The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

‘Exactly.’

There was a flicker of amusement in his brilliantine eyes before it was replaced by the more familiar glint of hardness. ‘Let me guess, you have somewhere else in mind—somewhere you’ve always longed to live? A town house in the centre of Mayfair perhaps, or an apartment overlooking the river? Aren’t these the places women dream about if money were no option?’

‘I haven’t spent my whole life plotting my rise up the property ladder!’ she snapped.

‘Then you are rare among your sex.’ His gaze bored into her. ‘Lasia is my home, Keeley.’

‘And this is mine.’

‘This?’

She heard the condescension in his voice and suddenly she was fighting for her reputation and what she’d made of her life. It wasn’t much, but in the circumstances hadn’t it been the best she could manage? Hadn’t she struggled to get even this far? Bu

t what would Ariston Kavakos know of hardship and making do, with his island and his ships and the ability to click his fingers to get whatever he wanted? Even her. ‘I want to stay in London,’ she said stubbornly. ‘My mother is here, as you yourself just pointed out, remember? I can’t just up sticks and move away.’

He rubbed his forefinger along the bridge of his nose and Keeley watched as he closed his eyes, the thick lashes feathering blackly against his olive skin. Was he wondering how he was going to tolerate a life saddled with a woman he didn’t really want, with a mother whose incapacity had been brought about by her own vanity? Was he now working out how to back-pedal on his hastily offered proposal of marriage?

His eyes flickered open. ‘Very well. London it shall be. I have an apartment here,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘A penthouse in the City.’

Keeley nodded. Of course he did. He probably had a penthouse in every major city in the world. ‘Just out of interest, how long do you think this marriage of ours is going to last?’

‘The tone of your voice indicates that you think a long-standing union unlikely?’

‘I think the odds are stacked against it,’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Actually, no, I don’t. Put it this way,’ he added softly. ‘I don’t intend for my child to be brought up by any other man than me. So if you want to maintain your role as the mother, then we stay married.’

‘But—’

‘But what, Keeley? What makes you look so horrified? The realisation that I am determined to make this work? Surely that is only a good thing.’

‘But how can it work when it isn’t going to be a true marriage?’ she demanded desperately.

‘Says who? Perhaps we could learn to get along together. Something which might work if we put our minds to it. I have no illusions about marriage and my expectations are fairly low. But I think we could learn how to be civil to one another, don’t you?’

‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ she said, her voice low.

‘Are you talking about sex?’ A trace of sardonic amusement crept into his tone. ‘Ah, yes. I can see from your enchanting little blush that you are. So what’s the problem? When two people have a chemistry like ours it seems a pity not to capitalise on it. I find that good sex makes a woman very agreeable. Who knows? It might even bring a smile to your face.’

Keeley felt both faint and excited at the way he was expressing himself—and didn’t she despise herself for feeling that way? ‘And if I...refuse?’

‘Why would you?’ His gaze flicked over her body. ‘Why fight it when submission is much more satisfactory? You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you, Keeley? Remembering how good it felt to have me inside you, kissing you and touching you, until you cried out with pleasure?’

The awful thing was that not only was he speaking the truth—but she was reacting to his words and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. It was as if her body were no longer her own—as if he was controlling her reaction with just one sizzling glance. Keeley’s nipples were pushing against her cotton dress and she could feel a newfound but instantly familiar tug of desire. She wanted him, yes—but surely it was wrong to want a man who treated her the way Ariston did. He had used her as a sexual object rather than someone he respected and something told her he would continue to do so. And wouldn’t that leave her open to emotional wounding? Because something told her Ariston was the kind of man who could hurt. Who could hurt without even trying.

‘But what,’ she continued determinedly, ‘what if I decided I couldn’t stomach the idea of cold-blooded sex with a man like you?’

‘Sex with me is never cold-blooded, koukla mou—we both know that. But if you were to persist in such stubbornness, then I would be forced to find myself a mistress.’ His face darkened. ‘I believe that’s what usually happens in these circumstances.’

‘In that parallel universe of yours, you mean?’ she spat back.

‘It’s a universe I was born into,’ he snapped back. ‘It’s what I know. I won’t consign myself to a sexless future because you refuse to face up to the fact that we are having difficulty keeping our hands off each other,’ he said. ‘But I will not insult you, nor feel the need to take another woman to my bed if you behave as a wife should, Keeley. If you give me your body then I will promise you my fidelity.’

And then he smiled, a hard, cold smile which suggested he was almost enjoying her resistance. As if he were savouring the moment until he was able to conquer her. Or defeat her.

‘It’s up to you,’ he finished. ‘It’s your call.’

Keeley’s heart pounded. The way he spoke about marriage and sex was so primitive. He was autocratic and proud and he stirred her up so she couldn’t think straight, but deep down she realised she had no other place to go. She remembered his warning about taking her to court to fight for the baby if she tried to oppose him. Some men might have made such a threat lightly, but she suspected Ariston wasn’t one of them. But women had rights too, didn’t they? He couldn’t force her to remain in a marriage if it wasn’t working. And he couldn’t demand sex from her because it was his marital right to do so. Surely even he couldn’t be that primitive.