Bought: The Greek's Baby (5 page)

Listening to her breathe.

Remembering the last time he’d slept in a room with her.

The last time she’d been in his bed.

He clawed back his hair. Spending the whole day with her yesterday, pretending to be her devoted lover, had been difficult. Spending the whole night in the same hotel room without trying to seduce her had nearly killed him.

He hated that he still wanted her.

She’d been perfect three months ago, her figure slender but curvaceous in all the right places, but now her newly pregnant breasts were so lush, while her waist was still so tiny, that she was the epitome of any man’s dream.

Including his.

He’d purposely stayed in the next room until 3:00 a.m., answering e-mails and making long phone calls to Australia about the Sydney deal. He’d purposefully waited until he’d nearly passed out over his keyboard before he allowed himself to stumble back into the dark bedroom and fall on the couch. As the window’s light changed to the grayness of dawn, he’d finally collapsed with exhaustion.

But even in sleep, he’d had endless dreams of making love to her. He’d woken up hard for her.

With a loud curse, Talos twisted his head to crack the vertebrae in his neck. He hurt all over.

Stomping into the bathroom, he turned on the shower then stared blankly at the rapidly steaming water.

He’d always known Eve was shallow and selfish. But he’d been intrigued by all her contradictions, his seductive virgin mistress, the gorgeous beauty who never asked him questions or revealed any of her feelings. Unlike any other woman, she’d taken pleasure in bed without emotion.

He’d been captivated by her. When she was naked beneath him in bed, when he brought her to a gasping climax, her blue eyes had shone up at his with sudden searing vulnerability. He’d thought there was something
more inside her soul. Some mystery that only he could solve.

And he’d kept on believing that, right up till the day she’d sneaked from their bed, rifled through his private safe and stolen damaging financial information to give to Jake Skinner over a romantic breakfast.

Overnight, the Xenakis Group’s stock had crashed nearly in half, causing him to lose nearly the whole company with margin calls. If Talos hadn’t had the resources of his personal fortune to back him up, he would have lost his company. He would have lost everything.

Instead of buying distressed companies at pennies on the dollar, he would have been one of the poor fools forced to sell.

He cursed softly in Greek.

And in spite of all that, he’d nearly kissed her tonight. He’d wanted to take her against the wall of an alley in view of the Bridge of Sighs and possess her utterly. Over and over. Until he had his fill.

He was so tense with fighting his desire for her, that when those Italians had dared to whistle at Eve, he’d almost thrown himself at them. He’d suddenly relished the thought of the relief of pain, of punching them all bloody in an honest fight.

How simple a straightforward street fight had seemed, compared to trying to lure the woman he hated—the woman he wanted—into marriage!

Clenching his fists, Talos stepped into the shower. He leaned back as the hot water coursed over his naked body. He washed his hair, rubbed soap over his chest.

Would it be so bad to give in to temptation?

The insidious thought made his eyes fly open.

Would it be so bad to take what he wanted? To gorge himself until he was sick of her?

Like Scotch.

The first time he’d tasted an expensive single malt Scotch, he’d been only nineteen, newly arrived in New York. He’d done well for his American boss in Athens, but this was a new country—a new world. Waiting for half an hour in Dalton Hunter’s office, he’d grown steadily more nervous. He’d finally poured himself a shot of the rich amber-colored liquor from a crystal decanter on a silver tray. He’d had one delicious taste before he’d looked up to see Dalton watching him from the door.

Wondering if he was about to get sacked on his first day,
Talos
lifted his chin and observed defiantly, “I thought you’d want me to learn how to hold my liquor. As an asset to the company.”

“Quite so,” Dalton said, sounding amused. Then his eyes narrowed. “So drink it all.”

Talos had looked at the nearly full decanter in shock. “All?”

“Right now. Or get out.”

So Talos had drunk the entire decanter, gulping down the smooth, smoky Scotch as if it were water. However, his bravado had been lessened when he’d spent the whole afternoon puking in the office bathroom, aware of the other employees laughing at him in the hallway.
When he’d finally gone back to his boss, he’d been red-faced, sweaty, humiliated.

“Now you know not to steal from me,” Dalton had said before he coldly turned away. “Get to work.”

Talos still grimaced as he remembered that day. He’d never been able to touch Scotch again. Almost twenty years later, just the smell of it still made him sick.

And that was how he wished he could feel about Eve.

He wished he could get her out of his system once and for all. Until he never wanted her again. Until the thought of bedding her was as disgusting as a flawless Baccarat crystal decanter of imported single malt Scotch.

Turning off the water, he toweled himself dry. He pulled his clothes from the closet where someone in his staff had neatly put them away. He stepped into his boxers and black pants, then stared at himself in the half-fogged mirror. He took a deep breath.

No.

He wouldn’t give in to lust.

He wouldn’t be seduced by her again.

Fiercely, he pushed aside the thought of Eve in his bed, her skin glowing with rough lovemaking and her eyes full of desire.

He’d once planned to take her new fortune from her under threat of prosecuting her for theft and corporate espionage.

But now…

All he wanted was their child, safe and healthy in his
arms. And Eve to disappear from their lives forever after the baby was born.

As he buttoned his sharply tailored white shirt, he glared at himself in the mirror. Every time he thought of the lustful fool he’d been a few months ago, neglecting his business, spending every hour in bed with her, making love to her day and night, it made him grind his teeth with rage.

He would never let it happen again.

He would never lower his guard. Never give up control again.

Talos had to convince her to marry him as soon as possible. Today, he thought, leaning in toward the mirror as he shaved his jaw. He couldn’t risk her regaining her memory before he’d tied her down as his bride, giving his child a name. Then he would help her remember. And after the baby was born, he would blackmail Eve with the choice of her child or her money.

He had no doubt which she’d choose.

So today, he would act the part of a besotted lover. He would tempt her. Lure her. He would whisper sweet words. Poetry. Flowers. Jewelry. Whatever it took. His lip curled. How hard could it be?

He dropped the razor to the counter, wiping the last vestiges of shaving cream off his face with a towel.

He would not, repeat, would not—he glared at himself—take her to his bed.

Damn it, he wouldn’t!

He heard a door slam and suddenly Eve was standing
behind him. His jaw dropped as he looked at her in the mirror. She smiled back serenely.

“Good morning.”

“Eve.” He whirled around with a gasp. “What have you done?”

E
VE
had been beaming at him, but now she felt suddenly shy. She put her hand to her hair, which yesterday had hung past her breasts but now barely touched her collarbone. “I had my hair cut.”

“I can see that.”

“So why did you ask?” she retorted pertly, squaring her shoulders. “Honestly!”

He ignored that, walking around her in a circle in the wide marble bathroom, looking her up and down.

She lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to criticize her.

The sleekly modern, rather than sexy, blunt-cut pageboy hairstyle wasn’t her only change. Instead of the tight red dress and overflowing cleavage she’d had last night, she was now dressed in a cotton jersey cardigan and long knit skirt in pale rose. The simple garments were still pretty, she hoped, but natural—not to mention stretchy against her expanding pregnancy. And the pink flat sandals were certainly easier to wear than the stiletto heels.

She now felt comfortable in her own skin rather than like someone trying to gain attention through her clothing.

But he only frowned at her.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, lifting his hand as if to touch her, then dropping it again. “Where did you buy this?”

“At a boutique in the Mercerie recommended by the concierge.”

“Did you take Kefalas with you?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “I didn’t want to, but he insisted on it. He wouldn’t even let me use the credit cards in my purse, but insisted I charge everything to your accounts.”

“Good.” He peered down at her. “You look different,” he mumbled.

Different as in bad? She shuffled her feet, feeling awkward under his scrutiny.

“Why the makeover?” he asked, tilting his head.

She took a deep breath. How could she explain how horrifying it had been to have men constantly gawking at her? How to explain how wretched she’d felt when Talos had nearly started a brawl against five men just because of some strangers’ low whistles and murmured appreciation of her charms that were too flagrantly on display? She licked her bare lips.

“Um,” she managed, “the clothes in my suitcase just, er, didn’t fit right.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “That’s not what you said when I bought them for you in Athens.”

“You bought the clothes?” she blurted out. “Even the red dress?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed. Now she’d sounded ungrateful. “They were all lovely. Really. But…”

“But?”

“But they’re not comfortable. They, um, made people look at me.”

He stared at her. “I thought you liked that.”

“It was still a lovely gift,” she stammered. “And I’m so grateful. That you picked them out for me is terribly sweet.”

“Lovely?” he repeated in a surly voice.
“Sweet?”

“And I don’t mean to be critical of your taste, but—”

“I didn’t pick them out for you,” he ground out. “I just paid for them. You chose.”

She had? What had she been thinking? “Oh. Um. Don’t worry, I’m sure the charity shops will sell them quickly,” she said apologetically. “They’re so glamorous—so well-made!”

He glanced at her empty suitcase with surprise. Glanced at the many bags that Kefalas had just left inside the doorway before discreetly disappearing.

“You gave away all your designer clothes?” he said incredulously. “The Gucci? The Versace?”

“Are they your favorite designers?” she said, chagrined to be so rude.

“No!” he nearly shouted. “They’re yours!”

“Oh,” she said. She bit her lip. “Well, those clothes are just a little too tight for me now. Not to mention too
sexy.” She brightened as a sudden explanation occurred to her. “Maybe my tastes have changed because I’m about to be a mother,” she said happily, relieved to have an explanation. “That’s probably it, don’t you think?”

He stared at her. He started to speak, then visibly bit back the words. Finally, he silently held out his arm. She took it in her own.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

She peeked up at him, hoping he really meant it. “Really?”

“Yes.” He gave her a slow-rising smile. It lit up his face, making him so handsome that he took her breath away. Reaching down, he stroked her bare cheek. “I’ve never seen you look more radiant.”

She exhaled. She hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d been tense, wondering what his reaction would be. She’d cut her hair. She’d gotten rid of the lowcut, tight dress and the stiletto heels. Would he still approve of her? Would he still want her in his life?

His hot, smoldering glance told her that yes, he approved, and yes, he wanted her.

The
real
her. Without all the tarty trimmings.

“Now,” he said as his smile sharpened, “let’s go get what we came here for.”

For the rest of the day, they explored the charms of Venice, from walking beneath the medieval overhangs of the Calle del Paradiso to sharing lunch on the wide outdoor terrace of the Hotel Cipriani.

The fog thickened throughout the afternoon as the capricious autumn weather turned melancholy. But Eve
barely noticed that the Italian sunshine had disappeared. As they strolled along canals as gray as the lowering sky, she felt warm and contented. Talos smiled down at her, his dark eyes warming her with the heat of burning coal as they laughed and talked, walking down the tree-lined paths through the grassy Giardini.

He bought her a fiery orange rose from a stall in an outdoor market. When he told her in a low voice how beautiful she was to him, how much he wanted her to be his wife, she glowed from within. She barely heard the sad, plaintive cries of the gulls soaring through the heavy clouds overhead.

As the afternoon drew on, rain finally started to drizzle. The fair-weather tourists had scattered beneath the cold-blowing winds, but Eve had never felt more gloriously lit up inside.

In her new clothes, she got occasional second glances from men, but only from up close—not from across the street. She wasn’t forced to endure the endless hot stares of strange men, while knowing that only the presence of powerful, darkly dangerous Talos kept the other males at bay.

Now, she felt safe.

She felt…free.

She never wanted the day to end. She glanced down at his hand in hers as they walked. He was so possessive, so attentive. So romantic and loving.

She felt his eyes on her constantly. Any time she turned her head, she caught his gaze. Even when he
didn’t touch her, she felt his presence like electricity. Like fire.

As the rain started to fall more heavily, he drew her back inside an elaborate Gothic doorway. Then, to her surprise, he turned around to knock on the door of the palazzo.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, confused.

“You’ll see.”

They were admitted by a housekeeper. She told them in heavily accented English that, sadly, his friends the marchese and marchesa were away on vacation. But when Talos, with his most charming smile, asked to see the ballroom, she could not resist.

Who could?
Eve thought.

Once the housekeeper left them alone in the enormous gilded ballroom, beneath the medieval fifteenthcentury timbers and decorated stucco rosework, Eve could not believe the ballroom’s size or beauty. To get a better view, she walked halfway up the sweeping stairs.

“And that is where I first saw you,” Talos said in a low voice behind her.

She whirled around. “Here?”

“At the charity ball the first weekend in June.”

The sun shone weakly through the tall windows of the palazzo, leaving a tracery of the Gothic rose pattern of the facade on the marble floor. She could almost imagine long-ago pirates coming to plunder the wealth of La Serenissima.

“Before that day,” he said, staring at the sunlight through the multicolored glass of the windows, “I’d scoffed at the rumors about you. No woman could be that beautiful, I said. No woman could be that mesmerizing.” Slowly, he turned to look at her. His dark eyes sizzled through her as he said in a low voice, “Then we met.”

Talos looked just like the dark corsair she’d imagined, the Barbary pirate who’d come to plunder the medieval city—to take what he wanted and burn the rest.

She blinked. How had she come up with such a brutal, cruel image? Where had that come from?

“I saw you coming down those stairs in a long red dress,” he said softly. “You were on the arm of my greatest business rival, but I knew at once that I would take you from him.” Slowly, he walked up the stairs toward her. “I would have taken you from the devil himself.”

As he came up the stairs toward her, she was unable to move.
Unable to breathe.

“You made me pursue you across Venice for a week before you finally surrendered and agreed to accompany me to Athens. Where I finally discovered to my surprise that you were a virgin.” He fixed his dark eyes on her and a flash of heat coursed through her body. “For the first time in my life, I found myself wanting a woman
more
after I had bedded her, instead of less.”

He bent his head toward her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

“The more I had of you,” he whispered, “the more I wanted.”

But as he lowered his head to kiss her, he suddenly stopped, then stiffened. Without touching her, he wrenched away, his eyes cold. “Come. We’re done here.”

After thanking the housekeeper, he led her from the palazzo. Outside, as the storm clouds brewed above them, she could feel a storm building between them as well, a tension that had nothing to do with tenderness.

He led her across an elaborate covered bridge that crossed the Grand Canal. It was momentarily empty of tourists, and as the cold, wet wind howled around them, he finally turned to face her.

His eyes were dark and hot.

A little thrill of jumbled fear and desire went through her as he took her in his arms. She felt his fingers brush her skin, felt his muscular body hard against hers. The tension increased inside her, tightening into a coil low in her belly.

“This,” he said hoarsely, “is where I first kissed you.”

He leaned forward, stroking the back of her head. Brushing stray tendrils from her cheek, he cupped her face with his hands. Staring up at his handsome face, she was aware of tiny details. The dark scruff on his chin, though he had shaved just hours before. She’d thought his eyes were black, but now she saw they were a deep brown, with slivers of honey-gold.

“And,” he said in a low voice, lowering his head toward her, “this is where I’m going to kiss you now.”

She trembled all over, her heart pounding like a frantic hummingbird’s wing. She wanted him to kiss her—but at the same time something pushed her to flee!

But she couldn’t. This time, he held her fast. He wouldn’t let her back away.

It was as if she’d never been kissed before. His lips were gentle at first on her mouth. Then he spread her lips wide. He teased her with his tongue, licking her lips, entwining her tongue with his.

Desire and need swept through her like a fire. And she forgot about running away. She couldn’t resist.
She didn’t want to.

His kiss hardened, deepened. Instead of tempting and luring, he suddenly demanded and took. His body pressed against hers so tightly she was no longer sure where he ended and she began.

The kiss was like nothing she’d felt before.

Just like a kiss should be.

She was dazed, lost in him. As he pulled away, a small whimper of protest escaped her. He looked down at her. There was a fire in his dark eyes.

“Now,
glyka mou,”
he whispered. “You belong to me.”

Above their heads, she could hear the caw of seagulls soaring high above, hear the ringing of the distant church bells. She could hear the lap of the water beneath them, the sound of a speedboat, hear the cries of vendors from the nearby Rialto market.

You belong to me.
She closed her eyes as the echo of
those words went through her. He’d spoken those words to her before. He’d kissed her here before.

You belong to me.

That hot, humid summer night, the moon had been full, washing both of them in veils of silver. She remembered the press of his hands against her bare shoulders, over her dress. She remembered desperately wanting him to kiss her. Remembered a sense of relief and triumph as he took her in a hard, savage kiss. Remembering sinking into his arms, so tight, so tight, at last…

Eve’s eyes flew open as she drew back from him with an intake of breath. “I remembered something!”

Talos’s eyes widened. Then his jaw tightened.

“What exactly did you remember?” he said, his voice low and strained, but in her excitement, she didn’t pause to wonder why. She gave him a joyful smile as tears rose to her eyes.

“Our first kiss. It was here on this bridge, just like you said! Oh, Talos, I’m getting my memory back. It’s coming back! Everything is going to be all right!”

She threw her arms around him, holding him tightly, overwhelmed by gratitude and relief. She pressed her face to his chest, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back the tears.

Her mind might not remember much about him, but her body instinctively did. She’d been so afraid, but now…

But now…

As she held him, her heart quickened, galloping
faster and faster. The mood between them suddenly changed, electrified. A moment before, she’d just been joyful to have a memory to cling to, some sense of who she was and her past. But as he held her body close, as she breathed in the scent of his skin and pressed her cheek against his soft black shirt, she suddenly felt quite different.

Her cheeks grew hot as she looked up into his eyes.

“Eve, my beautiful Eve,” he whispered, touching her face. “Marry me. Be my wife.”

Yes,
she opened her mouth to say.

But she forced herself to shake her head. “You deserve so much more,” she said softly. “You deserve a wife who can remember everything about loving you.”

His lips curled with a faint hint of mockery. “Don’t worry.
I’ll
get what I deserve.” He paused, then his eyes glowed down at her. “After you are my wife, I will devote myself night and day to helping you remember your past. I swear it.”