Michelle Smart - The Greek's Pregnant Cinderella

Drifting his hand further up her back, marvelling at the soft texture of her skin, he found the spot where her spine formed at the base of her neck and circled a finger around it. Then he pressed his cheek against hers, a last contact of their bodies before he pulled away and guided her out of the ballroom.

Hands clasped tightly together, they walked past the champagne fountain. He picked a glass up and handed it to her then took one for himself.

The corridor they stepped into was deserted but the rooms they passed were full of revellers wanting a break from the dancing for food or to rest their feet.

Outside in the gardens, the scent of roses in bloom filled the warm air.

Giannis loved the palace hotel gardens at night. Beautiful though it was by day, the night brought a new dimension to it, imagery from childhood books coming to life amongst the carved statues, water fountains and, further back, in the thick hedges that formed the famed maze.

The spot he took Tabitha to was in a white gazebo in a secluded part of the garden. She stared at the vast structure perfectly suited to such lavish grounds and imagined aristocracy from centuries ago treading this same path.

Flutes of champagne in hand, they stood at the balustrade, arms pressed together, and watched the guests spill out onto the vast lawn, but they were blurs in Tabitha’s eyes, her senses too attuned to the man beside her for anything else to sink in with any substance.

‘How long are you in Vienna for?’ he asked casually, a question to make her stomach turn.

Before she could think of an answer, the moonlight caught one of the figures on the lawn, mask removed. Tabitha’s blood turned cold in an instant as recognition flashed at her.

It was her stepsister, Fiona.

She hadn’t had any communication with her in well over four years, not since Tabitha had been forced to leave the family home.

So many emotions rushed through her to see Fiona there, dressed in a beautiful gown that no doubt had been paid for by money intended to be Tabitha’s inheritance, but the primary emotion that shot through her like an echo was fear.

Fiona had made her life a living hell.

Tabitha’s fingers tightened around the now empty champagne flute, but she must have exerted too much subconscious pressure for the glass shattered in her hand.

She jumped back as shards of glass fell to the ground, too shocked at seeing her stepsister—how had she not noticed her before?—to realise her hand was bleeding until she caught Giannis’s concerned stare.

He snatched at her hand and peered closely at it. ‘Are you okay?’

She inhaled deeply through the shock and stinging pain and managed to nod.

‘We should get a doctor to look at this. I’ll make a call and see if we have one here.’ Still holding her hand, he used his free hand to tug off the black cravat around his neck.

‘I don’t need a doctor.’ A drop of blood rolled off the palm of her hand. She took another deep breath. ‘It’s superficial. Just a cut.’

She would have argued against a doctor even if she’d severed half her hand. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. The mask and the dress gave her anonymity amongst her colleagues but if anyone who knew her were to look too closely the game would be over. Now she knew Fiona was here—and maybe Saffron too—she dared not risk it. It wasn’t just that her identity would be blown. The thought of seeing either of them without any preparation was an ordeal she was in no way ready to put herself through.

She remembered the day she’d first met them and how excited she’d been at the thought of having two big sisters, along with a new mother, and her heart clenched at the trusting innocence of her ten-year-old self.

The cravat freed, Giannis gave it a sharp flick then wrapped it gently around her bleeding hand. ‘That’s a lot of blood for a superficial cut.’

‘That’s the body doing what it’s designed to do. I’ll find a bathroom and clean it out.’

He kept his hand on the cravat wrapped around her cut. ‘My apartment is right behind us. We can clean it there and assess for damage.’

She was quite sure the flow of blood seeping from her wound increased at the casual way he said ‘we’.

When her gaze drifted back up to meet his eyes there was a lurch in both her heart and stomach.

If the choice was to dart across the garden and risk facing her stepsister, or to go to the apartment of this man who, despite his being a virtual stranger, she felt a strange sense of safety being with...

TABITHA DIDN’T THINK of the foolhardiness of going to Giannis’s one-storey apartment until he closed the front door behind them and even then it was more of a dim chiding in the back of her head. And it wasn’t about the foolishness of being alone with a man she hardly knew while fireworks exploded in the sky around them.

It was the foolishness of her own feelings.

Her every action that night had been foolhardy from the moment she had accepted Mrs Coulter’s wonderful generosity.

She held Giannis’s cravat tightly against her stinging wounded hand and tried to take in her surroundings.

Tabitha knew he’d converted the old staff quarters into a base for himself for the few days a month he was there—she currently lived in the new staff quarters—but none of the staff had been invited in before.

But as she followed Giannis down a wide hallway the huge living room they passed barely registered, her attention completely taken with the man before her.

He pushed open a door to the right and stepped over the threshold.

She did the same and came to an immediate stop.

This was Giannis’s bedroom.

He stopped walking and turned to face her. His features taut, his voice serious, he said, ‘The light in my bathroom is the best to see with but if you don’t feel comfortable coming in here we can clean the cut in the kitchen.’

How many foolish actions could a woman make in one evening?

She walked into the bedroom.

Her legs feeling as if they were walking on a cloud, she followed him past the largest bed she had ever seen in her life, vaguely noting the impersonal nature of the space and its lack of pictures or photos, her heart hammering, breaths shortening.

Tabitha had never been in a man’s bedroom before.

Trying desperately to affect nonchalance, but knowing she was failing, she followed him through another door into a bathroom that was as luxurious as the bedroom was sparse.

Heart in her throat, she went straight to the double sink. From the corner of her eye she saw Giannis open a tall cupboard door and pull out what looked like a black leather washbag.

Carefully unwinding the cravat from her hand, she placed it in the right-hand sink then turned the left sink’s tap on.

The bleeding had definitely lessened in flow.

‘Your cravat is ruined,’ she said in what she wanted to be a conversational tone but which sounded shaky even to her own ears. The cravat might be black but it was made of silk.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He placed the washbag beside the sink just as she put her hand under the running tap.

She clenched her teeth as the cold water hit.

‘It hurts?’ he asked.

‘Only a bit,’ she lied, feeling foolish to admit that a cut so minor smarted so much. There was soap in a dispenser above the sink and she squirted some onto the cut and rubbed it in, then held it back under the tap to let it clean out properly, all the while intensely aware that Giannis stood close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from him.

They had danced together for hours, their bodies almost flush, but her awareness of him had not been as heightened as it was now.