Пиппа Роско – Claimed For The Greek's Child (страница 1)
The billionaire is back...
And he will legitimize his secret heir!
Finding himself at Anna Moore’s door after tracking down the mysterious beauty is the least shocking part of Dimitri Kyrakiou’s day. Because discovering the consequence of their one spectacular night has floored him! To secure his child, ruthless Dimitri
PIPPA ROSCOE lives in Norfolk near her family and makes daily promises to herself that
Conquering His Virgin Queen
The Winners Circle miniseries
A Ring to Take His Revenge
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Claimed for the Greek’s Child
Pippa Roscoe
ISBN: 978-1-474-08752-0
CLAIMED FOR THE GREEK’S CHILD
© 2019 Pippa Roscoe
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
For Laurie,
Who put up with me in New York for six weeks while I disappeared off to my writing table on the roof of our apartment at stupid o’clock in the morning, with my rocket fuel coffee, a fan instead of air-conditioning and a dental crisis!
Although Pin-Up Girl cocktails, an American Football game, incredible food, a trip to Boston and Christmas decorations at Macy’s hopefully made up for it!
New York, and this book, wouldn’t have been the same without you. Xx
Contents
Three years ago
‘MR KYRIAKOU? WE’LL be landing in about twenty minutes.’
Dimitri gave a curt nod to the stewardess on board the Kyriakou Bank’s private jet. He wasn’t capable of more than that. His jaw was clenched so tightly it would have taken a crowbar to pry it open. The only thing that had successfully passed his lips since his boarding the plane had been a whisky. Only one. That was all he would allow himself.
He glanced out of the window and, although he should have been seeing the soft white clouds that hovered above the English Channel, instead he saw the slope of a beautiful woman’s shoulder. Naked, exposed...vulnerable. Beneath the palm of his hand he could feel the silky texture of her skin. His fingers twitched at the memory.
He ran a hand across his face, rubbing at the exhaustion of the last year, allowing the stubble of his jaw to scratch at the itch that made him want to turn the plane around. To go back to the bed where the beautiful woman lay—probably still asleep. He’d snuck out like a thief. An analogy that caught in the back of his throat, and for an awful moment he thought he might actually choke.
He couldn’t fathom what he’d been thinking. But that was the problem. He
Yesterday, he’d left Antonio Arcuri and Danyl Nejem Al Arain—his best friends and fellow members of the Winners’ Circle Racing Syndicate—behind at the Dublin Race Series and allowed instinct to take over. As he’d slid into the driver’s seat of the powerful black supercar the thrust of the engine met the need for freedom coursing through his veins. He’d followed the road out of the small city, past the huge doors of the Guinness brewery, through dark streets, along roads that slowly found their way into rolling green countryside. It was only then that he’d felt able to breathe. Only then that he’d been able to block out what was to come.
Unconsciously he’d manoeuvred the sleek, dark car down impossibly windy roads, allowing only the thrill of the powerful machine beneath him to fill his senses. Something was driving him—he wasn’t willing to give it a name.
Dimitri had slowed only when the car’s petrol light came on. He’d found himself in a small village and, if it had had a name, he hadn’t noticed. An old pub with a black sign and peeling paint defiantly stared down an even older church at the opposite end of the one street that divided the village. He followed the road to the end, where, instead of finding a petrol station, he came to a large gravel drive in front of a small bed and breakfast.
To Dimitri the Irish were known for two things: hospitality and whisky. And he was in great need of both. As he turned off the ignition he was hit with a wave of exhaustion so intense he wasn’t entirely sure that he could make it out of the car. He sat back and pressed his head angrily into the back of the seat. He’d run and he hated himself for it. All this time, this planning... Frustration at the shame he was about to bring to Antonio and Danyl... It hurt Dimitri in a way he hadn’t imagined, hadn’t thought possible after all he’d endured in his thirty-three years.
He allowed that anger to propel him from the car and over to the door of the bed and breakfast, the sound of his fist pounding on the door jarring even to his own ears. He glanced at his watch for the first time in what felt like hours and was surprised to find that it was so late. Perhaps the proprietor was asleep. He looked back to the car, wondering how much further it would get, wondering whether he should turn back, when the door opened.
The moment he caught her large green eyes looking up at him he knew he was doomed.
She let him in, quietly, one finger to her lips and the other hand making a ‘gently, gently’ motion. She beckoned him through to a small seating area decorated with just about everything that he’d expected a small Irish bed and breakfast to have, but his gaze narrowed on the small wooden, clearly well-stocked bar.
‘You’re after a room?’ she almost whispered.