The Greek's Pregnant Bride

It hadn’t felt like giving herself to Christian. Giving implied bestowing a favour, not the hot mix of desire and need that had made her desperate for his touch.

She could still feel and taste the heady heat of his breath...

But now she was stone-cold sober, her immunity back in its rightful place. Vivid memories might have the power to jolt her senses but they didn’t have the power to knock her off balance. No man would ever have that power. Her body might have a Pavlovian response to him but intellectually and emotionally she was safe.

When they married he could see whoever he wanted. It made no difference to her. All she cared about was her baby. As long as her baby made it safely into this world, nothing else mattered.

Maybe when her baby was placed in her arms, her own place on this earth would make sense.

Maybe then she would lose the feeling she’d carried her entire life that she should never have been born.

* * *

almost imperceptible straightening

good. She always

heel. Heavy costume jewellery in shades of red hung round her neck and wrists, large, hooped gold earrings in her ears.

put together, the walls and furniture muted but the furnishings bold and colourful. Giant prints of her work hung on the walls, enlarged, framed covers of Vogue and all the other glossy magazines she’d worked

place to bring up a child. He’d raised the subject of her selling it on the phone a few days

to get used to the idea before discussing it

to

drawing

at the back of the building, where his driver waited for them, her yellow Vespa gleamed from its parking space. ‘I hope you’re not riding on that thing any more,’

getting into the

the big beam on her face the one time he’d seen her ride on it—the day of their impromptu date. Another thing pregnancy would

look on her face. ‘Christian, let me make one thing quite clear. You are going to