Pregnant by the Commanding Greek

‘Are you?’ He fired with her challenge. ‘Excellent. Take me with you—I’m new to town and don’t know all the cool places.’

A disconcerted expression crossed her face and he inwardly laughed. He couldn’t lie to himself any more. His offer to care for the dog was based in selfish motivation: to see more of Antoinette. He wanted her in his bed. Ideally tonight. It had hit in that first second—lust at first sight. Lust that was only increasing the longer he spent in her company. Perhaps if he satisfied the urge, it’d disappear as swiftly as it had come.

And her reaction to him? He could tempt her.

‘I...’ She glanced at her watch and that flush across her delicate, high cheekbones built.

It was five minutes until closing and he wasn’t planning on leaving. ‘You like working here?’

He made conversation to ease her embarrassment. Despite those delicious feisty flashes, she displayed hints of shyness. He found the combination unbelievably tantalising.

‘It’s nice.’ She nodded.

He tensed. ‘Nicer than Cavendish?’

Was she thinking of leaving her concierge job? In some ways that would be good—it would free them of any messiness, given their positions there.

‘It’s quieter than Cavendish, but I don’t build the same relationship with my customers as I do there. I only work the late nights here.’ She glanced at the counter display. ‘It’s beautiful stationery.’

‘That’s why you work here—because you like the product?’

A bubble of laughter burst from her shimmering lips. ‘No, if I just liked the product, I’d buy it.’

‘So it’s money.’ He frowned, unhappy at the thought that she was forced to work two jobs. ‘We don’t pay you enough.’

A wary expression crossed her face. ‘It’s fine. I have commitments. Most of us do, right?’

He shouldn’t pry further but he couldn’t help watching intently, waiting to see if she’d say more. Her clear eyes dimmed with faint shadows.

‘Saving,’ she muttered, unable to help herself.

Unusually for him, his curiosity deepened. But it wasn’t his business. He had no right to press further. ‘Good for you.’

She nodded awkwardly. ‘So did you want anything in particular?’

He bit back the blunt answer of what he particularly wanted and made himself breathe first. ‘I wanted to see if it was really you.’

‘Well.’ That impish smile flashed on her lips, flicking away the shadows in her eyes. ‘It is.’

‘In another uniform.’ He couldn’t help noticing that damned demure neckline again.

‘Black again.’ She bit her lip as she quickly glanced down as if afraid she’d spilled something. ‘Always ready for a funeral, that’s me,’ she quipped. ‘But it’s discreet. Unobtrusive.’

‘I would never describe you as unobtrusive,’ he muttered quietly.

She’d burst into his life in a blaze of passion and fury.

She met his gaze, silently questioning just how he’d describe her. Unspoken awareness flickered between them, like a gravitational pull.

Her blush returned full force, a ruby tide over her creamy complexion. ‘I should get back to work. It’s almost time to close.’

She was flustered again. He was fascinated by her unconscious dance—she advanced closer with those challenges, then retreated in shyness. He glanced around the shop, pleased to discover it had emptied completely of other customers. ‘Show me the biggest seller.’

‘Seriously?’ The droll scepticism on her face was a picture.

Entertained by her expressiveness, he leaned closer. ‘Why not? You don’t think I can afford it?’

She sent him another look. ‘Well, I know you don’t need a new pen.’ She lifted an item from the counter and met his gaze with a prim, shop-girl pose. ‘But we have an exquisite range of journals.’

‘Exquisite,’ he echoed dryly.

‘Incredibly so,’ she emphasised, refusing to acknowledge his soft sarcasm.

‘What is it about girls and diaries?’ He reached out and traced the smooth leather cover with his finger. ‘Do you pour out your soul into one of these every night?’

‘What if I do?’ She lifted her chin in that irresistibly defiant gesture.

‘Would it make for fascinating reading?’ He was appallingly curious now. For the first time intrigued enough to want to know all a woman’s thoughts, all her wishes, every last secret and deepest desire.

‘Sadly, no. I only keep lists in mine.’ She reached across the counter and flipped an open book around to show him. ‘See?’

‘This is yours?’ His pulse rate lifted.

‘I work on it in quiet moments,’ she said. ‘I have permission from my boss—it’s good to see our products in use.’

Her defensiveness amused him. Was she as discomforted by him as much as he was by her? He leaned closer to read the scrawled list.

‘I forget things,’ she added nervously. ‘I’m naturally disorganised, so I work hard to get it together and nail my job. Lists are the only thing that work for me.’ She tried to pull the journal back but he planted his hand down to keep it there. His fingers brushed against her for the second time that day. Skin touched skin. She stilled, as did he.

A millisecond later she snatched her hand back. But he knew she’d felt that current of electricity flow between them.

He turned the pages of her journal, refusing to feel any remorse—she was the one who’d offered it for his viewing. But to his disappointment there were no deepest desires on show inside. Only ruthless organisation, as she’d said.

‘Everything in your life is dictated by a list?’ There were reminders, shopping lists, ticked-off tasks, pros and cons for other things... ‘It’s a lot of lists.’ He flicked through more pages, wishing there were something far more personal in it. ‘And in a rainbow of colours.’

‘It doesn’t need to be boring. Right? But I’m no artist, so I just choose a differ

ent colour for each...’

‘I have a planner,’ he offered idly. ‘But it’s online.’

‘Online?’ She shuddered theatrically. ‘I couldn’t get all these lists on the one screen. And what if it got deleted?’

‘What if you lost your journal?’ he countered with the obvious. ‘What if someone you don’t want to read it gets hold of it?’

Her impish grin darted back. ‘That’s why there are only lists and reminders.’

‘So, nothing too personal or incriminating?’ He sighed with genuine disappointment. ‘You’re not a risk-taker, then.’

Her eyes widened.

‘You won’t run the risk of someone discovering your secrets,’ he explained.

‘Perhaps I don’t have any,’ she muttered.

‘Everyone has secrets.’ And desires.

Silent, she just gazed back at him.

‘And I’ll bet you’re not really going clubbing,’ he added quietly.

This time her smile was more sheepish than impish, and she shook her head.

‘Have you had dinner?’ He didn’t give her time to answer. ‘I don’t think you’ve had time if you came straight from your shift at Cavendish. You must be hungry.’

He saw her hesitate and spoke again before she could deny it. ‘Have dinner with me.’

‘No thanks,’ she instantly answered.

‘Am I that awful?’ he shot back, unafraid to challenge her directly. He knew what he wanted. He knew what she wanted too. He was just more honest about it.

She stared at him for a moment, shocked. ‘No, I—’

‘Well, don’t let me down so roughly. It’s only dinner.’

Roughly? Ettie narrowed her eyes on him. He was pulling her leg, right? Behind that serious facade there was some humour. ‘It’s not a wise idea. You’re my boss.’

‘It’s not a date, just dinner. If it makes you feel better, you can tell me about life on the concierge desk. I need to know how the whole operation works. There’ll be no repercussions for complete honesty.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, I’m not really your boss.’