Claimed For The Greek's Child

Seconds passed. His nostrils flared slightly. She realised she hadn’t answered.

‘I...’ She swallowed hard. ‘Where is...? Who do you mean?’

‘The man you’re here with. Jules—’

‘What are you doing here?’

The snapped question from Jules held anger, panic and defiance, slicing through Maddie’s comprehension that the stranger—whoever he was—knew her, knew she was with Jules.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he studied Jules from head to toe, causing him to fidget and adjust his ruffled clothes.

‘What did you think would happen when you refused to answer your summons?’ he asked icily. ‘Did you think your activities would be allowed to continue unchecked?’

Jules opened his mouth, but the other man stopped him with a wave of his elegant hand that would have been poetic had it not been filled with foreboding.

‘I will not have this conversation with you here, while you’re in this state. Come to my hotel tomorrow morning. We will have breakfast together.’

Each statement was a stern directive, permitting neither disagreement nor disobedience.

It rubbed Jules

the wrong way. His chin jutted out. ‘Pas possible. I have plans in the morning.’

Low thunder rumbled across the stranger’s face. ‘According to your assistant, the only thing you have scheduled is sleeping off your hangover. You will be present, in my suite, at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Is that understood?’

They faced off for less than ten seconds, but it felt like an hour.

Jules’s abrupt nod bordered on the insolent, but at the piercing, relentless regard directed towards him his head dropped the way a dog’s might when confronted with its disobedience by its master.

The older man stared down at him for another long stretch before his eyes slid sideways to the usually raucous group Jules partied with, who were now respectfully, watchfully silent.

Then his gaze switched to Maddie. He took his time scrutinising her, from the loose knot of her thick hair to the painted toes peeping through her stilettoes.

Every inch of bare skin his gaze touched—and unfortunately there was a lot of it—blazed with an alien, thrilling fire, even the tips of her fingers. She wanted to recoil. Retreat. But there was something weirdly hypnotic about his eyes on her that held her in place, made her struggle to catch even a shallow breath.

Jules followed his line of sight and his eyes widened a touch when he spotted Maddie. Clearly he’d forgotten she existed. He hastily rearranged his expression and reached for her arm. ‘Viens, mon amour, let’s go home.’

Maddie stiffened, suppressing another wince.

Even with her limited French, she understood the endearment. In all the time they’d been playing pretence Jules had never called her that. Nor had he invited her to his place. Their routine once they left a club or restaurant and the paparazzi lost interest was for one of his bodyguards to put her in a taxi.

Before she could respond, the stranger shook his head.

‘It’s 2:00 a.m. You’ve partied enough for one night. Go home. I’ll see to it that Miss Myers makes it to wherever she’s going safely.’

Jules’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘You’re assuming she isn’t going back to my place. You’re assuming she’s not my live-in girlfriend.’

‘Is she?’ Without waiting for an answer he turned sharply to her, silver eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘Are you?’

The two words were bullet-sharp.

‘That’s not the point,’ Jules interjected aggressively.

‘Either she is or she isn’t. Answer the question,’ he demanded, without taking his eyes off her.

Very much aware that she had no clue what was going on, Maddie went with the truth. ‘No, we’re not living together.’

Jules’s jaw clenched, but she shrugged it off. If he wanted to give the impression that they were more serious he should have told her. She was uncomfortable enough about the subterfuge as it was.