Carrying the Greek's Heir

He was a master at concealing the real man who lay beneath; adept at avoiding questions. His cool blue eyes would narrow if she tried to probe more deeply; his gaze becoming one of sapphire ice. Don’t push me, those eyes seemed to say. But that didn’t stop Ellie from trying, even though he would deflect her questions by sliding his hand beneath her skirt and starting to make love to her. He’d leave her breathless and panting as all her questions dissolved and nothing was left but the pleasure he gave her, time after time. And she didn’t give up. She just lowered her sights a little. She stopped expecting big revelations and just concentrated on the little ones.

And every time she discovered something about him, it felt like a major victory—like another little missing bit of the jigsaw. In those sleepy moments after making love, he told her about how he’d worked his way up from being a kitchen boy in Athens, to owning an entire chain of restaurants. He told her about working on a fancy vineyard in California, so that he knew all about the wine trade. He made a wistful face when he described his friend Murat’s beautiful country of Qurhah and told her how big the stars looked when you were out in the middle of the desert. He explained how life was just one great big learning experience and everything he knew, he had taught himself.

And one thing she was learning faster than any other was that it wasn’t so easy to put the brakes on her own emotions. She wasn’t sure if it was her fluctuating hormones which were changing her feelings towards her Greek husband, or just that sex had removed the protective shield from her heart. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from caring for him in a way that went bone-deep. Her heart was stubbornly refusing to listen to all the logic her head tried to throw at it.

Yet she knew what happened to women who were stupid enough to love men who didn’t love them back. She’d watched her mother’s life become diminished because she had wanted something she was never going to have. She’d wasted years on bitterness and resentment, because she’d refused to accept that you couldn’t make another person do what you wanted them to.

And that was not going to happen to her.

She wouldn’t let it.

Smoothing down the folds of her tea dress, she walked into the kitchen to find Alek seated at the table, a half-full coffee pot beside him as he worked his way through a stack of financial newspapers. He glanced up as she walked in, his eyes following her every step, like a snake bewitched by a charmer. She had become used to his very macho appraisal of her appearance and, with a certain amount of guilt, had grown to enjoy it.

He put the newspaper down as she sat down opposite him and his eyes glinted as she reached for the honeypot.

‘I enjoyed licking my favourite honey last night,’ he murmured.

Her eyes widened. ‘Alek!’

‘Are you blushing, Ellie?’

‘Certainly not. It’s just the steam from the coffee making me hot.’

‘Would you like to come to Italy?’ he questioned.

Ellie dropped the little wooden spatula back in the pot. ‘You mean, with you?’ she said.

‘Of course with me. Unless you had someone else in mind?’ He smiled and gave a lazy shrug. ‘We can treat it as a kind of honeymoon, if you like. I thought we could go to Lucca. I have business in Pisa and I can go there afterwards while you fly home. And Lucca is an extraordinarily pretty city. They call it the hidden gem of Tuscany. It has an oval piazza instead of a square one and a tower with trees growing out of the top. Lots of dark and winding streets and iconic churches. You’ve never been there?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve never been anywhere apart from a day trip to Calais with my mother.’

‘Well, then.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you once tell me how much you longed to travel?’

Yes, she’d told him that, but that had been when she’d still had ambition burning big in her heart. When travelling had been part of her work plan and independence had been a believable dream which seemed to have fallen by the wayside since she’d discovered she was pregnant. She thought of Italy—with its green hills and terracotta roofs. All those famous churches and marble statues she’d only ever seen in pictures.

Wouldn’t it be good to go on an unexpected honeymoon for some sunshine and culture—even if it was the most unconventional honeymoon in the history of the world? And yet, just the fact that Alek had suggested it brightened her mood. Wasn’t this a bit of a breakthrough from her enigmatic husband? Could she possibly make it a real honeymoon—as if they were people who genuinely cared about one another, rather than two people who were just trying to make the best of a bad situation?