The Greek's Pregnant Bride

Christian didn’t answer, keeping his gaze fixed evenly on Rocco.

‘You said neither of you meant it to happen, so I will ask you one more time: was she just a one-night stand to you?’

‘Yes.’

If Christian intended to elaborate on his one-syllable answer, his words went unsaid when Rocco’s arm shot out like a bullet.

‘Rocco, no!’ But her scream came too late to prevent her brother’s fist connecting with Christian’s nose, a resounding crack bouncing off the walls on impact.

Christian dropped to the floor with a thump.

Immediately Alessandra fell to her knees beside him. Vivid red blood seeped from his nose.

‘What did you do that for?’ she said, switching to Italian, half-shouting, half-screaming, not looking at Rocco, too busy checking Christian’s vital signs. The pulse in his neck pumped strongly, the only blessing she could cling to. She looked up at her brother, who stood frozen. ‘Don’t just stand there—call for an ambulance.’

Rocco’s broad chest heaved, his face a couple of shades paler than it had been when she’d walked into his office. ‘He doesn’t need an ambulance. He’s already coming round.’

Christian’s

she snapped, somehow holding back the

and placed it on her lap. Being as gentle as she could, she ran her fingers over his hair,

be getting used to

snarled at her

‘You’re my sister

of the women you’ve slept with have been someone’s sister. He’s your best friend and you’re just as big a playboy as he

to those other

my brother again. I’ll walk myself up the aisle. Now, get an ice pack and then you can

* * *

his ears Christian heard the sound of muffled talking.

Alessandra speaking so

pain in his face came the realisation that, yes, it was Alessandra—that it was her warm lap supporting his head, her gentle fingers lacing through his hair, her

the room, the door slamming

sound reverberated

gone better