Читать книгу Greek Bachelors: Bound By His Heir: Carrying the Greek's Heir / An Heir to Bind Them / The Greek's Tiny Miracle - Rebecca Winters, Dani Collins - Страница 13
ОглавлениеELLIE’S NEW LIFE began the minute Alek agreed to marry her and it felt like waking up in a parallel universe.
No more travelling across London, or a sticky train journey home to the New Forest. He didn’t do public transport, did he? And neither would the woman who was carrying his child. A sleek limo was ordered to take her home, but not before Alek insisted she eat something. Her attempts to tell him she wasn’t hungry fell on deaf ears and he sent Vasos out for warm bread, tiny purple grapes and a rich chickpea spread, which Ellie fell on with a moan of greed. She ate the lot and looked up to find him studying her.
‘You’re obviously not looking after yourself properly,’ he said repressively. ‘Forget working out your notice and move up here straight away. It makes perfect sense.’
‘I can’t leave Bridget in the lurch. She’s been very kind to me. I’ll need to give her a month’s notice.’
He hadn’t been happy about that, just as he hadn’t been happy when she’d refused the wad of banknotes he’d tried to press on her for any expenses.
‘Please don’t try to give me money in the street, Alek,’ she hissed. ‘I’m not some kind of hooker. And while we’re on the subject, I’m going to want my own room when I move into your apartment.’ The look of surprise on his face had been almost comical. ‘And that’s a requirement,’ she added tartly. ‘Not a request.’
It was late when the car eventually dropped her off in the New Forest—too late to speak to Bridget, but Ellie’s plan of telling her boss the following day was blown when Bridget walked into the shop with an expression Ellie had never seen before. The fifty-something widow who had treated her like the daughter she’d never had looked as if she was about to burst with excitement.
‘Sweet saints in all heaven—why didn’t you tell me?’ Bridget demanded, her Irish accent still discernible, even after three decades of living in England.
‘Tell you what?’ questioned Ellie, her skin prickling with an instinctive dread.
‘That you’re going to be married! And to a handsome Greek, no less! My, but you’re a secretive one, Miss Brooks.’
Ellie gripped the glass counter, forgetting the smudgy marks her fingers would leave behind. ‘But how—?’ She swallowed as she asked a question to which she already knew the answer. ‘How did you find out?’
‘How do you think?’ questioned Bridget, followed by a quick demonstration of her explosive laugh. ‘I got a call from the man himself late last night. He woke me out of a deep sleep, but he’s so full of the Greek blarney that I told him I didn’t mind a bit! He said he needs you at his side and he’s offering to compensate me so that you can leave early. Why, I can get ten shop assistants for the money he’s giving me—and still have plenty left over for the extension for the tea room! He’s a very generous man, Ellie—and you’re a very lucky woman.’
Ellie felt sick. Lucky? She felt about as lucky as someone who’d just tossed their winning lottery ticket onto a roaring fire. But she wasn’t stupid. Bridget didn’t care about her giving a full four weeks’ notice, because Alek’s offer had wiped out all other considerations. What price is friendship or loyalty in the face of all that hard cash? Was that what made him so cynical? she wondered—knowing everything had a price tag and if he paid enough, he could get exactly what he wanted?
‘I’ve got a girl coming in from the village tomorrow,’ continued Bridget chattily. ‘It’s all sorted.’
Ellie wondered how her boss would react if she told her the truth. We’ve only had sex the once and we weren’t supposed to see each other again. He’s only marrying me because there’s a baby on the way.
But what good would that do? Why disillusion someone for the sake of it? Surely it would be best to repay Bridget’s kindness by letting her think this was what she really wanted. Oughtn’t she at least act out the fairy tale—even if she didn’t believe in it herself?
‘It’s very sweet of you to be so understanding, Bridget,’ she said.
‘Nonsense. It’s an absolute pleasure to see you so settled and happy. Come round to the cottage tonight and we’ll have a slap-up meal, to celebrate.’
After work, Ellie went upstairs to her little flat and, sure enough, there was a text message waiting on her phone.
I’ve sorted things out with your boss. Car arriving for you at eleven tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re ready to leave. Alek.
If she’d thought it would make any difference, she might have been tempted to ping back a stinging reply, but Ellie was too tired to try. Why waste energy fighting the inevitable?
She packed up her meagre wardrobe, then went round to Bridget’s hobbit-sized cottage for a vegetarian goulash. Afterwards, as she walked home in the warm summer evening, she looked up at the star-spangled sky with a feeling of wistfulness. She was going to miss the beauty of the forest—with all those cute ponies which wandered around and then stood in the middle of the road, regularly bringing all the traffic to a standstill as they swished their feathery tails. She’d always dreamed she might one day live in a big city, but never in circumstances like this. Her future lay ahead like a big uncharted map, and she felt scared.
Yet the sleep she fell into was deep and she was startled awake by the sound of a car horn beeping from beneath her open window. She staggered out of bed and hastily pulled on a robe. She had overslept and the driver was obviously here.
Except that it wasn’t the driver. Ellie waited until the sickness had passed before poking her head out of the window, her breath catching in her throat when she saw Alek himself. He was leaning against a dark green sports car and it was just like the first time she’d seen him—when he’d been off duty in the spa hotel and she’d been trying very hard not to stare.
Dark shades covered his eyes and faded jeans clung to the muscular contours of his long legs. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to display powerful forearms and his hair glinted blue-black in the bright sunshine. Liquid desire began to unfold in the base of her belly—warm and unwanted and much too potent.
‘Oh,’ she said coolly, because she didn’t want to feel this way when she looked at him. She wanted to feel nothing. ‘It’s you.’
Lifting up his shades, he narrowed his eyes against the bright light. ‘I’ve had better greetings,’ he said drily. ‘Why don’t you open the door and I’ll come up and collect your stuff?’
‘There’s a key on the top ledge,’ she said, withdrawing her head and grabbing some clothes as she headed for the bathroom. By the time she emerged, washed and dressed—he was standing in the middle of her sitting room, not looking in the least bit repentant.
She slammed her soap bag onto the table and turned on him, her growing temper fuelled by the arrogant look on his face. ‘How dare you ring up my boss and offer her money to release me from my contract, when I told you I wanted to work out my notice?’ she demanded. ‘Does it give you a kick to be so controlling?’
‘If you can give me a single valid objection,’ he drawled, ‘other than the mild wounding to your ego—then I’ll listen. But you can’t, can you, Ellie? You’ve been sick every morning and you look like hell, but you still want to carry on. Not the greatest advertisement for a cake shop, is it—unless you’re trying to drive away the customers?’ He glanced down at the two battered suitcases which were standing in the middle of the floor. ‘This all you’ve got?’
‘No, there are several Louis Vuitton trunks next door,’ she said sarcastically.
He picked them up as easily as if they were full of feathers, rather than the entire contents of her world. ‘Come on. The car’s waiting.’
She took the keys downstairs to the shop, where Bridget was showing the new assistant all the different cupcakes. The Strawberry Shortcake and the Lemon Lovely. The Chocolate Nemesis and the bestselling Cherry Whirl. It was farewell to a simple life and a great leap into a sophisticated unknown, and Ellie’s chest felt tight with emotion as the Irishwoman hugged her, before waving her off in the shiny car.
The car roof was down and the noise of the traffic made conversation difficult but that was a relief because Ellie had no desire to talk and, besides, what would she say? How did you start a conversation with a man you barely knew in circumstances such as these? Staring out of the window, she watched as trees and fields gave way to tall buildings which shimmered in the summer sunshine like distant citadels.
Their journey took them through South Kensington, a place she’d once visited on a school trip. Thirty-five boisterous children had spent the morning in the Natural History Museum and afterwards had been allowed to descend on the museum shop. Ellie had used all her pocket money to buy her mother an expensive little bar of soap in the shape of a dinosaur. But the gift had failed to please. Apparently, it had reminded her—yet again—of all the things which were missing in her life. Ellie remembered her mother staring at the tiny bar as if it had been contaminated. Her voice had been bitter, her face contorted with a rage which was never far from the surface. If your father had married me, you could have afforded to buy me something which was bigger than a walnut!
And wasn’t that memory reason enough to be grateful that Alek wasn’t washing his hands of his responsibilities? Despite his authoritarian attitude, he was stepping up to the mark and shouldering his share of the life they had inadvertently created. He wasn’t planning to never pay a penny towards his baby’s upkeep, or never bother keeping in touch, was he? She stole a glance at his rugged profile. He wasn’t all bad. And following on from that wave of appreciation came another, which was rather more unwelcome, especially when his thigh tensed over the accelerator. He was so unbelievably hot and she hadn’t really stopped to think about what the reality of that might be, when she was closeted together with him in his apartment. Could desire be switched off, like a tap? Or would close contact only increase her awareness of just how gorgeous the father of her unborn child was?
Alek lived in Knightsbridge and his apartment was everything Ellie had expected and more, although nothing could have prepared her for its sheer size and opulence. Even the relative luxury of The Hog paled into insignificance when compared to each high-ceilinged room which seemed to flow effortlessly into the next. Squashy velvet sofas stood on faded silken rugs and everywhere you looked were beautiful objects. On a small table was a box inlaid with mother-of-pearl and a small gilded egg studded with stones of emerald and blue. She blinked at it as it sparkled brightly in the sunshine. Surely those stones weren’t real? She wanted to ask, but it seemed rude—as if she were sizing up the place and trying to work out its worth. But it wasn’t the value so much as the beauty which took her breath away. Everywhere she looked were paintings of places she’d longed to visit—upmarket versions of the posters she’d had hanging in her room at the hostel. Leafy streets in Paris and iconic churches in Rome, as well as the unbelievable architecture of Venice reflected in the dappled water of the canals.
She looked at them longingly. ‘Your paintings are amazing.’
‘Thank you.’ He inclined his head—the tone of his voice altering slightly, as if her comment had surprised him. ‘It’s something of a hobby of mine. You are fond of art?’
She bit back the defensive remark which hovered on her lips. Did he think someone who worked in the service industry was incapable of appreciating art, or that you had to be wealthy to enjoy it? ‘I enjoy visiting galleries when I get the chance,’ she said stiffly. ‘Though I’ve never seen stuff like this in someone’s home.’
But then she’d never been in a home like this. She walked over to one of the windows which framed a stunning view of the park and when she turned round it was to find him watching her, his blue eyes giving nothing away.
‘I take it you approve?’
‘How could I not?’ She shrugged, trying not to be affected by the intensity of that sapphire gaze. ‘It’s remarkable. Did you design it yourself?’
‘I can’t take any of the credit, I’m afraid.’ His smile was bland. ‘I had someone do that for me. A woman called Alannah Collins.’
Ellie nodded. Of course he did. Men like Alek didn’t choose their own wallpaper or spend ages deliberating where to position the sofas. They paid for someone else to do it. Just as he paid shop owners to release their staff early from a contract. He could do what the hell he liked, couldn’t he? All he had to do was to take out his chequebook. ‘She’s a very talented designer,’ she said.
‘She is.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘So I take it you’ll be able to tolerate living here for a while?’
‘Who knows?’ she answered lightly. ‘We might be wanting to kill each before the week is out.’
‘We might.’ There was a heartbeat of a pause. ‘Or we might find infinitely more satisfying ways to sublimate our...frustrations. What do you think, Ellie?’
His words were edged with mockery but there was a very real sense of sexual challenge sparking beneath that cool stare, and of course she was tempted by that look.
But even stronger than temptation was Ellie’s overwhelming sense of disorientation as he flirted with her. Seeing him in his fancy home made it hard to believe the circumstances which had brought her here. Had he really arrived at her humble room in the staff hostel and then had sex with her on that single bed? It seemed like a muddled dream to remember him pulling urgently at her clothing, like a man out of control. She remembered the anger on his face and then the sudden transformation as his rage had given way to a passion which had left her crying in his arms afterwards.
But men could feel passion in the heat of the moment and then turn it off once their appetite had been satisfied, couldn’t they? She didn’t know a whole heap about sex, but she knew that much and she had to remember that she was vulnerable as far as Alek was concerned. They might have come together as equals that day, but they weren’t really equals. She might soon be wearing his wedding ring but that was only a symbol. It didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean any of the things a wedding band was supposed to mean. She needed to keep her emotional distance. She had to, if she wanted to protect herself from getting hurt.
‘Just to be clear.’ She met the blue gleam of his eyes. ‘I meant what I said about wanting my own room. So if you’re thinking of trying to persuade me otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll be wasting your time.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘On balance, I think I agree with you. I’m beginning to think that sharing a room with you would only complicate an already complicated situation.’
Ellie felt a wave of something very feminine and contrary flaring through her as she followed him from the huge reception room. Couldn’t he at least have pretended to be disappointed, rather than appearing almost relieved? With difficulty she dragged her gaze away from his powerful back and forced herself to look at all the different things he was showing her. The plush cinema with its huge screen. The black marble fittings in the shamelessly masculine kitchen. The modern dining room, which didn’t look as if it was used very much—with tall silver candlesticks standing on a beautiful gleaming table. On the wall of his study, different clocks were lined up to show the time zones of all the world’s major cities and his desk contained a serious amount of paperwork. He explained that there was a swimming pool in the basement of the building, as well as a fully equipped gym.
The bedroom she was allocated wasn’t soft or girly—and why would it be?—but at least it was restful. The bed was big, the view spectacular. The en-suite bathroom had snowy towels and expensive bottles of bath oil and she thought about how perfect everything looked. And then there was her. Standing there in her jeans and T-shirt, she felt like a cobweb which had blown onto a line of clean washing.
‘Do you like it?’ he questioned.
‘I can’t imagine anyone not liking it. It’s beautiful.’ She ran her fingertip along a delicate twist of coloured glass which served no useful purpose other than to capture the light and reflect it back in rainbow rays. ‘I just can’t imagine how a baby is going to fit in here.’
His gaze followed the line of her fingers. ‘Neither can I. But I wasn’t planning on having a baby when I bought this place.’
‘You didn’t think that one day you might have a family of your own? I don’t mean like this, obviously—’
‘Obviously,’ he interrupted tightly. ‘And the answer is no. Not every man feels the need to lock himself into family life—particularly when so few families are happy.’
‘That’s a very cynical point of view, Alek.’
‘You think so? Why, was your own childhood so happy?’ His gaze bore into her. ‘Let me guess. A cosy English village where everyone knew each other? A cottage with roses growing around the door?’
‘Hardly.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I didn’t meet my father until I was eighteen and when I did I wished I hadn’t bothered.’
His eyes had narrowed. ‘Why not?’
It was a story she wasn’t proud of. Correction. It was one she was almost ashamed of. She knew it was illogical, but if you were unloved, then didn’t that automatically make you unlovable? Didn’t the fault lie within her? But she pushed that rogue thought away as she had been trying to do for most of her adult life. And there was no reason to keep secrets from Alek. She wasn’t trying to impress him, because he’d already made it clear that he no longer wanted her. And if you moved past that rather insulting fact—didn’t that mean she could be herself, instead of trying to be the person she thought she ought to be?
‘I’d hate to shock you,’ she said flippantly.
His voice was dry. ‘Believe me, I am not easily shocked.’
She watched as the filmy drapes moved in a cloud-like blur at the edges of the giant windows. ‘My father was a businessman—quite a successful one by all accounts—and my mother worked as his secretary, but she was also his...’ She shrugged as she met his quizzical expression. ‘It sounds so old-fashioned now, but she was his mistress.’
‘Ah,’ he said, in the tone of a man addressing a subject on which he was already an expert. ‘His mistress.’
‘That’s right. It was the usual thing. He set her up in a flat. He bought her clothes and in particular—underwear. They used to go out for what was euphemistically known as “lunch,” which I gather didn’t make her very popular back at the office. Sometimes he even managed to get away for part of a weekend with her, though of course she was always on her own at Christmas and during vacations. She told me all this one night when she’d been drinking.’
‘So what happened?’ he questioned, diplomatically ignoring the sudden tremble in her voice. ‘How come you came along?’
Caught up in a tale she hadn’t thought about in a long time, Ellie sat down heavily on the bed. The Egyptian cotton felt soft as she rested her palms against it and met the cool curiosity in Alek’s eyes. ‘She wanted him to divorce his wife, but he wouldn’t. He kept telling her that he’d have to wait for his children to leave home—again, the usual story. So she thought she’d give him a little encouragement.’
‘And she got pregnant?’
‘She got pregnant,’ she repeated and saw the look on his face. ‘And before you say anything—I did not set out to repeat history. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to recreate my own childhood. What happened between us was—’
‘An accident,’ he said, almost roughly. ‘Yes, I know that. Go on.’
She’d lost the thread of what she’d been saying and it took her a couple of seconds to pick it up again. ‘I think she mistakenly thought that he’d get used to having a baby. That he might even be pleased...evidence of his virility...that kind of thing. But he wasn’t. He already had three children he was putting through school and a wife with an expensive jewellery habit. He told her...’
Ellie’s voice tailed off. She remembered that awful night of her birthday when her mother had seen off the best part of a bottle of gin and started blubbing—telling her stuff which no child should ever hear. She had buried it deep in the recesses of her own mind, but now it swam to the surface—like dark scum which had been submerged too long.
‘He told her to get rid of it. Or rather...to get rid of me,’ she said, her bright, pointless smile fading as her mother’s words reverberated round her head. And I should have listened to him! If I’d known what lay ahead, I damned well would have listened to him! ‘I think she thought he’d change his mind, but he didn’t. He stopped paying the rent on my mother’s apartment and told his wife about the affair—thus effectively curtailing any thoughts of blackmail. Then they moved to another part of the country and that was the end of that.’
‘He didn’t keep in contact?’
‘Nope. It was different in those days, before social media really took off—it’s easy to lose touch with someone. There was no maintenance—and my mother was too proud to take him to court. She said she’d already lost so much that she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her begging. She said we would manage just fine, but of course—it’s never that simple.’
‘But you said you saw him? When you were eighteen?’
Ellie didn’t answer for a moment, because this territory was not only forbidden—it was unmarked. She wondered whether she should tell him—but how could she not? She hadn’t talked about it with anyone before because she didn’t want to look as if she was drowning in self-pity, but maybe Alek had a right to know.
‘I did see him,’ she said slowly. ‘After my mother died, I tracked him down and wrote to him. Said I’d like to meet him. I was slightly surprised when he agreed.’ And slightly scared, too, because she’d built him up in her head to be some kind of hero. Maybe she’d been longing for the closeness she’d never had with her mother. Perhaps she had been as guilty as the next person of wanting a fairy tale which didn’t exist. The big reunion which was going to make everything in her life better.
‘What happened?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You really want to know?’
‘I do. You tell a good story,’ he said, surprisingly.
She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t a story, but when she stopped to think about it—maybe it was. Life was a never-ending story—wasn’t that how the old cliché went? She cleared her throat. ‘There was no psychic connection between us. No sense that here was the person whose genes I shared. We didn’t even look alike. He sat on the other side of a noisy table in a café at Waterloo station and told me that my mother was a conniving bitch who had almost ruined his life.’
‘And that was it?’ he asked after a long moment.
‘Pretty much. I tried asking about my half-sister and half-brothers and anyone would have thought I’d asked him for the PIN number for his savings account, from the way he reacted.’ He had stood up then with an ugly look on his face, but the look had been tinged with satisfaction—as if he’d been glad of an excuse to be angry with her. She remembered him knocking against the table and her untouched cappuccino slopping everywhere in a frothy puddle. ‘He told me never to contact him again. And then he left.’
Alek heard the determinedly nonchalant note in her voice and something twisted darkly in his gut. Was it recognition? A realisation that everyone carried their own kind of pain, but that most of it was hidden away? Suddenly her fierce ambition became understandable—an ambition which had been forced into second place by the baby. He felt a pang of guilt as he recalled how cavalier he’d been about her losing her job. Suddenly, he could understand her insistence on marriage—a request which must have been fuelled by the uncertainty of her own formative years. Not because she wanted the cachet of being his wife, but because she wanted to give her own baby the security she’d never had.
But recognising something didn’t change anything. He needed to be clear about the facts and so did she—and the most important fact she needed to realise was that he could never do the normal stuff that women seemed to want. He might be capable of honouring his responsibility to her and the baby—but, emotionally, wasn’t he cut from exactly the same cloth as her father? Hadn’t he walked away from women in the past—blind to their tears and their needs?
Ellie Brooks wasn’t his type, but even if she were he was the last man she needed. She needed his name on a birth certificate and she needed his money, and he could manage that. Neh. A bitter smile curved his lips. He could manage that very well. But if she wanted someone to provide the love and support her father had never given her, then he was the wrong person.
She had pushed the heavy fringe away from her eyebrows. Her face was pale, he thought. And now that she no longer had those generous curves, there was a kind of fragility about her which gave her skin a curious luminosity. And suddenly, all his certainties seemed to fade away. He forgot that it was infinitely more sensible to keep his distance from her as he was overcome by a powerful desire to take her in his arms and offer her comfort.
He swallowed, his feelings confusing him. And angering him. He didn’t want to be in thrall to anyone, but certainly not to her. Because he recognised that Ellie possessed something which no woman before her had ever possessed. A part of him. And didn’t that give her a special kind of power? A power she could so easily abuse if he wasn’t careful.
He walked quickly towards the door, realising that he needed to get the hell out of there. ‘You’d better unpack,’ he said abruptly. ‘And then we need to sit down and discuss the practicalities of you living here.’
