Christmas Baby For The Greek

“It’s right outside that big room? By the foyer?”

He gave a short nod.

“I’ll find it.”

“Until then.” With a small bow, he left. Holly looked after him, until the baby whimpered plaintively in her arms.

Was she being unkind, insisting on believing the worst of Stavros? Was it possible he actually wished to be a loving father to Freddie?

If he did, and Holly pushed him away from their son, then she would be the selfish one. Was she really protecting their baby? Or just wanting to punish Stavros, to make him suffer for the way he’d hurt her, by seducing and then abandoning her?

Lost in these unsettling thoughts, Holly gave her baby a bath in the en suite bathroom, then dried him off with a thick cotton towel. As she nuzzled his dark hair, breathing in his sweet newborn smell, she suddenly wished she’d never left Switzerland. All she wanted to do was be safe.

And nothing about Stavros Minos was safe. Not to her body. Not to her heart.

She shivered, remembering how his dark eyes had burned when he’d said he intended to marry her. Every moment she spent with him, every look, every innocent touch, reminded her of the night they’d conceived their child. Every moment close to him caused new sparks of need to crackle through her body.

She took a deep breath, looking out at the balcony where the sun was setting brilliantly over the Aegean Sea, past the palm trees. Oh, what she was doing on this remote Greek island, in a place that seemed expressly made for seduction?

Grabbing Freddie’s old, clean footie pajamas from her overnight bag, she dressed him on the changing table and then carried him to the rocking chair near the window, overlooking the sea where the sun was falling into the water. Twenty minutes later, she tucked him into the crib, drowsy with a full belly.

Going to the en suite bathroom, Holly took a quick shower, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror. Wrapping herself in the thick white robe from the door, she went back into the closet and looked in her overnight bag. The thick hoodie, turtleneck and jeans she’d packed seemed all wrong for Greece. Snowy Switzerland seemed a million miles away.

Biting her lip, Holly slowly looked around the enormous closet. New clothes, in both her size and the baby’s, had been neatly folded on the shelves and were hanging from the racks. Rising to her feet, she touched a white cotton sundress. For a moment, she was lost in a sudden dream, imagining soft fabric sliding over her skin as Stavros kissed her, his naked, powerful body hard against hers—

Electricity burned through her, making her breasts tighten and her body tremble.

No!

Holly couldn’t allow herself to let down her guard. The last time she had, she’d ended up pregnant and alone.

And the stakes were far too high now. If she ever gave herself to Stavros again, either her body or her heart, he’d have the power to destroy her...and Freddie. She couldn’t let that happen.

Holly lifted her chin. She was no longer an innocent girl who could be easily swayed by passionate kisses or sweet lies. She’d learned about consequences. She had a baby to think of.

This time, there was nothing Stavros could do to seduce her. If he truly wanted to help her raise their son, if his only intention was to be a good father, she would try to let him, for Freddie’s sake.

She would have good manners. She would be courteous.

But Holly would never let Stavros back into her bed, or her heart. Never. Never ever!

* * *

Stavros stood out on the terrace, leaning against the white balustrade overlooking the cliff. He was still dressed in a tailored black button-down shirt and trousers that fit snugly against his body. He’d thought of changing to casual clothes, but there was no point in pretending to be casual, when the truth was, he felt anything but.

A table had been set up on the terrace, with three place settings. But he knew his father would not come.

His jaw tightened, and he looked behind him at the house of his childhood. He felt his back break out in a cold sweat. How unhappy he’d been here. He still remembered his mother’s wretchedness and heartbreak. His father hadn’t just been selfish. He’d been cruel to her, flaunting his affairs, just to prove his power over her.

Now, the sprawling white villa glowed gold, orange and red, illuminated like King Midas’s palace by the sun setting over the Aegean to the west.

It had been a shock to return here. He wondered how long he’d been frozen when he’d arrived in the convertible, staring up at the house. He’d been stunned to see Eleni. Like Vassilis, the guard, she’d grown much older. Even the villa, which had loomed so large in his youth, had grown much smaller. Or maybe, like Eleni had said, it was just Stavros who’d grown larger.

He’d lived here until he was eight. He had strong memories of his father’s violent arguments with his mother, that had left Aristides shouting insults, and Rowena weeping. When, after years of emotional abuse, his mother could stand no more, she’d announced she was divorcing him and moving back to Boston.

In response, Aristides had coldly informed Stavros he could either remain in Greece as a rich man’s son, or go to Boston to be a “nobody” and a “pitiful mama’s boy.”

Stavros had made his choice, and his father had been livid. He’d spoken with Aristides only once since then, when Stavros was seventeen. After months of ignoring his son’s increasingly frantic phone messages, his father finally answered the phone on the day Stavros called to tell him Rowena had died.