Securing the Greek's Legacy Read Free Page A

behind her. Put behind her all the dark, disturbing images of the man whose incredible good looks were such a source of disturbance to her. For a moment his image formed in her mind, overpowering in its masculine impact. She thrust it impatiently aside and started reading her textbook.
    Two minutes later she was interrupted. The doorbell had sounded. Imperative. Demanding.
    Her head shot up. Who on earth...? No one called on her here.
    The bell rang again. Warily, heart thumping suddenly, she went to the door, lifting up the entryphone.
    ‘Who is it?’ she asked sharply.
    ‘Miss Brandon—we need to continue our conversation.’
    It was Anatole Telonidis.
    For a moment Lyn remained motionless. Don’t let him in! The childish, fearful words sounded in her head, but she knew she could not obey them. She had to get this conversation over and done with. Then she could send him away and never see him again—never be troubled again by the existence of Georgy’s father’s family. Nervelessly she pressed the entry buzzer, and a few moments later opened her front door.
    He was just as tall and formidable as she remembered. Taller, it seemed, in her poky flat. But it was not just his size and demeanour that pressed on her senses. His physical presence was dominating more than just the space he stood in. It was making her horribly aware all over again of his dark, devastating looks.
    Desperately she tried to crush down her awareness of them. It was the last thing she should be paying any attention to right now!
    Besides, a vicious little voice in her head was reminding her to think about what he was seeing! He was seeing a plain-faced nobody who was wearing ancient baggy jeans and a thick frumpy jumper, with her hair tied back and not a scrap of make-up. A man like him wouldn’t even look once, let alone twice!
    Oh, for God’s sake, what are you even thinking of? Focus—just focus! This is about Georgy and what this man wants—or doesn’t want.
    And how quickly she could get rid of him...
    She stared at him. He seemed to be looking about him, then past her into the small living room, with its shabby furniture, worn carpet and hideously patterned curtains. Her chin went up. Yes, the place was uninviting, but it was cheap, and it came furnished, and she wasn’t going to be choosy. She couldn’t afford to be—not until she was earning a decent salary. Till then Georgy didn’t care that he wasn’t anywhere nice. And neither did she.
    This man who had dropped a bombshell into her life, however, looked as if he cared—and he didn’t like what he was seeing.
    ‘I hope,’ he said evenly, ‘that you have now had a chance to come to terms with what I told you this morning, and that you understand,’ he continued, ‘how imperative it is that we discuss my cousin’s son’s future.’
    ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ she replied tightly.
    Anatole’s mouth tightened. So she was still taking that line. Well, he would have to disabuse her of it—that was all. In the meantime there was something that was even more imperative. He wanted to see Marcos’s son—see him with his own eyes. He looked around the room.
    ‘Where is the baby?’ he asked. He hadn’t meant it to sound like a demand, only a question, but it seemed to make the girl flinch. Seeing her now, like this, had not improved her looks, he noted absently. She was still abysmally dressed, without any attention to her appearance.
    ‘He’s asleep,’ she answered stiffly.
    The dark eyes rested on her. ‘I would like to see him.’
    It was not a request. It was a statement of intent. His eyes went past her to the half-open bedroom door and he stepped towards it. Inside was a cot beside a bed, and in the cot the small figure of a baby nestled in a fleecy blanket. In the dim light from the drawn curtains Anatole could not make out the baby’s features.
    Are you Marcos’s son? Are you the child I’ve come to find? The questions burned in his head.