Daisy shivered. It was heartbreaking to think that while she’d been snuggled warm in bed in Leo’s arms, some awful person had been dumping an innocent puppy in the alley, leaving her to die in a burlap bag.
People can be monsters. Leo was right. All Daisy had to do was remember those awful lawyers who’d vindictively harassed her innocent father into prison on those trumped-up forgery charges. Her tenderhearted, artistic-minded father had collapsed in prison, surrounded by strangers. He’d had a stroke and died—
“What are you going to name her?” the vet asked, mercifully pulling her from her thoughts. Daisy blinked.
“Me?”
“Sure, she’s your dog now, isn’t she?”
Daisy looked down at the puppy on the examining table. She couldn’t possibly own a pet. She didn’t even rent her own apartment. Franck Bain was due to return from Europe soon, and she’d need to find a new place to live. With her meager income, it was unlikely she’d be able to afford an apartment that allowed a pet. Just thinking of the cost in dog food alone—
No. Daisy couldn’t keep her.
But someone had left this puppy to starve. A sweet floppy mutt who just needed a loving home. Could Daisy really abandon her?
Uncertainly, she reached out and softly stroked the dog’s head. The animal’s big dark eyes looked up at her, and she licked Daisy’s hand with a tiny rough tongue.
No. She couldn’t.
“You’re right. I’m keeping her.” She pushed away the worry of expensive vet bills and dog food. “I’ll think about a name.”
Dr. Lopez tried to wave off her offer of payment, but she insisted on paying. She couldn’t live off the charity of her father’s friends forever. It was bad enough she’d lived in Franck’s apartment for so long, even if he insisted she was the one doing him a favor by house-sitting.
She wondered if the gray-haired artist would still think so, after he discovered she’d brought a puppy home.
Leaving the vet’s, she went to the nearest bodega and bought puppy food and other pet supplies. Passing another aisle in the store, she hesitated, then furtively added a pregnancy test into her basket, too. Just so she could prove her fears were ridiculous.
After Daisy got the puppy back home and fed, she stroked her fur. “How could anyone have thrown you away?” she whispered. “You’re perfect.” Finally, gathering her courage, she left the tiny dog to drowse on the fluffy rug in front of the gas fire and went into the elegant modern bathroom to take the pregnancy test. Just get it over with, she told herself. Once she took the test, she would be able to relax.
Instead, she found out to her shock her fears were right.
She was pregnant.
Pregnant by a man she loved, though she barely knew him.
Pregnant by a man who would never marry her.
Daisy didn’t have any money. She didn’t have a permanent home. She didn’t have a family. Soon, she’d be raising both a puppy and a baby, utterly alone.
She couldn’t do it alone. She couldn’t.
Could she?
She had to tell Leo at the party tonight. The idea terrified her. What would he do when he found out she was pregnant? What would he say? Fear gripped Daisy as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.
What had she done by following her heart?
* * *
Leonidas Niarxos was in a foul mood as he arrived at his skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan, the headquarters of his international luxury conglomerate, Liontari Inc.
“Good morning, Mr. Niarxos.”
“Good morning, sir.”
Various employees greeted him as he stalked through the enormous lobby. Then they took one look at his wrathful face and promptly fled. Even his longtime chauffeur, Jenkins, who’d picked him up in Brooklyn—around the corner from Daisy’s building, so she wouldn’t see the incriminating Rolls-Royce—had known better than to speak as he’d driven his boss back across the Manhattan Bridge. Leonidas was simmering, brooking for a fight. But he had only himself to blame.
He hadn’t been able to tell Daisy his real name.
She’d looked at him with her mesmerizing green eyes, her sensual body barely covered by a sheet, and she’d hinted that seeing where Leonidas lived might make a difference—might give them a future.
At least, that was what he’d wanted to hear. So he’d given in to the temptation to postpone his confession. He’d convinced himself that pleading his case in the private luxury of his mansion, later, after he’d made love to her one last time, might lead to a different outcome.
Now he was paying for that choice. Leonidas Niarxos, billionaire playboy CEO, had just been upstaged by a dog. And he would be forced to confess his true identity in the middle of a political fundraiser, surrounded by the ruthless, powerful people he called friends. Besides, did he honestly think, no matter where or when he told Daisy the truth, she’d ever forgive what he’d done?
Standing alone in his private elevator, Leonidas gritted his teeth, and pushed the button for the top floor.
Daisy was different from any woman he’d ever met. She loved everyone and hid nothing. Her emotions shone on her face, on her body. Joy and tenderness. Desire and need. Her warmth and goodness, her kindness and innocent sensuality, had made him feel alive as he’d never felt before. She’d even been a virgin when he’d first made love to her. How was it possible?
Leonidas never should have sought her out a month ago. But then, he’d never imagined they would fall into an affair. Especially since he’d sent her father to prison.
A year ago, Leonidas had heard a small-time Brooklyn art dealer had somehow procured Love with Birds, the Picasso he’d desperately sought for two decades. His lawyer, Edgar Ross, had arranged for Leonidas to see it in his office.
But he’d known at first sight it was fake. He’d felt heartsick at yet another wild-goose chase, trying to recover the shattered loss of his childhood. He’d told his lawyer to press charges, then used his influence with the New York prosecutor to punish the hapless art dealer to the fullest extent of the law.
He’d found out later that the Brooklyn art dealer had been selling minor forgeries for years. His mistake had been trying to move up to the big leagues with a Picasso—and trying to sell it to Leonidas Niarxos.
The old man’s trial had become a New York sensation. Leonidas never attended the trial, but everyone had known he was behind it.
It was only later that Leonidas had regrets, especially after his lawyer had told him about the man’s daughter, who’d loyally sat behind her elderly father in court, day after day, with huge eyes. He’d seen the daughter’s stricken face in a poignant drawing of the courtroom, as she’d tearfully thrown her arms around her father when the verdict had come down and he’d been sentenced to six years. She’d clearly believed in Patrick Cassidy’s innocence to the end.
A few months ago, on hearing the man had died suddenly in prison, Leonidas hadn’t been able to shake a strange, restless guilt. As angry as he’d been at the man’s deceit, even he didn’t think death was the correct punishment for the crime of art forgery.
So last month, Leonidas had gone to the Brooklyn diner where Daisy Cassidy worked as a waitress, to confirm for himself the girl was all right, and anonymously leave her a ten-thousand-dollar tip.
Instead, as the pretty young brunette had served him coffee, eggs and bacon, they got to talking about art and movies and literature, and he was amazed at how fascinating she was, how funny, warm and kind. And so damn beautiful. Leonidas had lingered, finally asking her if she wanted to meet after her shift ended.
He’d lied to her.
No. He hadn’t lied, not exactly. The name he’d given her was a nickname his nanny had given him in childhood, Leo, along with his patronymic, Gianakos.
Leo, Daisy called him, her voice so musical and light, and hearing that name on her sweet lip
s, he always felt like a different person. A better man.
No woman had ever affected him like this before. Why now? Why her?
He’d never intended to seduce her. But Daisy’s warmth and innocent sensuality had been like fire to someone frozen in ice. For the first time in his life, Leonidas had been powerless to resist his desire.
But after tonight, when he told her the truth at his cocktail party—hell, from the moment she saw his house, when she obviously believed he lived in some grim studio apartment—he’d have no choice but to do without her.