Pregnant by the Commanding Greek

by Natalie Anderson

She shook her head. ‘Relationships never worked out for her.’

  A chill swept over his skin. ‘And you held off having boyfriends.’

  ‘I was too busy to meet anyone,’ she said softly.

  ‘No,’ he contradicted her. ‘You shied away from them.’ He understood why—she’d seen her mother’s heartache and it had put her off. She’d seen the consequences—she’d lived them. He couldn’t resist asking the question that burned in his gut. ‘What did he give you that others didn’t?’ Why had she said yes to that guy?

  ‘I met him not long after Mum died. It was very quick and I was vulnerable, I guess. He flattered me. He made me think I was special.’

  Leon hardened inside. ‘So he should’ve done—he was your boyfriend.’

  ‘I wanted someone to love me. I thought he did. But he didn’t.’

  Leon didn’t believe in love. He didn’t believe anyone had it—they had habits and pleasant arrangements. But he could offer Ettie loyalty. ‘I’ll never betray you like that.’

  She looked at him sombrely. Didn’t she trust him yet?

  ‘Can we always be honest with each other?’ she asked softly. ‘Like you said, we’re not talking stardust and promises. Don’t flatter me. Don’t try to soften any blows. Let’s just be grounded and honest.’

  That fierce savagery clawed at his insides and he finally lost his grip on it. ‘Okay, here’s some honesty for you: I crave your body, Ettie. I’ve dreamed about having you again every night for these last three weeks. I adore having sex with you and I want to do it all the damn time.’

  Now her smile blossomed. ‘Okay.’

  She leaned in close and did more than let him. She met him—stroke for stroke, moan for groan. He denied the edge of desperation in his own need for physical fulfilment. He refused to face the fact that he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

  All that mattered was that she was here. He’d free her of financial responsibility, he’d give her physical satisfaction, he’d offer her a lifestyle only he could provide...and she’d stay. His child would be safe. As would she.

  His plan was perfectly falling into place.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE told him about her ex-fiancé. Leon must think she was such a naive fool. She’d done all the talking last night—exposed herself and all her embarrassing history. He’d shared virtually nothing, except his fantastic bedroom skills. Had he never been embarrassed? Never been rejected?

  Of course not.

  He couldn’t reciprocate with any humanising stories of his own humiliations, because he didn’t have any. And right this second she completely resented him for that. And because he was blocking her from making her own choices. Again.

  ‘You’re not going to work today.’ He was furious.

  It was almost nine the next morning. She’d slept in and he was late heading to his office because they were arguing about her plans for the day. As it was, she was feeling unsettled. She wasn’t used to having a personal life, let alone everyone knowing about it. Her colleagues, her clients would all know she was sleeping with him. And the massive rocks on her finger were only going to make them even more curious. So she was tense enough without him telling her what she could and couldn’t do. Again.

  ‘Are you ashamed of what I do?’ she spat sullenly.

  ‘Do you think I’m that much of an ass?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks so much. You do honest work. You’re good at your job. But do I want a pregnant woman carrying deliveries upstairs? No. I do not.’

  ‘Joel would help me and it’s not like I’m huge and uncomfortable already—I’m not even showing. This baby is months away, Leon. What do you want me to do all day?’

  The flicker in his eyes irritated her.

  ‘Be your concubine?’ she asked tartly. ‘Really?’

  ‘That’s your fantasy, not mine.’ He practically purred. ‘I don’t want you working as head concierge of the Cavendish any more. I want you as building manager.’

  ‘What?’ His statement undercut her argument and completely derailed her train of thought. She stared at him. ‘You what?’

  ‘Building manager. I want you to take over from George. It’s obvious who does the work. It’s Ettie. Who fixes the orders? Ettie. Who does all the rosters? Ettie. Who do the residents rely on? Ettie. You’re doing it all already anyway—you might as well get paid for it.’

  She simply sat there, her jaw dropped.

  ‘I can’t understand how you’ve not been promoted already. Actually I can: George has been claiming credit for most of your work. And then tried to blame his mistakes on you.’

  Ettie did her best impersonation of a goldfish.

  ‘I’ve already spoken with the management company,’ he continued. ‘George has agreed it’s time for him to move on to a smaller establishment. And the residents committee have approved it as well.’

  ‘Were you ever going to actually ask me if I wanted the job, or did you just expect me to jump at the chance?’

  ‘I knew you’d jump.’ He smirked. But then held up his hands. ‘It’s no more than deserved, Ettie.’

  But she couldn’t accept any promotion—not now she’d slept with the new owner.

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ He released an exaggerated sigh.

  ‘They’ll think it’s nepotism.’

  ‘Why should you care what they think? The proof is in your ability to do the job. No one who knows you would ever think you slept your way into it.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’ Her blush burned.

  He laughed. ‘Enough. We’ve banished that insecurity already.’

  She scowled at him. ‘If it’s more money, then—’

  ‘You’re already wearing my ring, Ettie. You’re not backing out now. And your “more money” isn’t anywhere near enough to cover Ophelia’s fees for the next decade.’ He brutally shut down her thinking. ‘All I ask is that you take the rest of the week to recuperate from the stress of the last few days; you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Take time to get to know this place. Then go back next week and take over fully from then.’

  ‘You have it all mapped out,’ she said stiffly.

  Why did that surprise her? She swung her legs out of the bed, determined to do something in defiance of him.

  ‘No. Stay there and rest.’ He braced one arm either side of her and leaned over her until she fell back onto the mattress.

  Quick and furious and so damned easily he proved his point, leaving her breathless and so relaxed her fight fled and all she could do was moan her approval.

  ‘You keep distracting me with sex,’ she muttered when she could breathe again.

  ‘I’m distracting myself with sex too.’ He stretched and stood, apparently energised. ‘It’s a good distraction.’

  ‘But we’re not solving this problem.’

  ‘There isn’t a problem,’ he replied with stubborn simplicity. ‘You’re making a problem where there isn’t one. You don’t need to work today, Ettie. You’ve worked all your life. You’ve been responsible all your life. Why not take a day to have a break? You’re still working—you’re growing a little human.’

  ‘I can’t sit around doing nothing,’ she argued. ‘I’ve never done that.’

  ‘So learn how to relax. Read a book. Watch TV. Sleep. Anonymously blog about your misfortunes. Whatever, just rest.’

  She glared at him and then couldn’t help laughing, as she knew he’d intended. ‘Anonymously blog?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He put his hands on his hips, warming to the idea. ‘My life as a billionaire’s bought bride...’

  She giggled again, but then realised what she actually wanted more than anything was for him to stay with her today. She enjoyed his company. But he was off to maintain that millionaire income and she had to keep this as light and ‘easy’ as he was.

  Stay in y
our lane, Ettie.

  ‘I promise I’ll be here for when you return, oh, lord and master,’ she cooed. ‘In bed,’ she added on an impish urge. ‘Naked.’

  ‘Hot and wet and ready for me.’ He slammed a scorching kiss onto her lips. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘I’m getting rid of all the stupid rules,’ she informed him when he lifted his head. ‘Starting with pets.’

  ‘Oh, I knew that already.’

  With a wriggle that was more sexual restlessness than resentment, she threw a pillow as he laughed and left the room.

  * * *

  No way was Ettie spending the day sitting about doing nothing. Not when her brain was fizzing with ideas for Cavendish House. She fossicked through Leon’s study, marvelling at his sleek, luxurious stationery supplies. The guy had a thing for fancy fine-liner pens. Smirking, she twisted her hair into a bun and secured it in place with one and grabbed a handful of others. In the kitchen she collected some crackers, cheese and juice. She spread sheets of thick paper over the dining table to brainstorm on. It took her a while to work out the fancy ‘smart house’ sound system, but she got music playing eventually. Sunlight streamed through the window. She stared at the room for a moment, stunned anew. It was a gorgeous place to work. Then, energised and excited, she got down to it.

  ‘Wow—could you make your lists any longer?’

  ‘Oh!’ Startled, Ettie glanced up to see Leon standing on the other side of the table. Her heart pounded faster at the sight of him than from the initial fright. It was impossible not to react to his presence. ‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ she muttered, trying to regulate her breathlessness. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘After six,’ he said, amusement quirking his lips.

  ‘No.’ She looked out of the window and saw the changing sky. ‘Where’d the day go?’

  ‘Into all those lists,’ he answered drily. ‘Is there any paper left?’

  ‘Uh, some.’ She glanced down. She’d smothered the table in papers, which in turn were smothered in her scribblings. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you haven’t rested at all today. Have you eaten?’

  His concern warmed her as much as it irritated her.

  ‘Actually I’ve been snacking all day and this is restful. I’ve been perched on this stool the whole time.’ She saw him read through her most recent, refined list. ‘You like what I’ve planned?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He quickly scanned her bullet points. ‘You should set up a meeting with the residents’ group. They’ll be excited.’

  ‘I’ve already emailed invitations from my phone.’

  ‘Of course you have,’ he murmured. ‘That’s why you got the job.’

  ‘I can’t change everything all at once,’ she said earnestly. ‘I know I’ll need to go slow so they have time to adjust...’ She trailed off as his gaze narrowed on her.

  She flushed at being the focus of his intensity all over again. Every time, even though he outwardly appeared expressionless, he wasn’t remote. It felt as if he was so attuned to her needs, her desires, before she was even aware of them herself. Dizzying, dazzling...confusing.

  ‘Sometimes an acute, complete change is a good thing,’ he said, his gaze laser-sharp on her.

  ‘Rapid change can also be scary,’ she responded pointedly. ‘The staff might feel overwhelmed or defensive if they feel it’s a criticism of the way things were...’

  He considered it for a moment and his rare smile suddenly flashed. ‘Go with your instincts; they’re good.’

  Excitement for her work flooded back. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’

  ‘On your not-rapid changes.’ He laughed and reached out, plucking the pen from her hair. ‘Mine.’

  She ran her hand through her messy tangle of waves with a grimace. ‘Possessive about your pens, aren’t you?’

  ‘You think I was talking about the pen?’ That wicked smile flashed on his face again as he fished in his pocket for his phone. ‘You okay with Italian for dinner?’

  She needed a moment to catch her breath. He was just teasing, keeping it playful. Light and easy. So she’d do the same. ‘Are you talking pizza or fancy?’

  ‘How about fancy pizza?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She hopped off the stool and stretched out the cricks in her back from leaning over the table all day while he tapped a message on his phone. ‘It’s Friday tomorrow, then the weekend. Do you actually take weekends off or do you work through as if every day’s Monday?’

  ‘You know already.’ His answering grin was rueful. ‘But we could go to a recital on Saturday night if you like?’ He flipped his phone around to show her the promotional information for a concert on at a nearby concert hall.

  She read the headliner and stilled. It was an oboe soloist. That was her instrument. She looked up and saw his expectant expression. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Saw the instrument case in your flat,’ he replied. ‘The music book had your name on the front. Why didn’t you mention it? You’ve told me all about Ophelia, but you’re reticent about your own dreams, Ettie.’

  ‘You’re calling me reticent?’ Her jaw dropped at his temerity. ‘I’ve told you about my ex-fiancé, my mother—’

  ‘But not about your music. Why?’

  Because it had been her secret, childish dream and she’d had to bury it. How had he picked up that it had been important—was he some kind of mind-reader? But that was impossible because she never thought of it now—it hurt to remember. What he’d exposed was a skeleton shipwreck of a dream that couldn’t be resurrected.

  ‘Do you wish you played now?’ he asked, still intently watching her.

  Her heart ached. Did he have to discover all her secrets? ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘We could convert one of the lounges into a music room. You could play again.’

  ‘No.’ She chuckled softly to hide her sadness and embarrassment. Truthfully she’d been a fool to think she could’ve made a go of it once. ‘I was never that good. I stopped when I took on a part-time job when Mum got ill. I haven’t played in years. I never play now.’

  ‘But you were good.’ He looked sombre. ‘That music was extremely complex.’

  ‘You read music?’

  ‘Sure.’ He nodded.

  Of course. He probably spoke more than two languages as well, only she didn’t yet know it. It wasn’t fair that he knew everything about her and she knew so little about him. He hadn’t even left clues in his own home—nothing here told her anything more about him.

  ‘So what instrument do you play?’ she asked, determined to get an answer.

  ‘Piano. It was compulsory to learn an instrument at school.’

  ‘Boarding school?’ She glanced at him sideways, almost afraid that if she faced him he’d fall silent again.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For your teen years?’ Her curiosity burned. She wondered about everything. What were his parents really like? He had no photos of them at all here. Were they really not close? Did they really only see each other every six months or so? Had he always been this isolated?

  ‘I went there when I was eight,’ he said brusquely. ‘It was good.’

  She waited hopefully but he didn’t add anything more.

  ‘It’s good for Ophelia too,’ she said after a while. ‘She gets an education and opportunities she just wouldn’t otherwise.’ But Ettie missed her sister hugely. If she’d won a scholarship from a day school in town, that would have been so much better. She nibbled her lower lip, thinking about her own child’s future education. ‘I don’t want our baby going to boarding school though,’ she realised with quiet conviction. It was too bad if Leon had some schooling tradition going back generations. ‘I won’t send him or her away. I don’t care how good the school might be, there’ll be schools just as good here.’

  Increasing ferocity fired colour into Et
tie’s expression, reminding Leon of her passion and protectiveness over the dog the day they’d met. His skin seemed to tighten. He understood why she had mixed feelings about boarding school—she obviously missed her sister. But she didn’t know that for him boarding school had been a blessed escape. It had been so much safer and happier than his own home.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, needing to draw a line beneath the subject. ‘School here.’

  He didn’t want to think about the years ahead. Right now was tough enough. She’d guessed correctly: he usually worked every day as if it were Monday. But now she was here and yeah, rapid change could be unsettling. His home was altered. Not because she’d brought in a lot of stuff, but because she’d recast the entire atmosphere—with her scent, her laughter, her smile...

  Leon hadn’t lived with anyone since school. He had no idea how to live with someone. No idea what he was going to do with her all weekend. He could hardly keep her tied to his bed the whole time, as appealing as that thought was. The oboe recital had been a random grasp and mainly he’d been keen to see her reaction because he was insatiably curious about her now. She fascinated him.

  He gazed at the colour washing her cheeks and the sparkle shimmering in her eyes. She still glowed with the vivacity and enthusiasm that she’d worked hard all day with. Even when he’d told her not to, he’d known she would. And now that vivacity was enhanced by the filter of pure passion as she fought for something so far in the future it didn’t even matter yet. She was so spirited, and so protective of their child’s future.

  That curling tension tightened—constricting his throat, his chest. He couldn’t resist the need to get nearer to her. He wanted her heat, her willingness, her total surrender to his touch. There was something deeper too, something so powerful that he couldn’t examine it too closely.

  Just want.

  He reassured himself. But it was strong.

  The weekend plans were irrelevant. Suddenly he had no spare thought for the past, or the future. His immediate need was too intense.

  He pulled her against him. He didn’t know how else to release the heavy pressure crushing his chest, threatening to cleave him open. He didn’t want to be torn apart and have any of this emotion exposed. Not memories. Not pain. He wanted nothing but pleasure with her. Now.