Читать книгу Bought: The Greek's Baby - Дженни Лукас, Jennie Lucas - Страница 8

BENEATH heavily lidded eyes, Talos watched Eve as he led her to the black Rolls-Royce purring on the street in front of the hospital.

She wasn’t faking her amnesia. In spite of his initial incredulity, he now had no doubt. She had no idea of who he was or what she’d done.

And now she was pregnant with his child.

That changed everything.

He gently helped her to the car. She had no luggage. One of his men had taken her smashed Aston-Martin to the garage, while the other had gone to make quiet amends for the smashed postbox. She wore the black silk dress and carried the black clutch purse from her stepfather’s funeral yesterday.

The black dress clung to her breasts and hips when she walked, the silk shimmering and sliding against her hips and breasts. Her dark, glossy hair had been brushed into a fresh ponytail.

She wore no makeup. It made her look different. Talos had never known her to go out without lipstick before—although God knew, with her lustrous skin, full pink lips and sparkling blue eyes, she didn’t need it to cause every man she met, from the elderly hospital porter to the teenaged boy walking past them on the sidewalk, to stop and catch his breath.

And as she turned back to face him on the sidewalk with a sweetly innocent smile, Talos was grimly aware that he was far from immune to her charm.

“Where are we going?” she asked, crinkling her forehead. “You never said.”

“Home,” he replied, guiding her into the backseat of the limousine. He closed the door behind her.

His body’s reaction to her was irritating—and troubling. He didn’t like it. Because he hated her.

When he’d first seen Eve in the hospital, she’d been curled up on the single bed beneath a thick blanket. She’d looked pale and wan, nothing like the vivacious, tempestuous vixen he remembered. Sleeping, she’d looked innocent, far younger than her twenty-five years.

She’d looked small. Fragile.

Talos had come to London specifically to destroy her. For the last three months, he’d been dreaming of it.

But how could he take his revenge if she not only had no memory of her crimes, but she was pregnant with his baby?

Tightening his hands into fists, he stalked to the other side of the car. Though it was only September, summer had abruptly fled London. A steady drizzle was falling from low gray clouds.

He climbed in beside her and she turned to him without missing a beat. “Where is our home?”

“My home—” he closed his door with a bang “—is Athens.”

She gaped at him. “Athens?”

“It’s where I live, and I must take care of you.” He gave her a brief, tight smile. “Doctor’s orders.”

“So I live there with you?”

“No.”

“We don’t live together?”

“You like to travel,” he said ironically.

“So where are my clothes?” she said in a small voice. “And my passport?”

“Likely at your stepfather’s estate. My staff will collect your things and meet us at the airport.”

“But…” She looked out the window, then turned back to face him and said in a rush, lifting her chin, “I want to see my home. My childhood home. Where is it?”

He gave her an assessing glance. “Your stepfather’s estate is in Buckinghamshire, I believe. But visiting there won’t help you. You spent one night there before the funeral. It hasn’t been your home for a long time.”

“Please, Talos.” Her sapphire eyes gleamed. “I want to see my home.”

His brow furrowed as he looked down at her pleading face.

Eve really had changed, he thought. His mistress had never begged him for anything. She’d never even said please.

Except…

Except for the first night he’d taken her to his bed, when all her defenses had been briefly stripped away and he’d discovered the most desired woman in the world was, against all expectations, a virgin. As he’d pushed himself inside her, she’d looked up at him in a breathless hush with those violet-blue eyes, and he’d thought…he’d almost thought…

He cut off the memory savagely.

He wouldn’t think about how it had once been with her. He wouldn’t think how she had nearly made him lose everything, including his mind.

Eve Craig was a fatal habit that he’d finally broken—and he intended to keep it that way.

“Very well,” he ground out, turning back to face her. “I will take you home—but just to collect your things. We cannot stay.”

Her lovely face brightened. She looked so young without makeup, with her hair in the casual ponytail. She looked barely old enough to be in college, far younger than his own thirty-eight years.

“Thank you,” she said warmly.

Thank you. Another phrase he’d never heard from her before.

He turned away, leaning back in the beige leather seat as his chauffeur drove smoothly through the city, turning right from Marylebone to the Edgware Road. As the car merged onto the M1 heading north, Talos stared out at the passing rain, then closed his eyes, tense and weary from jet lag and the whiplash of the past two days.

Eve, pregnant.

He was still reeling.

No wonder she’d crashed her car, he thought dully. Just the thought of losing her figure and not fitting into all her designer clothes must have made her crazy. All those months of not being able to drink champagne and dance till dawn with all of her rich, beautiful, shallow friends? Eve must have been more than shocked—she must have been furious.

Eve, pregnant.

He would not trust her to take care of a house plant, much less a child. She was not even slightly maternal. She wouldn’t love a baby. She was the least loving person Talos had ever met.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

He hadn’t even known about the baby an hour ago, but now he was absolutely sure of one thing.

He had to protect his child.

“So I don’t live in England,” he heard her say. Steeling his expression, he turned to face her. Her face looked bewildered, almost sad as she added hesitantly, “I don’t have a home?”

Home. Against his will, he had the sudden image of Eve in his bedroom at Mithridos, spread across his large bed, with the curtains twisting from the sea breeze coming off the sparkling Aegean. That had never happened, and it never would!

“You live in hotels,” he answered coldly. “I told you. You travel constantly.”

“So how do I hold down a job?” she said in disbelief.

“You don’t. You spend your days shopping and attending parties around the world. You’re an heiress. A famous beauty.”

She gaped at him. “You’re joking.”

“No.” He left it at that. He could hardly explain how she and her dissolute friends traveled in packs like parasites, sucking a luxury hotel dry before moving on to the next. If he told her that, she might hear the scorn in his voice and question the true nature of his feelings.

Malakas, how was it possible that he’d been so caught by her? What madness had possessed him to be so enslaved?

How could he make sure that his child never was neglected, hurt or abandoned by her after she regained her memory?

A new thought suddenly occurred to him.

If she could not remember him, if she could not remember who she was or what she’d done, it meant she would have no idea of what was about to hit her. She would have no defenses.

A slow smile curved his lips as he built his new plan. He could take everything from her, including their baby. And she would never see it coming.

“So I was here for my stepfather’s funeral,” she said softly. “But I’m not British.”

“Your mother was, I believe. You both returned to England some years ago.”

She brightened. “My mother!”

“Dead,” he informed her brutally.

She froze, her face crumpling. Watching the swift movement of scenery on the outskirts of London through the window behind her, he remembered that her mother’s death was fresh news to her. And that he was supposed to be in love with her. He had to make her believe that if he wanted his plan to succeed.

“I’m sorry, Eve,” he said abruptly. “But as far as I know, you have no family.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice.

Pulling her into his arms, he held her close against his chest, kissing the top of her head. Her hair, messy and unwashed, still managed to smell like vanilla and sugar, the scents he associated with her. The scent that immediately made his body go hard and taut with longing, with the immediate temptation of a long-desired vice.

Thee mou. Why couldn’t he stop wanting her? After everything she’d done, the way she’d nearly ruined him, how was it possible that his body still longed for her like a dying man thirsting for water? Was he really such a suicidal fool? Did he have no honor, no pride?

He had pride, he thought, clenching his jaw. It was her. Even now, acting so sweetly demure, her innocence attracted him like a flame. He remembered the fire of passion inside her. And how he was the only man who’d ever tasted it.

He felt himself tighten.

Stop! he ordered himself. He wouldn’t think about her in bed. He wouldn’t want her. He did have some control over his own body, damn it!

She clenched her fingers against his sleeve, her face pressed into his crisply tailored shirt.

“So I have no one.” Her voice was small, almost a whisper. “No parents. No brothers or sisters. No one.”

He looked down at her, tipping her chin upwards so he could see the tears sparkling in her beautiful violet-blue eyes. “You have me.”

She swallowed, searching his face as if trying to read the emotion behind his expression. He schooled his features into concern and admiration and the closest attempt at love he could manage, never having actually felt it.

A sigh came from her lips as she exhaled. A soft smile traced her lips. “And our baby.”

He gave a single grim nod. Their baby was the reason he had to make sure his control over Eve was absolute. The reason he had to make her believe he cared about her.

It was no different, he thought sardonically, than she’d once done to him. He would lull her into believing she could trust him. Make her willingly marry him.

Then—oh, then…

The instant their marriage was final, his life’s goal would be to make her remember the truth. He would be with her when she finally remembered. He would see her face as it fell.

And he would crush her. The thought of revenge made his heart glad.

Not revenge, he told himself. Justice.

Leaning forward, he held her closer in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce.

“Eve.” He cupped her face in his large hands. “I want you to marry me.”

Marry him?

Yes, Eve thought in a daze, looking up into his handsome face. Feeling his strong, rough hands against the softness of her skin, the warmth of his touch seared her, tracing down her neck to her breasts and lower still.

How could any man be so masculine, so beautiful, so powerful all at once? Talos was everything her tattered, empty, frightened soul had desired. He would protect her. Love her. He would complete her life.

Yes, yes, yes.

But even as the words rose to her lips, something stopped her. Something she couldn’t understand made her pull her face away from his touch.

“Marry you?” she whispered. She searched his dark eyes, her heartbeat quickening in her chest. “I don’t even know you.”

He blinked. She saw that he was surprised. Then his eyebrows lowered into a frown.

“You knew me well enough to conceive my child.”

She swallowed. “But I can’t remember you,” she said. “It wouldn’t be fair to take you as my husband. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I was raised without a father. I do not intend my child to endure that. I will give our baby a name. Do not deny me,” he said urgently.

Deny him? How could any woman deny anything to a man like Talos Xenakis?

But it didn’t feel right.

With a deep breath, she turned away, glancing out at the passing scenery. It had changed since they’d left the outskirts of London, become soft and green beyond the rain-splattered windows. Trees had started to turn orange and yellow, rich autumnal colors between the green.

“Eve.”

She looked back at Talos. He was so darkly handsome and powerful, and at the moment his sensual mouth was pressed into a hard line. He was clearly determined to have his way.

But something inside her made her resist him.

“Thank you for asking me to marry you,” she said awkwardly. “It’s very warm and loving. But my baby won’t be born for months—”

“Our baby,” he corrected her.

“And I can’t be your wife when I can’t even remember you.”

“We’ll see,” he said softly. Silence fell on their drive as she watched the passing scenery. Finally, the car turned off the road to a smaller lane. She saw a redbrick Georgian mansion at the base of tree-covered hills, reflected in a wide gray lake.

“Is that my stepfather’s house?” she breathed in shock.

“Yes.”

The car drove up the long lane through the park and woodlands then stopped in front of the entrance. As Talos opened the door and helped her from the car, Eve looked up with an intake of breath. She craned her head back to get a good look at the mansion, with its striking Victorian Gothic parapets stabbing upward into the steel-gray sky.

Holding her hand over her eyes to block out the noon sunlight that had finally penetrated the clouds, she looked back at him. “I lived here as a teenager?”

“And now it is yours, along with a vast fortune.”

She looked at him sharply. “How do you know?”

“You knew it yourself yesterday, when you attended the reading of the will.”

“But how do you know?” she persisted.

He shrugged. “I’ll make sure you get a copy of the will. Come.” Taking her hand, he escorted her past the grand sweep of the front door. Inside the foyer, five servants waited to greet her, headed by the housekeeper.

“Oh, Miss Craig,” the plump woman sniffed into her apron. “Your stepfather loved you so much. He would be so glad to see you’ve finally come home!”

Home? But it wasn’t her home. Apparently, she’d barely set foot in this place for years!

But looking at the elderly housekeeper’s sad face, Eve felt a sympathetic pang. She put an arm around her.

“He was a good man, wasn’t he?” she said softly.

“Yes, that he was, miss. The best. And he loved you as his own natural-born child. Even though you weren’t, and American to boot,” she added, wiping her eyes. “He’d be so happy you’ve finally come back after so long.”

Eve paused delicately. “Has it been so…?”

“Six, no, seven years. Mr. Craig always invited you back for Christmas, but…”

Her voice trailed off as she wiped tears with her apron.

“But I never came, did I?” Eve said.

The older woman shook her head wistfully.

Eve swallowed. Apparently she’d taken her stepfather’s money and let him pay her bills as she shopped and partied her way around the world, but hadn’t even had the grace to return for an occasional visit!

And now he was dead.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered over the lump in her throat.

“Let me take you to your room. You’ll find it’s just as you left it last.”

Shortly afterwards, the quietly sobbing housekeeper left them in Eve’s old bedroom. In the darkness, with Talos behind her in the only light of the double doorway, Eve yanked back the black curtains, filling the room with gray light.

Turning back to get a good look at her room, she choked back a gasp of dismay. Everything was red and black, down to the king-sized black lacquer bed. Dramatic. Modern. Sexy.

Garish.

Talos leaned against the door frame as Eve looked through the room, desperate for something, anything that would tell her what she needed to know. She opened closet doors, running her hands idly over the new clothes that hung there. The clothes were like the room, sexy and dramatic. Powerful clothes for a woman who desired attention and knew how to wield it.

Eve shivered.

She pulled open the shelves, touching each item lightly with her hands. Black stiletto heels. A Gucci handbag. A Louis Vuitton suitcase. Finding her passport, she thumbed through it, searching for answers that weren’t there. Zanzibar? Mumbai? Cape Town?

“You weren’t kidding,” she said slowly. “I do travel constantly. Especially for the last three months.”

When he didn’t reply, she turned back to face him. His face seemed carefully expressionless.

“Yes,” was all he said. “I know.”

She tossed the passport into her suitcase with the sexy clothes and shoes that all seemed foreign, as if they belonged to someone else. Leaning against the modern black four-poster bed, she looked around her with a heavy sigh. “There’s nothing here.”

“I told you.”

Desolately, she went to the bookshelf. It held only faded fashion magazines, years out of date, and a few slender volumes on etiquette and charm. She picked up the book on top, a splashy pop-culture book and read the title out loud in dismay. “How to Get Your Man?”

“That’s never been your problem.” There was a distinct edge to his voice.

Her heart was breaking, and he was making jokes? She made a huffing sound and chucked the book in his general direction. He caught it midair.

“Look, Eve,” he said evenly. “It all doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter—these things tell me who I am!” She jabbed her finger toward the closet. “I’ve just found out I was the kind of girl who only cared about her looks, who ignored a stepfather who loved me, and who never bothered to come home at Christmas.” Tears rushed into her eyes. “And I let him die alone,” she whispered. “How could I have been so cruel?”

Desolately, she picked up a dusty photo in a gilded frame. She saw the image of a man giving a cheeky wink, his arm around a beautiful dark-haired woman who was laughing with joy. Between them was a plump little girl with a big beaming smile and two missing front teeth.

She stared at the adults in the photo for a very long time, but no memories came back to her. They had to be her parents, but she couldn’t remember them. Was she really that heartless? Did she truly have no soul?

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t help.” She threw the photograph across the room, where it bounced softly against her bed. She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t remember them. I can’t!”

Crossing the bedroom in three long strides, he took her by the shoulders. “I barely knew my parents, but it hasn’t hurt me.”

“It’s not just the past,” she whispered. “Why would you want to be with a person like me? Without substance, without heart?”

He didn’t answer.

“And now it’s all too late,” she said over the lump in her throat. “I’ve lost my only family. I have no home.”

“Your home is with me,” he said in a low voice.

She looked up at him. The sunlight from the tall windows gently caressed his face, illuminating floating dust motes like tiny stars all around them in the red-and-black bedroom.

“Let me show you.” He slowly stroked up her bare arms, his fingers light against her skin. “Marry me.”

Electricity spread up her arms and down her body. She fought the urge to step closer to him, to press her body against his chest. Shaking her head, she breathed, “I can’t.”

“Why?” he growled.

“I don’t want you to marry me out of pity!”

His hands suddenly moved around her, caressing her back through her dress, causing the black silk to slide deliciously over her body with his featherlight touch. “Pity is the last thing I feel for you.”

She closed her eyes, leaning forward in spite of herself. Wanting more of his touch. Wanting to feel his warmth. His heat.

He pulled her more deeply into his arms. She felt the scent of him, the warmth of his body beneath his clothes.

“Come away with me,” he whispered into her hair. “Come to Athens and be my bride.”

She felt the hardness of his body against hers, the strength of his arms around her. He was so much taller and more powerful than she was. His hands ran softly along the edges of her hips, up the length of her back as her breasts crushed against his chest.

She swallowed, trembling. She licked her lips, moving her cheek against his shirt as she looked up at him. “I can’t just run away,” she sighed. No matter how she wished she could. “I need my memory back, Talos. I can’t just float through the world not knowing who I am. I can’t marry a virtual stranger, even if you’re the father of my child—”

“So I’ll take you to the place where we first met. To where we began.” She felt his dark gaze fall upon her mouth as he said softly, “I’ll show you the place where I first kissed you.”

Her bones turned to liquid. She looked up at him, her heart pounding as she licked her lips involuntarily. “Where is that?”

His eyes were hot and dark. “In Venice.”

“Venice,” she repeated, and the word was a wistful sigh. She looked up at him with yearning, knowing she should refuse—knowing she should stay in London and see the specialist Dr. Bartlett had recommended. But her refusal caught in her throat. Caught by her romantic dreams. Caught by him.

Talos reached down to stroke her tender bottom lip with his thumb, caressing her face with his powerful hands.

“Come to Venice,” he said darkly. “I will show you everything.” He cupped her face with both hands, holding her hard against his body as he looked down at her, commanding her with his gaze. “And then,” he whispered, “you will marry me.”