What the Greek Can't Resist

In black. Only the flame of her hair provided vivid colour in the harsh landscape. And she was in the process of coiling it into a tight bun when she followed him out to the dining room, where he’d set her breakfast tray.

Ari resisted the urge to pull her hands away from her task. He also resisted the urge to command her to change her clothes.

She finished securing her hair and turned to him. Her gaze met his for a moment before travelling over his body.

Noting his attire, she looked back up. ‘Have you slept at all?’

‘No,’ he replied, vaguely disturbed by his anger at her choice of clothes.

A look of concern crossed her eyes. He allowed it to touch him for a second, two seconds, before he looked away.

‘Sit down. Drink your tea and have some of those dry crackers. They’ll calm any nausea that triggers morning sickness.’

She looked at the tray and wrinkled her nose. ‘Too late. I’ve already thrown up twice.’

He forced away the anxiety that tightened his nape. ‘Drink it anyway.’

She sat and he poured her tea and passed it to her, noting the anxious glances she sent his way. Part of him wanted to reassure her. He curbed the feeling because he knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy.

‘Aren’t you having anything?’

‘No. Until we find out which smells trigger your nausea, I’ll eat my meals separately.’

‘How come you know so much about morning sickness and nausea triggers?’

Ice formed in his belly, stealing his breath. But it was nothing compared to the pain that ripped through his heart as the guilt and fear returned twice as forcefully.

He looked up and saw the anxiety stamped on her face.

‘Ari?’

‘I know because my wife was four months pregnant with our first child when she died.’

Her cup clattered onto the saucer and her features paled. ‘Oh, my God. I’m... I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for—’

He slashed a hand through the air, unwilling to dwell on the past, unwilling to let her see the devastation that still had the power to shred his insides.

They had more important things to discuss than the subject of his hubris.

‘Drink your tea, Perla. We have a lot to discuss.’

The shock of his revelation still clear in her eyes, she slowly picked up her cup and took another tiny sip. He waited until she’d eaten a cracker before he spoke.

‘Do you have any health issues that I should know about?’

She placed her cup down. ‘I’m allergic to shellfish but, aside from that, I’ve always been healthy and Morgan’s health insurance provided me with annual check-ups. They always came back clean.’

The mention of her husband’s name made his fists clench but he forced the feeling away. He needed to get over the fact that she’d been another man’s wife only a short time ago.

‘Good. Then we’ll postpone a thorough health check until we return to London.’

Her eyes connected with his. ‘We’re returning to London?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because London is where we will be married.’

CHAPTER TEN

‘NO.’

‘You’ve already said that. Twice.’

‘I believe in making things crystal-clear so there’s no misunderstanding. I won’t marry you.’

Perla watched his nostrils pinch in that way that told her he was hanging onto his control by a thread. But the emotions coursing through her eroded any concern for his control or lack thereof.

Who would’ve believed that a proposal of marriage could bring so much pain? But devastating pain was exactly what ravaged her as they faced each other across his wide living room like two boxers about to engage in a fight.

‘You’ve yet to give me a reason why not.’

‘And you’ve yet to give me a valid reason why I should. Presumably it’s because I’m pregnant. Regardless, the answer is still no.’

‘Perla—’

‘No is no, Ari.’ Her hands shook as she thought back to what she’d been through the last three years. ‘I got married under false pretences three years ago. I won’t do it again, no matter the reason.’

His eyes sparked with curiosity. ‘Explain.’

She paused. Could she reveal the final humiliation? ‘I’ve already told you my marriage was...difficult. I also know how you feel about me and the circumstances under which we met. No matter how much you try to deny it, I know you despise what happened between us. Trust me, losing my virginity to a man who’s mourning his dead wife on the anniversary of her death is bad enough. I refuse to become trapped in another sham of a marriage where I’m second best.’