Книга - The Secret Kept From The Greek

The Secret Kept From The Greek
Susan Stephens


Damon Gavros: commanding, Greek…and father of her child!When Damon Gavros steps into Lizzie Montgomery’s workplace, their searing desire cuts through the heat of the kitchen. Instantly, she’s swept back eleven years to the one exquisite night they shared! He may be the reason she once lost everything, but the irresistible connection between them blazes hotter than ever. Only there’s one thing Damon doesn’t know about Lizzie…yet.Damon is sure Lizzie is hiding something, and he’s determined to discover what. From London to Greece, his pursuit is relentless, until he finds out Lizzie’s secret has a name…Thea – and she’s his daughter!







Damon Gavros: commanding, Greek...and father of her child!

When Damon Gavros steps into Lizzie Montgomery’s workplace, their searing desire cuts through the heat of the kitchen. Instantly, she’s swept back eleven years to the one exquisite night they shared! He may be the reason she once lost everything, but the irresistible connection between them blazes hotter than ever. Only, there’s one thing Damon doesn’t know about Lizzie...yet.

Damon is sure Lizzie is hiding something, and he’s determined to discover what. From London to Greece, his pursuit is relentless, until he finds out Lizzie’s secret has a name...Thea—and she’s his daughter!


‘That isn’t...’ Heat ripped through Lizzie when he leaned in.

‘Isn’t what?’ Damon said. ‘Fair?’

‘Sensible,’ she said as his lips curved in a smile.

‘Sensible?’ he mocked, sitting back. ‘Is that what you are now?’

‘No one stays eighteen for ever, Damon.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But whatever age you are you can still live and feel and dare.’

‘Oh, I dare,’ Lizzie assured him, angling her chin to stare him in the eyes. ‘I just don’t want to be hurt again.’

‘Hurt?’ He frowned. ‘Do you expect me to hurt you?’

‘I just know I won’t give you the chance.’

‘It was you who stormed off,’ he pointed out.

She couldn’t deny it. She had, Lizzie remembered.

‘Are you going to storm off now?’ he suggested.

‘As I said, I’m not eighteen.’

‘No. You’re much improved.’

The smile behind his eyes had just become dangerous. Being this close to him was dangerous enough without that hard mouth teasing her with a faint smile. Her sensible mind said, Leave now! Move away! Make him take you back to the restaurant! but it was hard to be sensible when she wanted him so much. She only had to move by the smallest degree for their lips to touch, and for Damon’s arms to close around her.

And then she did, and they did, and she was lost.


Secret Heirs of Billionaires (#u10a103ea-f9ef-5b61-8ae5-b4ced8b09bdb)

There are some things money can’t buy...

Living life at lightning pace, these magnates are no strangers to stakes at their highest. It seems they’ve got it all... That is until they find out that there’s an unplanned item to add to their list of accomplishments!

Achieved:

1. Successful business empire

2. Beautiful women in their bed

3. An heir to bear their name...?

Though every billionaire needs to leave his legacy in safe hands, discovering a secret heir shakes up his carefully orchestrated plan in more ways than one!

Uncover their secrets in:

Unwrapping the Castelli Secret by Caitlin Crews

Brunetti’s Secret Son by Maya Blake

The Secret to Marrying Marchesi by Amanda Cinelli

Demetriou Demands His Child by Kate Hewitt

The Desert King’s Secret Heir by Annie West

The Sheikh’s Secret Son by Maggie Cox

The Innocent’s Shameful Secret by Sara Craven

The Greek’s Pleasurable Revenge by Andie Brock

Look out for more stories in the Secret Heirs of Billionaires series, coming soon!


The Secret Kept from the Greek

Susan Stephens






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


SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon style, they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and married three months later. Susan enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. To relax she reads, cooks and plays the piano, and when she’s had enough of relaxing she throws herself off mountains on skis or gallops through the countryside singing loudly.

Books by Susan Stephens

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Sicilian’s Defiant Virgin

In the Sheikh’s Service

Taming the Last Acosta

Wedlocked!

A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper

One Night With Consequences

Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire

Hot Brazilian Nights!

In the Brazilian’s Debt

At the Brazilian’s Command

Brazilian’s Nine Months’ Notice

Back in the Brazilian’s Bed

The Skavanga Diamonds

Diamond in the Desert

The Flaw in His Diamond

The Purest of Diamonds?

His Forbidden Diamond

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


For Kathryn...our first book together.


Contents

Cover (#u95a54a81-4b68-5849-8952-226165a98860)

Back Cover Text (#ud62c73d8-ce0e-507b-b7b5-9026f1764244)

Introduction (#ubba24049-283f-5181-9fb0-69fe8cb4f8cf)

Secret Heirs of Billionaires (#ue8e4684e-2e18-516e-8068-64b2087005fe)

Title Page (#u86165e71-f35f-5caa-9453-f7e567e339b0)

About the Author (#u65cd8715-fcbc-526c-939b-72c7923415f9)

Dedication (#uca9c6316-c96e-5c70-9126-0fc7a86fe530)

PROLOGUE (#u458dfe25-7c91-5f63-a056-d64c2672b0d1)

CHAPTER ONE (#uace6db0e-5e07-504f-b519-96e667a13346)

CHAPTER TWO (#u13550d8e-1a9d-5c84-ac56-968a17b9d05a)

CHAPTER THREE (#u99c0063c-100a-5ce0-9489-343712d2d5ed)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u5ad82954-ef09-5af0-b108-219b069e78ce)

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)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#u10a103ea-f9ef-5b61-8ae5-b4ced8b09bdb)

Eleven years previously...

LIZZIE WAS ON FIRE. He watched her brown eyes blaze bullets at him from the well of the court. She was just eighteen, with flowing red hair and—controversially at this most subdued of gatherings—black leather trousers, a skimpy top, tattoos and a pierced lip. He would have had to be unconscious not to want the force of nature that was Lizzie Montgomery

That didn’t change the facts. This was a court of law, and he, Damon Gavros, was part of the team from Gavros Inc—an international shipping company registered in Greece—attending court in London. He was there to support his father, who was appearing as the chief prosecution witness in the case of Gavros Inc. versus Charles Montgomery, fraudster.

It was a shock seeing Lizzie again in court—though to say he regretted sleeping with her last night wouldn’t be true. Even had he known who she was then, the fire between them would almost certainly have led them down the same road and to hell with the consequences.

They’d met for the first time the previous evening, when Lizzie, obviously distressed, had been refused a drink at the bar where he’d been sitting quietly in a corner, thinking about bringing to justice the man who had tried to defraud his father out of millions. Seeing a woman distraught, yet refusing to go home, and a barman on the point of ejecting her, he’d intervened. Taking Lizzie back to his place, he’d plied her with coffee and they’d got talking.

Lizzie was her name, she’d told him. He’d had no idea she was Charles Montgomery’s daughter. She was hot, funny, and almost too happy to laugh at herself. She was looking forward to college. He was just about to leave college. One thing had led to another, and now it was too late to repair the mistake even had he wanted to.

Just how much of a mistake he was about to discover as Lizzie’s father was taken down to the cells and he found Lizzie waiting for him outside the court. Her language was colourful. The slap came out of nowhere. He supposed he deserved it.

Touching his cheek, he held her blazing stare. She was half his size, but when Lizzie was roused she was a firebrand—as he had discovered last night in bed.

Uncaring of the crowd gathering around them in the expectation of a scene, she balled her fists and raged at him. ‘You bastard! How could you have sex with me last night knowing this was going to happen?’

‘Calm yourself, Lizzie.’ He waved the Gavros legal team away. ‘You’re making a spectacle of yourself.’

‘Calm myself?’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘Thanks to you, my father’s a convicted criminal!’

Charles Montgomery would always be innocent in Lizzie’s eyes. As far as she was concerned the rest of the world—and most especially the man she’d clung to, panting out her lust the previous night—could go hang.

‘And don’t look at me like that,’ she blazed. ‘You don’t frighten me,’

‘I should hope not,’ he agreed.

‘Don’t!’ she warned, deflecting him when he reached out to comfort her.

In his peripheral vision he could see the Gavros security men politely but firmly ushering the spectators away, and now the head of his father’s legal team was approaching. He waved him back too. Lizzie was due some consideration. Her voice was shaking with shock. The judge had wanted Lizzie’s father to be an example to others who might think of following his lead, and had handed down a prison sentence lengthy enough to shock everyone in court.

‘Your father hurt a lot of people, Lizzie. It wasn’t just my family that suffered—’

‘Stop it! Stop it!’ she screamed, covering her ears with her hands. ‘All you care about is money!’

‘I have a family to protect,’ he argued quietly. ‘And not just my family but all those people who work for our company. Don’t they deserve justice too?’

‘And you’re such a saint!’ she yelled before swinging away.

Guilt speared him as her shoulders heaved with silent sobs. Would he have acted differently last night if he’d known this would happen? However hard he tried, he could not regret having sex with Lizzie. His only thought now was to comfort her, to shield her from curious eyes, but Lizzie Montgomery was in no mood to be consoled.

‘I hate you!’ she yelled as her friends came over to lead her away.

The words sounded torn from her soul. ‘Well, I don’t hate you,’ he called after her.

Lizzie wasn’t to blame for her father’s actions, and however misplaced her loyalty might be he could understand it. He felt the same about his father, who had spent a lifetime building the business Charles Montgomery had almost destroyed.

Damon’s father had always been keenly aware of the families who depended on him—a responsibility that would pass to Damon one day. He looked forward to following in the great man’s footsteps. Lizzie didn’t know it yet, but she was another of her father’s victims. His best guess was that by the time her avaricious stepmother had finished with her Lizzie would be out on the street.

‘I’d like to help you,’ he offered.

‘Help me?’ Lizzie derided. ‘Not this side of hell freezing over! Go back to your wealthy friends and your comfortable life, rich boy!’

Several more ripe epithets followed as Lizzie’s friends tried to lead her away.

He would miss Lizzie. Who wouldn’t? Even in just one night he’d seen that she was a wildcat with a heart of gold.

‘My father’s innocent! Innocent!’ she yelled back at him with every ounce of strength she possessed.

‘Your father’s been found guilty on all counts,’ he countered mildly, ‘and by the highest court in this land.’

Breaking free of her friends, Lizzie spun round to face him. ‘Because of you and your kind!’ she raged, in a tone that was closer to an agonised howl than it was to speech. ‘I’ll never forgive you for this! Do you hear me? Never!’

He smiled faintly as he turned away. ‘Never say never, Lizzie.’


CHAPTER ONE (#u10a103ea-f9ef-5b61-8ae5-b4ced8b09bdb)

‘DAMON GAVROS! LONG TIME, no see!’

Damon Gavros! Lizzie felt weak. Surely there had to be more than one Damon Gavros in London? She could hardly breathe as Stavros, her excitable boss, burst into the busy restaurant kitchen where Lizzie was ploughing her way through a mountain of dirty dishes at the sink. No. There was no mistake. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was the Damon Gavros when she could feel Damon in every fibre of her being. Was it really eleven years since they had last seen each other?

Steadying herself against the sink, Lizzie braced herself for an encounter she had never expected to happen—least of all here in the safety of her workplace.

Images of Damon started flashing behind her eyes. Impossibly compelling and dangerously intuitive, Damon Gavros was the only man to have made an impact on Lizzie so powerful that she had never forgotten him—never could forget him. And for more reasons than the fact that Damon was the most charismatic man she’d ever met.

‘Welcome! Welcome!’ Stavros was calling out on a steadily mounting wave of hysteria. ‘Damon! Please! Come in to the kitchen! Follow me! I want to introduce you to everyone...’

Lizzie remained rooted to the spot. Head down, with her fists planted in the warm suds, she drew a deep, shuddering breath as a spurt of the old anger flashed through her. Standing outside that courtroom in London eleven years ago, she had never felt more alone in her life, and she had cursed Damon Gavros to hell and back for being part of the root cause of that upheaval.

Now she could see that Damon and his father had done a good thing, and that the fault had rested squarely with Lizzie’s father, who had defrauded so many people out of their life savings. At the time she had been too confused and angry and upset to see that. It had only been when she had returned home and her stepmother had thrown her out of the house that Lizzie had finally accepted that her father was a crook and her stepmother was a heartless, greedy woman.

And Damon...?

She’d never forgotten Damon.

But where had he been for the past eleven years?

He certainly hadn’t been part of Lizzie’s life. Not that she held him responsible for anything except his absence. In fact she thanked him for making her life infinitely richer. She wondered what he would think of her now. She’d been such a rebel then, and now she was conventional to a fault. Would that make him suspicious?

Her body trembled with awareness as he drew closer. She hadn’t felt this affected by a man in eleven long years. She’d sworn off sex after Damon—and not just because no man could compare with him.

Damon and Stavros were growing closer to the dishwashing section of the busy kitchen, and the warmth between the two men reminded Lizzie of the warmth between Damon and his father after the trial. How she’d envied them their closeness. To have someone to confide in had seemed such an impossible dream. Looking back, she could see now that the court case had done her a favour. She had learned to stand on her own feet and now, though she didn’t have much, she earned her living honestly and she was free.

‘Lizzie!’ Stavros’s voice was full of happy anticipation as he called out her name across the banks of stainless steel counters. ‘May I present a very good friend of mine, recently returned from his travels...? Damon Gavros!’

She turned reluctantly.

There were a few seconds of absolute silence, and then Damon said, ‘I believe we know each other.’

Damon’s voice slicked through Lizzie’s veins like the slide of warm cream. It was so familiar she felt as if they’d never been apart.

‘That’s right,’ she agreed, trembling inside as she made sure to give Stavros a reassuring smile.

‘I’ll leave you two together,’ Stavros said tactfully, practically rubbing his hands with glee at the thought that he had finally managed to play Cupid.

‘It’s been a long time, Damon.’

‘Indeed it has,’ he agreed, scrutinising her with matching interest.

She felt vulnerable. She was hardly kitted out in her armour of choice for this reunion, in rubber overshoes, with an unflattering overall over her old clothes and an elasticated protective hat covering her wilful red curls, and her face was no doubt red and sweaty from the steam of the kitchen.

And I don’t know you, she thought as she stared into a ridiculously handsome face that had only improved with age. Apart from the information in press reports about his public persona, she didn’t know who Damon Gavros had become. And if he was back in London for good she had to find out.

Incredible eyes. Seductive eyes. Laughing eyes...

Dangerous eyes. They saw too much.

Damon’s impact on her senses was as devastating as it had ever been—which was the only warning Lizzie needed that she should take care. From the flash of black diamonds on his crisp white cuffs to the faintly amused stare that could obliterate her sensible mind at a stroke, Damon Gavros, with his power and money, was the most terrible threat to everything Lizzie held dear.

And still her wilful body clamoured for his attention while her sensible mind screamed caution. Damon was overwhelmingly charismatic, as well as physically imposing, but it was the power of his mind that dominated everything—and that frightened her.

‘Success suits you,’ she said, carelessly speaking her thoughts out loud.

He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement to this, but made no reply. That was probably the best he could do, after finding her here in the kitchen.

Business pundits spoke of Damon’s unparalleled success, and his monumental wealth since taking over his father’s company. When their articles weren’t referring to him as the world’s most eligible bachelor, they were dubbing him the benevolent billionaire, because of his charitable interests. She doubted he’d feel charitably disposed towards her if he discovered how she’d lived for the past eleven years.

Tamping down her alarm, Lizzie accepted that they’d both changed. She was more savvy, and better able to handle Damon.

‘Why don’t we get out of here?’ he suggested.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She looked at him in surprise, thinking she must have misheard him.

‘I’m not keen on holding our reunion here, are you?’

His stare seared through her, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say. The thought of going anywhere with Damon Gavros was alarming.

* * *

Damon could understand Lizzie’s surprise at seeing him. Seeing her had been a shock for him too—especially finding her so changed. He was keen to know what had been happening to Lizzie over the past eleven years, and why on earth she was working here.

‘I’m sure Stavros can spare you for an hour or so,’ he insisted.

Confident that Lizzie would follow him, he was already halfway to the door.

‘I can’t,’ she said flatly, bringing him to a halt. ‘As you can see...’ She spread her hands wide in the ugly rubber gloves when he turned around. ‘I’m working.’

It had never occurred to him that she might say no. ‘Stavros?’ he queried, turning his attention to her boss, who was hovering at the back of the kitchen.

‘Of course,’ Stavros insisted with enthusiasm. ‘Lizzie deserves a break. She can join you at your table. My chefs will prepare a feast—’

‘I’d rather not,’ Lizzie interrupted.

Damon had caught a glimpse of shabby jeans and a faded top beneath Lizzie’s overall and could understand her reservations. Stavros’s restaurant was seriously high-end, but now they’d met again he was determined to find out everything about her, and bury the hatchet so many years after her father’s trial.

‘We don’t have to eat here—somewhere casual?’ he suggested. ‘Another time, Stavros,’ he was quick to add, with a reassuring smile for his hovering host. ‘I’d like the chance to fill in the past eleven years, wouldn’t you?’ he said, turning to Lizzie.

She gave a nervous laugh. This was so unlike the Lizzie he’d known that he felt instantly suspicious. ‘Unless your eleven years includes a husband or a fiancé?’

‘No,’ she said, lifting her chin to regard him steadily. ‘It doesn’t.’

‘Then, do you have a coat?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘An hour or so of your time?’ He shrugged. ‘What harm can that do?’

Stavros intervened before she could reply. ‘How can you refuse?’ Stavros asked Lizzie, with a warm smile and an expansive gesture so typical of the genial restaurateur. ‘I’ll get someone to take over your work. Go now,’ he chivvied, ‘Lizzie never takes time off,’ he confided to Damon. ‘Half an hour for old times’ sake?’ he urged Lizzie, doing Damon’s work for him.

Short of being rude to both of them, there was only one thing Lizzie could do.

‘I’ll get my coat,’ she said.

* * *

She went to the staff bathroom and sluiced her face in cold water. Staring at herself in the mirror above the sink, she wondered where eleven years had gone. Did it matter? Damon Gavros was back. She had to handle it.

At least Stavros was delighted. He was always trying to fix her up with a man. Billionaire and pot-washer? Even Stavros couldn’t make that one fly, though Damon seemed happy enough. That had better not have been a smile of triumph on his lips. Lips that had kissed her into oblivion, Lizzie remembered, trying not to think back to the most significant night of her life.

Her heart jumped when she walked out of the restroom to find Damon relaxed back against the wall. Had he always been so hot?

Yes, she thought, smiling politely as he insisted on helping her with her coat.

To his credit, his expression didn’t falter, though her coat, with its plucked threads and plastic buttons, and a collar that had already been bald when she’d bought it in the thrift shop, was miles too big for her. She’d just needed something warm, while Damon’s coat had probably been custom-made. It was a soft alpaca overcoat, in a blue so dark it was almost black.

With a cashmere scarf slung casually around his neck, he looked like the master of the sexual universe. He had to be thinking, What the hell has happened to Lizzie Montgomery?

Life. Life had happened to Lizzie Montgomery, Lizzie reflected as Damon held the door. And life changed people. For the better, she could only hope, in both their cases.

‘I’m driving myself tonight,’ Damon explained as he stopped by the passenger door of a fabulous brand-new black Bentley with a personalised number plate: DG1.

‘Of course you are,’ she teased in a pale imitation of her old self. ‘Chauffeur’s night off?’ she suggested.

Damon chose not to answer as he opened the passenger door. The scent of money and leather assailed her the moment she sank into, rather than perched on, the most incredibly comfortable pale cream kidskin seat.

‘This is lovely,’ she observed, looking around as Damon slid in beside her.

She didn’t want him to think she was so downtrodden and disadvantaged that she was overwhelmed by his obvious wealth. She’d been bold when they’d first met, and now, in spite of how she must appear to Damon, she had everything she could possibly need. He might have made millions, and she might be poor, but there were more ways than one to feel a deep sense of satisfaction with life and she’d got that.

When Damon started the engine it purred—in contrast to the jangling conflict inside Lizzie. Pulling smoothly away from the kerb, he joined the sluggish London evening traffic. This was how the rich travelled, she concluded. They didn’t bounce along, crushed on every side in an over-full rush hour bus. They glided in their opulent private space, enjoying classical music playing softly in the background.

‘Do you enjoy your job?’

The blunt question jolted Lizzie back to the unlikely reality of being cocooned inside the most luxurious vehicle in London with the world’s most eligible bachelor.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed, lifting her chin. ‘I have great friends at the restaurant—especially Stavros. I’m exactly where I want to be, working alongside genuine people who care for me as I care for them.’

Damon seemed taken aback for a moment, and then he said, ‘Hungry?’

She was—and for more than food, she realised as Damon flashed a glance her way. She hadn’t felt like this in eleven years, but he only had to look at her for her to remember how it had felt to be in his arms. Which was a complete waste of good thinking time, she accepted, drawing her shabby coat closer around her trembling body.

‘Surprising even myself, I’m hungry too,’ he admitted.

‘You can take me back.’

‘Now, why would I do that?’

She stared down in shock as his hand covered hers. He’d better not be feeling sorry for her.

He drew the Bentley to a halt on the Embankment running alongside the river Thames. By the time she had released her seat belt he was opening her door. It was such a romantic view it took her attention for a moment.

‘Burger or hot dog?’ he said.

She almost laughed. Perhaps it was just as well he’d shaken her away from the romantic sight of the Palace of Westminster and stately Big Ben. It wouldn’t do to lose focus around Damon. ‘Hot dog, please.’

‘Ketchup and mustard?’

‘Why not be lavish?’ she said.

He gave her a look and turned away, allowing her to take in the powerful spread of his shoulders as he started chatting easily to the guy behind the food stand not far from where they had parked. Damon had always got on well with everyone—but how would he handle what she had to tell him?

Not yet, she decided. She would have to know this older, shrewder Damon better before she could tell him everything. She had to know what made him tick and how he lived his life.

As he handed the hot dog over their fingers touched and a quiver of awareness ran through her. It seemed that however hard she tried to remain detached, so she could think straight, her body insisted on going its own way. And her body wanted Damon as much as it ever had.

‘Thinking back?’ he said, reading her mind.

Thinking back to when she had been an eighteen-year-old virgin with nothing certain in her future except that it would change? Yes—unfortunately. ‘I’m thinking maybe I have too much sauce?’ she suggested.

‘You always had too much sauce,’ Damon observed.

She decided to ignore the jibe. Damon was standing under a street lamp, leaning back against it, and the spotlight suited him. He was so dark and swarthy—so compelling in every way. The shadowed light only enhanced his sculpted features.

‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was,’ she said, biting down hard on the delicious snack in an attempt to distract herself from Damon’s brazen physicality. And, truthfully, it was a treat to have someone other than Stavros buy her a meal and to care a damn if she enjoyed it.

‘Where did you disappear to after the trial?’ he asked with a frown.

‘Where did I “disappear to”?’ she repeated thoughtfully.

Good question. Not to a loving home—that was for sure.

‘Who’ll support me now?’ That had been Lizzie’s stepmother’s first question when Lizzie had returned home to find her suitcases waiting in the hall.

She should have known what was happening, but she had rushed up to her bedroom, thinking to bury her grief in her pillows, only to find her bedroom had been cleared. She had wasted a few precious minutes railing against fate before pulling herself together and accepting that this was her life now, and she’d better get on with it.

On her way out of the house she’d found her stepmother in her father’s study, going through the drawers of his desk. ‘I guess we’ll both have to work,’ Lizzie had said.

Her stepmother’s expression had twisted into something ugly. ‘I don’t work,’ she’d said haughtily. ‘And if you think you can persuade me to let you stay, you’re wasting your time. You’re one expense I can’t afford.’

That had been the last time they’d seen each other, and it had taken Lizzie’s stepmother less than a week to replace Lizzie’s father with a richer man.

She decided on a heavily edited version for Damon. ‘It wasn’t all bad,’ she said, thinking back. ‘The shock of finding myself homeless was good for me. I had to stand on my own two feet, and I found I enjoyed doing it.’

‘Sacrificing your dreams?’ He frowned.

‘Sometimes dreams have to wait,’ Lizzie said frankly. She’d done more than survive. She’d thrived, and had proved herself capable of far more than she’d imagined.

‘You’ve got ketchup on your chin—’

She sucked in a fast breath as he wiped it off. His touch was still electric.

‘Next time I’ll take you out for a proper meal—’

‘Next time?’ she queried. ‘So you’re back for good?’ Her heart drummed a tattoo as she thought about all the implications of that.

He chose not to answer her question. ‘Stavros says you work too hard. You have to take a break sometime,’ he insisted.

What else had Stavros told him? she wondered. She had so much to lose. Damon had been absent from her life for a long time, but he was still a core part of her existence. He didn’t know it yet, but he could rip her world apart on a whim.

‘Soda or water?’ he asked.

‘Water, please.’ Her throat was tight and dry.

As Damon turned to speak to the vendor she thought back to her first deception on their night together, when she’d been a virgin pretending not to be, embarking on a romantic adventure with a handsome Greek—or so she’d thought. Her life had been in chaos at the time. She hadn’t been thinking straight. Hated by her stepmother, she’d been desperate for her father to notice her.

She’d failed.

She’d almost failed with Damon too. Clinging to him, begging him to take her so she could forget her wretched home life, she had exclaimed with shock as he’d taken her, and he’d pulled back. It had taken all her feminine wiles to persuade him to continue.

Of course she was on the pill, she’d insisted.

He’d used protection anyway.

Belt and braces? she’d teased him.

Damon had proved to be a master of seduction, a master of pleasure, and they’d made love all night. But there had been chances to talk too, and it had been then that they had discovered a closeness that neither of them had expected. Surprising both of them, she was sure, they had enjoyed each other’s company.

‘Let’s walk.’

She glanced up as Damon took the top off her bottle of water. ‘I’d like that.’

A walk promised a welcome break from the past. She could take in the majesty of London instead...that was if she could stop looking at Damon.

Life and responsibility had cut harsh lines into his brow and around his mouth, but those only made him seem more human. Harsh, yet humorous, ruthless, yet empathetic, Damon was an exceptional man.

‘When I’m in London I walk a lot,’ he revealed, glancing down, his eyes too dark to read. ‘Sometimes it’s good to be alone with your thoughts, don’t you think?’

‘That depends who you are and what you’re thinking, I suppose,’ she said, remembering how quickly their whispered confidences in bed had turned to mistrust the following day in court. It would take more than walking together to clear the air between them, she suspected.

At the time the press reports—coming on top of everything else that had been happening at home—had destroyed Lizzie’s confidence. She’d lost her self-belief, as well as her confidence in her own judgement. She’d lost her trust in everyone—and in herself most of all. But then she’d realised that with no one to pick her up she’d better get on with it, and so she’d rebuilt her life along very different lines, far away from privilege and trickery.

A pawnbroker had given Lizzie her first break, taking what few scraps had remained of her mother’s jewellery in exchange for enough money to pay her first week’s rent. She remembered begging him not to sell her mother’s wedding ring. ‘There’s nothing exceptional about it,’ she’d protested when he’d informed her that he wasn’t a charitable institution. ‘You must have dozens like it—’

‘Not with three seed pearls set in the centre of the band,’ he’d said as he’d studied the ring with his eyeglass.

‘I’ll clean your shop for nothing,’ she’d offered in desperation. ‘I’ll pay you back with interest, I promise...’

But life had caught up with her, making the necessity of keeping a roof over her head more important than her mother’s wedding ring, so it would have to wait. Maybe one day...

‘Something wrong?’ Damon asked as she bit her lip and grimaced.

‘Nothing. Why?’ she gazed up at him evenly.

‘You made a sound like an angry kitten.’

She made no comment. Being compared to a kitten would not have been her choice. She felt as if the past few years had required her to be a tigress.

‘Enough?’ he said, when she shivered.

‘I’d better get back,’ she agreed.

The Bentley sat waiting for them, gleaming black and opulent. It was attracting admiring glances from passers-by, and now they were attracting interest too, as they approached it. The elegant vehicle was a fabulous representation of privilege, and Lizzie thought it the most visible proof of the yawning gulf between them. She couldn’t imagine what people must be thinking about the suave billionaire and the shabby kitchen worker getting into a car like that.

Did there ever come a point when a cork stopped bobbing to the surface? she wondered as Damon opened the passenger door and saw her safely settled in?

No. She hadn’t come this far to give up now.

‘Home?’ he asked.

So he could see where she lived?

‘Back to the restaurant, please.’ She tried not to look at him. ‘There are things I need to pick up.’

She didn’t want him visiting her home. She couldn’t risk it. This had been pleasant, but there was more to life than Damon’s riches and his personal success. What Lizzie was protecting was infinitely more precious, and she had no intention of risking everything she cared about by acting carelessly now.

Damon had the power to steal everything away from her.

She wouldn’t let him. It was as simple as that. Whatever it took, that wasn’t going to happen.

He started the engine and the Bentley purred obediently.

‘Your mother was Greek, wasn’t she?’ he asked conversationally as he pulled onto the road.

‘Yes, she was.’

‘I suppose that accounts for your unusual colouring. I never thought about it before, but with your Celtic red hair and those chocolate-brown eyes and long black lashes your colouring is quite unusual...’

‘I suppose it is,’ Lizzie agreed, realising that she had never thought about it either, beyond the fact that when things had been at their bleakest she had sought refuge in the warm, home-loving Greek community in London, where there was always someone who knew someone, she reflected wryly. But wasn’t life like that? Paths crossed, then separated, and then crossed again.

‘I think we should see each other again.’

She stared at Damon in amazement, feeling a little defensive. ‘Should we? Why?’ Her heart thundered as she waited for his reply.

He shrugged. ‘I promised you a proper meal?’

‘I won’t hold you to that.’ But they would have to see each other again, she accepted. That was inevitable now.

‘We’ll make a date before I leave tonight,’ he said, glancing across at her.

Would they? Could she risk spending an entire evening with Damon? Could she risk becoming relaxed with him and yet not telling him about anything of significance that had happened in her life over the past eleven years? Could she risk her feelings for him only to lose him again—and for good this time?

She had never shrunk from a challenge yet, Lizzie concluded as Damon slowed the Bentley outside the restaurant, whether that challenge had been battling the demand for clean plates when Stavros’s industrial-sized dishwashers decided to pack up in the middle of service—or having a second meeting with the man who didn’t know he was the father of her ten-year-old child.


CHAPTER TWO (#u10a103ea-f9ef-5b61-8ae5-b4ced8b09bdb)

NO ONE—NOT even the tall, imposing figure towering over her as he opened the car door and stood back—would ever come between Lizzie and her daughter.

Thea had never asked about her father. In fact Thea had shrugged off all mention of a father, which Lizzie had come to think was for the best when it had proved impossible to get in touch with Damon.

Lizzie’s experience with her own father was hardly encouraging. She had never got past the fact that he’d rejected her. Lizzie’s mother had been an heiress, and had had an obvious use, but once her mother was dead and the money was spent Lizzie’s father had lost interest in her.

Lizzie had been too young to understand at the time, but she still remembered her wonderful mother being sad and wanting Lizzie to have a better and more exciting life. Maybe that had fuelled Lizzie’s night of rebellion with Damon. It was very easy to mistake lust for love at eighteen—as it was to take a late, loving parent’s suggestion and bend it to suit her own, hormonal eighteen-year-old’s will.

‘Goodnight, Damon, and thank you—’

‘Not so fast,’ he said, catching hold of her arm. ‘We haven’t made that date yet.’

‘Do you really want to?’

‘Do you need to consult your diary?’ he countered.

‘I do have other things to do,’ she pointed out.

‘But nothing important, I’m sure...?’

Damon’s black stare bored into her. She had to think of something fast—and that something didn’t include blurting out that they had a child together, here on a busy London street.

‘Why don’t you come back to the restaurant some time?’ And give me time to think and plan how best to tell Thea about this. ‘I’m usually there each night, and we can fix something up.’

‘No kidding?’ he murmured.

Letting her go, he pulled back.

She watched Damon drive away in his Bentley until the limousine had turned the corner and was out of sight. The logic she’d used at eighteen for keeping her pregnancy to herself felt more like a selfish cop-out now. Yes, she’d been facing huge upheaval in her life—and, yes, it had been a fight to survive, with her character largely unformed and her reaction to crises untested—but maybe she could have done something differently, or better.

But when Thea had been born Lizzie had wanted to protect her from the hurt Lizzie had felt when her father had rejected her. She didn’t know that it wouldn’t happen to Thea. Why would Damon want a child?

As the years had passed and her conscience had pricked she’d tried to get in touch with him, but his people had kept her away. And then, in another unexpected turn, Thea had proved to be musically gifted—a talent Lizzie believed Thea had inherited from her mother. Lizzie’s mother had used to say she had music flowing through her veins instead of blood. And once Thea’s musical life had taken off, Lizzie had been completely wrapped up in that. Thea had recently won a music scholarship to a prestigious school in London, where she was a boarder.

Didn’t Damon deserve to know all this?

‘Back already?’ Stavros exclaimed with obvious disappointment. ‘You don’t look happy, Lizzie-itsa. What’s wrong?’

‘I had a lovely time,’ she insisted, determined to wipe the concern from Stavros’s face. ‘And I’ve come back to help you to clear up for the night.’

‘You shouldn’t have come back. You deserve a little happiness,’ Stavros complained with a theatrical gesture.

Did she? She was guilty of failing to contact Damon, because keeping him in the dark had allowed Lizzie to carry on her life with Thea without the interference of a very powerful and wealthy man. She would be lying if she said she didn’t feel threatened now.

She would have to tell him about Thea, Lizzie realised as she set to and got to work, but she would choose the time.

Which would mean seeing him again!

Anxiety washed over her in hot and cold waves. There was a more important thing to do first—and that was to prepare Thea for the fact that her father was back.

* * *

Lizzie Montgomery! He couldn’t believe he’d found her again.

Was it a coincidence?

Opening the front door to his penthouse apartment, located on the top floor of one of the most iconic landmarks in London, he accepted that he’d just visited one of the most popular Greek restaurants in London, and with the way the grapevine worked, someone had always been bound to know Lizzie.

Coincidence or not, being close to the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind for more than ten years had been the most extraordinary experience. Seeing Lizzie again had reminded him of a night that hadn’t been just about sex—though the sex had been more than memorable.

Pouring a Scotch, he strolled to the window and stared out across the London skyline. The shallow society beauties he normally wheeled out for public events bored him. Where sex was concerned, they couldn’t keep up. He was a hard, driven, solitary man, whose life revolved around his work.

And he hadn’t been back in London five minutes before the first thing he did was to search out all things Greek.

Maybe to find Lizzie?

Okay, so he had. What of it?

He remembered Lizzie mentioning her love of her mother’s country, its culture and its cuisine, that night. She’d love to visit Greece one day, she’d told him when they had been lying side by side in bed, sated, with their limbs entwined.

He would see her again. It was inevitable. Eleven years couldn’t simply be dismissed over a hot dog with ketchup and mustard. Especially when his intuition told him that Lizzie was holding back more than she was telling him. He wanted to know why she was washing pots when she’d had such big dreams. What was holding her back?

He’d succeeded by working as his father had—alongside men and women who were his friends. Granted, he’d had every advantage. His father was a good man, while Lizzie’s father had been a swindler and a cheat who had sucked his victims dry, but that still didn’t explain why Lizzie was working in a restaurant, washing dishes.

Would she thank him for interfering in her life?

Did he care?

He took a deep swallow of Scotch and tried to imagine her life after the trial. However she’d played it, it couldn’t have been easy for her when he’d walked into Stavros’s kitchen to find her at the sink. He would buy her that meal. He owed her that much, and he wanted to know more about her.

* * *

‘Can I get you a drink, sir?’ the waiter behind the bar at Stavros’s restaurant asked him the next evening, when he returned to the restaurant.

‘I’m not staying,’ he explained. ‘Could you please tell Ms Montgomery that there’s somebody waiting to see her at the bar?’

‘Of course, sir.’

As the waiter hurried away he cast his mind back to that other night. He couldn’t remember talking to anyone as he’d talked to Lizzie that night. She’d trusted him, he remembered with a stab of guilt. He had never expected to find the happiness his parents had enjoyed for forty years, but that night he’d thought he could find some temporary distraction with Lizzie—until the shock of discovering who she was at the trial.

No one had ever stood up to him as she had. He admired her for that.

He glanced towards the kitchen, wondering what was keeping her. His body tightened on the thought that she was only yards away. Pushing back from the bar, he stood up. He couldn’t wait any longer for her to come to him.

‘No.’ Lizzie held up her hand as soon as she caught sight of him. ‘You can’t just walk in. You’ve got to warn me first.’

‘With a fanfare?’ he suggested with a look.

‘You can’t walk into my place of work, looking like a...a Hell’s Angel,’ she exclaimed with frustration as her glance roved slowly over him, ‘and demand that I leave with you right away.’

He lips pressed down and he shrugged. ‘You won’t need your overall.’

She huffed and gazed skywards. ‘Thanks for the charming invitation—but, no.’

Undaunted, he pressed on dryly. ‘It’s a great night for a bike ride.’

‘Then go and enjoy it,’ she suggested.

‘You don’t mean that.’

She raised a brow.

‘If Lizzie wants time off she can have it,’ Stavros announced, appearing like a genie out of a bottle from the pantry. ‘No one works harder than Lizzie-itsa. I keep telling her she should get out more—treat herself to some new clothes, and a hairdo while she’s at it—’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Lizzie,’ he said, maintaining eye contact with her.

‘Of course not,’ Stavros placated. ‘It’s just that she puts everyone else first.’

‘As do you, my old friend,’ he said, feeling guilty that he’d shut Stavros out. ‘Shall we go?’ he added to Lizzie, who was still staring at him mutinously.

She had never looked more beautiful. Her shapeless apron and clumpy overshoes tried to strip away her femininity but failed utterly in his eyes. Even with those bright red curls, made frizzy by the heat in the kitchen, peeping out from under the ugly cap, she was beautiful.

The loose ends from eleven years ago had never been in more need of tying up.

‘So you couldn’t stay away?’ she challenged.

The way she stared him directly in the eyes made his senses roar. ‘That’s right,’ he agreed.

‘You’re do know you’re in the way? This is a busy professional kitchen—’

‘Then leave with me and the congestion will clear.’ He angled his chin to smile into her eyes.

‘You’re impossible!’ she complained.

‘I’ll see you outside,’ he told her.

‘In your dreams,’ she flashed.

He had great dreams.

He caught a glimpse of Lizzie’s eyes darkening as he left the kitchen. If she only knew how he wanted to drag her away from that sink and lower her, naked, into a warm, foaming bath, where he would wash her, pleasure her and make love to her until she couldn’t stand up, she might not be reaching for her coat now.

How had he stayed away for eleven years? Yes, he’d been working tirelessly to rebuild the damage done to his father’s business, so his parents could retire in comfort, but he’d taken himself away to the furthest reaches of the world in an attempt to lose himself to everything familiar. And there, in the seemingly endless miles of the desert, he had found himself, and a purpose, which was to help those who had not been as lucky as he had. Why had he needed to get away, and to do this? Was it penance for the shame felt at the way he’d treated Lizzie—the way he’d turned his back on her after the trial?

‘Don’t keep me waiting,’ he warned her. He was eager to pick up the threads he’d left loose for the past eleven years and weave them into a pattern he could understand.

* * *

Damon was waiting for her outside on a bike. Whatever next? It was a monster of a thing—big and black, purring rhythmically beneath him. In the deep dark shadows of the night, sitting astride the throbbing motorbike, Damon Gavros was quite simply the hottest thing on two hard-muscled legs.

He handed her a helmet and helped her put it on. She tried not to react when his fingertips brushed her skin, sending tidal waves of sensation streaking through her.

‘Just a short ride,’ she warned—a warning for herself more than him. ‘Is there an approved way of mounting this thing?’

Damon laughed as he secured his helmet, lowering the black visor so she could no longer see his eyes. ‘You have to climb on behind me and put your arms around my waist.’

There was every reason not to do so.

‘You’ll have to relax,’ he said when she tried to keep her distance. ‘And hold on.’

She might have yelped when the bike surged forward. She wasn’t sure. She was too distracted by Damon...by holding Damon. The power of the bike throbbing between her legs didn’t help.

Damon judged the traffic expertly, and soon they were moving smoothly through the night. Of all places, he took her to a funfair. She supposed it was neutral ground, where there wasn’t much option but to relax. There was certainly plenty of noise and colour, and dazzling flashing lights.

Dismounting from the bike, she removed the helmet, then glanced at Damon’s outstretched hand. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ she said, pulling back.

‘This is an excellent idea,’ he insisted.

She remembered, then, that Damon’s easy charm was as much a part of his nature as the steely side that had played its part in condemning her father to a lifetime in jail—a punishment that had almost certainly led to his early death.

Maybe it seemed odd that she was mourning her father’s passing, but however he had treated Lizzie she still thought him weak rather than bad. He certainly hadn’t stood a chance against the Gavros team.

‘Lizzie?’

Damon’s voice brought her plummeting back from an uncomfortable past to an incredible present.

And the future...?

She preferred not to think about that. Not yet. She would. Of course she would. But not while Damon’s shrewd eyes were searching hers. She would choose the time, and she would choose the place, and it wasn’t now.

He bought tickets for the big wheel. As she climbed into the small cabin and the door closed on the two of them, trapping Lizzie inside with her memories and with Damon, it was hardly reassuring to discover that her body instantly responded to his heat and his strength, reminding her with painful attention to detail of how it had felt to be naked in his arms.

‘You’ve turned pale. It’s not too high for you, is it?’

‘I’m certainly out of my comfort zone,’ she admitted, thinking about Thea, and how Damon was likely to respond when he found out they had a daughter together. ‘It’s a long way down...’ she mused quietly.

‘You look exhausted,’ he observed.

‘It’s hard work in a professional kitchen, and I’ve got more than one job.’ He could easily find that out. Better she tell him than that he started sleuthing. She needed the money to pay the rent, and to cover all the extras at Thea’s school.

‘Don’t you ever take time off?’ he pressed.

‘Hardly ever,’ she admitted. And what time she had, she spent with Thea.

‘And you live alone?’

The big wheel was a mistake. She couldn’t get away from Damon’s questions. To answer him meant telling him that she lived on her own most of the time—even in the school holidays—and Thea was often away, playing with the orchestra. Lizzie tried to go with her when she could, which meant finding a job in a bar, or as waiting staff to pay her way.

Their next trip was to Greece.

‘Lizzie?’

‘Yes. I live alone,’ she said, quickly pulling herself together.

‘It must have been a long road back for you?’

It was hard to concentrate. All she could think about now was Thea’s upcoming trip to Greece.

“Lizzie?’ I said it must have been a long road back for you?’

‘I like my work,’ she said distractedly.

‘But it’s repetitive,’ Damon pointed out, ‘and with no personal reward—’

‘Apart from earning my living and keeping my pride intact, do you mean?’

‘I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just curious.’

And now she was all heated up. How dared Damon stride back into her life and start judging her?

Wouldn’t Thea be happier with a father who could give her so much more than she could?

No. She would not, Lizzie thought fiercely. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ she said on the wave of that thought. ‘I don’t need your pity.’

‘And you won’t get it,’ Damon assured her with matching force.


CHAPTER THREE (#u10a103ea-f9ef-5b61-8ae5-b4ced8b09bdb)

BUT IT WASN’T long before Damon was questioning her again. ‘So what happened to your dream of attending that art college in Switzerland?’ he pressed as their cabin sank steadily towards the ground

‘I had lots of dreams when I was eighteen.’

Unfortunately they hadn’t tallied with her stepmother’s plans for Lizzie, and as those dreams would have been paid for by her father, using other people’s money—mostly Damon’s family’s—Lizzie realised now they had been meaningless.

‘I owe you an apology.’

‘For showing loyalty to your father?’

Damon read her so easily, Lizzie thought as his powerful shoulders lifted in a shrug.

‘You don’t owe me a thing,’ he insisted.

Their stares met and held for a potent few seconds, but all that did was allow Lizzie time to consider the big truth she wasn’t telling Damon. She couldn’t tell him yet. Not until she was sure of him—or as sure as she could be.

‘We were discussing your dreams?’ he prompted.

‘You were,’ she argued, with a spark of her old dry humour. ‘Life’s a series of compromises, don’t you think? If you can’t adjust, you flounder.’

‘And you’ve had to do a lot of adjusting?’ Damon guessed.

She remained silent.

‘I can’t imagine you floundering,’ he admitted. ‘Even at eighteen you had a good head on your—’

‘Reckless shoulders?’ Lizzie supplied. ‘I had too much emotion in play back then.’

‘And not enough now?’

His suggestion silenced her. Damon’s searching glance was disturbing in all sorts of ways. She couldn’t regret her rebellion eleven years ago, or her search for one night of love—which was probably the best way to describe the most memorable night of her life. How could she regret anything, when making love with Damon had created Thea?

‘Penny for them?’

The smile that could heat her from the inside out was back, tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘You wouldn’t want to know.’

‘Try me,’ he pressed.

Confide her concerns in him? Tell him how much of a struggle it was to keep the boat afloat, or that when Thea needed something for school Lizzie couldn’t always guarantee she’d come through? This was the man who had walked out of her life without a backward glance—as her father had. This was the man she had been unable to reach again and again. She had to remember that—always. She couldn’t face that coldness again. She had more pride than to do so. And more love for Thea than to allow her precious daughter to live through something similar.

And there was another way of looking at it. Damon might not want to know. What respectable billionaire would want to hear that he had a child with the daughter of a convicted felon? Would Damon believe Thea was his child? The shame of her father’s crime had tainted Lizzie. Sometimes she believed she would never throw it off. That same shame taunted her now, with the thought that even if Damon were prepared to accept that Thea was his daughter he might not entrust her to Lizzie’s care?

Whatever the consequences, her course was clear. She must first tell Thea, and then Damon.

‘We’re down,’ he said, startling her.

‘Yes...right...’ she said, glancing around to see the cabin had settled on its stand. ‘What a relief.’

‘Vertigo can be devastating, can’t it?’ Damon commented, but his look was shrewd and it stripped her lie bare.

They didn’t stay at the funfair. By mutual silent consent, they headed back to the bike.

‘Where did you live when you left home after the court case?’ Damon asked as the noise of the fair began to fade into the background.

‘On a park bench,’ Lizzie said bluntly, thinking back.

‘I’m being serious,’ Damon insisted.

‘And so am I,’ she admitted. ‘I spent the first night on a park bench—well, most of it...until it started raining.’

‘And then?’ His face had tightened into a grim mask.

Lizzie thought back to her first and thankfully her only terrifying, freezing night as a homeless person. She had quickly figured out that she must find a place to live fast or, quite simply, her appearance and the fact that she couldn’t wash properly would make respectable people turn her away. With no money, that had meant finding a job—any job.

‘I got a job the next morning,’ she remembered. ‘As a cleaner. I was good at that. I’d had plenty of experience,’ she said dryly. ‘My stepmother was too mean to pay anyone to do her cleaning, but she had me and she was very particular. It stood me in good stead,’ she admitted.

‘I can imagine.’

Could he imagine the woman who had insisted Lizzie must clean the floors on her hands and knees, rather than with a mop, and take a toothbrush to the corners of the room? Could he imagine that same woman making Lizzie do it all over again, after her stepmother had thoughtlessly trampled on the floor in her muddy boots?

‘Actually, the cleaning jobs I managed to get were easy after my work at home,’ she reflected.

‘And where do you live now?’

‘Haven’t you asked Stavros?’

Damon dipped his chin to stare into her eyes. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘You’re right,’ she agreed as they drew to a halt in front of the bike. ‘Stavros has been nothing but kind to me.’

‘Whereas I haven’t?’

‘You’ve only just come back to London. It remains to be seen,’ she said bluntly.

‘What makes you think I’d want to investigate your life?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly—too quickly. ‘I have a small bedsit, if you’re interested.’

‘I am,’ Damon insisted as he picked up her helmet.

‘I know that look,’ she said.

He frowned. ‘What look?’

‘The look that says, She grew up like a princess and her fall has been swift and hard. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen that same look over the years. But you should know that I’ve never been happier than I am now.’

That was the truth, Lizzie reflected, calming down. She had a daughter who loved her, and jobs that paid the rent. And, yes, it was tough sometimes, but she had never once fallen into debt.

‘Okay?’ she challenged Damon as he handed over her helmet. ‘Are we done with the third degree now?’

‘We’re done,’ he conceded.

‘I think we should talk about you for a change—’

‘No,’ he said flatly, startling her into silence with the force of his response. ‘I’m a very private man.’

‘Then perhaps you should understand how I feel.’

Damon regarded her coolly. ‘Aren’t you going to get on the bike?’

‘Shall I salute first?’

He gave her a look that might make some people blink, but it only made Lizzie more determined to stand up to him.

This had definitely been an interesting encounter, Lizzie concluded as they roared back to the city. Neither of them was exactly soft or malleable. She had a daughter to protect, which gave her mama tiger claws as well as an iron will, while Damon was the hardest man she knew by some margin. For all his outward charm, which he could turn on when it suited him, Damon Gavros was rock through and through.

He drew to a halt outside the restaurant. ‘Drink?’ he suggested as she removed her helmet.

‘I don’t think so, but thank you—it’s been an interesting evening.’

‘One drink,’ he insisted, getting off the bike.

In spite of her reservations, she had to admit that it was a pleasant change to be this side of the tastefully lit bar. Stavros had peeped around the kitchen door and had then retired with a broad smile on his face. That in itself was worth the sacrifice of sitting with Damon. All the drinks were on the house, the barman insisted, but Damon still paid.

‘So,’ he said, glancing at her over his bottle of beer. ‘Tell me more about your stepmother, Cinderella.’

‘Less of that,’ she warned. ‘There’s nothing needy about me.’

Damon’s lips pressed down, almost as if he agreed. ‘So...she sounds like a fascinating character?’ he pressed.

‘Luminous,’ Lizzie said dryly.

She would credit her stepmother with one thing: she’d helped Lizzie to face reality fast. Before her stepmother had arrived on the scene Lizzie would have been the first to admit she’d been spoiled. She might have reached adulthood with no concept of responsibility if she hadn’t been thrown out of the house, had her faith in her father destroyed, her dreams crushed, and discovered she was pregnant—all in one and the same month. That would have been enough to wake the dead. And she certainly wasn’t spoiled now. Her life was devoted to Thea.

‘I don’t want to talk about me. It’s your turn,’ she said.

‘Maybe it’s time for me to go,’ Damon countered.

‘Please yourself.’ Burying her face in her glass of water, she sucked on the straw, refusing to say any more about a time when life had seemed to stretch ahead of her in an endless stream of promise—promise that had turned out to be fantasy.

Her father had appeared to have money to burn when she was young. Now she knew it had been other people’s money he was burning—Gavros money, mostly. Nothing made him happier than lavishing money on his darling daughter, her father had told her as they’d planned one treat after another.

He’d been showing off to her stepmother, she realised now; hoping to catch another big fish like Lizzie’s mother, the heiress. The joke of it was, the woman he’d chosen to bring home as his second wife had been a chancer like him, captivated by his apparent wealth.

Thinking her father was lonely, Lizzie had welcomed her stepmother to begin with. She had wanted nothing more than to see her father happy again. It hadn’t taken long to find out how wrong she could be.

‘You told me that night that you loved to paint,’ Damon reminded her. ‘Another dream down?’ he suggested.

‘I don’t have time to dream now.’

‘That sounds dull.’

So dull he stood up to go.

‘I’ll take you home,’ he offered.

‘No need,’ Lizzie insisted quickly. ‘Stavros arranges a cab for staff when we stay late.’

Damon nodded his head. ‘Okay. Another time.’

Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure she could live through this tension again. Wanting someone and knowing they were out of reach for ever was a torture she could well do without.

‘You must enjoy heading up the family business,’ she observed, for the sake of maintaining polite chit-chat as she walked him to the door. ‘The press refers to you as a billionaire—’

‘I hope I’m more than that.’

She could have cut off her tongue. The way Damon was staring at her made her wonder if he thought she was a mercenary chip off her father’s swindling old block. There was a lot more to him than money and sexual charisma—she knew that—but everything was in such a muddle in her head she couldn’t get the words out straight.

The newspapers often referred to Damon Gavros as ‘educated muscle’, with the recommendation that no one should even dream of crossing him—which was a great thought to say goodnight on.

His phone rang and he turned away to answer, putting a hand up, indicating two minutes as they stood outside the door.

‘Business call,’ he explained succinctly when he cut the line. ‘So, I guess I’ll see you again sometime...’

After all her prevaricating about seeing him at all, she now felt rocked to her foundations as Damon mounted the Harley and roared away. She had to see him again. She must. She stared after him as he disappeared into the night. That was Damon. A massive presence when he was around, and then gone so quickly it was as if he had never been there at all.

She did well to rely on no one but herself, Lizzie thought as she turned back to the restaurant.

But could there be a more mesmeric sight than Damon Gavros astride a Harley?

Damon Gavros naked...?


CHAPTER FOUR (#u10a103ea-f9ef-5b61-8ae5-b4ced8b09bdb)

LIZZIE, LIZZIE, LIZZIE... What are you hiding?

As he opened the door to his Thames-side penthouse flat Damon was still brooding. It had been shock enough to see Lizzie Montgomery again. To discover he could still read her as he had eleven years ago was even more unsettling—because he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him.

He’d called in at the apartment to pick up his overnight bag. It was his father’s seventieth birthday in a couple of weeks and his PA had called to remind him that Damon’s go-ahead was still required for number of arrangements. They included a rather special youth orchestra from London that had been booked to play at his father’s birthday party.

Too many loose ends had been generated by his absence abroad, Damon reflected as the driver took his bag. Lizzie had briefly derailed his plans, but they were back on track now. He’d like to see her again, but she’d have to fly out to the island. He’d fix it with Stavros, and his PA would make the arrangements.

That was how simple things were for him. He saw no reason for them to change.

* * *

As usual, Lizzie could hardly get a word in. She was meeting Thea for their daily snatched chat over brunch in a café just across the road from the music college, and today Thea was particularly excited.

‘The new Gavros building is right next door to the music conservatoire,’ Thea was enthusing. ‘You should see it. Everything’s been changed around and made super deluxe since that boring insurance company owned it.’

And the Gavros building was as dangerously close to the music conservatoire as it could possibly be Lizzie realised as she called for the bill. She hated it that the tension generated by the Gavros name was threatening to distract her from this precious time with Thea, but she had to find out more.

‘You’ve been inside the Gavros building?’ Her heart hammered nineteen to the dozen as she waited for Thea’s answer.

‘Of course!’ Thea enthused, sucking gloopy milk from her fingers. ‘We had to audition for the man—’

Lizzie’s heart dived into her throat. ‘What man? Was he tall and dark?’

‘No. Short, fat and bald,’ Thea said—to Lizzie’s relief. ‘He said he worked for the Gavros family. We’re playing at a birthday party in Greece, on an island owned by the Gavros family.’

The Gavros family?

Thea glanced up as Lizzie inhaled sharply. Lizzie quickly distracted Thea with talk of new clothes. ‘You’ll need a sunhat, a swimming costume, and perhaps a couple of sundresses—What?’ She laughed as Thea mimed thrusting her fingers down her throat whilst gargling theatrically.

‘Sundresses are for old ladies,’ Thea insisted. ‘And you need new clothes more than me,’ she added with engaging honesty. She frowned. ‘You are coming to Greece to hear us play, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am,’ Lizzie confirmed, her stomach clenching with alarm as she thought about it. ‘I haven’t missed a concert yet, have I?’

‘Good.’ Thea relaxed.

Lizzie’s concerns about the Gavros family would have to be put to one side. She’d take any job to pay her way. Practical considerations—like where the money for her airfare would come from—were secondary to Lizzie’s determination that she would do whatever it took to support Thea.

‘Do you know whose birthday party it is?’ she asked casually as they went up to the counter to pay the bill.

‘Some old gentleman, I think,’ Thea said vaguely, clearly not too interested.

It didn’t have to be Damon’s father. Thea’s grandfather.

Lizzie’s stomach clenched tight. Sucking in a breath, she jumped straight in. ‘You know we never talk about your father—’

‘Because we don’t need to,’ Thea cut across her, frowning. ‘And I don’t want to,’ she added stubbornly. ‘Why do I need a father when I’ve got you?’





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