Greek Mavericks: The Greek's Unforgettable Secret. Кейт Хьюит
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the clear floor of the helicopter beneath her feet… The carefully cultivated gardens, the Olympic-size swimming pool and the tennis courts beyond. There was even a putting green. Ivory sand fringed the bright blue ocean in front of the house, and she could see Damon’s cutting-edge powerboat rolling gently on the lazy waves.
Compare that to a grimy London street and a front door that opened on to someone else’s hallway and it was no wonder her heart was beating in double time.
And it wasn’t just Damon’s possessions or his way of life that she found so threatening, but his super-keen intelligence and innate skill. Damon might say he’d had advantages, and he had, but he’d taken them, and transformed his father’s business into a stratospheric success. Some people took a bus to work, while others—like Damon—handled a helicopter with the same ease as a compact car, she mused as the sleek craft settled seamlessly on its skids.
What would Damon make of their daughter’s obsession with thrift shops? Lizzie wondered as Damon came around to help her out. Would he understand that Thea needed to express her quirky side with things she couldn’t find on the High Street? Or would he think that Lizzie’s lack of financial resources had condemned Thea to wearing second-hand clothes? Would he understand anything about Thea?
Was it wrong and selfish of Lizzie to think, Thea is my baby? Was it wrong to look down at Damon’s capable hands as he freed her harness and refuse to acknowledge that this man had played an equal part in the creation of their child?
Thea is the child I carried in my belly, and then on my hip, and always, always in my heart, Lizzie thought as Damon walked ahead of her.
But he could offer Thea so much more than she could. Thea had to confine her violin practice to one hour a day in London when she was at home, or they would have to find somewhere else to live. That was what the owners of the house had told Lizzie. How many music studios could Thea have in a house like this?
Sparkling white granite chippings crunched beneath their feet as they walked up the elegant path towards the front door. Everywhere she looked was something amazing…the vast planting arrangements at each side of the door, the banks of flowers below the windows, all immaculately groomed.
Damon could easily afford to buy any priceless violin Thea set her heart on, Lizzie thought as he inserted a code into the panel at the side of the door and it swung open. She had to work three jobs just to pay for the extra sheet music Thea needed for school.
By the time the door opened she had worked herself up into a real state. Damon had all the power in the world. She had none. He had a legal team at his beck and call. She didn’t even have enough money to call a lawyer in England from Greece.
Was she about to lose Thea?
No! Lizzie thought fiercely. Not while she had breath in her body.
She walked into the vaulted hallway and stared around numbly. Whatever she had expected Damon’s new house to be like, this was so much more. The space, the light, the air, the simple luxury surrounding her… It was all extremely tasteful, with décor in a palette of soft neutral shades. And it was empty—as if waiting for someone to move in and imbue it with life.
This was not the way he had imagined it would be when he brought Lizzie into his new home for the first time. They had only looked at it from the beach before, because—ironically—they’d had to get back for Thea’s concert. Fresh from making love to Lizzie, he’d had the crazy notion of sweeping her into his arms and carrying her across the threshold. And then they’d make love on every surface in the house.
Not this time.
He led the way into a lavishly equipped but as yet unoccupied study. The room was spectacular. A wall of glass faced the electric blue bay, and the desk was a long, plain piece of wood, its only ornament a computer. The surface of the desk was as smooth as glass. He’d planned, prepped and planed it himself, finishing it with beeswax.
As Lizzie ran her fingertips over the surface he remembered the pleasure he’d had making it, the simple joy of working with his hands. Creating things like the desk allowed him to escape the rattle of business for a while and just be. Simplicity in all things always gave him pleasure. Honesty did the same.
He drew a breath and turned to face Lizzie.
‘Damon, I—’
He silenced her with a raised hand. ‘Please. Sit down.’
‘I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.’
The tension in Lizzie’s voice was like a taut band on the point of snapping. He felt no pity. Beyond knowing that if she broke down it would delay things and get them nowhere, he felt no empathy at all. He positioned himself with his back to the window while Lizzie remained by the door. He saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, but then it was gone. She was determined to stand up to him. But he held all the cards and she held none—they both knew that.
Although he hadn’t forgotten Lizzie’s determination to refuse him equal rights, and the fact that he wasn’t even mentioned on Thea’s birth certificate…
On reflection, it seemed that perhaps Lizzie held the trump card.
Her arms were ramrod-straight against her sides, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were like polished ivory. The blood had drained from her cheeks and her eyes were huge in the ashen wasteland of her face. He had experienced emotion briefly, when Thea had played the violin, but whatever his daughter had unlocked was gone now. It was for Thea alone. He dealt with all problems the same way—by being incisive and emotion-free—and he would do that now.
‘You don’t know her,’ Lizzie told him quietly, as if anticipating what he might say. ‘Thea doesn’t know you. You can’t just walk into her life and claim her, Damon.’
‘You don’t know what I can do.’
Her lips had turned white. She knew the power he wielded.
Her brow pleated. ‘Are you trying to intimidate me?’
‘Never,’ he stated factually. ‘I am simply trying to reclaim what’s mine.’
‘And what then?’ she asked him tensely.
‘That’s what I have to find out. I have to find a solution.’
‘We have to find a solution,’ Lizzie argued quietly.
‘You’ve lost your chance,’ he said frankly. ‘It’s my turn now. I think you should sit down. We have to put our personal differences aside and consider what’s best for Thea.’
‘Thea is all I ever think about,’ Lizzie assured him, with a blaze of passion in her eyes.
‘I haven’t been given that chance,’ he pointed out with supreme restraint.
The disappointment he felt in Lizzie was acute. She was as shallow as the rest of them. Self-interest ruled her. She might never have told him that they had a daughter together if he hadn’t walked into that restaurant in London. She would have kept Thea to herself.
Pain stabbed him when he thought about the years that had been lost. He had to turn away for a few moments and pour them both a glass of iced water to give him something else to focus on while his rage subsided.
‘Why aren’t you angry?’ Lizzie demanded.
He almost laughed.
‘Are you incapable of feelings?’
‘Declara!’
He’d spilled the water on his desk. Incapable of feelings? This entire situation had rocked the foundations of his life.
Snatching up a cloth, he mopped up the spill before turning to face her. ‘Perhaps you can afford to be emotional, but I can’t. How would it look in business if I railed at my competitors and made every decision on a wave of passion?’
‘This