The Greek Tycoon's Convenient Bride. Кейт Хьюит

no need for this,’ she said in a steely voice. ‘So why don’t you just go? And so will I.’ She turned back to the sliding glass door.

      ‘No one is going anywhere.’

      The command was barked out so harshly that Rhiannon stopped, stiffened from shock. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘You will not go,’ Lukas told her shortly. ‘This matter has not been resolved.’

      ‘This matter,’ Rhiannon retorted, ‘has nothing to do with you!’

      ‘It has everything to do with me,’ he replied grimly, ‘since you have involved me in such a public way. You won’t leave until I’ve had some answers.’ He paused, reining in his temper with obvious effort. ‘Answers you’ve been looking for too, perhaps?’

      Rhiannon glared at him, but she didn’t move. He was right, she knew. He was involved now, and that was her fault. She owed him a few more minutes of her time at least.

      ‘Why do you think your friend lied?’ he asked abruptly.

      Rhiannon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t think she had lied—she’d no reason. She was dying. I thought she’d want me to know Annabel’s father, even if she never intended for me to get in touch with him.’

      ‘She told you not to?’

      ‘No, she didn’t say anything about that. She just…’ She swallowed, forced herself to continue. ‘She just asked me to care for her. Love her.’ Her throat ached and she looked down.

      ‘A mother’s dying request?’

      Rhiannon couldn’t tell if he was being snide or not. She gulped. ‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘She had nothing to gain by lying. I honestly think she believed she was with Lukas Petrakides…with you.’

      Lukas stiffened, his expression becoming like that of a predator that had scented danger. There was no fear, only awareness.

      ‘But we both know it wasn’t me.’ His mouth twisted wryly, but there was a hard edge of bitter realisation in his eyes. ‘So it had to have been someone else…someone who told her my name.’

      Rhiannon shook her head in confusion. ‘Who would do that?’

      Lukas muttered an expletive in Greek under his breath. ‘I should have considered it,’ he said, his face hardening into resolve. ‘He’s done it before.’

      Rhiannon felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice. She didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to cross over. She just wanted to tiptoe quietly away.

      ‘Who are you talking about?’ she asked faintly, and when Lukas met her gaze his face was full of grim realisation.

      ‘My nephew.’