Christmas Baby For The Greek

“Yes,” she’d whispered. He shuddered at the memory.

When Holly had told him she’d marry him and have his child, that single word had nearly unmanned him. And now it was almost impossible to hold himself back, when just the feel of her and the sight of her were enough to make him explode. Especially when he was bare inside her, a pleasure he’d never experienced before. He was a breath from losing control.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. He set his jaw, desperately trying to keep hold of the reins in a ruthless grip.

Stavros felt like a virgin himself.

He’d spoken the forbidden words that seared his heart, words he’d never said to any woman. Outlandish words, asking her to marry him and have his baby. It was his one last chance to leave something of himself behind. An adoring wife, and a son or daughter to carry on his name.

She should have refused him, laughed in his face. After all, they were barely more than strangers to each other.

Instead, she’d accepted him, as if she’d dreamed her whole life of marrying Stavros and having his child.

All he’d wanted to do was possess her, to thrust inside her, hard and fast. But he’d known the first time would be painful for her. So he’d forced himself to go slow, to take his time, to seduce her. To make it good for her.

When he’d first pushed himself inside her, he’d hated to see sudden pain wipe out the joy in her beautiful face. So he’d held her, until her pain passed, though it was total agony to hold himself still, so hard with need, so deep inside her. But he managed it—for her. He’d kissed her sweaty forehead, her soft cheek, and held her close until he felt her shoulders relax, and a sigh came from her lips.

Now, the raw intensity of his desire for her was almost too much to bear. As he felt her move beneath him, her every gasp of pleasure was pure torture.

She was soft, so soft. And so sensual. He was on a razor’s edge of control.

Holly Marlowe was a sensual goddess. He wondered how he hadn’t recognized her beauty and sensuality from the moment he’d first seen her, three years before. He should have seen past the mousy bun and baggy, unflattering clothes. He should have known what they really were—a disguise.

She was his now, and she would be his for as long as he lived. She would be his wife. He would fill her with his child—

With a shudder of need, he kissed her lips, tenderly at first, then with building passion. As her hands gripped his shoulders, pushing him tighter against her, he panted with need, beads of sweat rising on his forehead as he continued to thrust slowly, gently, letting her feel every inch of him moving inside her.

The pleasure was incredible. Some of his control began to slip. But he wasn’t ready for it to end, not yet. He wanted to make it amazing for her.

He looked down. Holly’s face was sweetly lifted, her eyes closed with ecstasy. He almost exploded right then. With a shudder, he gripped her hips and slowly began to increase his pace. Her lips parted as she sucked in her breath, her fingernails raking

slowly down his naked back.

When he finally felt her tighten around him as her gasp of pleasure turned into a scream, he could hold himself back no longer. He plunged deep into her, and his own hoarse shout melded with hers, echoing against the windows overlooking the sparkling lights of the city. The white tree twinkled amid the dark shadows of the bedroom, as the clock struck midnight on Christmas Eve.

* * *

When Stavros woke, the soft light of dawn was coming through his bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the wintry city looked gray on Christmas morning.

He’d been lost in the best dream he’d ever had. Holly had been kissing him, and she’d been heavily pregnant. Emotion shone from her vulnerable eyes as she’d told him she loved him—

Now, he looked at the soft, warm woman in his arms. Both of them were still naked beneath the white comforter. He realized he’d slept all night, holding her in his arms. They were still facing each other, their foreheads almost touching on the pillow, her curly red hair stretched out behind her. Even in sleep, his arms had been wrapped protectively around her.

I love you, Stavros, she’d whispered in the dream, her heart and soul in her eyes.

It was just a dream, he reminded himself harshly. Totally meaningless. But in the cold light of reality, he felt her imagined words like an ice pick through his soul. I love you.

When he’d imagined leaving her behind after his death, he’d pictured a pregnant wife dressed in black, standing stoically beside his grave.

He hadn’t thought of how it might feel to be the widow left behind. How Holly’s warm, generous, loving heart might react to all that grief. It could destroy her.

Could? It would.

His conscience, buried and repressed for so long, suddenly came out in full force. Could he really be so selfish? Was he a Minos man through and through after all?

I’ll leave her all my fortune, he argued with himself.

But Holly wouldn’t care about that, not really. After all, she’d spent three years working for Oliver without asking for the raise and promotion she deserved. When she’d walked into his twenty-million-dollar penthouse, with its elegant decor created at great expense by Manhattan’s foremost interior designer, she’d been left utterly unmoved.