Defying Drakon

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Does he?’ She continued to stare at him with those aquamarine eyes.

  ‘Sitting on the floor of the reception area and refusing to move till you had either spoken to myself or my cousin would appear to be an act of determination, yes,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Oh, yes. That.’ Gemini grimaced as she tried to gather her scrambled thoughts together—a situation she readily admitted had been brought about by this man’s totally overpowering presence! ‘Max soon took care of that for you, though,’ she said, remembering the ease with which the security man had placed his hands beneath her elbows and just lifted her up from the floor and out of the reception area to that secure room.

  Dark brows rose. ‘You are on a first-name basis with my Head of Security?’

  ‘I think it’s fair to say I’m on an only name basis with him—he didn’t introduce himself to me earlier, so I know him by the name you just called him.’ She shrugged. ‘And I wouldn’t have needed to be quite so determined if you’d made yourself more accessible,’ she said lightly. After all, she could afford to be a little more amenable now that she was actually in the presence of the man himself.

  ‘And why would I wish to do that?’ He seemed genuinely baffled by her statement.

  ‘Because—Oh, never mind.’ Gemini gave a dismissive shake of her head.

  Drakon noticed how the movement caused that cascade of white-gold hair to be caught in the sun’s rays, and found himself wondering if the colour was natural or from a bottle. Only to add an inner admonishment for allowing even that small personal interest to creep into this meeting. ‘You do realise that causing a nuisance of yourself on private property is—’

  ‘A serious offence,’ she finished heavily. ‘Yes, your Head of Security has already made it more than clear that you would have been quite within your rights to call the police and have me arrested rather than agree to see me.’

  Drakon gave a hard and humourless smile. ‘Oh, believe me, that possibility has not yet been dismissed.’

  ‘Oh.’ Uncertainty briefly flickered in her eyes as she drew herself up to her full height of possibly five feet ten inches in the two-inch-heeled boots she was wearing. The shirt that fitted so flatteringly over her breasts and the flatness of her abdomen was black in colour, the jeans that clung to that enticingly curvaceous bottom a light blue. ‘I only did what I did because I so badly needed to talk to you—’

  ‘Would you care for coffee?’

  She blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Coffee?’ Drakon indicated the bar area, where a full pot of coffee had been brought up to him earlier and left on the black marble surface along with several black mugs.

  ‘Is it decaf?’

  He raised dark brows. ‘I think possibly Brazilian, as that is my preferred blend…’

  ‘Then, no, thank you,’ she refused politely. ‘Unless it’s decaffeinated most coffees give me a migraine.’

  ‘Would you like me to send down for some that is decaffeinated?’

  ‘No, really. I’m fine.’ She smiled.

  Drakon had absolutely no idea why he had even made the offer; the sooner the two of them talked and she departed, the better! ‘You do not mind if I do?’ He didn’t wait for her reply before walking over to the bar and pouring a cup of the steaming and aromatic brew, lifting the unsweetened liquid to his lips and slowly taking a sip as he used the respite in conversation to study her over the rim of the mug.

  If, as he thought, this young woman was the daughter of Miles Bartholomew and the stepdaughter of Angela Bartholomew, then she did not appear or behave at all as one might have expected of the only child of a multimillionaire industrialist. Her clothing was as casual as that of any of the dozens of young women Drakon had seen as he was driven from the airport into central London two days ago, her unusually coloured hair was styled simply in straight layers and—as he had already noted—the fragile loveliness of her face appeared bare of make-up. Her fingernails were short and unvarnished on long and elegant hands, and she raised one to flick a wayward strand of that long white-gold hair over her shoulder.

  The appearance of Miles Bartholomew’s daughter—if this was she—was indeed unexpected. Her familiar manner towards Drakon—with a complete lack of the awe with which he was usually treated!—was even more so…

  He placed the black mug carefully back on the bar beside him before walking softly, unhurriedly, across the room until he stood only inches away from her. Their gazes were almost on a level as she stood only three or four inches shorter than his own six feet and two inches in height.

  ‘We appear to have omitted to introduce ourselves. As you have already guessed, I am Drakon Lyonedes. And you are…?’

  ‘Gemini,’ she blurted out. ‘Er—Gemini Bartholomew. I’m Miles Bartholomew’s daughter.’ She thrust out a hand, her cheeks having become coloured the same beguiling rose as the fullness of her lips.

  Gemini…

  Drakon inwardly appreciated how well that name suited her as he took the slenderness of her hand in his much larger one. The name was as unusual and beautiful as this young woman was herself…

  ‘And what is it you believe that only I can do for you, Miss Bartholomew?’

  Gemini felt a quiver of awareness travel the length of her spine as Drakon Lyonedes continued to hold her hand captive in his much stronger one. His skin was cool to the touch, but at the same time the huskiness of his voice seemed to wash over her senses with the warmth of a lingering caress.

  Surely she must have imagined that double entendre in his question?

  Even the thought that she might not have done was enough to make her aware of the fact that not only was she not prepared for the sheer physical presence of the head of Lyonedes Enterprises, but she hadn’t even begun to guess—couldn’t possibly have imagined!—the rawness of the overwhelming sexuality he exuded.

  It was a raw sexuality Gemini would have preferred not to have even recognised, let alone responded to, when she had every reason to suspect that he was currently involved in an affair with the stepmother she disliked so intensely…

  CHAPTER TWO

  JUST the thought of her stepmother was enough to make Gemini pull her hand abruptly from Drakon’s—no doubt his hand had touched the detested Angela in ways Gemini didn’t even want to begin to imagine!

  With an inward shudder she thrust her hand firmly behind her back before taking a determined step away from him. ‘There’s only one thing you can do for me, Mr Lyonedes,’ she assured him flatly. ‘And that is to withdraw the offer you’ve made to purchase Bartholomew House from my father’s widow!’

  Drakon studied Gemini Bartholomew from beneath narrowed lids, noting the wings of colour that had appeared in those ivory cheeks, and the over-bright glitter of emotion now visible in her beautiful sea-green eyes as she glared at him. ‘And why, when the sale is due to be completed in only two weeks’ time, would you imagine I might wish to do that, Miss Bartholomew?’ he said slowly.

  A pained frown appeared between those long-lashed aquamarine eyes. ‘Because it isn’t hers to sell, of course. To you or anyone else!’

  ‘I believe my legal department have checked all the necessary paperwork and are completely satisfied with their results,’ Drakon assured her smoothly, no longer completely sure what or who he was dealing with. He certainly had no one else’s word but hers that she was who she claimed to be.

  From all accounts her behaviour had been less than rational ever since she’d entered the building, and the claim she had just made, along with that slightly wild glitter in those stunning Aegean-coloured eyes, would seem to imply a certain wobble in her emotional balance. Perhaps, after all, he should have heeded Markos’s advice and not agreed to meet privately with this unusual young woman?

  ‘I’m sure that they were.’ She now gave an impatient shake of that white-gold head. ‘When I said Bartholomew House wasn’t Angela’s to sell, I meant morally rather than legally.’

  The tension in Drakon’s shoulders relaxed sli
ghtly. ‘I see,’ he murmured.

  Somehow Gemini doubted that!

  And she didn’t care for the way in which Drakon was now regarding her so sceptically with those piercing coal-black eyes of his from between narrowed lids.

  No doubt he already thought she was slightly deranged after her behaviour in the reception area, without her now claiming that Bartholomew House wasn’t Angela’s to sell, and then admitting that it was! Except it wasn’t. How could it be, when Bartholomew House in London had been owned by a Bartholomew since—well, for ever? And Angela wasn’t really a Bartholomew. The other woman had been the second wife of Gemini’s father, and only married to him for three years before his death six months ago—how could Angela possibly begin to understand the sense of tradition, of belonging, that a Bartholomew living in Bartholomew House had given to her family for hundreds of years?

  As Gemini knew only too well, it wasn’t a question of her stepmother not understanding those things; Angela didn’t want to understand them, and had made it more than clear these past few months that as she was Miles’s widow the house was legally hers. As such, she could do whatever she wanted with it. And if that involved selling Bartholomew House to Lyonedes Enterprises, to the powerful, mega-wealthy man she had implied was her lover, then that was exactly what Angela intended to do!

  Gemini scowled her complete frustration with the situation. ‘I realise that you and Angela are…involved, but—’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Drakon raised an arrogant dark brow.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry.’ She waved a placatory hand at his frowning countenance. ‘I don’t consider your having a relationship with my stepmother so soon after my father’s death as being any of my business.’

  ‘If that’s true it’s very…magnanimous of you,’ Drakon said slowly.

  ‘Oh, it’s true,’ Gemini assured him—even if, now that she had met him, she couldn’t help but wonder how such a powerful and charismatic man could possibly find a woman like Angela attractive.

  Her father at least had had the excuse of deep feelings of loneliness after the death of Gemini’s mother just a year before he and Angela had been introduced, as well as being deeply flattered by the attentions of a beautiful woman over twenty-five years his junior. But Drakon Lyonedes was as rich as Croesus, for goodness’ sake, and as handsome and powerful as any of his Greek gods. As such, he could surely have any woman he wanted. So why would he bother with a mercenary like Angela? There really was no accounting for a man’s taste!

  ‘Please continue,’ Drakon invited coolly.

  ‘I’m not sure that I should,’ she said, suddenly wary.

  He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘You obviously disapproved of your father’s second marriage…?’

  ‘No, that wasn’t it.’ Having started this conversation, Gemini now felt uncomfortable revealing too much of her family history to a man she had, after all, only just met. Especially as, if Angela was to be believed, that man was involved with her. ‘I just thought perhaps my father should have waited a little longer before remarrying. He was feeling pretty low when he and Angela met—my mother had died the previous year, after thirty years of marriage, and he was desperately lonely.’ She shrugged. ‘It seemed to me to be a typical on-the-rebound thing.’

  ‘But your father did not agree?’

  Gemini winced. ‘He had been incredibly unhappy since my mother died, and he seemed so happy with Angela that I just didn’t have the heart to voice any of my doubts to him.’

  ‘You loved him very much?’

  ‘Very much,’ she confirmed gruffly.

  ‘So he and Angela married despite your misgivings?’

  She nodded. ‘I just wanted him to be happy again. I’d tried my best to fill the gap that she left, but no matter how close we were it really isn’t possible for a daughter to take the place of a life-mate,’ she added sadly.

  A life-mate…

  Having witnessed his own parents’ long and happy marriage, Drakon was not unfamiliar with the concept; he had just never heard it described in quite those terms before.

  In retrospect, it was a fitting way to describe the closeness that had existed between his own parents—their marriage had been one of friendship and trust as much as love. A love that had encompassed both their ‘sons’, and which now caused his long-widowed mother to resort to constant lectures on the wonderful state of matrimony whenever he or Markos visited her at her home in Athens and she encouraged at least one of them to marry and give her the grandchildren she so dearly longed for. Unfortunately neither Markos nor Drakon had found a woman they could even contemplate spending the rest of their lives with, let alone be that elusive ‘life-mate’ Gemini Bartholomew had referred to.

  As a child Drakon had just assumed that everyone’s parents were as happily married as his own, that their deep love and friendship for each other was the norm. In his teens and twenties, as the Lyonedes heirs, Drakon and Markos had enjoyed dating and bedding a variety of beautiful women, with no thought of falling in love and marrying. It had taken Drakon years to realise that he hadn’t felt even the beginnings of love for any of those women—that in fact the type of love his parents had for each other was the exception rather than the norm.

  Now, at the age of thirty-six, Drakon believed himself to be too hardened and cynical ever to welcome that emotional vulnerability into his life. Even if he was lucky enough to find it.

  ‘You and your father were close?’ he prompted softly.

  ‘Very.’ Tears flooded those sea-green eyes.

  ‘I did not mean to upset you—’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she assured him gruffly. ‘I just—I still miss him so much.’

  Drakon shifted uncomfortably. ‘Are you sure I cannot get you something to drink?’

  ‘No. Really. I’ll be fine.’ She blinked back those tears as she continued determinedly, ‘Things changed between us—became…difficult once Daddy was married to Angela.’

  ‘He was unhappy in the marriage?’

  She had already revealed more to this man than she had intended doing; there was absolutely no reason for him to know of the disillusionment that had set in within months of her father’s second marriage. ‘I’m sure I’ve already bored you with enough family details for one day, Mr Lyonedes,’ she said huskily. ‘I’ve only told you the things I have in an effort to help you to understand the…the awkwardness, of this situation.’

  He nodded briskly, obviously accepting her explanation. ‘What I fail to understand is what you think I can do about any of it.’

  Unfortunately, now that Gemini was confronted with the man himself, she was wondering the same thing! Sitting at home in her apartment, going over the conversation she wanted to have with Drakon Lyonedes, it had all seemed so much simpler than it was in reality. And the fact that the man was so completely and disconcertingly handsome wasn’t helping the situation.

  Nor was the fact that, in spite of knowing he was intimately involved with the despised Angela, Gemini actually found herself appreciating those tall, dark and dangerous good looks…

  How much greater would that appreciation be if she didn’t know he was involved with Angela? Gemini dreaded to think!

  She nervously moistened the dryness of her lips with the tip of her tongue before speaking. ‘As I’ve said, I would like you to withdraw your offer for Bartholomew House.’

  ‘Which, unless I have misunderstood the situation, would not seem to be any of your concern. It was Angela Bartholomew who inherited the house on your father’s death and not you,’ Drakon pointed out.

  ‘But she shouldn’t have done,’ Gemini insisted. ‘Daddy assured me only weeks before he died that he intended making a new will—one that would clearly state that Bartholomew House was to come to me when he died.’

  ‘Something he obviously failed to do before his unexpected death.’

  She gave a pained wince. ‘Well…yes.’

  ‘He left you nothing?’

  Gemini didn’t partic
ularly care for the censure she could hear in Drakon’s tone. ‘I wouldn’t call the cherished memories of the love and caring he always had for me nothing!’

  That sculptured mouth thinned. ‘As I am sure you are well aware, I was talking of what you English refer to as “bricks and mortar”.’

  ‘It wasn’t necessary. My parents set up a substantial trust fund for me years ago,’ she dismissed stiffly. ‘But, as I’ve said, my father assured me that it was his intention to ensure that Bartholomew House came to me after…after his death.’

  ‘Unfortunately we only have your word for that.’

  ‘I am not in the habit of lying, Mr Lyonedes!’

  ‘I was not suggesting that you are.’ Drakon sighed his irritation, both with this conversation and his feelings of discomfort at her obvious distress at her father’s recent demise and the loss of her family home. ‘Only that perhaps you should be discussing all these things with your father’s lawyers rather than with me.’

  ‘I already have,’ she admitted heavily.

  ‘And…?’

  She sighed. ‘And they acknowledge that my father informed them only weeks before he died that he was in the process of writing a new will.’

  Drakon gaze sharpened. ‘But he failed to present this will to them?’

  ‘It would appear so,’ she confirmed shakily. ‘As such, they agree with you. In the absence of this new will, clearly stating that Bartholomew House was to be separate from all my father’s other properties, then Angela is entitled to it as well.’

  ‘It is not a case of my agreeing or disagreeing,’ Drakon stated. ‘The law is simply the law—no matter what may have been stated verbally. Besides which,’ he continued firmly as she would have interrupted, ‘if I were to withdraw my own offer for the house and land I have no doubts that your stepmother would simply find another buyer.’

  ‘I realise that—which is why I’ve come up with another proposal. If you are agreeable, that is?’ Those sea-green eyes had brightened excitedly.