Pregnant by the Commanding Greek

Yeah, right. ‘You own the building I work in.’

‘But a management company employs the staff.’

‘Do you own the management company?’ She wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.

‘They’re contracted... I don’t own them.’

‘So that makes it okay?’ Her heart was pounding unnaturally fast.

‘I think it creates a technicality we can take advantage of.’ He looked right at her. Those amber flecks in his eyes lit up with every word. ‘And you like breaking the stupid rules, right? This is a stupid one. Besides, I’m only living in the penthouse while I get my head around the building. Then I’ll lease it to a client and move to my next investment, so you won’t see me much.’

His message couldn’t be clearer. He was saying he’d stay out of her way. That his presence was temporary. That this was just dinner. Just one night.

But Ettie needed a moment.

‘You don’t ever want to stay in one of your buildings?’ She was intrigued by his transitory lifestyle.

‘I like projects. I like the excitement and unique challenge of each one, and once I’ve overcome that challenge it’s time to move on to another.’

She suspected he wasn’t just talking building acquisition. It was lovers as well. ‘You get bored easily?’

A speculative gleam heated his eyes even more. Yeah, he was talking on more than one level. But he answered with that customary seriousness. ‘I like to keep busy. I like having problems to grapple with.’

‘You don’t ever want to just blob out on the beach?’

He cocked his head and considered it briefly. ‘It’s not something I’ve ever done.’

‘Seriously?’ She frowned. ‘Not ever?’ Didn’t his parents own all those hotels in Greece? Wasn’t that the ultimate holiday destination? ‘You never have holidays?’

‘Do you?’ he countered.

‘I don’t have much choice.’ She grimaced. ‘I work hard but I don’t have the same financial rewards, and I have obligations...’ Which she didn’t want to go into with him right now. ‘What’s the point in all your success if you don’t stop and celebrate it every so often?’

‘The point is the success itself,’ he answered.

‘You don’t get tired?’ She was flummoxed. If she could take a break somewhere warm and beautiful, she’d be there in a heartbeat.

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured. ‘I know how to relax.’

Yeah, she bet he did. She sent him a reproachful glare and he suddenly laughed. Ettie gaped, stunned at his instant transformation from unsmiling autocrat to hot, buttered hunk. She dragged oxygen into her tight lungs. It wasn’t right that a man should be so gorgeous.

‘It’s not what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘Well, not entirely.’

‘How do you know what I’m thinking?’

‘It’s written all over your face.’

Hopefully not everything she was thinking. And hopefully it wasn’t obvious how her innards were positively melting. ‘So you don’t do this often? Pick up women and take them to dinner?’

‘No, not often, actually. Does that surprise you?’ His expression returned to serious as he studied her. ‘You don’t believe me?’

‘You’ve been seen with other women,’ she said.

His eyebrows shot up. ‘When?’

‘Last night, apparently.’ She tried to play it cool but she was already regretting bringing it up. ‘A woman leaving your apartment.’

He’d probably been celebrating his first night in Cavendish House.

Now Leon studied her for another long moment. She knew he was thinking. She just wished she knew what.

‘You were talking about me.’ His lips curved ever so slightly. ‘You were curious.’

Before she had the chance to deny it, or to apologise, or to melt in a swelter of embarrassment, he continued softly.

‘Was she seen in my company?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think so. The woman who left my apartment late last night had arrived only minutes earlier. She’s an acquaintance who’d heard I’d moved in. She came to see me as a surprise but it wasn’t something I wished to pursue.’

‘You don’t like surprises like that?’

What red-blooded man wouldn’t want to be surprised by some model-type turning up at midnight with a booty call on her mind?

‘I already told you,’ he replied. ‘I like challenges.’

Surely he didn’t see her as a challenge?

But she was pleased somehow, that he didn’t dally with anyone and everyone who offered.

Leon picked up her journal from the counter and opened it again to look at the long columns of her lists. ‘You could write a list about whether or not to have dinner with me.’ He shook his head and snapped her book shut. ‘Or you could just trust your instincts.’

Ettie regarded him warily. Her very basic instincts were hell-bent on leading her into trouble and her instincts had let her down before. Leon Kariakis was pure temptation and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, she was determined to remain in control of herself.

But this was a dare and he didn’t scare her.

‘All right, then,’ she decided with spirit. ‘Only to tell you all about the Cavendish.’

‘Wonderful.’

He waited while she closed up the shop and set the security alarm. She grabbed her coat, but despite the chill in the air she didn’t put it on. The thing was ancient and the zip was broken and she didn’t want him seeing how worn it was.

‘What do you usually have for dinner?’ he asked as they walked along the crowded footpath.

Usually on the nights she’d worked late she grabbed a chocolate bar from the tube station on the way home or didn’t bother. Tonight had been going to be a not-bother night. But she wasn’t about to admit that. ‘I might cook a quick stir-fry.’

‘But if you were to dine out?’

She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. Truth? She never dined out.

He sent her a sideways look. ‘I know a good place.’

‘I thought you were new to the area and didn’t know any of the cool places.’ She couldn’t help smiling.

‘I asked one of the concierges at my apartment building,’ he replied smoothly. ‘They offer a superb service.’

She rolled her eyes and kept pace with him along the busy footpath. A couple of corners later he paused outside a beautiful brick mansion.

She shook her head at him. ‘No chance. You have to have a booking.’

He shrugged as if he wasn’t fazed. ‘We won’t take up much space.’

It was a celebrity chef’s place—the kind you had to make a reservation for six months in advance, which was actually a good thing, as it then gave you the time to save the small fortune you needed just to enjoy an appetiser, let alone sample the full menu. Ettie made bookings all the time on behalf of her Cavendish residents.

But Leon simply walked up to the door, which the discreet security guard immediately opened. The maître d’ swept towards them, his wide gaze fixed firmly on Leon and his smile welcoming and wide. Leon didn’t even need to utter a word.

‘May I have five minutes, sir, if you’d like a drink first?’

‘Thank you,’ Leon answered with the ease of one born to privilege. ‘Champagne?’ He turned to Ettie.

‘Lemonade,’ she replied firmly and caught a gleam of pure amusement in his eyes.

‘Definitely not a risk-taker,’ he murmured.

‘Fine, then,’ she breathed. ‘Champagne.’

One glass wouldn’t do any harm.

They’d barely been given their drinks when the maître d’ reappeared to lead them through the busy dining room. Ettie tried not to stare. Several faces were familiar to her but not through personal acquaintance. These were publicly led lives—an actress, a politician. Possib

ly a minor royal? They stopped at a secluded table in an alcove near the rear of the restaurant. It was quieter than the main dining room, more intimate and far more private.

‘You like it?’ Leon asked as she took her seat.

‘You know the owner?’ She hazarded a guess as she tried not to stare at the gleaming lighting and sumptuous décor, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. The place was amazing. ‘This is really kind of you.’

‘No, I’m not really kind,’ he corrected bluntly. ‘This is pure self-interest. I get a pretty companion for dinner to take my mind off my misery.’

‘Misery?’ She quirked an eyebrow while battling the warmth she felt at his compliment. He didn’t really mean it. He was just adding ‘charming’ to his repertoire, which was very unfair of him. ‘Because your life’s so terrible?’ Curious, she watched him keenly for his answer.

But he turned the conversation back on her. ‘Was it really going to be a stir-fry?’

‘No,’ she admitted with a chuckle. ‘I hate cooking. Generally I exist on grilled cheese sandwiches.’