had been emailing each chapter as she’d finished it so they could be immediately edited. The editor working on it had spent the past six weeks or so with a distinctly frazzled look about her.

‘Fiona has completed the bulk of the biography, but there is still another twenty-five years of my grandfather’s life to be written about. I appreciate this must sound daunting, but you will find when you read through the research papers that there is much less complexity there than in his early years. Are you confident you can do this within the time constraints?’

‘I wouldn’t have accepted the job if I wasn’t.’ Fiona’s editor, who Jo was now working with, had assured her that the last three decades of King Astraeus’s life had been comparatively quiet after his early years.

But Jo had accepted the job before discovering who she would be working for and exactly who he was.

As she clung to the gold banister that lined the wall above a wide, cantilevered staircase that plunged them into another warren of passageways and corridors Jo remembered a trip to Buckingham Palace a few years back, and recalled how bright and airy it had seemed. The Agon Royal Palace matched Buckingham Palace for size, but it had a much darker, far greater gothic quality to it. It was a palace of secrets and intrigue.

Or was that just her rioting emotions making her read more into things? Her body had never felt so tight with nerves, while her brain had become a fog of hurt, anger, bewilderment and confusion.

‘I don’t remember you speaking Greek when we were on Illya,’ he said, casting her a curious, almost suspicious glance that made her heart shudder.

‘Everyone spoke English there,’ she replied in faultless Greek, staring pointedly ahead and praying the dim light bouncing off the dark hardwood flooring would hide the burn suddenly ravaging her skin.

‘That is true.’ He came to a halt by a door at the beginning of another wide corridor. He turned the handle and pushed it open. ‘This is your apartment for the duration of your stay. I’m going to visit my grandfather while you settle in—a maid will be with you shortly to unpack. Dimitris will come for you in an hour, and then we can sit down and discuss the project properly.’

And just like that he walked back down the corridor, leaving Jo staring at his retreating figure with a mixture of fury and incredibly lancing pain raging through her.

Was that it?

Was that all she was worth?

A woman he’s once been intimate with suddenly reappears in his life and he doesn’t even ask how she’s been? Not the slightest hint of curiosity?

The only real reference to their past had been a comment about her speaking his language.

He’d sought her out back then. It had been her comfort he’d needed that night. And now she wasn’t worth even a simple, How are you? or How have you been?

But then, she thought bitterly, it had all been a lie.

This man wasn’t Theo.

A soft cough behind her reminded her that Dimitris was still there. He handed her a set of keys, wished her a pleasant stay and left her alone to explore her apartment.

* * *

Theseus blew air out of his mouth, nodding an automatic greeting to a passing servant.

Joanne Brookes.

Or, as he’d known her five years ago, Jo.

Now, this was a complication he hadn’t anticipated. A most unwelcome complication.

Hers was a face from his past he’d never expected to see again, and certainly not in the palace, where a twist of fate had decreed she would spend ten days working closely with him.

She’d been there for him during the second worst night of his life, when he’d been forced to wait until the morning before he could leave the island of Illya and be taken to his seriously ill grandmother.

Jo had taken care of him. In more ways than one.

He remembered his surprise when he’d learned her age—twenty-one and fresh out of university. She’d looked much younger. She’d seemed younger than her years too.

He supposed that would now make her twenty-six. Strangely, she now seemed older than her years—not in her appearance, but in the way she held herself.

He experienced an awful sinking feeling as he remembered taking her number and making promises to call.

That sinking feeling deepened as he recalled his certainty after they’d had sex that she’d been a virgin.

She couldn’t have been. She would have told you. Who would give her virginity to a man who was effectively a stranger?

Irrelevant, he told himself sharply.

Illya and his entire sabbatical had been a different life, and it was one he could never return to.

He was Prince Theseus Kalliakis, second in line to the Agon throne. This was his life. The fact that the new biographer was a face from the best time of his life meant nothing.

Theo Patakis was dead and all his memories had gone with him.

* * *

‘This is where I’ll be working?’ Jo asked, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

She’d spent the past hour giving herself a good talking-to, reminding herself that anger didn’t achieve anything. Whatever the next ten days had in store, holding on to her fury would do nothing but give her an ulcer. But then Dimitris had collected her from the small but well-appointed apartment she’d been given and taken her to Theseus’s private offices, just across the corridor, and the fury had surged anew.

Her office was inside his private apartment and connected to his own office without so much as a doorway to separate them.

‘This is the office Fiona used.’ Theseus waved a hand at the sprawling fitted desks set against two walls to make an L shape. ‘Nobody has touched it since she was admitted into hospital.’

‘There’s a spare room in my apartment that will make a perfectly functional office.’

‘Fiona used that room when she first came here, but it proved problematic. The research papers I collated and my own notes only give the facts about my grandfather’s life. I want this biography to show the man behind the throne. As I know you’re aware, this project is going to be a surprise for my grandfather so any questions need to be directed to me. With the time constraints we’re working under it is better for me to be on hand for whatever you need.’

‘Whatever you feel is for the best.’

A black eyebrow rose at her tone but he nodded. ‘Are you happy with your apartment?’

‘It’s perfectly adequate.’

Apart from being in the same wing as his.

How was she going to be able to concentrate on anything whilst being in such close proximity to him? Her stomach was a tangle of knots, her heart was all twisted and aching...and her head burned as her son’s gorgeous little face swam before her eyes.

Toby deserved better than to have been conceived from a lie.

She knew nothing of this man other than the fact that he was a prince in a nation that revered its monarchy.

He was descended from warriors. He and his brothers had forged a reputation for being savvy businessmen. They’d also forged a reputation as ruthless. It didn’t pay to cross any of them.

Theseus was powerful.

Until she got to know this man she couldn’t even consider telling him about Toby. Not until she knew in her heart that he posed no threat to either of them.

‘Only “adequate”?’ he asked. ‘If there is anything you feel is lacking, or anything you want, you need only say. I want your head free of trivia so you can concentrate on getting the biography completed on time.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember that.’

‘Make sure you do. I have lived and breathed this project for many months. I will not have it derailed at the last hurdle.’

The threat in his voice was implicit.

Now she believed what Giles had told her when he’d begged her to take the job—if she failed Hamlin & Associates would lose their best client and likely their reputation in the process.

‘I have ten days to complete it,’ she replied tightly. ‘I will make the deadline.’

‘So long as we have an understanding, I suggest we don’t waste another minute.’

Where was the charmer she remembered from Illya? The man who had made every woman’s IQ plummet by just being in his presence?

She’d spent five years thinking about this man, four years living with a miniature version of him, and his presence in her life had been so great she’d been incapable of meeting anyone else. Once Toby had been born the secret dream she’d held of Theo—Theseus—calling her out of the blue with apologies that he’d lost his phone had died. As had the fantasy that she would tell him of their son and he would want to be involved in their lives.

Motherhood had brought out a pragmatism she hadn’t known existed inside her. Until precisely one day ago she hadn’t given up on her dream of finding him, but that wish had been purely for Toby’s sake. All she’d wanted for herself was to find the courage to move on. She’d accepted she’d been nothing but a one-night stand for him and had found peace with that idea. Or so she’d thought.

Because somehow that was the worst part of it. Her body still reacted to him in exactly the way it had on Illya, with a sick, almost helpless longing. If he looked closely enough he’d be able to see her heart beating beneath the smart black top she wore.

His indifference towards her cut like a scalpel slicing through flesh.

He couldn’t give a damn about her.

A swell of nausea rose in her and she knew she had to say something.

She couldn’t spend the next ten days with such an enormous elephant in the room, even if she was the only one who could see it.

Heart hammering, she plunged in. ‘Before I start work there’s something we need to talk about.’

He contemplated her with narrowed eyes that showed nothing but indifference.

‘I’m sorry,’ she continued, swallowing back the fear, ‘but if you want me focused I need to know why you let me and everyone else on Illya believe you were an engineer from Athens, travelling the world on the fruits of an inheritance, when you were really a prince from Agon.’

‘It hardly matters—it was five years ago,’ he said sardonically.

‘You lied to me and every person you met on Illya.’

You lied to him too, her conscience reminded her, and she felt her cheeks flame as she recalled how her one lie had been the most grievous of all, a remembrance that knocked back a little of her fury and allowed her to gain a touch of perspective.

Her lie had been the catalyst for everything.

He contemplated her a little longer before leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.

‘Let me tell you about life here on Agon,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Outsiders struggle to understand but Agonites revere my family and have done so for over eight hundred years, ever since my ancestor Ares Patakis led a successful rebellion against the Venetian invaders.’

‘Patakis?’ she repeated. ‘Is that where you got your assumed surname from?’

He nodded. ‘My family have held the throne since then by overwhelming popular consent. With my family at the helm we’ve repelled any other nation foolish enough to think it can invade us. To prevent any despotic behaviour down the years my ancestors introduced a senate, for the people to have a voice, but still they look to us—their royal family—for leadership.’

Theseus’s mind filtered to his father; the man who would have been king if a tragic car crash hadn’t killed him prematurely along with his wife, Theseus’s mother. Lelantos Kalliakis had been exactly the kind of man his ancestors had feared taking the throne and having absolute power. Yet, regardless of how debauched and narcissistic the man had been, the Agonites had mourned him as if a member of their own family had been killed. His sons, however, had only truly mourned their mother.

‘We live in a goldfish bowl. The people here look up to my family. They revere us. Children on this island learn to read with picture books depicting tales of my ancestors. I wanted to meet real people and explore the world as a normal person would. I was curious as to how people would react to me—the man, not the Prince. So, yes, I lied to you about my true identity, just as I lied to everyone else. And if I had my time again I would tell the same lies, because they gave me a freedom I hadn’t experienced before and will never experience again.’

The majority of this speech was one he had spouted numerous times, first to his grandfather, when he’d announced his intention to see the world, and then to his brothers, who’d seen his actions as a snub to the family name. After a lifetime of bad behaviour, when he’d effectively turned his back on protocol, taking off and renouncing the family name had been his most heinous crime of all. Even now he was still trying to make amends.

‘If I hurt your feelings I apologise,’ he added when she gave no response.

He didn’t owe Jo anything, but neither did he want working with her to be a trial. There wasn’t time to bring in anyone else to complete the biography and they’d already lost three precious days.

If getting her to soften towards him meant he had to eat a little humble pie, then so be it. He would accept it as penance for the greater good.

And, if he was being honest with himself, apologising went a little way towards easing the guilt that had been nibbling at his guts.

The only change in her demeanour was a deep breath and the clenching of her jaw. When she did speak it was through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t even know what to call you. Are you Theo or Theseus? Do I address you as Your Highness or Your Grace? Am I expected to curtsey to you?’

In the hazy realms of his memory lay the whisper of her shy smile and the memory of how her cheeks would turn as red as her hair whenever he spoke to her.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to call him Theo. Being Theo had been the best time of his life...

No. He would not let those memories spring free. He’d locked them away for a reason and they could damn well stay there.

‘You can call me Theseus. And no curtseying.’

Having people bow and scrape to him turned his stomach. All his life people had treated him with a reverence he’d done nothing to earn other than be born.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. And what a gorgeous lip it was, he thought. How eminently kissable. He’d kissed that delectable mouth once...

‘I ask you to put your bad feelings towards me to one side so we can work together effectively. Can you do that?’

After a long pause she inclined her head and her long red hair fell forward. She brushed it back and tucked it behind her ears.

‘Do you remember the night those American travellers came into Marin’s Bar?’ she asked, in a voice that was definitely milder than the tone she’d used so far. ‘You were with the Scandinavians on the big round table...’

He raised a shoulder in a shrug, unsure of what day she was speaking of. He’d hit it off with a group of Scandinavian travellers on the ferry from Split to Illya and had spent the majority of his fortnight on the unspoilt island in their company. Marin’s Bar, which was two steps from the beach, had been the only place to go, but with its excellent beer, good food and a juke box that had pumped out classic tracks, it had engendered an easy, relaxed atmosphere.

Jo and her friends, whose names he didn’t think he’d ever known, had always been on the periphery—there but in the background, rather like wallpaper.

‘They were touching us up,’ she reminded him.

‘Ah.’

Now he remembered. The Americans—college graduates taking time out before joining the corporate world—had drunk far too much of the local liquor and had started harassing Jo and her friends. He remembered there had been something nasty about it, well beyond the usual banter one might expect in such an environment. He’d taken exception to it and had personally thrown the men out, then he had insisted Jo and her friends join him and his friends at their table.

And now her face did soften. Not completely—her cheeks were still clenched—but enough that her lips regained their plumpness. They almost curled into a smile.

‘You stepped in to help us,’ she said. ‘Whether you were there as a lie or not, in that one aspect it doesn’t matter. You did a good thing. I’ll try to hold on to that whenever I feel like stabbing you. How does that sound?’

A bubble of laughter was propelled up his throat, startling him. He quickly recovered.

‘I think that sounds like an excellent start.’

She rocked her head forward. ‘Good.’

‘But just in case you ever do feel like stabbing me I’ll be sure to hide all the sharp objects.’

The plump lips finally formed into a smile and something dark flickered in her eyes, but was gone before he could analyse it.

‘It’s a deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe this is the perfect cue for me to go back to my apartment and carry on reading Fiona’s work.’

‘Will you be ready to start writing in the morning?’

‘That’s very unlikely—I’m only two-thirds through and I still need to familiarise myself with the research papers. What I can promise is that I will have this biography completed by the deadline even if I have to kill myself doing it.’

She stepped out of the door, giving him a full view of her round bottom, perfectly displayed in the smart navy blue skirt she wore. What kind of underwear lay beneath...?

He blinked away the inappropriate thought.

Her underwear was none of his business.

But there was no denying the gauche young girl he’d known before had gone; in her place was a confident and, yes, a sexy woman.

It had been a long time since he’d considered a woman sexy or pondered over her underwear.

There was nothing wrong with admitting she had an allure about her. Thoughts and actions were different things. The days when he would already have been plotting her seduction were long gone. The Theseus who had put pleasure above duty had been banished.

The next woman he shared a bed with would be his wife.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6e87f966-ccc6-59db-8326-5bcd26d576b7)

JO GAZED AT the picture Toby proudly held up. Apparently it was a drawing of the two of them. It resembled a pair of colourful ants, one of which had been given long purple hair as his red felt-tip pen had run out.

‘That’s amazing,’ she said, trying not to laugh, and inordinately proud of his attempt at a family portrait.

‘Uncle Jon says he’ll scab it for you.’

She stifled another giggle at his word for scan. At some point she knew she would have to tell him when he mangled words and mixed them up—like using alligator for escalator and Camilla for vanilla—but for the moment it was too cute. She’d start correcting him properly when he started school in five months’ time.

She was dreading it—her baby growing up. They’d only been apart for one night so far, and this was already the second time they’d spoken via video-link. Thank God for technology.

She wondered how parents had handled time away from their children before video conferencing had been invented. A voice on the end of a phone was no substitute to seeing their faces as they spoke. Not that she would count her own parents in that equation.

She remembered going on a week-long school trip when she’d been eleven and calling home after three days only to have her mother say, ‘Is there an emergency?’

‘No, I—’

‘Then I don’t have the time to talk. It’s feeding time.’

And that had been the end of that conversation. In the Brookes household the animals came first, Jonathan came second, with Jo and her father vying for last place.

‘Sorry, sweet pea, but I have to go to work now,’ Jo said, infusing her words with all the love her own mother had denied her.

He pulled a face. ‘Already?’

‘We’ll talk again later.’ Theseus would be expecting her at any minute.

‘After lunch?’

‘Tell Aunty Cathy we’ll speak before you go to bed,’ she promised, knowing full well that Cathy would be listening to their conversation and would make sure Toby was ready for her.

‘Have you brought me a present yet, Mummy?’ Toby asked, clearly doing everything he could to keep her talking for a little longer.

‘I haven’t been anywhere to get you one yet, you little monkey. Now, blow me a kiss and shoo before you’re late for preschool.’

Toby did better than blow her a kiss. He put his face to the screen, puckered his lips and kissed it.

With her heart feeling as if it were about to expand out of her body, she pressed her fingers to her lips and then extended them to touch her screen. ‘Love you.’

Before he could respond the connection was lost. No doubt he’d leaned on something he shouldn’t have pressed when he’d leaned forward to kiss her.

Laughing whilst simultaneously wiping away a tear, Jo turned off her laptop.

She took three deep breaths to compose herself, then left her apartment, took four paces to the door opposite and entered her office, yawning widely.

‘Late night?’

Theseus’s voice startled her.

He stood in the archway that separated their offices, dressed in a navy suit and white shirt, without a tie.

She would never have imagined Theo in a suit, much less that he would look so unutterably gorgeous in it. On Illya he had lived in shorts, his golden chest with those defined muscles and that fine hair dusting over his pecs unashamedly on display.

But this man wasn’t Theo, she reminded herself sharply. He was nothing like him. This man’s lips seemed not to know how to smile. This man carried none of the warmth Theo had had in spades.

The only thing the two had in common was that same vivid masculinity. That vital presence. Her eyes would have been drawn to him even if she’d never known him as Theo.

‘I stayed up to finish reading what Fiona had written,’ she answered.

‘Was that necessary?’

‘I needed to find the rhythm of her work,’ she explained evenly. ‘I’ll need to replicate it if I’m to make the transition seamless for the reader.’

‘And are you ready to start writing now?’

‘Not yet. I need to read through the research papers for the period of your grandfather’s life I’m covering.’

He inclined his head and straightened. ‘I shall leave you to it. I’ll be back later if you find you have any questions for me.’

She forced a smile in acknowledgement, but the second she was alone she dropped her head onto the desk and closed her eyes.

Barely five minutes in his company and now not a single part of her felt right, as if being with him had caused her entire body to turn itself inside out.

She would have to find a way to manage it.

With grim determination she forced her attention to the piles of research papers before her.

The work Fiona had done on the biography had made for compelling reading.

King Astraeus had led a fascinating life, one filled with glory and honour. While many men of his nation had fought for the allies in the war—his brother among them—the then Prince Astraeus had led the defence of his own island. When a battalion of naval ships had approached the island with the intention to occupy it, Astraeus had led the counterattack. The fleet had been obliterated before it had reached the shore.

No other enemy ship had attempted to land on Agon since.

That would have been impressive on its own, but only the day before Astraeus had been given the news that his only brother had been killed in action.

This was Jo’s son’s heritage—a family that led from the front and who were all prepared to put their lives on the line to defend their home and their people.

A powerful family. And in it fitted Theseus—the father of her son.

The chapter Fiona had finished just before being taken ill detailed the death of Astraeus’s only son and daughter-in-law in a tragic car crash twenty-six years ago. Theseus’s parents. He’d been nine years old. So very young.

Her heart cracked a little to imagine what he must have gone through.

But that had been a long time ago, she reminded herself. Theseus the child had no bearing on Theseus the adult. She could not allow sympathy to lower her guard. Until she knew the real Theseus she couldn’t afford to lower it for one second.

* * *

Theseus put his phone down. He could hear the soft rustle of papers being turned in the adjoining office.

When Fiona had worked on the biography he’d hardly been aware of her. Other than the times when she would ask him questions, she might not have existed. Fiona using that office hadn’t interrupted the flow of his own work.

As the financial figurehead of the Kalliakis Investment Company, and with his newer role of overseeing the palace accounts, which his grandfather had finally agreed to a year ago, he had plenty to keep his brain occupied.

In his childhood he’d dreamed of being an astronaut, of flying through the universe exploring new planets and solar systems. Astronauts had to be good with numbers, and he’d practised his arithmetic with a zeal that had astounded his tutor.

He could still remember one of the rare occasions when his father had come into Theseus’s bedroom, mere months before he’d died. He’d looked at the star charts and pictures of rockets that had filled the walls and told him to rid his mind of such nonsense. A Kalliakis prince could never be an astronaut.

Even now Theseus would stare up at the night sky and be filled with longing.

He could have done it. He had the talent and the enthusiasm. He was fit, healthy and active.

But it could never be.

Now he used his talents, if not his enthusiasm, for financial reports. At least when he was going through the accounts he didn’t have to put on a face and make small talk; didn’t have to remember he was an ambassador for his family and his island.

So he kept himself busy. Too much time on his hands left his mind free to wander, to dream, to imagine what if...?

Today, though, the woman next door with hair like autumn leaves kept intruding. And she hadn’t made so much as a peep of noise.

He couldn’t get over how damned sexy she’d become. Even now, wearing nothing but charcoal three-quarter-length leggings, and a plain long-sleeved tunic-style black top that made her hair appear even more vibrant, she exuded a beguiling allure.

It had been a long time since he’d experienced such a primitive reaction to a woman.

Five years, to be exact.

His return to Agon from his sabbatical had been a turning point for him. Battling grief for his grandmother and ugly home truths from his grandfather, he’d known it was time to stop fighting. He would never be free. Sitting on the summit of Aconcagua in Argentina, the highest point in the Southern Hemisphere, was the closest he would ever get to the stars.

It had been time to accept his destiny.

He had decided he would curb his pleasure-seeking and throw himself into palace life. His grandfather had already been an old man. Helios had taken on many of his duties. It had been time for Theseus to take his share of them and relieve the burden.

He had been determined to prove to his grandfather that the Kalliakis name did mean something to him and had spent the years since his sabbatical doing exactly that—throwing himself into palace life and royal duties. In that time his appetite for sex had diminished to nothing, which suited him perfectly. Women who would usually turn his head had elicited minimal reaction. Neither his heart not his libido had been in it.

Now, for the first time in years, he felt the thrill of the chase coiling in his veins and cursed that such feelings should be unleashed.

Jo might be walking temptation, but there was no place in his life for desire. His next relationship would be with the woman he made his wife, even if he did intend on putting off the moment for as long as he could.

He stepped away from his desk and crossed the threshold into the adjoining office.

‘How are you getting on?’

She didn’t respond.

He was about to repeat his question but then saw she had earphones in.

She must have sensed his presence, for she turned her head and pulled them out.

‘I will be leaving the palace shortly. Is there anything you need to talk to me about?’

‘Not yet. I’m still going through the research papers and making notes on anything I feel could be relevant. As so many aspects are connected I think it will be best if we sit down and discuss it all when I’m done.’

‘Will that not eat into your writing time?’

‘It will make it easier—it means it will be solid in my head and I’ll be in a position to work through it all without having to stop and interrupt you every five minutes. I’ll probably still have further questions, but they will be far fewer this way.’

‘I’m hosting a function for a delegation of French businessmen today, and I have a dinner at the US Embassy to attend this evening, but I can clear most of my diary for the next few days so I’ll be available when you’re ready.’

‘That would be good, thank you,’ she answered with a brief smile, her brilliant blue-grey eyes meeting his. She looked away, casting her gaze to her desk, then back up to him. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’ So long as it wasn’t about Illya. He refused to give headspace to memories from that time.

‘Your grandfather’s ill, isn’t he?’

‘How do you know that?’ he asked, taken aback.

No one outside of the family circle and some select palace staff were supposed to know of his grandfather’s cancer—which naturally meant the whole palace knew. However, Theseus knew none of them would discuss it with anyone on the outside. Working in the Agon Royal Palace was considered an honour. To share confidential matters would be deemed treasonous.

‘The publishing deadline was brought forward by three months and it was a tight enough deadline to begin with.’ She shrugged, as if ashamed of her conclusion.

But it was the right conclusion.

It had occurred to Theseus, when the Jubilee Gala plans were first being discussed, that his grandfather had never seen his legacy in print. Usually Agon biographies were written after the reigning monarch had abdicated, then another would be written upon their death. As his grandfather had never abdicated that first book had never been written. He’d spent fifty years on the throne—the longest reign in three hundred years.

Suddenly he’d stumbled upon a tangible way to prove to his grandfather that he was proud of his heritage, proud to be a Kalliakis and, more than any of that, proud to call Astraeus his grandfather.

The more he’d immersed himself in his grandfather’s life, the greater his pride had become. Astraeus Kalliakis was a true king. A man of honour. A man Theseus knew he should have emulated, not turned his back on for all those years.

This biography would be his personal tribute to him.

But then fate had stepped in. No sooner had he finished his research, and Fiona had flown over to the island to start writing it, than his grandfather had been given his diagnosis and everything had been brought forward by three months.

The Gala, the biography...everything was being rushed. Because now there lay the real danger that his grandfather wouldn’t live long enough to see any of it.

The day drew nearer when he would have to say goodbye for the last time to the man who had raised him from the age of nine.

Theos, he would give his soul for a miracle.

* * *

Jo watched Theseus carefully. For a man usually so full of vitality he had a sudden stillness about him that she found unnerving.

Then his lips curved into a pensive smile and he nodded. ‘Your intuition is right. My grandfather has cancer.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘He’s eighty-seven,’ he said philosophically, but his eyes had dimmed.

‘That doesn’t make it any easier.’ Jo had only known one of her grandparents: her paternal grandfather. She’d never seen much of him when she’d been growing up but she remembered how she’d always looked forward to his visits. When Granddad Bill came over her mother would bake even more cakes than usual and her father would drag himself out of the study where he spent his days drinking cheap whisky.

His death had saddened her but the distance between their lives had meant it had caused a dull ache rather than an acute pain.

It would be a thousand times harder for Theseus. The King was like a father to him.

He must be going through hell.

She remembered his despondency five years ago, when he’d learned his grandmother was dying. Whatever regrets Jo might have over that night, she would never regret being there for him.

Who amongst this palace of courtiers did he turn to for solace now? Who wrapped their arms around his neck and stroked his hair? Who tried to absorb his pain and give him comfort?

Because surely—surely—his pain that night had been real. Even if everything else had been a lie, that had been true.

Somewhere beneath the brooding façade Theseus was in agony. She would bet every penny she owned on it.

He tugged at his shirt collar as if it constricted him. ‘The hardest thing to understand is why he didn’t say anything sooner. He’s known for a number of years that something was wrong but didn’t say a word until the pain became intolerable. If he’d spoken sooner they might have been able to cure him, but...’ He shrugged and closed his eyes. ‘He left it too late. He’s riddled with it.’

‘Is he having any treatment?’

‘Against the doctor’s advice, yes.’

‘They don’t think it’s a good idea?’

‘His age and frailty are factors against it, but my grandfather is a stubborn old man who has never had to bow to the opinions of those he disagrees with—he is a king. He wants to live long enough to celebrate his jubilee and see Helios married. He has tasked the doctors with making that happen.’

Silence hung, forming a strangely intimate atmosphere that was broken by a knock on the door.

Theseus’s eyes held hers for a beat longer before he called out, ‘Come,’ and a courtier entered with news that the delegation he was expecting had arrived.

Excusing himself, he disappeared, leaving Jo with nothing but her own confused thoughts for company.

She doubled over and laid her cheek on the desk, gazing at the closed door with unfocused eyes, trying to control the savage beat of her heart.

The King—her son’s great-grandfather—was dying.

It brought it home as nothing else had that this family, however great and powerful they might be, were Toby’s kin.

She gripped her head, felt a cramping pain catching in her belly. Her emotions were riding an unpredictable roller coaster. She might as well be blindfolded for all she knew of what the immediate future would bring.

But her conscience spoke loud and clear. Toby would start school in five months and the innocence with which he looked at the world would change. He knew he had a daddy who lived in Greece, but so far that was the extent of his knowledge and his curiosity. Soon the notion of a father wouldn’t be some abstract thing but something concrete that all the other kids had and he would want too.

And didn’t Theseus deserve to know that he was a father and be given the choice to be in Toby’s life?

If only she had a crystal ball.

But no matter how much guilt she carried she could not forget that her overriding priority was her son. She would do anything to keep him safe, and if that meant keeping Theseus in the dark until she was certain his knowing could bring no harm to Toby, then that was what she must do.

* * *

Dictaphone and notepad in hand, Jo slipped through the archway into Theseus’s office. After almost two days of going through the research papers she was ready for him.

He was on the phone. His desk—which, like her own, curved to cover two walls but was twice the size—was heaped with neat piles of files and folders. His three desktop computers were all switched on.

He nodded briefly in acknowledgement and raised a hand to indicate that he wouldn’t be long.

While he continued his conversation she felt his eyes follow her as she stepped over to the window.

She loved gazing out over the palace grounds. No matter which window she looked out from the vista was always spectacular, with sprawling gardens that ran as far as the eye could see, lush with colourful spring flowers and verdant lawn, and the palace maze rising high in the distance.

When she looked back he was unabashedly studying her.

Prickles of self-consciousness swept through her. Flustered, she smoothed her sweater down over her stomach and forced her gaze back outside, scolding herself for reading anything into his contemplative study of her. Her thin cream sweater and faded blue jeans were hardly the height of fashion.

‘What can I help you with?’ he asked once he’d finished his call.

‘I’m ready with my questions for you.’

‘Ask away.’

‘It’ll probably take a couple of hours to go through them all,’ she warned him, conscious of how busy he must be.

‘My diary is clear. I’m at your disposal. Please, take a seat.’ He pointed to the armchair in the corner of his office and put his computers into sleep mode.

Sinking into the armchair’s cosy softness, she resisted the urge to tuck her feet under her bottom.

‘Before we discuss anything, I want to say how sorry I was to read about your parents’ accident.’

Their tragic car crash had changed the course of Agon’s history. It was something Jo knew would reverberate through the rest of her work, and as much as she would have liked to steer away from it, knowing that to talk about it would bring back painful memories for him, it wasn’t something she could avoid.

His gaze held hers before he brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

‘See,’ he said quietly, emotion swirling in his brown eyes, ‘I didn’t lie to you about everything.’

She didn’t answer, keeping her gaze on his and then wrenching her eyes away to look at her notebook, trying to keep her thoughts coherent.

When they’d sat in his cabin on Illya he’d swigged at his bottle of gin and told her how much his grandmother meant to him, that she’d been the one to whom he’d turned after the death of his parents. Jo’s heart had broken when she’d known he would be returning home to say his final goodbye.

‘Did you know when you left Illya that that would be it for Theo Patakis?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And are you happy with your real life or were you happier as Theo?’

His demeanour didn’t change but his eyes became steely. ‘I don’t think these questions have any relevance to my grandfather’s biography.’

‘I know.’

‘I am a prince of Agon. My duty is to my family and my island.’

‘But does it make you happy?’ she persisted.

‘Happiness is not quantifiable,’ he answered shortly, looking away to press a button on one of the four landline telephones on his desk. ‘I’ll order refreshments.’

With the thread of their conversation dismissed, Jo pulled out a small table tucked next to her so it sat between them, and put her Dictaphone on it.

‘Do you mind if I record our conversation rather than take notes?’ she asked once he’d ordered coffee and cake.

‘If that’s what works for you, then by all means.’

She pressed ‘record’ and glanced again at her notes.

‘Am I right in thinking your grandfather would have abdicated when your father reached the age of forty?’

‘That is correct. Agon monarchs traditionally step down when their heir turns forty. When my parents died Helios became heir.’

‘And Helios was ten at the time?’

‘Yes.’

‘So any thoughts of abdication and retirement had to be put to one side?’

‘My father was an only child. My grandfather’s only sibling died fighting in the war, so there was no one suitable to act as regent until Helios came of age.’

‘What plans did your grandfather have for his retirement?’

A shadow crossed his face, lines forming on his forehead. ‘He was going to take a back seat for my grandmother.’

‘She was a violinist?’

‘Yes. When they married she was already world-famous. My grandfather’s coronation limited the scope of when and where she could perform, so she concentrated on composing music rather than performing, which was her first love.’

‘So that was their plan? For her to start performing again?’

‘She still performed, but only a couple of times a year at carefully arranged events. His abdication would have freed her and enabled her to tour the world—something my grandfather was fully behind. He was looking forward to travelling with her.’

‘He’d travelled much of the world as a monarch,’ she pointed out.

‘Travelling as monarch is different. He was an ambassador for our island.’ He smiled grimly. ‘When a member of my family travels on royal business he has a retinue of staff and an itinerary that leaves no room for spontaneity. Every minute is accounted for.’

Jo tried to imagine the Theo she’d met five years ago, the carefree adrenaline addict with the infectious smile and an impulsive zest for life, living under such restrictions.

An image flashed into her mind of a fully mature lion trapped in a small cage.

‘Is that why your grandfather agreed you could take a sabbatical from your duties at the palace and travel the world?’

‘It wasn’t a question of agreement,’ he replied shortly.

When Theseus had decided to leave he’d discussed it with his grandfather as a matter of courtesy. He’d wanted his blessing but it hadn’t been imperative. He would have gone anyway. He’d graduated from Sandhurst and, loving military life, had stayed on in the army for a few more years. But then he’d turned twenty-eight and his family’s eyes had turned to him. He’d been expected to take his place in the palace, as a good prince was supposed to do...

It had felt as if a hook had been placed around his neck, tightening as the day had loomed ever closer.

He’d known that once he was in the palace permanently, any hope of freedom would be gone for ever. His childhood dream of becoming an astronaut had long been buried, but that yearning for freedom, the wish to see new horizons and control his own destiny without thinking of the impact on the palace, had still been so vivid he’d been able to taste it on his tongue.

He’d thought of his parents, dead at an age not much older than he was now, their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Would they have lived that final day in the same way if they’d known it would be their last?

And so he’d made up his mind to leave before protocol engulfed him and to live his life as if each day really was his last.

He’d become Theo Patakis: the man he might have been if fate hadn’t made him a prince.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_778d9a9d-6270-547a-a5c8-fbe8842ec3df)

A STRANGE DISQUIET slipped through him. Theseus shrugged it off, and was thankful when a maid came into the office with their refreshments, placing a tray down on the table where Jo had put her Dictaphone.

He saw her gaze flitter to the karidopita, a walnut and spice cake.

‘Have a slice.’ He lifted the plate for her.

‘No, thank you.’ While she poured the coffee her gaze lingered on the cake.

‘Are you sure?’

She pulled a face. ‘I put on weight just looking at it.’

‘One slice won’t hurt.’

‘If I have one slice I’ll want the rest of it, and before we know it I’ll be running to the kitchen and holding the chef to ransom until he’s made me a fresh one.’ She said it with laughter in her voice, but there was no disguising the longing on her face.

He was about to encourage her again—to his mind a little bit of everything never hurt anyone—when he remembered her as she’d been on Illya. She still had her luscious curves now, but there was no denying that she’d lost weight—perhaps a couple of stone if he were any judge. It seemed her weight loss was an ongoing battle.

Moving the plate to his desk and out of her eyeline, he settled back in his chair, cradling his coffee cup in his hands.

He didn’t miss the quick smile of gratitude she threw his way. It was a smile that made his stomach pull and a wave of something he couldn’t distinguish race through him.

‘We were discussing my grandfather’s plans for abdication,’ he prompted her, keen to steer them back to their conversation and focus his mind on the job at hand rather than on her.

She threw him another grateful smile and leaned forward to press ‘record’ on her Dictaphone again. The movement pulled her sweater down enough to give him the tiniest glimpse of her milky cleavage.

A stab of lust pierced him. Thoughts he’d done his damnedest to keep at bay pushed through.

She had skin like satin. Breasts that...

With resolve like steel he pushed the unbidden memory away.

He was not that man who put his own pleasure above everything else any more.

Holding on to his steely resolve and keeping his head together, he answered her many questions, one leading directly to another, all the while stopping his thoughts from straying any further into forbidden territory.

It was a hard thing to do when the mouth posing the questions was so sinfully kissable.

* * *

By the time she’d asked her last question Jo’s lower back ached from sitting in the same position for so long—three hours, according to her watch. She got up to stretch her legs and went to stand at the window.

Discussing his grandfather’s life had felt strangely intimate and she was relieved that it was over. The way Theseus had stared at her throughout...

His dark eyes had never left her face. And she hadn’t been able to wrench her gaze from his.

‘There’s a load of schoolchildren in your garden,’ she said, saying the first thing that popped into her mind as she tried desperately to break through the weird atmosphere that had shrunk the spacious office into a tight, claustrophobic room.

‘They’ll be here for the tour,’ he murmured, coming to stand by her side. ‘The palace museum and grounds only open at weekends in the off season, but we arrange private midweek tours for schools and other groups. From the first of May until the first of September the grounds, museum and some parts of the palace are open every day. You can’t walk anywhere without tripping over a tourist.’

‘Is it hard, opening your home to strangers?’

He gave a tight smile. ‘This is a palace—not a home.’

‘It’s your home.’

‘Our private quarters are off-limits to visitors, but look around you. Where can I go if I want to enjoy the sun in privacy? As soon as I step out of my apartment there are courtiers by my side—’ He broke off and muttered what sounded like an oath.

Jo would have pressed him further, but her throat had closed up. Theseus’s nearness, his heat and the warm, oaky scent she remembered so well were all there, igniting her senses... She clenched her fists, fighting her body and its yearning to press closer, to actually touch him.





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