Powerful Greek, Unworldly Wife

For a moment—just for a moment—something shimmered between them and then she dragged her eyes away from his and focused on the baby. Her heart was thumping, her stomach was tumbling over and over. But he’d always had this effect on her, hadn’t he? He could turn her legs to jelly with just one glance. Everything else became irrelevant.

Except that it wasn’t irrelevant and she had this baby to remind her of that fact.

He lay quietly. Even in sleep Millie could see the dark feathering of his eyelashes against his cheek and the shock of dark hair. And her heart melted. To her intense relief, the baby softened everything inside her. ‘You poor thing,’ she whispered, gently touching his head with her hand. ‘You must be missing your mummy—wondering what you’re doing in this strange place.’ Aware that Leandro was looking at her oddly, she flushed. ‘Sorry. I suppose it’s a bit crazy speaking to a baby who’s asleep.’

Her eyes met his and in that single instant she knew he was thinking about the child they could have made together. The image was too painful and she looked away, determined not to torture herself with what she would never have. If she’d produced a child quickly, perhaps this would never have happened. But that had been another failure on her part. Another failure to add to the list. ‘He’s sweet. He has your hair.’

‘Then the child is a miracle of conception,’ Leandro snapped. ‘But I can assure you that your sister was definitely the mother.’

Millie struggled not to react. ‘Becca was always confident. I think that’s why she was so successful. It just didn’t enter her head that she couldn’t do something or have something.’ Even her sister’s husband. ‘Like you, she never questioned herself or doubted herself. You had that in common.’

‘Alpha woman.’

Millie looked at him. ‘Yes. She was.’ And she’d always felt insecure around her big sister. There had been just no way she could ever measure up. Even as a very young child, she’d been aware that she was walking in her sister’s shadow.

And even in death Becca had left that shadow—a dark cloud that had stolen the light from Millie’s marriage. From her life.

‘Let’s leave the baby to sleep.’ Taking control, Leandro put a hand in the centre of her back and urged her out of the room. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘No.’ Millie wondered how he could be thinking about food. ‘It’s past midnight. I was going to go straight to the bed and breakfast.’

‘You’re not going to any bed and breakfast. We need to talk—and I need coffee, so we’ll have the conversation in the kitchen.’

Too drained to argue, Millie followed him downstairs. The kitchen was another room that had surprised her when she’d first seen the house. It was a clever combination of modern and traditional, a large range cooker giving warmth and comfort, while the maximal use of glass ensured light poured into every available space. As a result the lush garden appeared to be part of the room and the table was positioned in such a way that, whatever the season, it felt as though you were sitting outdoors.

‘Sit down before you fall down.’ Leandro strolled to the espresso machine and ground some beans.

The sound pounded her throbbing head and Millie winced. ‘You still make it all from scratch, then?’ It had been one of the many things that she’d learned about him early on. He wanted the best. Whether it was art, coffee or women—Leandro demanded perfection. Which made it even more surprising that he’d picked her.

He made the coffee—as competent in the kitchen as he was everywhere else. Leandro used staff because his life was so maniacally busy, not because he was deficient in skills. And sometimes, she knew, he just preferred to be on his own.

He’d rolled back his shirtsleeves and the muscles of his forearm flexed as he worked.

Strong, Millie thought as she looked at him. He was strong; physically, emotionally—and that inherent strength was part of his devastating appeal. He was a man who led while others followed. A man women were drawn to.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that the baby had been brought here?’ To distract herself, she asked the question that was on her mind. ‘Why did I have to read about it in the newspapers?’

‘You walked out on me.’ His voice terse, he reached for a cup. ‘I had no reason to think you’d be interested.’

Absorbing that blow, Millie curled her fingers over the back of the chair. ‘Why are you so angry with me? I would have thought you’d be apologetic or at least a little uncomfortable but you’re not. You’re…’

‘I’m what, Millie?’

‘You’re…’ She hesitated. ‘Boiling with rage. And I just don’t get it.’

He didn’t reply, but she knew he’d heard her because his hand stilled for a moment. And then he lifted an empty cup. ‘Do you want one?’

‘No, thank you. You make it so strong it will keep me awake.’ Not that she’d sleep anyway. The adrenaline was pumping round her bloodstream like a drug. She wanted to walk. Pace. Sob?

Leandro waited while the thick dark brew filled the small cup. Then he walked across to the table. ‘Right, let’s talk.’ He put the cup on the table and sprawled in the nearest chair. The edges of his torn dress shirt slid apart, revealing his flat, bronzed abdomen.

Millie kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. ‘What is there to talk about?’

‘This is going to be a tiring conversation for you if you stand all the way through it. And you already look ready to drop.’

She sat, too emotionally wrung out to think for herself. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You look wrecked. You should have told me you were coming. I would have sent my private jet.’