Read the book: «Greek's Pride»

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

The Stefanos Marriage

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A Passionate Surrender

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Greek Bridegroom

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

The Stefanos Marriage

Helen Bianchin

CHAPTER ONE

THE TRAFFIC WAS unusually heavy as Alyse eased her stylish Honda hatchback on to the Stirling highway. From this distance the many tall buildings etched against the city skyline appeared wreathed in a shimmering haze, and the sun’s piercing rays reflected against the sapphire depths of the Swan River as she followed its gentle curve into the heart of Perth.

Parking took an age, and she uttered a silent prayer in celestial thanks that she wasn’t a regular city commuter as she competed with the early-morning populace striding the pavements to their individual places of work.

A telephone call from her solicitor late the previous afternoon requesting her presence in his office as soon as possible was perplexing, to say the least, and a slight frown creased her brow as she entered the modern edifice of gleaming black marble and non-reflecting tinted glass that housed his professional suite.

Gaining the foyer, Alyse stepped briskly towards a cluster of people waiting for any one of three lifts to transport them to their designated floor. As she drew close her attention was caught by a tall, dark-suited man standing slightly apart from the rest, and her eyes lingered with brief curiosity.

Broad-chiselled facial bone-structure in profile provided an excellent foil for the patrician slope of his nose and rugged sculptured jaw. Well-groomed thick dark hair was professionally shaped and worn fractionally longer than the current trend.

In his mid-thirties, she judged, aware there was something about his stance that portrayed an animalistic sense of power—a physical magnetism that was riveting.

As if he sensed her scrutiny, he turned slightly, and she was shaken by the intensity of piercing eyes that were neither blue nor grey but a curious mixture of both.

Suddenly she became supremely conscious of her projected image, aware that the fashionably tailored black suit worn with a demurely styled white silk blouse lent a professional air to her petite frame and shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, which, combined with delicate-boned features, reflected poise and dignity.

It took every ounce of control not to blink or lower her eyes beneath his slow analytical appraisal, and for some inexplicable reason she felt each separate nerve-ending tense as a primitive emotion stirred deep within her, alien and unguarded.

For a few timeless seconds her eyes seemed locked with his, and she could have sworn the quickening beat of her heart must sound loud enough for anyone standing close by to hear. A reaction, she decided shakily, that was related to nothing more than recognition of a devastatingly sexual alchemy.

No one man deserved to have such power at his command. Yet there was a lurking cynicism, a slight wariness apparent beneath the sophisticated veneer, almost as if he expected her to instigate an attempt at conversation, initiating a subtle invitation—to God knew what? Her bed?

Innate pride tinged with defiance lent her eyes a fiery sparkle and provided an infinitesimal tilt to her chin as she checked the hands of the clock positioned high on the marble-slabbed wall.

Two lifts reached the ground floor simultaneously, and she stood back, opting to enter the one closest her, aware too late that the man seemed intent on following in her wake.

The lift filled rapidly, and she determinedly fixed her attention on the instrument panel, all too aware of the man standing within touching distance. Despite her four-inch stiletto heels he towered head and shoulders above her, and this close she could sense the slight aroma of his cologne.

It was crazy to feel so positively stifled, yet she was supremely conscious of every single breath, every pulsebeat. It wasn’t a sensation she enjoyed, and she was intensely relieved when the lift slid to a halt at her chosen floor.

Alyse’s gratitude at being freed from his unsettling presence was short-lived when she discovered that he too had vacated the lift and was seemingly intent on entering the same suite of offices.

Moving towards Reception, she gave her name and that of the legal partner with whom she had an appointment, then selected a nearby chair. Reaching for a magazine, she flipped idly through the glossy pages with pretended interest, increasingly aware of the man standing negligently at ease on the edge of her peripheral vision.

With a hand thrust into the trouser pocket of his impeccably tailored suit he looked every inch the powerful potentate, portraying a dramatic mesh of blatant masculinity and elemental ruthlessness. Someone it would be infinitely wiser to have as a friend than an enemy, Alyse perceived wryly.

Something about him bothered her—an intrinsic familiarity she was unable to pinpoint. She knew they had never met, for he wasn’t a man you would forget in a hurry!

‘Miss Anderson? If you’d care to follow me, Mr Mannering will see you now.’

Alyse followed the elegantly attired secretary down a wide, spacious corridor into a modern office offering a magnificent view of the city. Acknowledging the solicitor’s greeting, she selected one of three armchairs opposite his desk and graciously sank into its leather-cushioned depth.

‘There seems to be some urgency in your need to see me,’ she declared, taking time to cross one slim nylon-clad leg over the other as she looked askance at the faintly harassed-looking man viewing her with a degree of thoughtful speculation.

‘Indeed. A most unexpected development,’ Hugh Mannering conceded as he reached for a manilla folder and riffled through its contents. ‘These papers were delivered by courier yesterday afternoon, and followed an hour later by a telephone call from the man who instigated their dispatch.’

A slight frown momentarily creased her brow. ‘I thought Antonia’s estate was quite straightforward.’

‘Her estate—yes. Custody of your sister’s son, however, is not.’

Alyse felt something squeeze painfully in the region of her heart. ‘What do you mean?’

He bent his head, and his spectacles slid fractionally down his nose, allowing him the opportunity to view her over the top of the frame. ‘I have copies of legal documentation by a delegate of the Stefanos family laying claim to Georg—’ he paused to consult the name outlined within the documented text ‘—Georgiou. Infant son of Georgiou Stavro Stefanos, born to Antonia Grace Anderson at a disclosed maternity hospital in suburban Perth just over two months ago.’

Alyse paled with shock, her eyes large liquid pools mirroring disbelief as she looked at the solicitor with mounting horror. ‘They can’t do that!’ she protested in a voice that betrayed shaky incredulity.

The man opposite appeared nonplussed. ‘Antonia died intestate, without written authority delegating legal responsibility for her son. As her only surviving relative, you naturally assumed the role of surrogate mother and guardian.’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘However, technically, the child is an orphan, and a decision would, in the normal course of events, be made by the Department of Family Services as to the manner in which the child is to be cared for, having regard to all relevant circumstances with the welfare of the child as the paramount consideration. An application to adopt the child can be lodged with the Department by any interested party.’ He paused to spare her a compassionate glance. ‘A matter I had every intention of bringing to your attention.’

‘Are you trying to say that my sister’s lover’s family have as much right to adopt her son as I do?’ Alyse demanded in a fervent need to reduce reiterated legalese to its simplest form.

The solicitor’s expression mirrored his spoken response. ‘Yes.’

‘But that’s impossible! The clear facts of Georgiou’s chosen dissociation from Antonia’s letters would be a mark against him in any court of law.’

Tears welled unbidden as Alyse thought of her sister. Six years Alyse’s junior, Antonia had been so carefree, so young. Too young at nineteen to suffer the consequences of a brief holiday romance abroad. Yet suffer she did, discovering within weeks of her return from an idyllic cruise of the Greek Islands that her capricious behaviour had resulted in pregnancy.

A letter dispatched at once to an address in Athens brought no response, nor, several weeks later, with the aid of a translator, did attempted telephone contact, for all that could be determined was that the number they sought was ex-directory and therefore unobtainable.

Truly a love-child, little Georgiou had survived by his mother’s refusal to consider abortion, and he’d entered the world after a long struggle that had had the medics in attendance opting for surgical intervention via emergency Caesarian section. Fate, however, had delivered an incredibly cruel blow when complications which had plagued Antonia since giving birth had brought on a sudden collapse, followed within days by her tragic death.

Shattered beyond belief, Alyse had stoically attended to all the relevant arrangements, and employed a manageress for her childrenswear boutique during those first terrible weeks until she could arrange for a reliable babysitter.

Now, she had organised a satisfactory routine whereby a babysitter came in each morning, and the boutique was managed during the afternoon hours, thus ensuring that Alyse could spend as much time as possible with a young baby whose imposing Christian name had long since been affectionately shortened to Georg.

‘I can understand your concern, Alyse. Mr Stefanos has offered to explain, personally, the reasons supporting his claim.’

Undisguised surprise widened her eyes, followed immediately by a degree of incredible anger. ‘He’s actually dared to come here in person, after all this time?’

Hugh Mannering regarded her carefully for several seconds, then offered slowly, ‘It’s in your own interest to at least listen to what he has to say.’

The solicitor depressed a button on the intercom console and issued his secretary with appropriate instructions.

Within a matter of seconds the door opened, and the tall compelling-looking man who had succeeded in shattering Alyse’s composure only half an hour earlier entered the room.

She felt her stomach lurch, then contract in inexplicable apprehension. Who was he? She had seen sufficient of Antonia’s holiday snapshots to be certain that the reflection depicted on celluloid and this man were not one and the same.

Hugh Mannering made the introduction with polite civility. ‘Alyse Anderson—Aleksi Stefanos.’

‘Miss Anderson.’ The acknowledgment was voiced in a deep, faintly accented drawl, and an icy chill feathered across the surface of her skin. His eyes swept her features in raking appraisal, then locked with her startled gaze for a brief second before he directed his attention to the man opposite.

‘I presume you have informed Miss Anderson of the relevant details?’

‘Perhaps Mr Stefanos,’ Alyse stressed carefully as he folded his lengthy frame into an adjacent chair, ‘would care to reveal precisely his connection with the father of my sister’s child?’

There could be no doubt she intended war, and it irked her incredibly that he was amused beneath the thin veneer of politeness evident.

‘Forgive me, Miss Anderson.’ He inclined his head cynically. ‘I am Georgiou’s elder brother—stepbrother, to be exact.’

‘One presumes Georg,’ she paused, deliberately refusing to give the name its correct pronunciation, ‘dispatched you as his emissary?’

The pale eyes hardened until they resembled obsidian grey shards. ‘Georgiou is dead. A horrific car accident last year left him a paraplegic, and complications took their final toll little more than a month ago.’

Alyse’s mind reeled at the implication of a bizarre coincidence as Aleksi Stefanos went on to reveal in a voice devoid of any emotion,

‘My family had no knowledge of your sister’s existence, let alone her predicament, until several carefully concealed letters were discovered a week after Georgiou’s death. Time was needed to verify certain facts before suitable arrangements could be made.’

‘What arrangements?’

‘The child will, of course, be brought up a Stefanos.’

Alyse’s eyes blazed with brilliant fire. ‘He most certainly will not!’

‘You contest my right to do so?’

‘Your right?’ she retorted deliberately.

‘Indeed. As he is the first male Stefanos grandchild, there can be no question of his rightful heritage.’

‘Georg’s birth is registered as Georgiou Anderson, Mr Stefanos. And as Antonia’s closest relative I have accepted sole responsibility for her son.’

He appeared to be visibly unmoved, and her chin lifted fractionally as she held his glittering gaze.

‘Verification of blood groupings has established beyond doubt that my brother is the father of your sister’s child,’ he revealed with chilling cynicism.

Alyse felt the rush of anger as it consumed her slim frame. How dared he even suggest otherwise! ‘What did you imagine Antonia had in mind when she dispatched those letters begging for help, Mr Stefanos?’ she managed in icy rage. ‘Blackmail?’

‘The thought did occur.’

‘Why,’ she breathed with barely controlled fury, ‘you insulting, arrogant—’

‘Please continue,’ he invited as she faltered to a speechless halt.

‘Bastard!’ she threw with disdain, and glimpsed an inflexible hardness in the depths of his eyes. ‘Antonia had no need of money—your brother’s, or that of his family. As Mr Mannering will confirm, both my sister and I benefited financially when our parents died some years ago—sufficient to ensure we could afford a comfortable lifestyle without the need to supplement it in any way other than with a weekly wage. On leaving school, Antonia joined me in business.’ She had never felt so positively enraged in her life. ‘Your brother, Mr Stefanos,’ she stressed, ‘proposed marriage during their shared holiday, and promised to send for Antonia within a week of his return to Athens for the express purpose of meeting his family and announcing their engagement.’ Her eyes clouded with pain as she vividly recalled the effect Georgiou’s subsequent rejection had had on her sister.

‘Georgiou’s accident occurred the day after his return,’ Aleksi Stefanos told her. ‘He lay in hospital unconscious for weeks, and afterwards it was some time before he became fully aware of the extent of his injuries. By then it was doubtful if he could foresee a future for himself in the role of husband.’

‘He could have written!’ Alyse exclaimed in impassioned condemnation. ‘His silence caused Antonia months of untold anguish. And you underestimate my sister, Mr Stefanos,’ she continued bleakly, ‘if you think she would have rejected Georgiou simply because of his injuries. She loved him.’

‘And love, in your opinion, conquers all?’

Her eyes gleamed with hidden anger, sheer prisms of deep blue sapphire. ‘Antonia deserved the chance to prove it,’ she said with quiet vehemence. Her chin lifted, tilting at a proud angle.

His raking scrutiny was daunting, but she refused to break his gaze. ‘And you, Miss Anderson?’ he queried with deceptive softness. ‘Would you have given a man such unswerving loyalty?’

Alyse didn’t deign to answer, and the silence inside the room was such that it was almost possible to hear the sound of human breathing.

‘Perhaps an attempt could be made to resolve the situation?’ Alyse heard the mild intervention and turned slowly towards the bespectacled man seated behind his desk. For a while she had forgotten his existence, and she watched as his glance shifted from her to the hateful Aleksi Stefanos. ‘I know I can speak for Alyse in saying that she intends lodging an adoption application immediately.’

‘Legally, as a single woman, Miss Anderson lacks sufficient standing to supersede my right to my brother’s child,’ Aleksi Stefanos declared with dangerous silkiness.

‘Only if you’re married,’ Alyse insisted, directing the solicitor a brief enquiring glance and feeling triumphant on receiving his nod in silent acquiescence. ‘Are you married, Mr Stefanos?’

‘No,’ he answered with smooth detachment. ‘Something I intend remedying without delay.’

‘Really? You’re engaged to be married?’ She couldn’t remember being so positively bitchy!

‘My intended marital status is unimportant, Miss Anderson, and none of your business.’

‘Oh, but it is, Mr Stefanos,’ she insisted sweetly. ‘You see, if marriage is a prerequisite in my battle to adopt Georg, then I too shall fight you in the marriage stakes by taking a husband as soon as possible.’ She turned towards the solicitor. ‘Would that strengthen my case?’

Hugh Mannering looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘I should warn you against the folly of marrying in haste, simply for the sole purpose of providing your nephew with a surrogate father. Mr Stefanos would undoubtedly contest the validity of your motive.’

‘As I would contest his motive,’ she insisted fiercely, ‘if he were to marry immediately.’

‘I’m almost inclined to venture that it’s unfortunate you could not marry each other,’ Mr Mannering opined, ‘thus providing the child with a stable relationship, instead of engaging in lengthy proceedings with the Government’s Family Services Department to determine who should succeed as legal adoptive parent.’

Alyse looked at him as if he had suddenly gone mad. ‘You can’t possibly be serious?’

The solicitor effected an imperceptible shrug. ‘A marriage of convenience isn’t an uncommon occurrence.’

‘Maybe not,’ she responded with undue asperity. ‘But I doubt if Mr Stefanos would be prepared to compromise in such a manner.’

‘Why so sure, Miss Anderson?’ The drawled query grated her raw nerves like steel razing through silk.

‘Oh, really,’ Alyse dismissed, ‘such a solution is the height of foolishness, and totally out of the question.’

‘Indeed?’ His smile made her feel like a dove about to be caught up in the deadly claws of a marauding hawk. ‘I consider it has a degree of merit.’

‘While I can’t think of anything worse than being imprisoned in marriage with a man like you!’

If he could have shaken her within an inch of her life, he would have done so. It was there in his eyes, the curious stillness of his features, and she controlled the desire to shiver, choosing instead to clasp her hands together in an instinctive protective gesture.

Against what? a tiny voice taunted. He couldn’t possibly pose a threat, for heaven’s sake!

‘There’s nothing further to be gained by continuing with this conversation.’ With graceful fluidity she rose to her feet. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Mannering,’ she said with distinct politeness before spearing her adversary with a dark, venomous glance. ‘Goodbye, Mr Stefanos.’

Uncaring of the solicitor’s attempt to defuse the situation, she walked to the door, opened it, then quietly closed it behind her before making her way to the outer office.

It wasn’t until she was in her car and intent on negotiating busy traffic that reaction began to set in.

Damn. Damn Aleksi Stefanos! Her hands clenched on the wheel until the knuckles showed white, and she was so consumed with silent rage that it was nothing short of a miracle that she reached the boutique without suffering a minor accident.

CHAPTER TWO

THE REMAINDER OF the morning flew by as Alyse conferred with the boutique’s manageress, Miriam Stanford, checked stock and tended to customers. It was almost midday before she was able to leave, and she felt immensely relieved to reach the comfortable sanctuary of her home.

As soon as the babysitter left, Alyse put a load of laundry into the washing machine, completed a few household chores, and was ready for Georg at the sound of his first wakening cry.

After changing him, she gave him his bottle, then made everything ready for his afternoon walk—an outing he appeared to adore, for he offered a contented smile as she placed him in the pram and secured the patterned quilt.

The air was fresh and cool, the winter sun fingering the spreading branches of trees lining the wide suburban street, and Alyse walked briskly, her eyes bright with love as she watched every gesture, every fleeting expression on her young nephew’s face. He was so active, so alive for his tender age, and growing visibly with every passing day.

A slight frown furrowed her brow, and her features assumed a serious bleakness as she mentally reviewed the morning’s consultation in Hugh Mannering’s office. Was there really any possibility that she might fail in a bid to adopt Georg? Could the hateful Aleksi Stefanos’s adoption application succeed? It was clear she must phone the solicitor as soon as possible.

On returning home Alyse gave Georg his bath, laughing ruefully as she finally managed to get his wriggling slippery body washed and dry, then dusted with talc and dressed in clean clothes. She gave him his bottle and settled him into his cot.

Now for the call to Hugh Mannering.

‘Can I lose Georg?’ Alyse queried with stark disregard for the conversational niceties.

‘Any permanent resolution will take considerable time,’ the solicitor stressed carefully. ‘Technically, the Family Services Department investigates each applicant’s capability to adequately care for the child, and ultimately a decision is made.’

‘Off the record,’ she persisted, ‘who has the best chance?’

‘It’s impossible to ignore facts, Alyse. I’ve studied indisputable records documenting Aleksi Stefanos’s financial status, and the man has an impressive list of assets.’

A chill finger slithered the length of her spine, and she suppressed the desire to shiver. ‘Assets which far outstrip mine, I imagine?’

‘My dear, you are fortunate to enjoy financial security of a kind that would be the envy of most young women your age. However, it is only a small percentage in comparison.’

‘Damn him!’ The oath fell from her lips in husky condemnation.

‘The child’s welfare is of prime importance,’ the solicitor reminded her quietly. ‘I’ll have the application ready for your signature tomorrow.’

The inclination to have a snack instead of preparing herself a meal was all too tempting, and Alyse settled for an omelette with an accompanying salad, then followed it with fresh fruit.

She should make an effort to do some sewing—at least attempt to hand-finish a number of tiny smocked dresses which had been delivered to the house by one of her outworkers this morning. Certainly the boutique could do with the extra supplies.

The dishes done and the washing folded, Alyse collected a bundle of garments from its enveloping plastic and settled herself comfortably in the lounge with her sewing basket. Working diligently, she applied neat stitches with precise care, clipped thread, then deftly rethreaded the needle and began on the next garment.

Damn! The soft curse disrupted the stillness of the room. The third in an hour, and no less vicious simply because it was quietly voiced.

Alyse looked at the tiny prick of blood the latest needle stab had wrought, and raised her eyes heavenward in mute supplication.

Just this one garment, and she’d pack it all away for the evening, she pleaded in a silent deal with her favourite saint. Although it would prove less vexing if she cast aside hand-finishing for the evening and relaxed in front of the television with a reviving cup of coffee. Yet tonight she needed to immerse herself totally in her work in an attempt to alleviate the build-up of nervous tension.

Specialising in exquisitely embroidered babywear sold under her own label, Alyse, she had by dint of hard work, she reflected, changed a successful hobby into a thriving business. Now there was a boutique in a modern upmarket shopping centre catering for babies and young children’s clothes featuring her own exclusive label among several imported lines.

Five minutes later Alyse breathed a sigh of relief as the tiny garment was completed. Stretching her arms high, she flexed her shoulders in a bid to ease the knot of muscular tension.

Georg’s wakening cry sounded loud in the stillness of the house, and she quickly heated his bottle, fed him, then settled him down for the night.

In the hallway she momentarily caught sight of her mirrored reflection, and paused, aware that it was hardly surprising that the combination of grief and lack of appetite had reduced her petite form to positive slenderness. There were dark smudges beneath solemn blue eyes, and the angles of her facial bone-structure appeared delicate and more clearly defined.

Minutes later she sank into a chair in the lounge nursing a mug of hot coffee, longing not for the first time for someone in whom she could confide.

If her parents were still alive, it might be different, she brooded, but both had died within months of each other only a year after she had finished school, and she had been too busy establishing a niche in the workforce as well as guiding Antonia through a vulnerable puberty to enjoy too close an empathy with friends.

The sudden peal of the doorbell shattered the quietness of the room, and she hurried quickly to answer it, vaguely apprehensive yet partly curious as to who could possibly be calling at this time of the evening.

Checking that the safety chain was in place, she queried cautiously, ‘Who is it?’

‘Aleksi Stefanos.’

Stefanos. The name seemed etched in her brain with the clarity of diamond-engraved marble, and she closed her eyes in a purely reflex action as undisguised anger replaced initial shock.

‘How did you get my address?’ she wanted to know.

‘The telephone directory.’ His voice held an infinite degree of cynicism.

‘How dare you come here?’ Alyse demanded, trying her best to ignore the prickle of fear steadily creating havoc with her nervous system.

‘Surely eight-thirty isn’t unacceptably late?’ his drawling voice enquired through the thick wood-panelled door, and she drew in a deep angry breath, then released it slowly.

‘I have absolutely nothing to say to you.’

‘May I remind you that I have every right to visit my nephew?’

For some inexplicable reason his dry mocking tones sent an icy chill feathering the length of her spine. Damn him! Who did he think he was, for heaven’s sake?

‘Georg is asleep, Mr Stefanos.’

Her curt dismissing revelation was greeted with ominous silence, and she unconsciously held her breath, willing him to go away.

‘Asleep or awake, Miss Anderson, it makes little difference.’

Alyse closed her eyes and released her breath in one drawn-out sigh of frustration. Without doubt, Aleksi Stefanos possessed sufficient steel-willed determination to be incredibly persistent. If she refused to let him see Georg tonight, he’d insist on a suitable time tomorrow. Either way, he would eventually succeed in his objective.

Without releasing the safety chain, she opened the door a fraction, noticing idly that he had exchanged his formal suit for light grey trousers and a sweater in fine dark wool. Even from within the protection of her home, he presented a disturbing factor she could only view with disfavour.

‘Will you give me your word that you won’t try to abduct Georg?’ she asked him.

His eyes flared, then became hard and implacable, his facial muscles reassembling over sculptured bone to present a mask of silent anger.

‘It isn’t in my interests to resort to abduction,’ he warned inflexibly. ‘Perhaps you should be reminded that your failure to co-operate will be taken into consideration and assuredly used against you.’

The temptation to tell him precisely what he could do with his legal advisers was almost impossible to ignore, but common sense reared its logical head just in time, and Alyse released the safety chain, then stood back to permit him entry.

‘Thank you.’

His cynicism was not lost on her, and it took considerable effort to remain civil. ‘Georg’s room is at the rear of the house.’

Without even glancing at him, she led the way, aware that he followed close behind her. She didn’t consciously hurry, but her footsteps were quick, and consequently she felt slightly breathless when she reached the end of the hallway.

Carefully she opened the door, swinging it wide so the shaft of light illuminated the room. Large and airy, it had been converted to a nursery months before Georg’s birth, the fresh white paint with its water-colour murals on each wall the perfect foil for various items of nursery furniture, and a number of colourful mobiles hung suspended from the ceiling.

Fiercely protective, Alyse glanced towards the man opposite for any sign that he might disturb her charge, and saw there was no visible change in his expression.

What had she expected? A softening of that hard exterior? Instead there was a curious bleakness, a sense of purpose that Alyse found distinctly chilling.

Almost as if Georg sensed he was the object of a silent battle, he stirred, moving his arms as he wriggled on to his back, his tiny legs kicking at the blanket until, with a faint murmur, he settled again.

Alyse wanted to cry out that Georg was hers, and nothing, no one, was going to take him away from her.

Perhaps some of her resolve showed in her expressive features, for she glimpsed a muscle tighten at the edge of Aleksi Stefanos’s powerful jaw an instant before he moved back from the cot, and she followed him from the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

It appeared he was in no hurry to leave, for he entered the lounge without asking, and stood, a hand thrust into each trouser pocket.

‘Perhaps we could talk?’ he suggested, subjecting her to an analytical scrutiny which in no way enhanced her temper.

‘I was under the impression we covered just about everything this morning.’

Chillingly bleak eyes riveted hers, trapping her in his gaze, and Alyse was prompted to comment, ‘It’s a pity Georgiou himself didn’t accord his son’s existence such reverent importance.’

‘There were, I think you will have to agree, extenuating circumstances.’

‘If he really did love my sister,’ she stressed, ‘he would have seen to it that someone—even you—answered any one of her letters. He had a responsibility which was ignored, no matter how bravely he grappled with his own disabilities.’

His gaze didn’t waver. ‘I imagine he was tortured by the thought of Antonia bearing a child he would never see.’

‘The only bonus to come out of the entire débâcle is Georg.’

He looked at her hard and long before he finally spoke. ‘You must understand, he cannot be raised other than as a Stefanos.’

Alyse saw the grim resolve apparent, and suddenly felt afraid. ‘Why?’ she queried baldly. ‘A man without a wife could only offer the services of a nanny, which, even if it were a full-time live-in employment, can’t compare with my love and attention.’

His shoulders shifted imperceptibly, almost as if he were reassembling a troublesome burden, and his features assumed an inscrutability she had no hope of penetrating.

‘You too employ the part-time services of a nanny in the guise of babysitter. Is this not so?’ An eyebrow slanted in silent query. ‘By your own admission, you operate a successful business. With each subsequent month, my nephew will become more active, sleep less, and demand more attention. While you delegate, in part, your business duties, you will also be delegating the amount of time you can spend with Georg. I fail to see a significant difference between your brand of caring and mine.’

‘On that presumption you imagine I’ll concede defeat?’ Alyse queried angrily.

‘I would be prepared to settle an extremely large sum in your bank account for the privilege.’

She shook her head, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. ‘Bribery, Mr Stefanos? No amount of money would persuade me to part with Antonia’s son.’ She cast him a look of such disdainful dislike, a lesser man would have withered beneath it. ‘Now, will you please leave?’

‘I haven’t finished what I came to say.’

He must have a skin thicker than a rhinoceros! Alyse could feel the anger emanate through the pores of her skin until her whole body was consumed with it. ‘If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call the police!’

‘Go ahead,’ he directed with pitiless disregard.

‘This is my home, dammit!’ Alyse reiterated heatedly.

His eyes were dark and infinitely dangerous. ‘You walked out on a legal consultation this morning, and now you refuse to discuss Georg’s welfare.’ It was his turn to subject her to a raking scrutiny, his smile wholly cynical as he glimpsed the tide of colour wash over her cheeks. ‘I imagine the police will be sympathetic.’

‘They’ll also throw you out!’

‘They’ll suggest I leave,’ he corrected. ‘And conduct any further discussion with you via a legal representative.’ He paused, and his eyes were hard and obdurate, reflecting inflexible masculine strength of will. ‘My stepbrother’s child has a legal right to his stake in the Stefanos heritage. It is what Georgiou would have wanted; what my father wants. If Antonia were still alive,’ he paused deliberately, ‘I believe she would have wanted her son to be acknowledged by her lover’s family, and to receive the financial benefits and recognition that are his due.’

Alyse’s eyes sharpened as their depths became clearly defined. ‘I intend having you and your family fully investigated.’

As a possible threat, it failed dismally, for he merely acknowledged her words with a cynical smile.

‘Allow me to give you the relevant information ahead of official confirmation.’

Beneath the edge of mockery was a degree of inimical anger that feathered fear down the length of her spine and raised all her fine body hairs in protective self-defence.

‘My father and stepmother reside in Athens. I, however, left my native Greece at the relatively young age of twenty to settle in Australia. Initially Sydney—working as a builder’s labourer seven days a week, contractual obligations and weather permitting. After three years I moved to the Gold Coast, where I bought land and built houses before venturing into building construction. The ensuing thirteen years have escalated my company to a prestigious position within the building industry. Without doubt,’ he continued drily, ‘I possess sufficient independent wealth to garner instant approval with the Family Services Department, and there are no mythical skeletons in any one of my closets.’

‘Hardly a complete résumé, Mr Stefanos,’ Alyse discounted scathingly.

‘How far back into the past do you wish to delve? Does the fact that my mother was Polish, hence my unusual Christian name, condemn me? That she died when I was very young? Is that sufficient, Miss Anderson?’ One eyebrow slanted above dark eyes heavily opaque with the rigors of memory. ‘Perhaps you’d like to hear that a sweet, gentle Englishwoman eased my father’s pain, married him and bore a male child without displacing my position as the eldest Stefanos son or alienating my father’s affection for me in any way. She became the mother I’d never known, and we keep in constant touch, exchanging visits at least once each year.’

‘And now that Georgiou is dead, they want to play an integral part in Georg’s life.’ Alyse uttered the words in a curiously flat voice, and was unprepared for the whip-hard anger in his.

‘Are you so impossibly selfish that you fail to understand what Georg’s existence means to them?’ he demanded.

‘I know what it means to me,’ she cried out, sorely tried. ‘If Antonia hadn’t written to Georgiou, if—’

‘Don’t colour facts with unfounded prejudice,’ Aleksi Stefanos cut in harshly. ‘The letters exist as irrefutable proof. I intend assuming the role of Georg’s father,’ he pursued, his voice assuming a deadly softness. ‘Don’t doubt it for a minute.’

‘Whereas I insist on the role of mother!’ she blazed.

‘You’re not prepared to compromise in any way?’

‘Compromise? Are you prepared to compromise? Why should it be me who has to forgo the opportunity of happiness in a marriage of my choice?’

His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘Is there a contender waiting in the wings, Miss Anderson? Someone sufficiently foolish to think he can conquer your fiery spirit and win?’

‘What makes you think you could?’

His eyes gleamed with latent humour, then dropped lazily to trace the full curve of her lips before slipping down to the swell of her breasts, assessing each feature with such diabolical ease that she found it impossible to still the faint flush of pink that coloured her cheeks.

‘I possess sufficient experience with women to know you’d resent any form of male domination, yet conversely refuse to condone a spineless wimp who gave way to your every demand.’ Alyse stood speechless as his gaze wandered back to meet hers and hold it with indolent amusement. A sensation not unlike excitement uncoiled deep within her, and spread throughout her body with the speed of liquid fire, turning all the highly sensitised nerve-endings into a state of sensual awareness so intense it made her feel exhilaratingly alive, yet at the same time terribly afraid.

‘The man in my life most certainly won’t be you, Mr Stefanos!’ she snapped.

‘One of the country’s best legal brains has given me his assurance that my adoption application will succeed,’ he revealed. ‘This morning’s consultation in Hugh Mannering’s office was arranged because I felt honour-bound to personally present facts regarding my stepbrother’s accident and subsequent death. As to Georg’s future …’ he paused significantly ‘… the only way you can have any part in it will be to opt for marriage—to me.’

‘You alternately threaten, employ a form of emotional blackmail, attempt to buy me off, then offer a marriage convenient only to you?’ The slow-boiling anger which had simmered long beneath the surface of her control finally bubbled over. ‘Go to hell, Mr Stefanos!’

The atmosphere in the lounge was so highly charged, Alyse almost expected it to explode into combustible flame.

He looked at her for what seemed an age, then his voice sounded cold—as icy as an Arctic gale. ‘Think carefully before you burn any figurative bridges,’ he warned silkily.

Alyse glared at him balefully, hating him, abhorring what he represented. ‘Get out of my house. Now!’ Taut, incredibly angry words that bordered close on the edge of rage as she moved swiftly from the room.

In the foyer she reached for the catch securing the front door, then gasped out loud as Aleksi Stefanos caught hold of her shoulders and turned her towards him with galling ease.

One glance at those compelling features was sufficient to determine his intention, and she struggled fruitlessly against his sheer strength.

‘The temptation to teach you the lesson I consider you deserve is almost irresistible,’ he drawled.

His anger was clearly evident, and, hopelessly helpless, Alyse clenched her jaw tight as his head lowered in an attempt to avoid his mouth, only to cry out as he caught the soft inner tissue with his teeth, and she had no defence against the plundering force of a kiss so intense that the muscles of her throat, her jaw, screamed in silent agony as he completed a ravaging possession that violated her very soul.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and she sank back against the wall, her eyes stricken with silent hatred.

At that precise moment a loud wailing cry erupted from the bedroom, and Alyse turned blindly towards the nursery. Crossing to Georg’s cot, she leant forward and lifted his tiny body into her arms. He smelled of soap and talc, and his baby cheek was satin-smooth against her own as she cradled him close.

His cries subsided into muffled hiccups, bringing stupid tears to her own eyes, and she blinked rapidly to still their flow, aware within seconds that her efforts were in vain as they spilled and began trickling ignominiously down each cheek.

This morning life had been so simple. Yet within twelve hours Aleksi Stefanos had managed to turn it upside down.

She turned as the subject of her most dire thoughts followed her into the nursery.

‘You bastard!’ she berated him in a painful whisper. ‘Have you no scruples?’

‘None whatsoever where Georg is concerned,’ Aleksi Stefanos drawled dispassionately.

‘What you’re suggesting amounts to emotional blackmail, damn you!’ Her voice emerged as a vengeful undertone, and Georg gave a slight whimpering cry, then settled as she gently rocked his small body in her arms.

‘What I’m suggesting,’ Aleksi Stefanos declared hardily, ‘is parents, a home, and a stable existence for Georg.’

‘Where’s the stability in two people who don’t even like each other?’ Damn him—who did he think he was, for heaven’s sake?

An icy shiver shook her slim frame in the knowledge that he knew precisely who he was and the extent of his own power.

‘The alternatives are specific,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘the choice entirely your own. You have until tomorrow evening to give me your answer.’

She was dimly aware that he moved past her to open the door, and it was that final, almost silent click as he closed it behind him that made her frighteningly aware of his control.