The Greek Tycoon's Secret Child. Cathy WilliamsЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“It’s not as though…as though this is some kind of love match.”
She winced as she said that, as though what she had felt for him and still felt could be dismissed in a few well-chosen words. “However strong your sense of duty is, I don’t intend to fall victim to it.”
“This isn’t about you, though, is it?” He turned to face her then. “And it isn’t about whether I wanted to become a daddy or not. The reality is that you’re pregnant with my baby and I intend to take care of the situation.”
“This is not a situation,” Mattie told him, but a small, treacherous side of her longed to be taken care of. It was the same small, treacherous side that had told her she could handle a man like Dominic. Wisdom would be to avoid that small, treacherous side like the plague.
“Event. Occurrence. Happening. Call it whatever you want to, but whatever you decide to call it, you’re not running away from me this time.”
They’re the men who have everything—except a bride…
Wealth, power, charm—what else could a heart-stoppingly handsome tycoon need? In THE GREEK TYCOONS miniseries you have already met some gorgeous Greek multimillionaires who are in need of wives.
Now it’s the turn of talented Presents author Cathy Williams, with her feisty and passionate romance
The Greek Tycoon’s Secret Child
This tycoon has met his match, and he’s decided he has to have her…whatever that takes!
Coming soon in Harlequin Presents:
The Greek’s Virgin Bride
by Julia James
March #2383
The Mistress Purchase
by Penny Jordan
April #2386
The Stephanides Pregnancy
by Lynne Graham
May #2392
The Greek Tycoon’s Secret Child
Cathy Williams
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
DOMINIC DRECOS hadn’t expected to like this sort of place. In fact, he had always been contemptuous of those high-flying businessmen who played at happy families while taking time out to frequent the sort of nightclub that offered them the opportunity to ogle beautiful young women, dressed in next to nothing, for the price of some very expensive alcohol. The sort of place where a woman sold her dignity for ridiculous tips. In fact, a nightclub pretty much like this.
But he hadn’t been able to get out of this. His very important client, along with his entourage of two accountants and three board directors, had insisted.
They wanted to see London at night, by which they had not been referring to a refined restaurant in Knightsbridge followed by a stroll through Piccadilly Circus. Nor had they meant an evening of culture at one of the theatres in Drury Lane.
‘Where the hell am I supposed to take them?’ he had asked his secretary in frustration. ‘Do I look like the sort of man who goes to places like that? And before you answer that one, remember that your job may be on the line.’ But he had grinned at his fifty-five-year-old secretary. ‘I don’t suppose you could recommend somewhere? Do you go to places like that?’
‘Don’t think they allow grannies in, Mr Drecos,’ Gloria had said with commendable seriousness. ‘I’ll ask around and find somewhere appropriate.’
It had been to her credit that she had managed to find one that, at least, had not involved any erotic table dancing or live performances in overhead cages. Thank heavens.
In fact, he thought now as he looked around him with the obligatory glass of champagne in his hand, aside from the minuscule dress code of the waitresses, the place wasn’t too sordid. The lighting was a little subdued, admittedly, but the food had been passable enough and if the drinks were outrageously priced, then what the hell?
This particular deal was worth a substantial amount of money, and his client appeared to be having a good enough time.
And it had to be said that the array of gorgeous waitresses paraded before him were manna to his jaded soul.
Dominic Drecos had had it when it came to meaningful involvement with members of the opposite sex. Just the thought of his ex-girlfriend was still enough to bring him out in a cold sweat, even though he had, thank heavens, neither seen nor heard anything of her for the past six months.
No, sir. Conversation. Intimate meals out. Theatres, presents and the whole paraphernalia of courtship could take a running leap as far as he was concerned.
He forced himself back into conversation with his client, asked politely interested questions about his Oxford University education, and glanced discreetly at his watch.
It was when he looked up that he saw her.
She was standing by their table, tray balanced, naturally, on her hip, body inclined slightly forward. Typical ploy of the waitresses, he had drily observed earlier on. They leaned over to take orders, revealing a tantalising amount of cleavage, in many cases cleavage that seemed to owe their existence to science rather than nature, smiling provocatively as they encouraged the punters to fling their money away on champagne. They would, of course, be taking a cut of each bottle they managed to entice out of their customers.
This one was using the same tired ploy, along with the same smile, same tilt of the head, but he hadn’t noticed her before.
Where had she come from? She certainly hadn’t been in evidence at their table before now. No, that girl had been a brunette of ample proportions and wickedly provocative eyes.
‘Can I interest you gentlemen in some of our champagne?’ she coaxed now, in a voice like slowly burning smoke.
Dominic was amused and slightly surprised to find that the question running through his head was what else she had on offer of interest. To him.
Surprised because since Rosalind he had managed to conduct a very celibate existence, untempted by the many women with whom he came into contact on virtually a daily basis. Either through his very hectic social life or through the myriad business dos that he was obliged to attend.
Her eyes flitted around the group of men and found Dominic’s and, as if reading the message lazily conveyed in his broodingly dark gaze, she looked away quickly and straightened ever so slightly.
‘Perhaps a couple more bottles?’ His client sat back in his chair, knowing that his question was more in the nature of a flat statement. None of his henchmen would dare query the need for yet more champagne and Dominic, who would easily have made known his thoughts on any such thing, found himself readily agreeing.
‘Why not?’ He was finding it difficult to tear his eyes away from the blonde.
She wasn’t just good-looking. Good-looking blondes were a dime a dozen. She was exotically unusual. Slimmer