Annie West - She Can't Say No to the Greek Tycoon

And made her mind up.

Despite his firmly stated order that they were to forget she’d ever wanted to end their marriage and were never to speak of it, she was going to have to. Would tell him exactly what Irini had told her. He would, in any case, staunchly deny it, in view of her pregnancy. That was more than a strong possibility. But at least he would know the truth of what had lain behind her headlong flight from him and their marriage. She owed herself that much.

‘Come, slowcoach! Remember our baby is hungry, even if you are not!’

That slow, magical smile of his made her poor heart flip over. He had straightened, was standing tall and proud now, hands on his narrow hips, bare feet planted firmly, a little apart, on the sun-warmed sparse grass at the top of the bank. He was shirtless, his magnificent upper body exposed, his skin sleek, tanned olive by the Greek sun. Much too touchable.

As usual his sexuality disorientated her, but her eyes shadowed as she walked towards him, and she knew she had to be strong and tell him the truth. But feed it in gradually, at the right opportunity. That way maybe she’d get the truth from him.

Blurting it out like a bolshie teenager might release the knot of tension that coiled painfully inside her whenever she thought of what Irini had told her, of his aunt’s unpleasant comments about her gross unsuitability as a bride for her high-status nephew, remembered the tone of his voice as he’d assured the other woman that he loved her.

Yes, getting it off her chest, where it festered, out into the open, might release that tension. But hurl the accusation at him and he’d instinctively and immediately deny it.

She had to be more subtle than that.

That look was back in her eyes again, Dimitri noted, his own brows lowering in response as she sank onto the ground beside the lavish spread. Perhaps time and patience on his part would remove it. The thing to do, he assured himself firmly, was to concentrate on the positive side of their marriage. Forget everything else.

‘How long can we stay here?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded overly-bright, she decided helplessly as she obeyed his hand gesture and helped herself to one of Xanthe’s delicious stuffed vine leaves.

‘Bored already?’ Lightly said, but the thread of anxiety was there. He deplored it.

‘Not at all. Just interested. It’s so lovely here.’ The morsel eaten, she reached for a tiny cheese pastry, not looking at him until he told her, ‘Another two weeks, pethi mou, and then back to Athens to get the refurbishment of the nursery wing in hand, and get you to a top-notch gynaecologist. Sound good?’

Glancing at him then, she ached with love for him, felt an onslaught of longing that was frightening in its intensity. He was so compelling, so beautiful. The hard, tanned planes of his sculpted features, the soft sable hair, the sensual line of the mouth that promised and delivered heaven, the warm golden eyes.

The ache intensified. Two more weeks of ecstatic self-delusion and then.

Reaching forward, he opened a flask and filled two glasses, telling her, ‘There are lemon trees here. Yiannis tends them and sells the ripe fruit on the mainland. And Xanthe makes the best lemonade you will ever have tasted.’ He handed a glass to her and tipped his own against it. ‘A toast. To our baby—may he or she live long and happy and much loved!’

Her eyes misting as the delicious chilled liquid slid down her parched throat, Maddie thought, He does want our child, more than anything. The only contentious issue was why.

He confirmed it when he told her smokily, ‘I am filled with delight at the thought of the child you will give me, my Maddie.’ Almost reverently he laid a hand on her tummy, surprising her with his words. ‘Before our marriage we spoke of our desire for children, do you remember?’

Maddie dipped her head in silent acknowledgement. Not answering vocally because her throat had tightened too much to allow her to speak. Not looking at him, although she could feel his eyes on her.

Of course she remembered! He had been at pains to make sure she wanted his baby before the actual low-key ceremony because that had been the whole point of the exercise, hadn’t it? And, gullible sucker that she’d been then, her head spinning at the way he’d romanced her, swept her off her usually firmly-grounded feet, she’d given him the answer he’d been looking for. Of course she wanted children—his children. The more the merrier!

If she’d turned round and told him that, no, she didn’t want motherhood for at least ten years—if then, if ever—the wedding would never have taken place. He would have disappeared in a puff of smoke! Would it have happened that way? Dear God, she hoped not! But how could she know?

Then further confounded her when he said, with a sincerity she could not doubt, ‘I confess I would like more than one child, but it’s not a burning issue. Growing up, I missed my parents, wished they were still alive, wished I had brothers and sisters, a close family.’

Naked, powerful, sun-kissed shoulders lifted in a wry shrug. ‘I guess that explains why I would like a whole gang of them!’ His eyes held hers—soft eyes, soft mouth, soft smile. ‘But I promise you, chrysi mou, there is no pressure. I might desire to give you at least three babies, but it will be for you and you alone to decide. If you decide that one pregnancy is enough for you, then he or she will be enough for me, too. This I promise.’

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