Page 29 of The Greek Tycoon's Baby Bargain

‘Yes, Xandros?’

She was back to wearing jeans, he noticed. Without any fuss or discussion or unattractive, sweat-filled trips to the gym, she seemed to have regained those amazing, lush curves with all the healthy vigour of youth and vitality. He wanted to slide them off and thrust into her, and…He swallowed. Damn her, and damn her beauty! ‘We need to discuss arrangements,’ he said huskily.

‘What kind of arrangements?’ she questioned.

‘About hiring a nanny,’ he drawled. ‘Unless you’d prefer to discuss alternative sleeping arrangements? I know I would.’

She drew a deep breath—trying to ignore the sensual invitation in his words, the way his black eyes were insolently travelling over her body, as if they had every right to do so. She had heard the expression ‘un-dressing you with his eyes’ but she had never really known what it meant until she had met Xandros.

But the undeniable sexual tension which simmered under the surface was now only one facet of a life which had suddenly become full. Motherhood was a job, she had realised—and, more than that, it was one she could do well, which brought her confidence, and a quiet self-assurance. The Rebecca who had so vainly spent her time trying to appease the exacting Xandros had gone.

‘I don’t want to hire a nanny,’ she said quietly.

Xandros frowned—because this wasn’t what he had expected either. Hadn’t he thought that once she recognised he wasn’t going anywhere there would be demands for all kinds of trappings? Wealth bought hired help—and some women liked that. ‘Do you have any idea of the work involved once they start getting older? Of the way it’s going to restrict your freedom?’

‘Of course I do! Everything just takes twice as long, that’s all. But you would know that better than anyone.’ She sat down on the window-seat. ‘Xandros—you could actually give me a little insight here—how did your mother manage?’

There was a pause. Normally he would have automatically deflected her question and, in the circumstances, perhaps he could acknowledge its relevance—but that didn’t mean he liked her asking. ‘I don’t think she’d be a particularly good role model for new mothers of twins,’ he said coolly.

‘Why not?’

Xandros met her steady gaze with an instinctive flash of irritation because he hated digging beneath the surface of facts. Once, she would have correctly interpreted his mood and immediately stopped her line of questioning. Back then she would have done anything he wanted her to do. But now he could see that she’d changed—of course she had. Going through a pregnancy on your own and then giving birth to two babies and not knowing how the hell you were going to support them would be bound to change a woman.

Did that give her the right to know more about his history? And was his reluctance to tell her less about a fierce desire for privacy and more to do with the fact that he had buried it so deep, for so many years, that he had no desire to resurrect it?

‘Because my mother left when Kyros and I were very young.’

She stared at him, her heart beating very fast. ‘She left?’

‘But fathers leave all the time—and sometimes mothers, too.’ He gave a mocking smile to disguise the faint pain which this old scar could still produce. And his surprise that it should. ‘Surely that’s true equality, Rebecca?’

‘But…how old were you?’

‘Four.’ He shot the one word out repressively—along with an impatient glance. ‘Look, she left us with my father, who was perfectly able to make sure that we were cared for. Kyros and I grew up fine—and that’s it. No big drama.’

So how come his words had a hollow ring about them? ‘It must have been difficult for your father to manage, though—with two little boys to care for,’ she said slowly. ‘How did he do it?’

‘We had lots of different nannies who looked after us,’ he said, and shrugged. ‘My father was a busy man—driven by ambition and the will to succeed. His business demanded all the hours in the day. That’s one of the things which drove my mother into the arms of another man, or so she claimed. She wanted excitement and glamour—and an absentee husband and two demanding children just didn’t do it for her.’

‘And you never see her?’

‘No.’ Now his eyes were like flint. ‘She’s dead. She died a few years after she left. We saw her only twice after she’d gone.’ He remembered the man she had gone on to marry, the man who had replaced his father. Remembered wanting to punch him.

Rebecca nodded. In a way, the answers only threw up yet more questions. She wanted to ask them—of course she did—but the last thing Xandros would welcome were any clumsy attempts to be an amateur psychologist. There was a difference between being curious and prying. And something in his face told Rebecca not to push it.

Yet she recognised that for a man like Xandros whose emotions were clam-tight—this was a revelation indeed. It began to make his behaviour more understandable—that she had been guilty of thinking of him as a type, rather than a man. Cynicism didn’t just spring from nowhere, she realized. It didn’t matter how rich or powerful you were, there was always a reason for the person you became. Growing up with no mother as a role model said volumes about his take-it-or-leave-it attitude to women and his reluctance to be pinned down.

But the brief light he had shone into his past, and what it revealed, had unsettled her. Despite his assertion that it was no big deal and despite the flinty expression on that hard and beautiful face, she felt her heart ache for the deserted little boy he must have been. And surely he and his brother should be close now, instead of estranged? Especially after all they had gone through as ch

ildren.

Once, she had been prepared to tiptoe around his feelings, but not any more. She wanted to go beyond all that pretence and subterfuge. Not for her sake—because she recognised that whatever they’d had between them had died—but for the sake of their two children. Yet she recognised too that confidences couldn’t be rushed. He had to learn to trust her first—and maybe he never would.

And didn’t she have to start being mature about circumstances herself? Didn’t the sense of liberation that this beautiful house gave her fill her with relief? Was it her imagination, or had Alexius and Andreas settled to sleep far more easily than usual since they’d moved in—their mood been sunnier?

‘I want to thank you,’ she said awkwardly.

His eyes narrowed. ‘For?’

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