Tuesday, October 6, 2015

***Review Of The Greek Tycoon’s Tarnished Bride – Capricorn By Rachel Lyndhurst ***

Title: The Greek Tycoon’s Tarnished Bride 
 Capricorn Series: Men of the Zodia

  Author: Rachel Lyndhurst  

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Length: 183 pages
Release Date: October 5, 2015


Oh how I am loving this set of books. Even as there is a different author 
for each book, dose not take away for the overall set. I did not start at 
book one, but they all can be read as stand alone books. I have started to 
read all of them. Now as to this book, I loved it. It was engaging and held me
 hostage till the end. I felt bad for Erica in this book, the matriarch of her sons 
family was judging her by what she did to make sure her son was fed. Some 
people judge without all the facts. and that is just sad to think about. I love that 
even though Tito dose not want to mary and have kids, He is willing to love 
Nick as his own. Some men just don't see it till it is to late. Let's hope he wises 
up in time, or he may lose them both. now I have a little advise, get all the books
 they are well worth it. I hope you enjoy this book as much as I did. If you do like
 this book, please consider leaving  a review. The Authors really like it when you
 do, they value your opinions too.

Sign: Capricorn
  He loves power, material success…and sex.

Erica Silver has never done things the “usual” way. A single 
mom working towards a degree in psychology, she’s paying 
her way as an exotic dancer. No one can tell Erica how to live
 her life…especially not some handsome, arrogant Greek 
stranger, who wants to take her son away from his “unfit” mother.

Successful entrepreneur Tito Makris has no choice but to 
fulfill his best friend’s last wish. He must bring his friend’s 
son to Greece to claim a multi-billion euro legacy. Still, 
taking the boy from his mother-however tarnished she 
may be-is pretty much the last thing Tito wants. So he 
offers Erica a radical choice: marry him and stay with her 
son…or lose the boy-and him-forever.

The Men of the Zodiac series 

Each is written by different author.

(Click Author name For Goodreads Page)

Entangled Links have Purchase links


Entangled  Impulse Control   



 Entangled  The Millionaire’s Deception


Entangled The Millionaire’s Forever  



Entangled Ten Days In Tuscany   


LEO: by

Entangled The Millionaire Daddy Project   



Entangled Revenge Best Served Hot   



Entangled The Prince’s Runaway Lover   



Entangled The Colonel’s Daughter   



Entangled One Night with the Billionaire  




Entangled The Greek Tycoon’s Tarnished Bride 


Chapter One
He must be crazy.
Tito Makris had never felt the need to visit a lap dancing joint in all of his thirty-one years, but now here he was in the early hours of a midweek morning. Blasted by strobes and colored lights, he fidgeted in the luxurious leather tub chair of the VIP area, acutely aware that he had been forbidden to turn on his cell phone in case he took illicit photographs of the customers or acts. As if he’d be tempted to do something that crass. Fulfilling this act of duty felt more like a penance, but scrolling through his emails would give him something less fleshy to look at. It was hideous in there, and he wanted to get back to Greece as soon as he possibly could. Not that he was missing the dark, rain-lashed January reality of London, England, that waited outside the Ruby Unicorn gentleman’s club. Everything he had seen and experienced in the hours he’d been in the UK was in sharp contrast to the sunshine and soft breezes of his beloved homeland, Crete, and he didn’t like it one iota.
The oppressiveness of the establishment closed in on him like a coffin lid being screwed down, the air thick with alcohol fumes and the clash of expensive fragrances. Suggestive glances and glistening, oiled flesh were everywhere he looked. The clink of champagne glasses and unconvincing female laughter mingled with the pounding music, and his stomach churned as a raven-haired woman in an orange G-string twerked frenetically in front of a mirrored wall. This was not entertaining him. He wanted to get out into the fresh air, however vile the weather outside was.
She would be on stage soon, the reason he was here. Twenty-two year old Erica Silver would take her turn as “Selina” on the round platform to the side of the DJ’s deck and gyrate for the fat-cat clientele that had nothing better to do during the dark hours. Judging by the performances he had already witnessed she would then sashay provocatively around the VIP tables and two bars to collect her tips. It had cost him a few hundred pounds to get the intel about when she would perform and what her stage name was; her minders could spot a lucrative opportunity easier than taking another fetid breath. But he had paid for the information on top of the basic twenty pound entrance fee because he had to see the horrible truth for himself. He needed to be one hundred percent certain about what the private investigators had uncovered about Ms. Silver and what he had been sent to England to do.
He breathed in sharply as the DJ shouted over the music for everyone to welcome Sexy Selina who was, apparently, feeling “hot and naughty.” Everything went dark for a second as the music throbbed louder, and then a circle of bright white light illuminated a woman wearing a black miniskirt. She was clinging to the thick chrome pole with her back to the audience staring coldly into a floor to ceiling mirror, her parted lips slathered in thick red lip gloss. A black and gold Venetian-style mask covered the top half of her face but was revealing enough to show turquoise glittery eye shadow and false eyelashes that looked like tarantulas. Her hips began to slowly move, and Tito’s eyes were drawn to the suspender belt that held up her laddered black stockings as she bent slowly forward…
He closed his eyes to block out a display that left little to the imagination and then, as the song continued, warily opened them again because he couldn’t leave until he got a good look at her face.
She suddenly twirled around and wrapped one long, muscular thigh around the pole, her killer red platform heel sparkling. A white blouse was tied at her tiny waist, all the buttons undone to reveal a red plunge bra and a short school tie that drew his eye to her abundant cleavage.
Theos Mou, God’s sake,” he muttered to himself, almost amused at the fleshpot cliché, but this was no smiling matter. Erica Silver worked in this tacky industry and was clearly shameless. Her bright blue eyes locked with his for a visceral microsecond, her gaze lasering into his so intensely it felt as if she knew exactly why he was there. Even from a distance he could make out the shape of her teeth and swallowed uncomfortably as her small pink tongue darted provocatively over the top set. He lifted a designer frosted-glass bottle to his lips and took a slug of Japanese mineral water as she flicked back her neck, arched her slender body, and brushed the black shiny floor with the curtain of her long blond hair.
Tito had seen enough. The inviting shape of her mouth, the glitter of her eyes and the supple curves of her body were burned on his retinas. He’d recognize this siren anywhere now. She stepped gracefully down from her podium and stalked purposefully toward a trio of men in suits who had semi-naked women draped over their laps and shoulders. She smiled and posed provocatively as they pushed folded bank notes beneath her bra straps but shimmied mischievously away before their hands could wander.
Tito stood to leave, but before he could get out of there, he suddenly found his way blocked by the sinuous curves of “Selina.” He felt targeted; she’d had him in her sights from the word go. Presumably she could smell money from a great distance because he’d done nothing to encourage her over.
“Like my dance?” Her voice was low and smoky with a finish that reminded him of sweet Greek brandy.
A base instinct kicked in that made him want to taste her lips. “Very good,” he murmured and fetched a bundle of fifty pound notes from his top jacket pocket. “You must be popular around here.”
She smiled slowly, and her eyelashes lowered to the cash as she reached out to adjust the knot of his tie. “You want a private dance for that? A private booth?”
His heart quickened as her gaze ensnared his once more. He felt her breath on his throat and the region below his belt stiffened. Her pupils dilated, and her scarlet lips parted as he slowly slid a folded note down into the front of her panties. Whether it was his touch or the money that was turning her on, he had no doubt she would do anything he wanted her to for another fifty pounds. “Unfortunately I have to leave,” he whispered and slid another note into the cup of her bra. Her nipples were tight beads beneath the silky fabric. “I suggest you do the same.”

Tito stood motionless on the bank of the river Thames as day began to break, staring blindly at the Woolwich Arsenal Pier. He inhaled savagely, unable to stop his brain flashing back images of Erica Silver collecting tips in her bra from sweaty, well-heeled men as he hurriedly left the Ruby Unicorn. He shouldn’t be thinking about her endless smooth legs and the full lips that would probably do anything a wealthy man wanted them to do; he should be a better man than that. She was beautiful—there was no denying it—and good at her job. She probably made a fortune selling herself in that way. No wonder his best friend Yannis had been captivated by the little Jezebel. He’d been taken in, plenty more ways than one, that was for sure.
“Sir.” A polite cough from behind him made him start, and he turned to see his driver a few steps away with a yellow polystyrene box. “Found a cafe for the taxi drivers round the corner, Sir. Thought you could use some breakfast.”
“Thanks,” Tito murmured, his words almost carried away by the ferocious wind that sliced inland from the brown, churning water. He raised his voice. “I need a few minutes before we move on.”
His driver nodded and went back to the safety of the black Mercedes as Tito lifted the lid on the hot bacon roll and stared blankly at it. He strode into the wind along the gray river path looking for somewhere he could dump the food without his driver seeing. A gap in a pressed concrete wall revealed a patch of wasteland beneath the gaze of a block of derelict apartments that looked like one big garbage tip. A filthy mattress, beer cans, a rusty freight container smothered with graffiti, and a vast assortment of fast food containers littered the ground. It was hard to believe that a place like this could exist on the other side of the river. Twelve miles away from the glitz and wealth of Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia, it was another world entirely. He made to walk on but paused for a moment at the sight of a rat disappearing under a shrub as a mangy urban fox darted after it. Everything in this place was cold, hungry, and desperate, and he couldn’t help but wonder if a human being sometimes used that mattress. He took the bacon roll out of the box and left it on a large piece of rubble before crushing the container in his fist and shoving it into his coat pocket. Something feral in this wilderness might as well have a decent morning.
“What a godforsaken dump.”
Tito Makris’s harsh whisper formed a gray cloud that was ripped away by the bitter wind. He tugged up his coat collar against the elements; his soul was in as much turmoil as the river and sky. The icy air bit into his lungs, but it was a welcome sensation, as if he were being cleansed from the unsavory sights he had witnessed in the almost darkness. And he was in an open space—he could breathe. His heart felt like a lump of stone in his chest, heavy with the prospect of the task that lay ahead, but the glimmer of a thin crescent moon curving around a tiny bright star gave him strength. On a world scale his troubles were minute.
Unbearable memories came rushing back, his grief magnified by lack of sleep and a terrible sense of foreboding. Painful images from the back of his mind leaped forward and lashed at him in vivid technicolor, reinstalling a level of terror that gave him the power and courage to proceed with the unpleasant deed he had been sent to do. The horror of that day two years ago would never leave him; shreds of charred clothing fluttering in the blue Greek sky, hot rubble slicing into his fingertips as he dug with his hands, and thick ash searing his lungs. Then the silence… A bomb blast at a society wedding had torn his best friend into unidentifiable pieces, robbing him of the man who was like the little brother he never had. The mindless cruelty of it all was numbing.
The pale winter sun was now rising even if it was in a shroud of tombstone gray. Duty called and tugged at him like a starving dog, and he needed to shake it off fast.
Like it or not, it was time.

Erica Silver’s stomach growled as she stood under the tepid trickle of her handheld shower. The hour long journey home to the East End of London had been miserable before dawn, and it had been ages since she’d eaten, but she wanted to wait until she could eat breakfast with Nick. Her heart ached for Nick. Somehow she always managed to get clean and presentable before sharing a decent breakfast with the love of her life. It was their special time because she so missed not being with her baby when she had to work at night.
This morning they could have some scrambled eggs with a little of the ham that was left; she only needed it to last a few more days. Nick could have the last slice of bread in the place because she’d give him her last breath if he needed it. Thank God she could get things like toilet tissue and juice from the club, otherwise they would really hit rock bottom. This was her mess to crawl out of, and she’d do it if it killed her in the process. He would never need to know what she did to pay the bills, and by the time he found out, if he ever did, it wouldn’t matter anymore. It wouldn’t matter because she’d have a hotshot job in psychotherapy, and nobody could come and get them because she always wore a mask when she was Selina. Always.
She breathed a sigh of relief at the silence in her bathroom, just the trickle of water mingling with sound of raindrops on the tiny bathroom window. It was like cold anesthetic cream on a savage lesion after the relentless drum and bass at the club. She hated everything about that place—the noise, the glitter balls, the claustrophobia, and the false smiles of the other girls who pretended to be your friend but were ruthless bitches behind your back. Closing the bathroom door behind her, she towel dried her hair and shivered in the cold light of early morning that peeped through patches of wear in her faded pink curtains. The high ceilings of the Victorian terrace that had been converted into flats meant they were difficult to keep warm at the best of times, but in winter it was almost unbearable. The landlord had built a box around the ancient central heating and water controls and sealed it with a padlock so the residents couldn’t adjust the timings or temperature. Fan heaters were banned due to the high cost of running them on electricity too, so Erica had a secondhand portable gas heater in the room to take the edge off the chill. But she wouldn’t put it on until she needed to warm the place up for when Nick came home. The cost of having the canister refilled was crippling to her already stretched finances.
Nick’s pale blue bunny toy caught her eye on the back of the sofa, and she smiled. Their home wasn’t much, but they had each other, and she could keep her favorite little person warm, dry, and fed on what she earned right now. Things would get better; she just knew it. Erica picked up Bunny, closed her eyes, and inhaled the baby scent from the fabric. Her heart squeezed—she loved her little boy so much.
The doorbell rang, and her spine stiffened. It was too early for a door-to-door hawker, and she never had callers. Maybe it was the postman? But that meant there would be something to sign for, and she hadn’t ordered anything that wouldn’t fit through the letter box. Stuff that needed signing for was inevitably bad news. Her heart began to pound, and she was tempted to pretend she wasn’t in but knew that bad news never went away so she might as well face it head on. At least she could be sure it wasn’t bailiffs; debt was a problem she didn’t have. Poverty, yes, but not debt.
Throwing the damp towel on the back of a chair, she wrenched open the curtains and then two steps brought her to the front door before the voices in her head talked her out of it. “Who is it?” she shouted through the draughty mail slot. There was no such thing as a security peephole on this property. There was no reply.
Irritated that she couldn’t make herself heard—or her caller was deaf—she flung open the front door without even thinking to put on the security chain. Blocking the early morning light with all six foot plus of his muscular frame was the strange, sexy guy from the club. Strange in that she had never seen him in there before, and he looked far too wealthy and attractive to have a need for such entertainment. It wasn’t just her who had noticed him either; the other girls in the dressing room had been extremely keen to catch his eye even if he did look like a miserable bastard. His perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones couldn’t fail to attract attention; he was beautiful if that description could be properly applied to a man. But he hadn’t smiled once, not even when he had his fingers in her underwear.
“Erica Silver?”
His deep, accented voice cut like a scimitar through the center of her body, and her heart kicked like a trapped rabbit against her rib cage. Eyes the color of candied limes fringed by thick black lashes questioned her further as his words hung unanswered for what seemed like minutes.
She swallowed hard and pulled the edges of her bathrobe tighter across her chest. “Never heard of her.”
His olive features set like concrete. “You are Erica Silver.”
Perhaps he had somehow followed her back from the club, but how did he know her real name? Unless one of the other girls had been persuaded to part with the information… “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you must have the wrong address.”
His foot jammed the door open, and he wedged a shoulder inside her flat. “We need to talk.”
“How dare you! If you don’t leave immediately—”
His voice dropped to a murmur and the corner of his full mouth quirked up a millimeter or so, but not enough to qualify as a smile. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Have we met?”
“You were stunning a few hours ago in the Ruby Unicorn, so yes we have. Kind of.” He pushed a large, tanned hand through the door as if he expected her to shake it. “But you look prettier without the mask and all that makeup. Makris. Tito Makris.”
She recoiled from his greeting and swallowed down a stab of fear. “I don’t work outside the club, it’s against the rules for both me and you. And…and that suits me fine because I don’t do extras.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Not even at a price?”
“No. Never.”
He tipped his dark head to one side and rested it nonchalantly against the doorframe. His voice was husky. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
Erica didn’t like the shiver that had stroked up and down her spine at the way he’d just spoken to her. He oozed sex, and she couldn’t forget how exciting his touch had been. “Believe what you like. Now bugger off, or I really will call the police.”
His short-nailed fingers slid down the wooden doorframe toward the handle she was clutching and their fingers brushed. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” he said. “It’s not what you think.”
The renewed contact stole her breath, and she flicked her forearm away as if she received an electric shock. It certainly felt as if she’d been erotically tasered. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m not here to—”
“To what? Try to shag me in some unspeakable way that your regular prostitute won’t agree to?” She muffled the wicked voice inside her head that said this man could get whatever he wanted from most women for nothing. All he needed to do was click his immaculate fingertips. “I’m not for sale or hire.”
“Yannis sent me.”
Her blood ran cold. “You’ve come all the way from Greece on his behalf?” A fiery mist of fury suddenly descended and she flung the door wider in her anger. “Yannis and me are over, didn’t he tell you? Have been for the last eighteen months since he deactivated all his social networking accounts, turned off his phone and…and well, I can take a bloody hint!”
“Please. May I come in?” Her gaze was drawn to the slow movement of his Adam’s apple and the dark stippling of beard that was visible on his sleek-boned jaw. He was at least six foot two, if not taller.
“I haven’t got any money, if that’s what you’re after. He can settle his own debts.”
He shook his head and lowered his eyes to the floor, as if he was hiding something that she might spot in the depths of those green irises. “No, nothing like that.” He sighed wearily and then looked up hopefully into the tiny flat. For some reason he suddenly seemed less threatening. “May I? Please?”
“I’ll probably regret this.” She frowned and opened the door completely. “Okay, come in, you’re letting all the cold air in standing there.” She closed the door behind him and crossed her arms. “So what does Yannis want? What’s so important that he’s getting in touch after all this time but can’t be bothered to come himself? Don’t tell me he’s in prison or something!”
“Perhaps you should sit down,” he said flatly and rammed his hands into his coat pockets.
She coughed lightly and loaded sarcasm into her reply. “Perhaps I should stand, considering I have to leave the building in five minutes, and I’m not even dressed yet.”
His emerald gaze flickered over her like a searchlight. “If you want to put some clothes on—”
She shook her head. “I want you to say what you’ve come to say and then leave.”
“Okay. I’m here regarding the child you have, the year-old baby that is Yannis’s only child. Your son.”
It felt like the Victorian plaster ceiling had suddenly caved in on her, but she did her best to hide the sickening anxiety rising in her by tossing back her head and sighing loudly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The tall Greek picked up a packet of baby wipes from the kitchen table and made a show of turning it over in his hands. “Yes you do. Births, marriages, deaths…all public documents. And you named Yannis Frangos as the father on the birth certificate even though he wasn’t there to countersign.”
“Okay…” Panic was now building like a silent toxin inside her. “I only did that for Nick, for when he was older and in case his useless father ever took an interest in him. I couldn’t deny him his heritage, a path to his roots if anything ever happened to me.”
He looked down at her with a questioning expression. “You called him Nick?”
“Short for Nikolaos, Yannis’s father. It was sentimental of me, I realize that now…”
He blinked slowly, and she noticed for the first time how very long and thick his eyelashes were. “It was a selfless, thoughtful thing to do.”
“Yes, it was considering Yannis broke off all contact when I was three months pregnant. The money dried up, his promises turned out to be a bloody joke… I tried everything to contact him, which wasn’t very dignified, but my conscience is clear on that front. So why now? What does he want?” She let out a hollow laugh. “Marriage?”
“Yannis died.”
“What do you mean he died?”
His jaw tightened, and she could see tension bunching in the muscles of his shoulders beneath his coat. “A bomb at a wedding eighteen months ago.”
Shock kicked in and her voice became shaky. “That’s when the contact stopped.”
“But I left messages on his phone, his Facebook account—”
He stepped forward and lightly touched her forearm with the broad palm of his hand. “The phone was with him when it happened, and it was felt that all his social networks should be closed under the circumstances. It has taken this long for the lawyers to sort out the family estate and allow access to his personal effects. I’m sorry.”
She looked down at where their bodies were joined in a gesture of comfort and solidarity. She didn’t shake him off immediately; her limbs felt like water. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“You must be shocked, but there was no other way to do this.”
Her throat tightened. “No, I understand. So we missed his funeral…”
He nodded. “But it was an empty coffin anyway.”
Erica eased back so that his hand fell away, and then every part of her felt as cold as ice. “I feel sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for coming all this way to let me know. It means a lot.” She rubbed at her forehead, willing the fuzz of incomprehension to clear. “If there’s any way our child, Nick, could maintain some kind of link to his father’s family—”
“That’s the reason I’m here.” His chin jutted up and his green gaze fixed hers for a tense moment before he continued. “There is a legacy.”
“A legacy?” This was another bolt out of the blue. “But Yannis told me he was a student with no assets and no permanent job, that’s why there could be no us. His family would disown him. A good marriage with a good Greek girl had already been arranged…”
“The world is now a different place. It’s turned on its axis for Nick. Four generations of the male side of the Frangos family were wiped out that day. He is the sole heir to a multi-billion euro fortune.”
She shook her head and let out a harsh laugh. “I don’t believe you. This is some kind of sick joke.”
“No.” He pulled a sheaf of documents out from his inside pocket. “Here is a copy of the death certificate and…if not exactly an official will, Yannis’s wishes if he should die.”
Erica took the pieces of paper with shaking hands and checked the date. “This was the day before I was due to go for the first pregnancy scan. He’d said he’d try to get over for it once he’d seen to some family business. He said he was so excited…”
“He would have been,” he replied, his tone grave.
“But he never came and ever since I just assumed he’d been lying to me.”
“And now you know the real reason why. I’m sorry, but he never abandoned you like you must have thought he did. He wasn’t like that. He…he just couldn’t. He was no longer with us. Yannis asked me to look after you both.”
She folded her arms across her body and glared into his impassive but beautiful face. “So what took you so long?”
“I only found out you both existed a week ago. It took months for the lawyers and court system to establish who was the ultimate heir after the atrocity in Athens. The entire male line was obliterated at that wedding. And the Frangos dynasty only recognizes the males as legitimate heirs. There was a lot of groundwork to do.”
“Is that kind of sex discrimination even legal these days?”
“I have no idea, but Nick is the nearest male relative left alive.” He took a deep breath and looked out the window at the rain now lashing down outside. “His mother and sisters kept Yannis’s room like a shrine until it became clear he was where the trail stopped. They couldn’t bear to go through his things themselves, so I offered to help and found that.”
Erica followed his gaze to the bundle of documents he had laid on the kitchen table. “I don’t suppose he’d ever thought about a proper will, not being so young and healthy.”
“I guess not, but clearly the news he was to become a father did force him to take at least one practical step. He left us guidance. The Frangos women are not contesting Nick’s right to inherit once his claim has been verified. They are respecting Yannis’s wishes.”
She was suspicious at the edge to his voice. “Verified?”
“DNA test.”
Erica frowned as her brain whirred in different directions. “So Nick has aunties and a grandmother who are interested in him?”
He loosened the top button of his coat, and she caught a glimpse of the pewter-colored tie he’d been wearing in the club. That garment alone should have made her suspicious about why he was there on his own. Watching her every move. “More than interested,” he said, his tone lightening. “They’re desperate to meet him and guide him into adulthood when he will assume control of his legacy. They are devoted to him already.”
“What is this legacy?”
Tito shrugged, and the movement of his shoulders made her notice how broad they were. “Cash, investments, property…the Frangos Empire currently provides thousands of Greek families with jobs and incomes. It’s important all this is protected in these hard economic times.”
“Nick is only just over a year old! He can’t possibly—”
“There are trustees to look after his interests and care for the businesses until he is old enough to take control. And that won’t be before he’s twenty-one.”
It was starting to feel like there was a plan set out for her son that she had no part in, and she didn’t like the feeling at all. “Trustees? Like who?”
“The family court in Athens appointed the most appropriate people, and I am one of them. In fact, I have the privilege of being asked to take complete charge of all this on the others’ behalf. I have their complete trust.”
So this impressive-looking Greek had more than just physical power. “But I’m his mother. Have I no say?”
He shook his head and looked away, his voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. “You were not married to Yannis, so I’m afraid not.”
“Marriage isn’t such a big deal these days, surely?”
“In Greece it is still a very big deal, especially when it comes to vast amounts of money. Tradition is strong, and there are many legal considerations, which brings me to a difficult point in all this.”
He suddenly looked gaunt, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Keep going,” she said firmly.
“For Nick to inherit, it is a condition that he must come to Greece to take his position in society. It has been decided that he should be educated and nurtured by his blood family.”
Erica jerked up her chin with incredulity. “I’m his blood family too, and I’m not moving to Greece just because you and a bunch of old-fashioned matriarchs say so.”
“Then that makes what I’m going to say a little easier, because right now it’s Nick that comes to Greece, not you. Unfortunately, you are not welcome to take a position in the Frangos hierarchy with him as things stand. You are entirely unsuitable. The trustees insist he must come with me alone to gain his inheritance. However…” His emerald eyes glittered dangerously. “There is one possible solution to that if you want be with Nick and still ensure he gets what is due to him before he’s an adult. I don’t like it, and you won’t like it, but it’s the least I can do for Yannis and his son.”
“Spit it out, Makris.”
“We marry.”

~*~*~ Rachel Lyndhurst ~*~*~

I write full-time  now my children are at school, but I'm still a teeny bit  proud of my law degree and accountancy qualifications. I've also had a lot of fun in the past working in the space industry, pharmaceuticals, insurance, a supermarket, a bus station, a railway depot, and a lingerie department.

I live with The Exec  and our children on the south coast of England where we all cater  to the whims of a very vocal Bengal cat called Hobbit. Sometimes I can smell the sea from my back garden and I have grand designs on a luxurious garden office one day. Or a castle, I'm not fussy.  

When I'm not working, I do enjoy a good rummage through  a decent antique shop, and popping into Sainsbury’s. Oh, and wine and expensive lipstick are non-negotiable .

I love to hear from my readers ( especially the male supermodel ones), so please feel free to drop me a line, or leave a comment on my blog. 

Happy Reading!

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