The Greek's Pregnant Bride

She waited a few moments before knocking again, louder.

Unless Christian had left without telling anyone, he was in there. The dim light seeping under the door testified to this. She’d casually asked Stefan and Zayed where their fellow musketeer had escaped to. She could only hope she’d imagined the suspicious but pitying look in Stefan’s eyes when he’d told her Christian had gone to bed.

Please, God, let him be alone in there.

What were the chances?

She’d been nothing special, just another notch on a bedpost crammed with notches.

Christian Markos travelled with a trail of broken hearts attached to him ranging from Hong Kong to London. Some sold their stories to the tabloids, tales of short-lived lust before being discarded. Some spoke with bitterness. Most spoke with longing. Most wanted him to break their hearts all over again.

It took an age before the handle turned and the door opened.

Christian stood clad in a pair of jeans. And nothing else.

He blinked narrowing eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

need to talk to you. Can I

rose. ‘That’s

‘It’s important.’

her, looking both directions down the wide

rumpled; a tablet was on

she challenged. This was a conversation she needed to

and closed the heavy

she were in a position to reach that state

she said, sitting gingerly on the corner chair. She could really do with a shot of that bourbon. It would make what was coming next easier to cope with, of that she was certain. ‘Rocco and Liv looked

her heart lighten for her brother’s sake and sink at the knowledge it

window and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She hadn’t really had the opportunity to study his

his form strong and athletic, his shoulders broad. Fine hair dusted across his

love to him had been an experience she would never forget. The single best experience of

as she had to expel the memories from her head, they’d stayed with her, tantalising her, taunting

remembrance of his smooth skin flush against her nakedness made her