The Dimitrakos Proposition

As they emerged from the restaurant, Acheron banded an arm round her stiff spine, and she blinked in bewilderment at the daunting acknowledgement that they were literally surrounded by photographers. ‘Smile,’ he instructed her flatly.

And, hating it, she did as she was told.

‘What was that all about?’ she demanded once they were driving away.

‘Public proof of our relationship,’ Acheron supplied drily. ‘There’ll be an announcement of our engagement in The Times tomorrow.’

What relationship? Tabby thought with wry amusement. He said jump, she said how high? That was not a relationship, it was a dictatorship, but possibly he didn’t know the difference.

* * *

The plaintive cry roused Acheron from a sound sleep. He listened for a while but the noise continued. After a moment, he rolled out of bed with a curse on his lips and reached the bedroom door, before groaning out loud and stalking back to rummage through a drawer and extract a pair of jeans. He hated having guests. He hated any interruption to his usual routine. But Tabby was a better option than a real wife, he reminded himself with satisfaction, and a good deal less likely to develop ambitious ideas about hanging on to her privileged position.

He pushed open the door of the nursery and saw the baby in the cot. It was kicking its arms and legs in furious activity, its little face screwed up as it loosed a wail that would have wakened the dead. Only, apparently, not her wannabe adoptive mother. Ash hovered by the cot, his wide, sensual mouth on a downward curve. The baby sat up in a flash and looked expectant, even lifted its arms as if she expected him to haul her to freedom. It looked far too lively for a baby supposed to be sleeping.

‘No more crying,’ Ash decreed firmly. ‘I don’t like crying.’

The baby’s arms lowered, its rosebud mouth jutting out in a pout while its bright brown eyes studied him uncertainly.

‘You see, crying gets you nowhere,’ Ash explained helpfully.

Another heartbroken sob emanated from the baby. She looked incredibly sad and lonely, and Ash stifled a groan.

‘Aren’t you going to lift her? She needs comforting,’ Tabby murmured from the doorway, studying the little tableau of inflexible male and needy baby. It was infuriating to register that she couldn’t take her eyes off him when he was wearing only a pair of jeans. He had a six-pack that could have rivalled a top athlete’s and his lean, muscular bronzed chest was state-of-the-art perfection, showcasing a male body that could have played a starring role in any female fantasy.

‘Why would I lift her?’ Ash enquired with a raised brow, flashing her a glance and noticing in that one brief look that she was wearing a pale nightdress that revealed more than it concealed of her tiny body while she stood with her back turned to the light in the corridor. He glimpsed delicate little pink nipples and a pale shadowy vee between her thighs, and his body reacted with instantaneous arousal.

‘Because if you expect our adoption application to impress the powers-that-be, you need to be confident that you can handle Amber.’

‘I will be perfectly confident if the situation demands that of me, but at this hour of the day it would be very unwise to remove her from the cot,’ he declared. ‘She’s there for the whole night. It’s two in the morning, in case you haven’t noticed. Why raise her hopes by lifting her?’

Amber released another howl and, gripped by frustration, Tabby marched over to the cot, swept up the little girl and settled her without ceremony into Ash’s arms. ‘If she has a nightmare she needs comforting. She needs to know someone is there for her and a little cuddle usually soothes her.’

Amber was as shocked as Acheron to find herself in his arms. Wide brown eyes anxiously observed him. ‘Cuddle?’ Ash almost whispered the word in appalled disbelief. ‘You actually expect me to cuddle her?’

CHAPTER FOUR

WITH A GASP of irritation, Tabby removed Amber from his awkward hold and pressed her close. ‘Skin-to-skin contact is important,’ she demonstrated, kissing Amber’s hot brow.

‘I’m not doing the kissing stuff either,’ Acheron breathed witheringly.

‘Then smooth her hair, rub her back, make her feel secure in other ways,’ Tabby advised ruefully. ‘Stop being so resistant to my suggestions.’

‘And how do you suggest I do that? With a personality transplant?’ Acheron derided. ‘I’m no good with kids. I have no experience of that sort of affection.’

‘It’s never too late to learn,’ Tabby told him with determination, settling Amber carefully back into his arms. ‘Hold her closer, pet her. And please don’t tell me you have no experience of petting women.’

‘I don’t pet them. I have sex with them. This is not an appropriate conversation to have around a child!’ Acheron bit out in exasperation.

Picking up on his annoyance, Amber whimpered. He spread his fingers across her back in an uneasy rubbing motion.

‘Bring her closer,’ Tabby urged, approaching him to tuck the baby into the curve of his shoulder. ‘She’s not going to bite.’

Acheron could never recall feeling quite so tense or uncomfortable. He knew what she wanted from him but he didn’t want to do it. Then he thought of DT Industries, which would be one hundred per cent his only after the wedding, and he held the baby against him, deeming it a sacrifice worthy of such a result.

‘And talk to her,’ Tabby suggested.

‘What about?’ Acheron demanded with perfect seriousness, freezing as the baby nestled close of its own volition, disconcerted by the alien warmth and weight of her as she dug little hands into the flesh of his shoulder.