Claimed for the Greek's Child

by Pippa Roscoe

But no matter how many times she’d checked her meagre bank account, or riffled through her belongings in the hope of finding something pawn-worthy, the balance had fallen far too short.

  With time running out for her father, she’d had no choice but to return Jules Montagne’s phone call.

  Of course his help hadn’t come for free. Hence her being once again dressed like a high-class escort, listening to him hold court among his circle of trustfundistas and minor royals in another VIP lounge as they guzzled thousands of pounds’ worth of champagne.

  She’d long since passed the life is so unfair and why me? stage. And after her mother’s shocking desertion Maddie had shrugged off there’s always hope too.

  ‘Hey, Maddie, smile! The way you’re staring into your glass, you’d think somebody’s died.’

  She plastered on a fake smile while the urge to scream burned through her gullet. True, no one had died. But the man who’d once been a strong, supportive father—a man now sadly broken by his failures—most definitely would, unless she pulled off this performance successfully and collected the payment due to her.

  Seventy-five thousand pounds.

  The exact amount needed for her father’s private kidney operation and aftercare in France.

  The exact amount Jules had agreed to pay her if she pretended to be his girlfriend for six weeks.

  She raised her gaze from her glass and connected with the gunmetal eyes of her pretend boyfriend. The man who barely spoke to her once they were away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi who dogged his every movement.

  ‘Smile, cherie,’ he insisted, with a hard, fierce light in his eyes.

  She tried again, aiming for authenticity this time. She must have succeeded. He gave a brisk nod and raised his glass to her before swinging back into whatever joke he’d interrupted himself in.

  Maddie breathed in relief, winced as her ribs protested, then went back to wondering just how long she could survive down this rabbit hole.

  The first time they’d gone out she’d heard one tabloid hack shout a question about Jules’s family—specifically how the queen felt about his behaviour. Maddie had asked him about it. He’d shut her down with a snapped response she was sure had been a lie, and reminded her of the ask no questions rule.

  The possibility that she’d struck a bargain with a minor royal had triggered unease. Media attention was the last thing she wanted.

  Despite needing the money desperately, she’d voiced her concerns. Jules’s suggestion that she wear headphones with the music turned up high to avoid the paparazzi’s questions, and keep her head down to avoid the camera’s flash had worked a treat. After all, she couldn’t answer questions she couldn’t hear.

  Maddie was sure that her perceived rudeness had earned her a disparaging label on social media. But the great thing about selling your laptop so you could buy food and using your phone only for emergency calls to avoid expensive bills was the blessed absence of the burden of social media.

  So here she was, firmly ensconced in Wonderland, with no inkling of why she was playing pretend girlfriend to a handsome, spoilt, maybe minor royal who travelled with two bodyguards.

  She watched him beckon one of them. Jules whispered in his ear, then loudly ordered another half-dozen bottles of Dom Perignon as the young guard headed to the back of the nightclub.

  In the gleeful melee that followed the arrival of more booze, very few people noticed Jules following his bodyguard.

  The sudden realisation that she’d aligned herself with a man who was headed down the same path of addiction as her father was enough to propel Maddie to her feet. She wasn’t sure exactly how she would deal with Jules Montagne if she caught him taking drugs, but her burning anger and anxiety couldn’t be contained.

  She was halfway across the floor when a commotion by the front doors caught her attention.

  Except it wasn’t a commotion. It was more a force of nature invading the onyx-and-chrome interior of the Soho nightclub.

  Two bodyguards, taller, sharper and burlier than the ones who followed Jules around, parted the crowd.

  The man who sauntered forward and paused under a golden spotlight nearly caused Maddie to swallow her tongue.

  Frozen in place, she stared unashamedly, certain that the faint tendrils of artificial smoke and strobe lighting were causing her to hallucinate the sheer magnificence of the god-like creature before her.

  But no.

  He was flesh.

  The quiet fury and electric energy blanketing him clearly transmitted through the muscle ticking in his jaw.

  He was blood.

  Royal blood, if the arrogant, regal authority with which he carried himself and the further four bodyguards who formed a semi-circular barrier around him were any indication.

  There was something vaguely familiar about him, although where she could possibly have caught a glimpse before of that square, rugged jaw, those haughty cut-glass cheekbones or those sinfully sensual lips eluded her.

  Eyes like polished silver gleamed beneath slashed dark brows, scanning the crowd as he continued to prowl through the semi-dark space.

  As he drew closer Maddie knew she should look away. Not out of shame or discomfort, but out of sheer self-preservation. He radiated enough sensual volatility to urge her to avoid direct eye contact. To take herself out of his magnetising orbit before she was swallowed up in his vortex.

  And yet she couldn’t make her feet move. In fact she was fairly sure her lungs had stopped working too, now she was witnessing the way he moved. Like a jungle cat on the prowl... Each step a symphony of grace and symmetry and power.

  Utterly absorbing.

  Infinitely hypnotic.

  She was unashamedly gawking when his eyes locked on her. For a fistful of heartbeats he stared.

  Hard. Intense. Ice-hot.

  Then with long strides he zeroed in on her. His scent invaded her senses as powerfully as the man himself. He smelled of ice and earth, elemental to the core and so utterly unique she could have stood there breathing him in for an eternity, her sore ribs be damned.

  ‘Where is he?’ he breathed, and the sound was electrifying enough to send skitters of stinging awareness over her skin.

  Whether by some silent command, or simply because everyone in the room knew they were in the presence of greatness, the volume of the music had dropped. That was the reason she heard him and knew that his voice was deep and accented, resulting in sensually wrapped words that triggered a yearning to hear him speak again just for the hell of it.

  Maddie knew that would never happen. When this man spoke it was for immediate and masterful effect, no extraneous words necessary.

  Seconds passed. His nostrils flared slightly. She realised she hadn’t answered.

  ‘I...’ She swallowed hard. ‘Where is...? Who do you mean?’

  ‘The man you’re here with. Jules—’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  The snapped question from Jules held anger, panic and defiance, slicing through Maddie’s comprehension that the stranger—whoever he was—knew her, knew she was with Jules.

  He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he studied Jules from head to toe, causing him to fidget and adjust his ruffled clothes.

  ‘What did you think would happen when you refused to answer your summons?’ he asked icily. ‘Did you think your activities would be allowed to continue unchecked?’

  Jules opened his mouth, but the other man stopped him with a wave of his elegant hand that would have been poetic had it not been filled with foreboding.

  ‘I will not have this conversation with you here, while you’re in this state. Come to my hotel tomorrow morning. We will have breakfast together.’

  Each statement was a stern directive, permitting neither disagreement nor disobedience.

  It rubbed Jules the wrong way. His c
hin jutted out. ‘Pas possible. I have plans in the morning.’

  Low thunder rumbled across the stranger’s face. ‘According to your assistant, the only thing you have scheduled is sleeping off your hangover. You will be present, in my suite, at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Is that understood?’

  They faced off for less than ten seconds, but it felt like an hour.

  Jules’s abrupt nod bordered on the insolent, but at the piercing, relentless regard directed towards him his head dropped the way a dog’s might when confronted with its disobedience by its master.

  The older man stared down at him for another long stretch before his eyes slid sideways to the usually raucous group Jules partied with, who were now respectfully, watchfully silent.

  Then his gaze switched to Maddie. He took his time scrutinising her, from the loose knot of her thick hair to the painted toes peeping through her stilettoes.

  Every inch of bare skin his gaze touched—and unfortunately there was a lot of it—blazed with an alien, thrilling fire, even the tips of her fingers. She wanted to recoil. Retreat. But there was something weirdly hypnotic about his eyes on her that held her in place, made her struggle to catch even a shallow breath.

  Jules followed his line of sight and his eyes widened a touch when he spotted Maddie. Clearly he’d forgotten she existed. He hastily rearranged his expression and reached for her arm. ‘Viens, mon amour, let’s go home.’

  Maddie stiffened, suppressing another wince.

  Even with her limited French, she understood the endearment. In all the time they’d been playing pretence Jules had never called her that. Nor had he invited her to his place. Their routine once they left a club or restaurant and the paparazzi lost interest was for one of his bodyguards to put her in a taxi.

  Before she could respond, the stranger shook his head.

  ‘It’s 2:00 a.m. You’ve partied enough for one night. Go home. I’ll see to it that Miss Myers makes it to wherever she’s going safely.’

  Jules’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘You’re assuming she isn’t going back to my place. You’re assuming she’s not my live-in girlfriend.’

  ‘Is she?’ Without waiting for an answer he turned sharply to her, silver eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘Are you?’

  The two words were bullet-sharp.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ Jules interjected aggressively.

  ‘Either she is or she isn’t. Answer the question,’ he demanded, without taking his eyes off her.

  Very much aware that she had no clue what was going on, Maddie went with the truth. ‘No, we’re not living together.’

  Jules’s jaw clenched, but she shrugged it off. If he wanted to give the impression that they were more serious he should have told her. She was uncomfortable enough about the subterfuge as it was.

  ‘Your driver will take you to your hotel, Jules,’ the stranger said, glancing pointedly at the hand Jules had on her arm.

  Jules muttered a very rude, very French curse. One he intended the man to hear. One that produced a flash of anger in his silver eyes before his expression was ruthlessly blanked.

  Without warning Jules yanked her close, cupped the back of her head before slamming his mouth down on hers.

  The kiss was over in seconds, but the shocking violation kept Maddie frozen for longer. Stunned, and more than a little incensed, she watched Jules leave without a backward glance, strongly resisting the urge to swipe her hand across her mouth.

  She knew he’d kissed her for effect, to annoy the domineering man standing before her, whose gaze was now a darker silver as it swept over cheeks gone pale before returning to her mouth. And she knew, despite the burning urge to rub off the last trace of that kiss, it would be a dead giveaway that might cost her a lot in the long run.

  So she raised her chin, met eyes that blazed with a fierce light she couldn’t fathom.

  ‘Come,’ he said abruptly. Then, like Jules, he turned and walked out.

  Maddie shook her head once to clear it. When nothing altered the sensation of having just experienced a furious electric storm, she stumbled back on shaky legs to her seat.

  She had no intention of following that arrogant, dangerously compelling man anywhere. The only place she was headed was home, to the flat she shared with her father. To the safety and discomfort of her single bed.

  Excited chatter and camera phones aimed her way hastened her movements. She still had no clear idea what had transpired a few minutes ago, but she wasn’t sticking around to be the cynosure of all eyes.

  She’d have enough to deal with come morning anyway. For one, she had to ensure her father got through another day without succumbing to the addiction that had decimated not just his life but the relatively carefree family life she’d taken for granted.

  She pushed harrowing thoughts of her father’s addiction and her mother’s desertion aside, stood up—and was met with a wall of muscle.

  ‘Miss? Come with me, please.’

  It was one of the superior bodyguards. Far from assuming the stranger had accepted she had no intention of following, he’d left a minder behind to ensure she obeyed his command.

  The chatter was rising. Curious looks and pointing fingers were aimed at her as she scrambled to find a way around her dilemma.

  Stay here and deal with the gossip-hungry pack, or go outside and deal with the even more dangerous predator who had made every nerve in her body zing to life?

  ‘Oh, my God, did you actually see him?’

  ‘He’s like...a god!’

  ‘I could actually drop dead from how drop-dead gorgeous he is!’

  ‘Who is she, anyway?’

  That last question propelled her feet forward, fuelled by the distinct impression that the bodyguard wasn’t above physically bundling her up and delivering her to his master.

  Outside, the sleekest, shiniest black limousine idled at the kerb. The shiver that lanced through her when she spotted it had nothing to do with the chilled late-March air.

  As she drew closer the driver, standing to attention, swung the back door open.

  The interior light was off, so all Maddie saw with the aid of the streetlights were long, trouser-clad masculine legs and polished shoes.

  ‘Get in, Miss Myers.’ The instruction was deep, resolute and throbbed with impatience.

  She was a few dozen yards from Soho’s bustling main street. Her legs were strong enough to outrun the bodyguards...

  ‘Take my advice and don’t bother.’ The suggestion was an arrogant drawl, wrapped in steel.

  With every fibre of her being Maddie wanted to refuse. But she knew it would be futile. Whoever he was, unmistakable power and authority oozed from him. Plus, his bodyguards were in prime condition.

  So, with a snatched breath, she climbed in. The earlier she got this over and done with, the quicker she could go home, she told herself. She needed to be at work in a few short hours.

  The moment she slid into the car, the door shut behind her.

  For tense seconds she withstood those eerie eyes glinting at her, withstood the need to glance at him and pretended interest in the luxury interior and the long, soft leather bench seat. But inevitably her gaze was drawn to him, like an unwitting moth to a flame. Again his gaze dropped to her mouth before rising to meet hers, leaving her shaky and tingling all over again.

  Enough of this.

  ‘Who are you and how do you know who I am?’ she demanded, when it became clear he was just going to stare at her with those electric eyes.

  The question seemed to startle him. Then his head went back in a manner that could only be termed exceptionally regal.

  ‘My name is Remirez Alexander Montegova, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Montegova. I know who you are because I have an excellent team of private investigators who make it their job to furnish me with that kind of information. Now you will tell me ho
w much it will take for you walk away from my brother.’

  Copyright © 2019 by Maya Blake

  ISBN-13: 9781488044298

  Claimed for the Greek’s Child

  First North American publication 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Pippa Roscoe

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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