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.

* * *

an almost imperceptible straightening

good. She

the top of her cleavage, a navy blazer and silver ankle boots with a slight heel. Heavy costume jewellery in shades

was the same: chic and beautifully 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

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

more time to get used

to

drawing together. ‘Let’s get this

building, where his driver waited for them, her yellow Vespa gleamed from its parking space. ‘I

shortly, getting into the back of the

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

the car started to move, she turned to look at him, a set look on her face. ‘Christian, let me make one thing quite clear. You are going to be my husband, not my