The Greek's Pregnant Bride

‘It’s only five days, not a week,’ she corrected. ‘I’ve been travelling with my job since I was eighteen. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

‘You weren’t my wife then. Is there something wrong with me wanting to spend time with you?’

Yes, she wanted to scream. There was everything wrong with it. Every minute they spent together made her heart hurt even more that their marriage could never be real, that the love she felt for him could never be reciprocated...

Love?

Where had that thought sprung from?

Amore?

Frantically she fought with herself to deny it, to refute the obvious.

Dear God, had she really fallen in love with her husband?

No. She couldn’t be that foolish. She wouldn’t be.

In a flash, she remembered the first time she’d seen him, sitting with the rest of the Brat Pack in her brother’s den, drinking beer and watching football.

Little Alessandra had taken one look at the blond Adonis and immediately pictured him on a white horse coming to rescue her from the tower where the evil witch held her.

girl’s crush, that was all it had been. She’d had plenty of them: pop stars, film stars—her bedroom walls had been littered with posters of her favourites. Christian had seemed

his arm, she’d felt a funny tugging

heart had belonged to Christian from that first

or film stars rescuing her on a white

her. He hadn’t saved her. All he’d done was

assumed he must have lied to them to get so many of them into his

Women wanted him regardless. She wanted

She always had.

‘Alessandra?’

her

something the matter? You’ve gone very

with vigour, part in denial and part to clear the burn scratching the back of

don’t know. I haven’t thought

slept with her yet?’ The question escaped

kind of question

‘An obvious one.’

Kerstin, and I am insulted you would think I

insulted. It’s only a