Anne Mather - The Greek Tycoon's Pregnant Wife

Jane came into the room rather tentatively. She’d taken the time to dry and straighten her hair and now it hung silky smooth to her shoulders. She’d put on a dark green T-shirt that clung to her breasts, and low-rise jeans exposed a delicate wedge of creamy pale skin.

She looked just as good to him now as she’d done before, thought Demetri grimly. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have wondered if she’d worn the outfit deliberately to emphasise her eyes. She certainly looked tantalising, but her expression wasn’t encouraging. Her eyes were guarded, cold, watching him with a wariness that bordered on contempt.

‘You’re still here,’ she said, when he didn’t speak. Then, making her way across the room, ‘D’you want coffee?’

Coffee?

Demetri didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Only minutes before she’d been writhing beneath him, and now she was offering him coffee, as if they’d just been passing the time of day instead of having hot, sweaty sex.

‘Efkharisto, then thelo.’ Not for me, thank you. Demetri spoke tersely, following her across the room to where a small counter separated an equally small service kitchen from the rest of the room. He hesitated, and then added unwillingly, ‘You are OK?’

Jane turned from filling a filter with coffee. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she countered, though this time he noticed she broke their gaze. ‘Go and sit down. I won’t be long.’

‘I’d rather not.’ Demetri took a deep breath. ‘Are we going to talk about this?’

Jane concentrated on setting the jug on the hotplate. Then, when it was placed to her satisfaction, she opened a cupboard above her head and took down a porcelain mug. Glancing fleetingly in his direction, the mug in her hand, she said, ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?’

‘I’m sure.’ Demetri could feel impatience digging away at his good nature. What the hell was she trying to do? Pretend it had never happened? ‘Jane, look at me,’ he said sharply. ‘No, not like that. Really look at me. What are you thinking? Tell me!’

JANE found it impossible to do as he asked. OK, she knew that nothing had changed really. Just because they’d had sex—pretty phenomenal sex, as it happened—didn’t make a scrap of difference to Demetri. Sex was what he did. Particularly when he wanted something from her. It had always been a damn good means of getting his own way in the past. And he must be thinking she was such a pushover. He’d only had to tumble her onto the bed and she’d been practically begging him to do it.

She’d been so stupid, she thought bitterly. If only he hadn’t chosen to come here at a time when she was not only exhausted from her trip, but expecting her period as well. She was always overly emotional at this time of the month. And his deliberate kindness had been the last straw.

‘I’m not thinking anything,’ she lied now, as the water dripped through the filter. Then, turning the tables, ‘What about you? What are you thinking, Demetri?’

Believe me, you don’t want to know, Demetri reflected drily, aware that his thoughts ran along the lines of taking her back to bed. But he’d be crazy to admit that. It would expose a weakness and he was already feeling far too exposed as it was.

‘I’m thinking—I should apologise,’ he declared at last, choosing the least provocative option. ‘I—never intended this to happen.’

‘Well, that makes two of us,’ said Jane at once and Demetri felt a fist twisting in his gut. Did she have to sound so dismissive? Couldn’t she at least have admitted that she’d been partially to blame?

But that wasn’t going to happen, he realised, and, leaving the counter, he walked back to the position he’d previously occupied beside the window. His limousine still stood there and he wished he could just get into the car and drive away. He wanted to forget what had happened, forget that when he’d come here he’d been looking for closure. Closure! His lips twisted. Instead, he’d torn away a veneer and left what felt like an open wound.

‘So?’ He heard her voice and turned to find Jane had come to perch on the arm of one of the sofas. She was holding a mug filled with black coffee and she lifted enquiring eyes to his face. ‘Do I take it there’s someone else?’

It was such a ludicrous question in the circumstances. Demetri was tempted to say ‘Damn you!’ and walk out. He felt so foolish having to admit that that was the reason he’d come here. That he was intending to marry someone else when he was free.

But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was what was expected of him as his father’s eldest son. When Leonidas Souvakis retired, he’d handed the control of Souvakis International to him. And such power held responsibilities, not all of them to do with the company itself.

‘My father’s dying,’ he said at last, deciding he didn’t owe her any consideration. But even so, he was unprepared for the way the colour drained out of her face.

‘Leo is dying?’ she echoed faintly. ‘My God, why didn’t you tell me?’ Her soft lips parted in mute denial. ‘I can’t believe it. He was so—so fit; so strong.’

‘Cancer is no respecter of strength or otherwise,’ responded Demetri flatly. ‘He found a lump. He did nothing about it. He said he was too busy.’ He shrugged. ‘When he did go and see the doctor, it was too late to operate.’

‘Oh, God!’ Jane put down her cup and pressed both hands to her cheeks. Her eyes were once again filled with tears. ‘Poor Leo. He’s such a good man, a kind man. He was always kind to me. He made me welcome when your mother never did.’

Demetri said nothing. He knew that what she’d said was true. His mother had never wanted him to marry an English girl. Their values were so different, she’d insisted. And ultimately she’d been proved to be right.

Now Jane attempted to pull herself together. ‘How long have you known?’ she asked, wondering what this had to do with Demetri wanting a divorce. She paused, trying to find a connection. ‘Does he want to see me?’

Demetri was taken aback. Although he had no doubt that Leo Souvakis would have liked to see his daughter-in-law again, his mother would never agree to it. For the past five years she’d persistently begged her son to go and see a priest and try to arrange an annulment of his marriage to Jane. She was sure Father Panaystakis would do everything in his power to get some special dispensation from the church.

But, ironically, Demetri had been in no hurry to sever his relationship. It had been convenient in all sorts of ways. Not least to discourage any gold-digging female from getting the wrong idea. Now remaining unattached was no longer an option and only a divorce would do.

His silence must have given Jane her answer, however, because now she said, ‘Then I don’t understand. What does your father’s illness have to do with you asking for a divorce?’