Passion Becomes You

‘Leon?’ she questioned anxiously. ‘Is something wrong?’

He made an effort to pull himself together. ‘Of course not,’ he said, turning to smile at her. ‘Actually,’ he added, ‘we have been invited to a party tonight.’

‘A party?’ She blinked, not understanding the mixed vibrations she was receiving from him. One set warned her he was furiously angry about something, and the other set were saying he was as relaxed as any man could be.

‘Yes. A birthday party to be exact. Have you had breakfast?’ he enquired suddenly. She shook her head. ‘Then I will order you something.’ Smoothly he walked over to the telephone and punched in the number which would connect him with the galley. ‘Inside or on the sun-deck?’ he asked.

She blinked, shaking her head in confusion. ‘I... Here, I think,’ she decided absently, wishing she could work out what was going on here, because she was sure that something was. ‘Whose birthday party is it?’ she asked him frowningly.

There was a distinct pause before he answered though he tried to cover it up by making the most of replacing the telephone receiver and straightening the twisted cord. Then, ‘My father’s,’ he informed her.

His father’s? A sudden thought hit her. ‘Leon, y-your father does know about me, doesn’t he? Th-that we’re married and I am—pregnant?’

Another pause. Then, ‘No,’ he told her, ‘he doesn’t know about you—or the child.’ That stiff smile touched his mouth again. ‘So you will both come as a—pleasant surprise to him tonight, won’t you?’

Will we? Jemma sank heavily into a chair, that feeling of dread emulsifying. She was remembering the Greek girl from the wealthy family Cassie had once mentioned, and knew without a doubt that, far from being a pleasant surprise for his father, she was going to be the complete opposite.

‘I don’t want to go,’ she said dully.

‘And why not? I thought you wanted to know about my family,’ he reminded her, adding drily, ‘Well, tonight you will get your chance.’

But Jemma shook her head. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Not like this. Not just dumped on them with no prior warning. It wouldn’t be fair, not on them, not on me. I won’t do it.’ She shook her head. ‘Go on your own, if you like, Leon, but I shall remain here on the yacht, if you don’t mind.’

‘But I do mind,’ he drawled, and suddenly that hard, cool core in him that he rarely ever turned on her was very evident in the air. She looked up, saw the intractable expression on his face, and her heart sank. He was standing across the room, leaning against the window-frame, but he might as well have been sitting behind his desk in an office somewhere on the other side of the world for the distance she suddenly felt between them. ‘You are my wife now, Jemma,’ he reminded her. ‘And as my wife you will accompany me to my father’s house tonight and be presented to him as such.’

‘And the woman your father had already picked out for you to marry?’ she cried. ‘Will she be there, also?’

Surprise flickered in his eyes, followed by almost instant comprehension. ‘Cassie, I presume,’ he drawled. Then, on a sigh, ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘So, it is not going to be a—pleasant evening. But whatever happens there tonight, agape mou, none of it is going to change a single thing for us.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ Her voice sounded uncertain and pleaded for reassurance. ‘What if your father throws you out on your ear for marrying yourself to the likes of me?’

Leon actually laughed at that, albeit harshly. ‘I can positively assure you, my darling, that on meeting you, throwing me out will be the last thing on my father’s mind!’

CHAPTER TEN

THEN why do I feel a bit as the lamb must feel when being led off for the slaughter? Jemma wondered miserably hours later as she stood in her bathrobe, staring at the several beautiful evening gowns Leon had provided for her, hating every one of them. ‘Or worse,’ she muttered, ‘as if I’m about to attend my own wake?’

‘Did you say something?’

Leon appeared at the half-open door, already dressed in an exquisitely cut taupe linen suit and a loose-fitting cream shirt left open at the throat to reveal the rich brown skin. He looked sleek and expensive and so darned attractive that her mouth went dry, her senses, just like the first time she’d ever set eyes on him, veering madly off course.

‘You’re not dressed!’ he proclaimed the absolute obvious.

‘Nothing fits!’ she snapped, her eyes sparkling the threat of war if he wasn’t careful. ‘What use is all this—couture elegance to me—’ she waved a scornful hand at the outfits which had been delivered to the yacht barely an hour ago ‘—when I’m six months pregnant and blown up like a stupid balloon?’

‘Have you tried any of them on?’ His voice sounded velvet-smooth in contrast to her shrill onslaught.

‘Why bother?’ she derided, moving to sit down on the dressing-stool. She stretched her bare feet out in front of her and stared mulishly at them. ‘I just know they won’t fit.’

Leon studied her in silence for a moment, seeing what to him what must look like a silly pregnant woman having a temperamental fit! When really she was just plain frightened. She did not want to go. She had, in fact, turned so chicken inside that she was actually shaking like a leaf.

‘Agape mou—’ he walked further into the room ‘—I had these clothes flown in specially from Athens—’

‘I know that!’ she responded scornfully.

Couture dresses from couture houses with couture labels stitched inside, transported from Athens to Argostólion by special courier on one of the Stephanades private planes! She hadn’t even kn

own they owned their own planes until she’d discovered how the dresses arrived. Just as she hadn’t realised—thick, stupid fool that she was—just how wealthy a family she had married herself into until she’d seen the stir they caused when they sailed into the island’s capital of Argostólion this afternoon.