Pregnant by the Commanding Greek Page 3

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  Seriously? He was that uptight about a pen?

  As she took it out her hair tumbled into chaos. She was too aware of his gaze lingering on the unruly mess and then he returned to look at her eyes. Suddenly she felt hotter than when she’d been furious about what was going to happen to Toby.

  She held the pen out to him. Wordlessly he took it and put it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Over his heart.

  She quickly turned away, wishing he’d just leave her to it. Instead he watched the fall of her hair, and her every other move as she set out Toby’s blanket and bowl. Toby padded straight into his basket and curled into a small ball.

  Leon leaned against the wall, still watching intently as she gave the dog a couple of soothing pats.

  ‘Is there nothing you can’t do?’ he asked.

  She was unwilling but unable to resist looking up at him. She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but she resolved to treat him as she did any other difficult client—with respect and distance.

  ‘There’s plenty I can’t do,’ she muttered softly. Keep her hair under control for one thing.

  ‘You’ve thought of everything.’

  She straightened. ‘It’s my job to think of everything.’

  ‘And you’re very good at your job,’ he drawled.

  She looked him directly in the eyes at that. ‘Yes, I am.’

  Which was why he wasn’t going to sack her for her earlier mistake. Which was why she was going to maintain a professional distance from him now.

  Ophelia needed her to keep this job. She needed to remember that. She’d ignore the silent, magnetic pull.

  ‘I assume Security has given you your own access code so it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.’ His huskiness somehow built that sense of intimacy in the moment.

  She nodded, momentarily fascinated by the discovery that his eyes weren’t completely wintry; there were almost amber lights in them. Warm ones.

  ‘This is a short-term solution,’ he said. ‘Until we can get him rehomed in a more suitable environment.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Focus, Ettie.

  She looked around the room and then sent him a sideways look. ‘Though this environment seems pretty suitable.’

  Leon walked over to her and hunched down by Toby’s basket. ‘Is he always this subdued?’ He patted the dog gently again. ‘I wondered if he wasn’t well.’

  Ettie smiled at him, pleased he was concerned. ‘He’s old and quiet and missing Harold. He’s probably wondering what on earth is going on...’

  Leon absently scratched the dog’s ears.

  ‘His quality of life is good, though.’ Ettie looked at him earnestly.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to summon the vet.’

  For a split-second Ettie relaxed, but she was then hit by a flood of intense pleasure at seeing this powerful man almost kneeling at her feet. It was dizzying. ‘I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, then.’ On an irresistible impulse, she teased him. ‘Perhaps you could smile at him? Make him feel welcome?’ That stupid suggestion had popped out before she’d thought better of it.

  He suddenly stood. She’d not realised how near he was. Now he towered over her.

  Don’t prod a grumpy beast.

  ‘Bare my teeth at him, you mean?’ he muttered quietly. ‘I’m not sure it’s wise to do that to a wolf.’

  That low pull tugged deep in her belly—purely physical, animal magnetism that set off a melting sensation deep within. Restless, inappropriate desire. With it came recklessness.

  ‘One wolf to another?’ she nudged dangerously. ‘Don’t you ever just smile?’

  Oh, yes, she’d crossed a line now.

  He didn’t answer other than to stare down at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. As if he was contemplating what kind of retribution he was about to mete out...

  He liked to take the time to think, right?

  Ettie had forgotten how to think. Or move. Or even breathe. She just stared right back at him for an endless moment. He really was far too handsome. And far too serious. She was utterly mesmerised. ‘Thank you for taking care of him,’ she whispered.

  Something fierce flared in his eyes. ‘Contrary to what you thought earlier, I’m not a monster.’

  No, he wasn’t. And she guessed he was allowed to be as serious as he liked, in his own home and all.

  ‘I’m sorry for that mistake,’ she finally apologised. Flushing with heat, she brushed a lock of her rebellious hair back from her face. Again.

  He watched her movement as intently and inscrutably as ever. ‘Thank you.’

  She didn’t feel forgiven, she felt flayed.

  She didn’t know if he stepped closer, or if she swayed, but suddenly there seemed to be no space at all between them. Her breath stalled in her lungs. He was so very close. But he was also utterly, inhumanly, still. He had such intensity of focus—expressionless, but not remote—and having that focus solely on her was more than dizzying, it was like being in the path of a lightning strike. She was going to get burned, but the chance to get lit up...?

  Another long moment passed before her brain kicked back into operational mode. Oh, heaven, he probably thought she was waiting for him to make a move. He must get so many women throwing themselves at him. Models in the lift, remember? He’d never look twice at her. Mortified, she desperately clawed back her sanity and her dignity.

  ‘I’d better get back downstairs,’ she croaked, turned tail and fled.

  * * *

  Leon was hanging on to his control by the thinnest of threads. He’d spent the day determined to forget Antoinette Roberts. And for the first time in a very long time he’d spent a day failing.

  She kept appearing in his thoughts—gorgeously fresh, her beautiful, wavy hair shimmering with every turn of her head. He never should have made her give his pen back because now he was beset with the fantasy of having that glorious hair spread across his pillows as the rest of her arched up to...

  Leon stalked out of Cavendish House, his body aching. It was late in the evening but he’d not bother with dinner, he’d walk and wear himself out that way. Toby was fast asleep in his basket and too old to keep pace with him. He knew Antoinette had returned earlier to walk the dog and given him food. Leon had deliberately stayed away at the time, but the scent of her lingered in his rooms, sending his brain back into the direction he’d been trying to avoid all day.

  Since when did he lose control over his own damn pulse? Ice-cool control was the one thing he always maintained. Antoinette Roberts threatened it with one fiery glance. Maybe it had been too long since he’d taken a lover. He should’ve taken up that offer last night.

  Grimacing, he walked along the footpaths. The shops were open late and crowds milled about. He glanced sightlessly into the windows as he threaded through the masses. But through one immaculate window display he swore he recognised the gleaming rich hair of the petite woman standing with her back to him.

  Great. Now he was seeing her everywhere.

  But then he heard her voice as well—her lilting humour as she asked a customer if she needed help. He stared into the store, listening through the open door. Either Antoinette Roberts had a doppelgänger, or she’d come straight here after her shift at Cavendish and was now helping some woman choose a set of thank-you cards.

  He walked in, quickly taking in the high-end stationery supplies the shop was stocked with. A couple of minutes later the female customer walked past him on her way out carrying a beautifully wrapped parcel and a satisfied smile on her face.

  Leon walked up to the woman behind the counter. ‘Ms Roberts?’

  It was definitely her. And he definitely couldn’t stop staring. Gone was the utilitarian, practical Cavendish concierge uniform and now she was in a
lithe little black dress. He could finally see something of her legs and, just as he’d suspected, they were smooth, shapely and gorgeous. He’d known that if she could make those black trousers look sexy, she’d be dynamite in a dress. This one had a slightly scooped neckline, which meant there wasn’t anywhere near enough cleavage, but there was skin—creamy, silken-looking skin and the suggestion of sweet curves beneath the fabric. And her glorious hair was freed from that bouncing mess of a ponytail and now cascaded in glossy wild waves down her back. It looked lush, as if it’d be soft to touch and he’d bind it around his wrists—

  ‘Oh.’ A blush flooded her smooth cheeks and she licked her lips. ‘Mr Kariakis?’ Then her wide-eyed gaze narrowed. ‘You left Toby alone?’

  The beseeching reproach in her eyes made him feel guilty even when he shouldn’t. ‘You know he ate a good dinner; now he’s fast asleep. He’s not missing me.’

  The inward tension he’d been trying to settle tightened again. He’d needed to get out of that soulless apartment. He’d wanted to exorcise the ghost of her standing there, challenging him with that sassy look in her eyes as she’d flicked his stupid pen back at him. He’d been hopelessly distracted by the memory—but he was thrown back into that whirling web of desire again now.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ Her tone cooled to match his.

  His tension spiked, he released it on her insane workload. ‘You’ve worked all day already.’

  She stiffened. ‘Lots of people work more than one job. I’m sure you work long hours too.’

  But there was a hint of tiredness in the backs of her eyes.

  ‘You’re tired.’ He refused to believe she wanted to work fourteen or more hours a day.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she answered airily. ‘Actually as soon as I’m done here, I’m going clubbing.’

  ‘Are you?’ He fired with her challenge. ‘Excellent. Take me with you—I’m new to town and don’t know all the cool places.’

  A disconcerted expression crossed her face and he inwardly laughed. He couldn’t lie to himself any more. His offer to care for the dog was based in selfish motivation: to see more of Antoinette. He wanted her in his bed. Ideally tonight. It had hit in that first second—lust at first sight. Lust that was only increasing the longer he spent in her company. Perhaps if he satisfied the urge, it’d disappear as swiftly as it had come.

  And her reaction to him? He could tempt her.

  ‘I...’ She glanced at her watch and that flush across her delicate, high cheekbones built.

  It was five minutes until closing and he wasn’t planning on leaving. ‘You like working here?’

  He made conversation to ease her embarrassment. Despite those delicious feisty flashes, she displayed hints of shyness. He found the combination unbelievably tantalising.

  ‘It’s nice.’ She nodded.

  He tensed. ‘Nicer than Cavendish?’

  Was she thinking of leaving her concierge job? In some ways that would be good—it would free them of any messiness, given their positions there.

  ‘It’s quieter than Cavendish, but I don’t build the same relationship with my customers as I do there. I only work the late nights here.’ She glanced at the counter display. ‘It’s beautiful stationery.’

  ‘That’s why you work here—because you like the product?’

  A bubble of laughter burst from her shimmering lips. ‘No, if I just liked the product, I’d buy it.’

  ‘So it’s money.’ He frowned, unhappy at the thought that she was forced to work two jobs. ‘We don’t pay you enough.’

  A wary expression crossed her face. ‘It’s fine. I have commitments. Most of us do, right?’

  He shouldn’t pry further but he couldn’t help watching intently, waiting to see if she’d say more. Her clear eyes dimmed with faint shadows.

  ‘Saving,’ she muttered, unable to help herself.

  Unusually for him, his curiosity deepened. But it wasn’t his business. He had no right to press further. ‘Good for you.’

  She nodded awkwardly. ‘So did you want anything in particular?’

  He bit back the blunt answer of what he particularly wanted and made himself breathe first. ‘I wanted to see if it was really you.’

  ‘Well.’ That impish smile flashed on her lips, flicking away the shadows in her eyes. ‘It is.’

  ‘In another uniform.’ He couldn’t help noticing that damned demure neckline again.

  ‘Black again.’ She bit her lip as she quickly glanced down as if afraid she’d spilled something. ‘Always ready for a funeral, that’s me,’ she quipped. ‘But it’s discreet. Unobtrusive.’

  ‘I would never describe you as unobtrusive,’ he muttered quietly.

  She’d burst into his life in a blaze of passion and fury.

  She met his gaze, silently questioning just how he’d describe her. Unspoken awareness flickered between them, like a gravitational pull.

  Her blush returned full force, a ruby tide over her creamy complexion. ‘I should get back to work. It’s almost time to close.’

  She was flustered again. He was fascinated by her unconscious dance—she advanced closer with those challenges, then retreated in shyness. He glanced around the shop, pleased to discover it had emptied completely of other customers. ‘Show me the biggest seller.’

  ‘Seriously?’ The droll scepticism on her face was a picture.

  Entertained by her expressiveness, he leaned closer. ‘Why not? You don’t think I can afford it?’

  She sent him another look. ‘Well, I know you don’t need a new pen.’ She lifted an item from the counter and met his gaze with a prim, shop-girl pose. ‘But we have an exquisite range of journals.’

  ‘Exquisite,’ he echoed dryly.

  ‘Incredibly so,’ she emphasised, refusing to acknowledge his soft sarcasm.

  ‘What is it about girls and diaries?’ He reached out and traced the smooth leather cover with his finger. ‘Do you pour out your soul into one of these every night?’

  ‘What if I do?’ She lifted her chin in that irresistibly defiant gesture.

  ‘Would it make for fascinating reading?’ He was appallingly curious now. For the first time intrigued enough to want to know all a woman’s thoughts, all her wishes, every last secret and deepest desire.

  ‘Sadly, no. I only keep lists in mine.’ She reached across the counter and flipped an open book around to show him. ‘See?’

  ‘This is yours?’ His pulse rate lifted.

  ‘I work on it in quiet moments,’ she said. ‘I have permission from my boss—it’s good to see our products in use.’

  Her defensiveness amused him. Was she as discomforted by him as much as he was by her? He leaned closer to read the scrawled list.

  ‘I forget things,’ she added nervously. ‘I’m naturally disorganised, so I work hard to get it together and nail my job. Lists are the only thing that work for me.’ She tried to pull the journal back but he planted his hand down to keep it there. His fingers brushed against her for the second time that day. Skin touched skin. She stilled, as did he.

  A millisecond later she snatched her hand back. But he knew she’d felt that current of electricity flow between them.

  He turned the pages of her journal, refusing to feel any remorse—she was the one who’d offered it for his viewing. But to his disappointment there were no deepest desires on show inside. Only ruthless organisation, as she’d said.

  ‘Everything in your life is dictated by a list?’ There were reminders, shopping lists, ticked-off tasks, pros and cons for other things... ‘It’s a lot of lists.’ He flicked through more pages, wishing there were something far more personal in it. ‘And in a rainbow of colours.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to be boring. Right? But I’m no artist, so I just choose a differ
ent colour for each...’

  ‘I have a planner,’ he offered idly. ‘But it’s online.’

  ‘Online?’ She shuddered theatrically. ‘I couldn’t get all these lists on the one screen. And what if it got deleted?’

  ‘What if you lost your journal?’ he countered with the obvious. ‘What if someone you don’t want to read it gets hold of it?’

  Her impish grin darted back. ‘That’s why there are only lists and reminders.’

  ‘So, nothing too personal or incriminating?’ He sighed with genuine disappointment. ‘You’re not a risk-taker, then.’

  Her eyes widened.

  ‘You won’t run the risk of someone discovering your secrets,’ he explained.

  ‘Perhaps I don’t have any,’ she muttered.

  ‘Everyone has secrets.’ And desires.

  Silent, she just gazed back at him.

  ‘And I’ll bet you’re not really going clubbing,’ he added quietly.

  This time her smile was more sheepish than impish, and she shook her head.

  ‘Have you had dinner?’ He didn’t give her time to answer. ‘I don’t think you’ve had time if you came straight from your shift at Cavendish. You must be hungry.’

  He saw her hesitate and spoke again before she could deny it. ‘Have dinner with me.’

  ‘No thanks,’ she instantly answered.

  ‘Am I that awful?’ he shot back, unafraid to challenge her directly. He knew what he wanted. He knew what she wanted too. He was just more honest about it.

  She stared at him for a moment, shocked. ‘No, I—’

  ‘Well, don’t let me down so roughly. It’s only dinner.’

  Roughly? Ettie narrowed her eyes on him. He was pulling her leg, right? Behind that serious facade there was some humour. ‘It’s not a wise idea. You’re my boss.’

  ‘It’s not a date, just dinner. If it makes you feel better, you can tell me about life on the concierge desk. I need to know how the whole operation works. There’ll be no repercussions for complete honesty.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, I’m not really your boss.’