Claiming His Hidden Heir Read online

  Cecelia wanted her resignation handed in and sorted, and for her time with Luka to be over. As well as that he had an important meeting with Mr Garcia and his entourage in NYC later today. Although it was an online meeting, it had been incredibly hard to set up and it was going to be extremely messy to cancel.

  Despite the absence of her boss—in fact, because of the absence of her boss—today was shaping up to be an exceptionally busy one, and so Cecelia forced herself up and out of bed.

  She showered quickly and began to get ready.

  Her routines were set in stone and, despite the extensive travel and odd hours required by her job, there were certain things that never changed. She could be in Florence, New York, or home in London but these things remained—her clothes were set out the night before, as was her breakfast, which she ate before tackling her hair.

  Routines were vital to Cecelia’s sense of well-being, for during the first eight years of her life, when she had lived with her mother, chaos had been the only certainty.

  The reddish fire to Cecelia’s strawberry blonde mane had, courtesy of foils, been dimmed to a neutral blonde. She smoothed and sleeked out her long curls and then tied them back into a neat, low ponytail.

  Next, Cecelia applied her make-up.

  She didn’t wear much, but as Luka’s PA it was expected that she was always well turned out.

  It wasn’t always the case. A famous actress she had once worked for had insisted that Cecelia wear no make-up whatsoever as well as extremely plain clothing. With another employer, for practical reasons, her wardrobe had mainly consisted of boots and jeans.

  Cecelia’s skin was pale and needed just a dash of blusher to liven it up. She added a coat of mascara to her lashes, which enhanced her deep green eyes, but, as she did so, a rather bitchy voice coming from the radio caught her attention.

  ‘What on earth did she expect, getting mixed up with Luka Kargas?’

  Cecelia stabbed herself in the eye with the mascara wand at the sound of her boss’s name.

  It wasn’t so much that it was a surprise to hear Luka mentioned, more an annoyance that even at seven a.m. and alone in her bedroom still there was no escape from him.

  Luka was extremely prominent and, although his name often graced the finance reports, his antics and bad-boy ways were regularly discussed in the tabloids and on the news.

  They were having a field day discussing him now!

  It would seem that he had used every last second of the weekend to create his own particular brand of havoc. A wild party had taken place aboard his yacht, currently moored off the coast of Nice, on Friday.

  Cecelia sat at her dressing table, lips pursed as she heard that the raucous celebrations had continued on to Paris, where Luka and selected guests had hit the casinos. Now it was a case of tears after bedtime for some supermodel who had hoped that things might be different between herself and Luka.

  Well, more fool her, then, Cecelia thought.

  Everyone knew Luka’s track record with women.

  But they didn’t really know Luka—there was a private side to him that no one, and certainly not his PA, had access to.

  From what Cecelia could glean, Luka had led a very privileged life. His father owned a luxurious resort in Xanero. The famed Kargas restaurant there was now the flagship venue of its own very exclusive brand in several countries. Luka, though, focused more on expanding the hotel side of things and lived life very much in the fast lane. He dated at whim and discarded with ease and all too often it was Cecelia mopping up the tears or fielding calls from scorned lovers.

  Yes, he was a playboy in the extreme.

  And he unsettled her so.

  Cecelia had once glimpsed that life.

  Her mother Harriet’s death had been intensely embarrassing for her well-to-do family for she had died as she’d lived and had gone out on a high—knickers down and with the proverbial silver spoon up her nose.

  Harriet had left behind a daughter with whom no one had quite known what to do. Her father’s name did not appear on the birth certificate and Cecelia had glimpsed him just once in her life.

  And she never wanted to see him again.

  Cecelia’s staid aunt and uncle, who had always sniffed in disapproval at Harriet’s rather bohemian existence, had, on her death, taken in the child. With tangled curls and sparkling green eyes, little Cecelia had been a mini replica of her mother, but in looks only.

  The little girl had craved routine.

  In fact, it had been a very young Cecelia who had kept any semblance of order in her mother’s life.

  She had put out her own school uniform and taken money from her mother’s purse to ensure there was food, and she’d always got herself up in the morning and made her own way to school.

  After an unconventional start, Cecelia now lived a very conventional life and was efficient and ordered. Even though she travelled the globe with her work, she was generally in bed by ten on weekdays and eleven at weekends.

  She had perfectly nice friends, though none close enough to remember her birthday, and this time last year she had been engaged.

  Gordon and the break-up had been the only problem she had caused for her aunt and uncle, who could not fathom why she might end things with such a perfectly decent man.

  It hadn’t been Gordon’s fault, and she had told him so when she’d ended it.

  It was bloody Luka’s!

  Though of course Cecelia hadn’t told Gordon that.

  Still, there wasn’t time to dwell on it this morning.

  She pulled on her flesh-coloured underwear and then glanced out of the window where the sun split a very blue sky, and found she simply could not face putting on the navy linen suit that she had laid out last night.

  To hell with it!

  Given that Luka wouldn’t be in the office today, and that she wouldn’t now be sitting in on meetings, Cecelia made an unplanned diversion to her wardrobe.

  She wasn’t exactly blinded by colour. But there was the dress she had bought to wear to a friend’s wedding she had recently attended.

  It had been a rare impulse purchase.

  It was a pale cream halter neck, which Cecelia had decided as soon as she’d left the boutique was too close to white and might offend the bride.

  She loved it, though, and, maybe because it was her birthday, she decided to wear it.

  While it showed rather too much of her back and arms, she took care of that with the pale lemon, sheer, bolero-style cardigan she had bought on the same day.

  The dress was mid-calf-length so she didn’t bother with stockings, and then she tied on some espadrilles.

  Yes, perhaps because Cecelia knew she would soon be leaving Kargas Holdings she was finally starting to relax.

  As she closed the front door to her flat, Cecelia decided that despite Luka’s absence she would still be giving in her notice today. It would be far easier to do it over the phone or online.

  ‘You’re looking very summery,’ Mrs Dawson, her very nosy neighbour, said as she passed her in the hall. ‘Off to work?’

  ‘I am.’

  The pale lemon bolero didn’t even make it past the escalators to the underground. It was hot and oppressive and as she stood, holding a rail, she saw that Luka’s weekend escapades had made headlines on the newspaper a commuter held.

  She looked at the photo beneath the headline. It was of Luka on the deck of his yacht moving in on a sophisticated, dark-skinned beauty. His naked chest and thick black hair were dripping water over the woman and though their bodies did not touch it was an incredibly intimate shot.

  Cecelia tore her eyes from the picture and stared fixedly ahead but that image of him seemed to dance on the blacked-out windows of the Tube.

  Having left the underground, Cecelia walked towards the prominent high-rise building that housed Kargas Holdings. She smiled at the doorman and then entered the foyer and took the elevator. She had a special pass that allowed her to access the fortieth floor, which was
Luka’s in its entirety.

  There weren’t just offices and meeting rooms, there was also a gym and pool, though Cecelia couldn’t recall him using them—they were more a perk for the staff.

  And there was a suite that was every bit as luxurious and as serviced as any five-star hotel. When in London, Luka often slept there when he chose to work through the night or had a particularly early morning flight.

  Yes, it was his world that she entered, but knowing that he wasn’t there meant Cecelia breathed more easily today.

  It was just before eight and it would seem that she had beaten Bridgette, the receptionist, to work. There were a couple of cleaners polishing windows and vacuuming and the florists had arrived, as they did each morning to tend the floral displays.

  Cecelia made a coffee from the espresso machine before heading to her desk that was housed in a large area outside Luka’s vast office.

  The gatekeeper, Luka called her at times, though she felt rather more like a security guard at others.

  As well as greeting his clients and guests, Cecelia was the final hurdle for his scorned lovers to negotiate if they somehow made it past the security in place downstairs.

  Occasionally it happened, though generally Cecelia fielded them by phone.

  And there it was again, springing to mind—the sudden image of him, wet from the ocean and dripping water, and Cecelia shook her head as if to clear it.

  She hung her little cardigan on a stand and was just about to take a seat when his voice caught her completely unawares.

  ‘Is that coffee for me, Cece?’

  Cecelia swung around and there, strolling out of his office, was Luka. Apart from being unshaven there was little evidence of his wild weekend on display. He wore black pants and a white fitted shirt that showed off his toned body and his thick black hair, which, though perhaps a little tousled, still fell into perfect shape.

  And he was not supposed to be here.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming in today,’ Cecelia said.

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Because you texted me in the middle of the night and told me you weren’t.’

  ‘So I did.’

  He looked at the usually poised and formal Cece caught unawares. To many it might seem no big deal—she was simply holding a coffee and wearing a summer dress. Usually she was buttoned to the neck in navy or black, but it wasn’t just her clothing that was different today.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and took from her hand the coffee she had made.

  ‘It’s got sugar in it,’ she warned as she took a seat at her desk, ‘and, please, it’s Cecelia, not Cece.’

  ‘Habit,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s a very annoying one.’

  Good, Luka thought.

  Her cool demeanour incensed him.

  His choice of name for her was deliberate, for he loved to provoke a reaction, even if it was only mild.

  ‘How was your weekend?’ she asked politely, pretending of course that she had heard nothing whatsoever about it.

  ‘Much the same as the last,’ he answered, and then came over behind Cecelia’s desk and, to her intense annoyance, he lowered himself so that his bottom was beside her computer. ‘Do you ever get bored?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Cecelia lied, for she had realised she had been bored with Gordon.

  He had also worked in the City and they had fallen into a pattern of meeting for drinks on Wednesday, allowing time to catch up with friends on a Friday. It had generally just been the two of them on a Saturday, followed by a vague hint of an orgasm that night and generally a boring drive on Sunday with a pub lunch somewhere.

  And then perhaps another anti-climactic tryst that night.

  It hadn’t been Gordon’s fault.

  Cecelia held back in sex just as she held back in life.

  In fact, the fault lay with the man now lounging against her desk, for he had opened her eyes to sensations that should surely remain unexplored.

  Oh, she should never have taken the job, Cecelia thought as Luka persisted with a conversation she would rather draw to a close.

  ‘But don’t you ever get tired of doing the same old thing?’ he asked.

  ‘I like the same old things,’ Cecelia answered.

  He glanced at her neat, ordered desk and knew that the inside of her drawers would look exactly the same.

  And then, just to annoy her, just to provoke some reaction, he picked up her little pottery jar that held her pens and things and moved it to the other side of her desk. ‘Live a little.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She smiled grimly and moved the jar back where it belonged. As she did so he got the scent of freshly washed hair.

  That was it.

  Cecelia didn’t wear perfume; there were no undertones that he could note, and not just in her scent.

  She was impossible to read, unlike any woman Luka had ever met. He had long ago given up flirting with her—the disapproval in her eyes kind of ruined the fun.

  And as reckless as he was, Luka only ever played with the willing.

  ‘You look nice,’ he told her, and he felt the scold of her slight frown for daring to comment on something personal. Cecelia kept things very strictly business, yet she responded politely.

  ‘Thank you.’

  But Luka did not leave it there. ‘You’re wearing a dress.’

  ‘That’s very observant of you, Luka.’

  ‘I’m just mentioning it because you don’t usually.’

  ‘Well, it’s been a long, warm weekend. I couldn’t face wearing a suit.’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Luka,’ Cecelia interrupted him, ‘if you have an issue with me dressing more casually than normal, then please just say so and it won’t happen again.’

  ‘I have no issue with you wearing a dress.’

  ‘Then there’s nothing to discuss.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Luka said. He hadn’t intended to address this today but clearly the moment was upon them.

  ‘What I wear—’ Cecelia started to say, but then Luka cut in.

  ‘Do you have another dental appointment today, Cecelia?’ His voice had changed and he delivered his words with a threatening edge by using her correct name. ‘A final interview perhaps?’

  He was rather certain that she was leaving, and more certain now because to her pale cheeks there came a very rare flush.

  PAs came and went.

  Luka was very used to that.

  He was an exceptionally demanding boss and was aware that few could keep up with his impossible schedule for very long.

  Usually all he required was for the incumbent PA to train the next one to standard before she left and ensure that the handover was seamless.

  That Cecelia might be about to leave, though, brought a sense of disquiet like nothing he had known.

  He liked her in his life, Luka realised, and he didn’t want her to be gone. But three prolonged dental appointments in recent weeks had served as ominous signs, and he’d been certain of it when she had avoided discussing the renewal of her contract.

  ‘Is there something you’ve been meaning to tell me?’ he asked.

  ‘Actually, yes.’ She took a breath and then glanced over at the sound of the elevator door opening and saw that Bridgette had arrived.

  Cecelia did not want an audience for this.

  ‘Would it be possible to have a word in private?’

  ‘Of course,’ Luka said. ‘You know my door is always closed.’ When she didn’t smile at his little joke he stood from the desk. ‘Come on through.’

  Luka decided he would have to talk her out of it.

  And he knew just how to do it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT FELT LIKE a very long walk to his office.

  Luka led the way and Cecelia actually felt a little sick because she still wasn’t certain that it was the right thing to do.

  Cecelia was very career minded and knew that by resigning she was throwing a
n amazing role away—Luka’s empire was rapidly expanding, with hotels in New York City and Singapore on the cards, and to be a part of it would be amazing on her résumé.

  But as he held open the door and she walked in, Cecelia knew she had little choice but to leave.

  She could feel his eyes on her back.

  On her skin.

  They most certainly were.

  Cecelia had the drabbest wardrobe he had ever seen.

  Granted, she was always groomed and elegant, but Luka had long ago decided that she could make a modest outfit out of a handkerchief.

  Not so today.

  On the day she would tell him that she was leaving, he got the first glimpse of her spine.

  Her back was incredibly pale, and he wondered if she should check her Vitamin D levels because he was sure that body rarely, if ever, saw the sun.

  Luka had run into her out of work once and she’d been dressed in much the same monotonous, drab tones.

  It had been at a museum exhibition a couple of weeks after she had started working for him, and not quite by accident. Luka had heard her discussing going with her fiancé and he’d wanted to see what made Cecelia tick, sexually speaking.

  Pale English men, with skinny legs apparently.

  They hadn’t even been holding hands and had stood as politely as two strangers while admiring an incredibly erotic work of art.

  She’d jumped when she’d seen him, though! And blushed just a touch as she’d introduced Gordon to him.

  And all the more Luka had wanted to know her in bed.

  ‘Please,’ he said now. ‘Take a seat.’

  Luka gestured to a chair and then went around his desk while Cecelia took her seat.

  And then she faced him.

  He really was a very beautiful man.

  Aside from fancying him rotten and everything, Luka Kargas really was exquisite to look at.

  Those velvet eyes awaited hers but she could not quite meet them and she took in the high cheekbones and full plump mouth.