Pregnant by the Greek Tycoon (6 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

ANGOLOS watched Georgie walk towards him along the beach with the graceful, long-legged stride he remembered so well. She carried her sandals in one hand slung over her shoulder in exactly the same way she always had. He was not a man inclined to nostalgia, but it was hard not to make a depressing comparison to the past.

Then, when she had caught sight of him her face would light up like a kid on Christmas morning and she would break into a run as though every second apart from him was one too many. Now when she saw him, and he recognised the precise moment, the only place she looked like running was in the opposite direction! You could almost hear her inner struggle as she covered the remaining distance.

Some irrational part of him wanted to make her smile at him that way again. Was it the same irrational part of him that had been tempted, albeit briefly, not to question her pregnancy? Then sense had prevailed and his pride had reasserted itself.

That he had contemplated, even for a moment, living a lie and bringing up another man’s child, accepting his wife’s infidelity, filled him with a profound self-disgust. Ironically of course it hadn’t been another man’s child she carried, but at the time he hadn’t known that.

‘Am I late?’ Composed and utterly controlled, she sketched a smile. Her wary eyes, their incredible colour intensified by the soft shading on her eyelids, met his.

‘No. I am early.’

Angolos didn’t have a clue why her manner annoyed him so much. It wasn’t as if he had expected her to throw her arms around his neck and press her slim young body to his.

His eyes drifted towards the slim young body in question and he grew still. The summer dress exposed the soft, creamy contours of her satin-smooth shoulders and slim arms. The locket dangling from a slim gold chain suspended around her neck drew the attention to the firm swell of her breasts. As his glance moved lower the breeze caught the light fabric, drawing it close over her slim thighs.

Georgie had been so gut-churningly nervous that until his dark eyes swept over her she had forgotten that she had dressed to kill, or at least immobilise with lust—until his heavy-lidded, penetrating eyes lifted and met hers.

She had got the reaction she wanted, only this wasn’t theoretical lust. A classic case, she remonstrated herself, of not considering the consequences. The smoky heat and raw hunger in his eyes—for a man who could be infuriatingly enigmatic, Angolos had eyes that could be quite devastatingly expressive on occasion—sent a current of sizzling heat through her body.

Experience had taught her how to fan the flames of his desire. She tried not to access the memories that reminded her of how pleasurable the results of her provocation could be. She raised a fluttering hand to her throat and tried to get her breathing under control.

‘Can we get on? I’m on my way somewhere.’ She was quite pleased with her clever subterfuge; now he wasn’t going to think she had got dressed up for him.

She saw his jaw clench. ‘I’m so glad you could fit me into your busy schedule.’

‘Well, you didn’t actually give me any choice, did you?’ she reminded him.

‘I don’t suppose I did.’ One dark brow arched. ‘Aren’t you a little cold dressed like that? Would you like my jacket?’

Her eyes widened in alarm. The thought of having the garment still carrying the warmth of his body, retaining the unique scent of him, next to her skin sent an illicit thrill through her body.

‘No, I’m fine,’ she promised hastily.

‘As you wish. Would you like to go somewhere…for a coffee…a drink? Is that odd little teashop still open?’

The question brought back a flood of memories.

Odd
, he had said. Well, as venues for conducting a passionate affair went, the quaint, touristy tearooms run by two elderly sisters had to be one of the most unlikely. They had frequently had the place to themselves. Most people had been outside enjoying the sun that summer, which had been just as well because inconspicuous they had not been—or at least he hadn’t!

Not that Georgie had much cared about discretion; as far as she’d been concerned the entire town could talk. She had been too besotted to care about such things, and actually much to her frustration they hadn’t actually had much to be discreet about!

After that first occasion when they had come as near as damn it to making love in the wet sand—
and I didn’t even know his name
—Angolos had kept her at arm’s length. Even though she hadn’t been experienced she had sensed he’d been keeping himself under tight control. Georgie, who had fantasised about recreating the wild, primitive night-time encounter—minus the frustration—had bitterly regretted telling him that he was her first lover.

Instead of the passionate love-making Georgie had craved, for two weeks they had drunk tea and talked, or at least that was the way it had felt to her. They had taken long drives and talked. They had taken long walks and talked. It had been sheer agony, but she’d been prepared to endure any torture devised by man to be in his company.

The weekend two weeks later, when he’d disappeared without a word, she had thought that was it, and she had been totally devastated. The idea of never seeing him again had made the future stretch ahead of her bleak and barren.

She had drifted around like a ghost, grey-faced and drawn, but instead of recognising a broken heart her family had been irritated by her lethargy.

Then her grandmother had diagnosed anorexia—
She has all the classic symptoms
… The article she had read had apparently said that sufferers always lied, so Georgie’s denials had been ignored.

Consequently, when Angolos had turned up out of the blue at the house two weeks later, instead of looking interestingly pale she had gained seven pounds!

He had formally requested her father’s permission to marry her. Superficially it might have seemed a delightfully old-fashioned courtesy, but only
very
superficially.

Oh, he had been polite enough, but he had left no doubt that he had been going to marry her with or without her father’s permission.
With
would simply be less problematic.

She was bowled over by his masterful behaviour; it hadn’t even crossed Georgie’s mind to question the fact he hadn’t even asked her. My compliance he took for granted and why wouldn’t he…?

She pushed aside the cringe-worthy recollection of her uncritical adoration; she had held nothing back. She hadn’t just worn her heart on her sleeve, she had stripped her soul bare!

‘No, I don’t want tea, I just want this over with as quickly as possible.’ She kept her voice cool and unemotional and was rewarded by the surprise flicker in the back of his deep-set eyes.

‘You can’t spare a few minutes to discuss our son’s future…?’

‘I would spare a lot more than a few minutes to discuss Nicky’s future, but not with you,’ she retorted, bristling with antagonism. ‘Nicky is nothing to do with you, and don’t pretend you’re really interested in him,’ she sneered.

His expression tautened. ‘Be reasonable.’

‘Reasonable!’ she yelled back, no longer able to contain the anger and resentment that she’d been storing up for these long years. ‘Reasonable the way you were when you said you didn’t want to know about the baby?’ she demanded in a low, impassioned voice. ‘Are you on medication, Angolos?’

‘Do not raise your voice to me.’ His own voice was low and angry.

‘If the worst I do is raise my voice you’ll leave here a fortunate man.’

He absorbed her angry words in thoughtful silence. ‘You have developed quite a temper,’ he observed, his glance drifting from her flushed, furious face to her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

‘I
always
had a temper.’ It was odd, she mused, that a man who knew her more intimately than any other man, a man who was the father of her child, should actually not know her very well at all.

His harsh scowl melted to something far more dangerous as their eyes meshed. ‘Maybe you should have revealed this aspect of your character when we were together. It suits you.’

‘I should have done a lot of things when we were together, including walking out before you so charmingly threw me out!’

The colour that began low on his throat travelled upwards until his entire face was suffused. ‘I could have done that better,’ he admitted huskily.

‘Is that your version of grovelling?’ She gave her head an impatient shake. ‘Even if you crawled on your hands and knees I’d never forgive you for what you did.’

His face had that closed, unreadable expression as he said tautly, ‘I think I should tell you why I asked you to—’

He’s going to say it.
Divorce
…once he said it, it would be real. She suddenly went icy cold. Maybe I’m not ready to hear this after all…?

How long do you need…?

‘I know why you’re here,’ she cut in quickly.

His dark brows drew together in a straight line above his masterful nose.
‘You do…?’

‘For goodness’ sake, don’t drag it out. I need to get back.’ She raised her wrist and evinced astonishment at the hour, even though she couldn’t see her watch through the warm mist of unshed tears.

‘You kept it.’

Her shimmering gaze lifted. ‘Kept what?’

Angolos tapped the diamond-encrusted face of the watch he had bought her on their honeymoon. His hand dropped away, but not before the tips of his long brown fingers had trailed lightly along the inner aspect of her slender wrist.

It was barely a touch yet her body reacted like that of an addict given the scent of her drug of choice, only to have it snatched away. Inside the loose cotton bodice her breasts ached and craved the touch of hands and lips. Buried memories resurfaced and the ache low in her pelvis became a physical pain.

‘I’m sentimental that way.’ Let him never know how true that was.

The week in Paris, their honeymoon, had been utter bliss; she treasured the memory of every single moment of it. She had been a nervous bride the first night, but the moment he had touched her she had quickly lost her inhibitions. Her introduction into a sensual world she hadn’t known existed had left her in a daze. Every morning when she’d woken up tangled up with the warm, lithe body of her incredible lover she’d felt as if she had died and gone to heaven.

For a week everything had been magical. Georgie had tried, but had never been able to recapture that magic.

The first cracks had appeared when they’d arrived in Greece. It had been here that the scale of Angolos’s wealth had hit Georgie for the first time. They had landed on his private heli-pad, for goodness’ sake! In her world people who had two cars were well off; Angolos had casually revealed that he had a yacht, which was presently being refitted.

From the air she had been able to see that the estate, located on a peninsula, covered acres and acres. The main house itself and the gorgeously landscaped grounds with their tennis courts and pools were palatial, and the setting beside the sea was totally stunning.

‘Not disappointed, are you?’ Angolos had teased.

‘It’s all incredible.’
So was a museum.

Georgie, who had been brought up in a standard 1930s semi-detached house, was actually daunted by the sheer scale of everything. She had thought there might be a housekeeper or some help in the garden, but to discover there was an army of live-in domestic help to run the place came as a nasty shock.

This wasn’t the sort of house where you nipped down to the kitchen to make yourself a sandwich in the middle of the night. She seriously doubted that Angolos knew where the kitchens were!

Within ten seconds she knew that she wasn’t going to acclimatise to her new life overnight. It was going to be a steep learning curve, but she reasoned if she had Angolos there to help her she would be all right. She didn’t know at the time that he wouldn’t be…that his work would occupy most of his waking moments.

She walked around the place making the right admiring noises, but she couldn’t imagine ever thinking of this place as home. And on top of that there was his family, who had been there in force when she’d arrived.

‘Sorry about tonight,’ Angolos said when they lay in bed later that night. ‘They wanted to inspect my new bride, and who,’ he suggested throatily, ‘can blame them?’

‘I don’t think they were very impressed.’

‘Don’t be silly. They’ll love you…why wouldn’t they?’ Angolos impatiently dismissed her concerns. ‘You just need to relax a little.’

‘You don’t think I was relaxed… Did I come over as—?’

He laid a finger against her lips. ‘Forget about my family; it doesn’t matter what they think. They’ll be gone tomorrow.’

She breathed a sigh of relief. Angolos seemed different in this environment, but she was sure that once they were alone everything would be all right. She couldn’t wait.

‘Good…that is, I’m sure they’re very nice, but there was an awful lot of them.’ There was no way she was going to remember the names of all those aunts and uncles and cousins. As Angolos was kissing his way up her neck she was hard-pressed to remember her own name.

‘I really don’t want to talk about relatives,’ he said, pausing halfway up.

‘Me neither,’ she admitted huskily as he peeled off her transparent nightgown to reveal glowing skin.

‘
Theos
, but you are beautiful.’

His words drove everything else from Georgie’s mind. She melted.

The sex was spectacular, but the problem was still there the next day in the shape of his mother and sister. They were still there at lunch-time.

Short of packing their bags for them, what could she do?

As she walked out to the helicopter pad with Angolos, who had explained he had to go into the office, she took the opportunity to casually enquire, ‘When are your mother and sister going home?’

Angolos threw some instruction to his assistant, a polite, nice-looking young man who was distantly related. As the younger man hurried ahead Angolos directed a puzzled frown at Georgie’s face.

‘Home…?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t follow.’