A Ring to Secure His Heir

Rosie opened her eyes on a great wall of glass that she didn’t recognise and sat up in dismay to glimpse a rooftop view of London that could only belong to someone who inhabited a hugely privileged world. Her head swam and she grimaced at the discomfort.

‘Don’t try to get up while you’re still feeling woozy,’ Alex advised smoothly.

Not Alex, Alexius, she reminded herself doggedly, finally turning her head to look at him. There he was, standing straight and tall, arrogant black head tilted back, and it was a moment when he looked every inch what he was: a very well-dressed rich and powerful businessman with silver eyes as sharp as a laser beam. He was so beautiful it hurt her to look at him and she dropped her gaze again, protecting herself from her weakness. But those lean, darkly handsome features of his were breathtakingly beautiful and she no longer marvelled at the ease with which he had got her into bed. He was uber-temptation, way beyond what an ordinary girl could expect to meet up with and withstand.

‘Where am I?’ she asked.

‘This apartment is above my office. I wanted privacy in which to talk to you.’ His voice was concise, cool, measured. His complete calm gave her a horrendously strong desire to slap him.

‘You lied to me about who you were.’

It begins, Alexius thought fatalistically. ‘I didn’t lie. I merely omitted certain portions of the truth.’

Rosie swung her feet to the smooth wooden floor. Her attention skittered across smoked glass tables, luxury furniture and several very impressive paintings and the dazed feeling she was suffering from returned in full force. She was a fish out of water in such opulent surroundings. ‘Semantics and I just bet you’re a master of them! What the heck kind of a game were you playing with me?’

‘Sit down again, Rosie,’ Alexius urged. ‘It wasn’t a game. Your grandfather—’

‘I don’t have a grandfather—’

‘Your father’s father, Socrates Seferis, is still very much alive,’ he countered.

‘My mother told me that my father had no living relatives,’ she replied argumentatively, chin lifting in challenge.

Even with her hair scraped back in a no-nonsense ponytail, she was quite astonishingly pretty, Alexius reflected grimly, not best pleased to have noticed the fact. Quite deliberately he thought of the sort of woman who usually attracted him. Tall, curvy, dark-haired and ladylike, and here was Rosie, tiny, boyish in shape, quick-tempered and cheeky and quite irresistibly appealing on some level he couldn’t penetrate.

‘Your mother knew very well that your grandfather existed because she applied to him for financial help after your father deserted her when she was pregnant with you,’ Alexius told her. ‘He gave her money.’

Rosie had paled and slowly she sat down again. ‘But I never saw any money.’

‘That may be so. I’m aware that you grew up in foster care but nonetheless the fact remains, your grandfather did care about what happened to you and did what he could to ensure that you were raised in comfort and security.’

Rosie stared at her canvas-shod feet. She had never had security, even at Beryl’s house when she was aware that she could be moved on to other carers at any time. But she was now recalling a period in her life when her visits with her mother had been almost exciting. Jenny had had loads of photos to show her daughter of foreign beaches and fancy hotels and she had worn colourful flashy clothes and skyscraper heels. Later, with hindsight, Rosie had assumed that her mother must’ve had a rich boyfriend providing her with those luxuries. But what if the money that had financed Jenny’s designer wardrobe and frequent travels abroad had come from Rosie’s grandfather, Socrates, instead? It was certainly possible that Jenny Gray had lied. If she had accepted money to help her raise the child she was not actually raising, it would have been an act of fraud that could have got her mother into serious trouble, Rosie reasoned ruefully. What was more, even as a child Rosie had realised that her mother commonly told lies when it suited her to do so. It made sense that Jenny would have concealed Socrates’s existence to cover her own tracks. Alexius’s version of events might well be the truth as Rosie had never known it but what she could not comprehend was why Alexius Stavroulakis should be discussing her unknown grandfather with her.

‘What’s your place in all this?’ Rosie demanded with spirit. ‘What connection do you have to my grandfather? How do you know these things about my background?’

‘Socrates Seferis is my godfather and a very old friend.’ Alexius breathed in deep and slow, relieved that she seemed calm for all the air of bewilderment that clung to her. ‘He asked me to get to know you and tell him what you were like.’

‘Get to know me?’ Rosie repeated, studying him in frank astonishment. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘He wanted to know what sort of woman you were before he invited you to visit him in Greece and he trusted my judgement. It should interest you to know that I’ve already informed Socrates that you are everything he could hope for in a granddaughter,’ he delivered with patronising cool.

‘ And that’s why you started talking to me, helped me out with Jason, took me for a meal?’ Rosie guessed sickly, her heart sinking down to her sock soles in the strained silence. It had all been a lie, everything from his first taking notice of her to his seeming interest and the amazing pleasure he had introduced her to in bed that same evening.

‘Naturally the sex wasn’t part of the plan,’ Alexius remarked with perceptible distaste.

White as milk, whipped by that distaste, Rosie gazed back at him, big green eyes pools of distress and censure. Her small hands balled into defensive fists.

‘I took advantage of you when you were vulnerable. That was wrong,’ Alexius murmured even though it was a challenge for him to sound suitably humble. He had no intention of apologising for the best sex he’d had in a decade but he was well aware it had been inappropriate in the circumstances.

Rosie stared at him through her cloaking lashes, her heart thumping far too fast for comfort. With shame she felt the clamour of her awakened body respond to him, the tightening tingle of her nipples and the surge of damp awareness between her legs. He had taught her to want him and now that deceptive sense of intimate connection was ready to betray her. But he was not the guy she had believed he was: he really was a stranger. She refused to think about him taking advantage of her because that made her feel small and out of control of her own destiny. That was a humiliating appraisal of their intimacy that she just did not need at that moment.

‘That cash that supposedly got caught up in the vacuum cleaner? Was that some sort of a test?’ Rosie pressed bitterly.

‘A rudimentary but effective one. I needed to know for my godfather’s sake if you could be trusted,’ Alexius declared smoothly. ‘Please accept that I did not intend to injure you in any way when I approached you. I was trying to help out a close friend at his request. Have you no questions to ask about your grandfather?’

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Picking up on the hint of reproach in that query, Rosie stiffened even more. ‘Should I have? A man whom I didn’t even know existed until five minutes ago? A man who knew I existed but who has never tried to meet me? And a man who asked you to check me out for him, rather than get to know me himself?’