The Greek's Pregnant Bride

She shrugged. ‘They’re tenacious. It was to be expected.’

‘They’re like locusts.’ He laid his palms on the table, his face stark with anger.

Not wanting all the good feeling ruined, she raised a hand to his face and palmed his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

The blue in his eyes darkened, his frame stilling. ‘For what?’

‘For trying to keep them away from me.’

His nostrils flared a touch. He didn’t answer, simply stared at her as if trying to peer into her mind.

She gazed back, drinking him in, the heat inside her—so constant when with him—bubbling beneath her...

And then he dipped his head and covered her mouth with his, holding it there, not moving, just breathing into her, warm champagne-scented air filling her senses until he gently slid his mouth across her cheek and brushed his lips against her ear. ‘Soon, agapi mou, I will do more than just kiss you.’

Her heart racing at a gallop, she was about to grab his hand and beg him to whisk her away to somewhere private

time for the Kalamatianos,’ he said, referring to the traditional wedding dance adored by all Greeks. Over

glad she’d gone behind his back and invited them. It hadn’t sat well with her, knowing he would have no one from

feel all warm and fuzzy inside, thinking they had gone behind each other’s

in the centre of the dance floor, each holding an end of a scarf that had been thrust at them. With traditional Greek music playing, Zayed and Stefan chivvied

on the dance floor. They danced together, slow songs, fast songs, their hands

to hold on to this moment for as long as she could. Contrarily, she wanted it to end now, wanted the sensuous promise ringing

Soon...

their newly married life in

* * *

the suite and, keeping hold of Alessandra’s

he observed, burrowing his face into the nape of her neck. At long last, he was free to touch her and taste her and do all the things he’d wanted

in while their celebrations had been going on—had been decorated. Flowers were artfully arranged

said, twisting round