Page 33 of The Greek Tycoon's Baby Bargain

‘It is usual to look at someone when they’re speaking to you, Xandros!’

‘Is it, agape mou?’ he said softly. ‘So why do you shy away when you’re looking at me?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Liar,’ he taunted. ‘Yes, you do. And do you know why?’

‘N-no.’ Suddenly, her hard-fought-for composure seemed to be slipping away—vanquished by the powerful aphrodisiac of his touch.

‘Because if you allow yourself to look at me for long enough you will remember how it felt to have my lips on yours. My mouth on your body. You will think back to how it was to lie naked in my arms, your body sated and satisfied,’ he finished, on a soft boast.

But not her heart, she realised—he had always left that empty and hungry for more. ‘Xandros—’

‘And you will realise that you are sick of living with memories. That you want that. Admit it, Rebecca—admit you still want me!’

‘Xandros—’ She said his name again and this time the word was supposed to be a protest—a soft indication that maybe they should stop all this. But perhaps it lacked conviction, for now his hand was cupping the other elbow and he was drawing her towards him as if she had been composed of nothing more substantial than a ball of cotton wool.

And she was letting him. He was moving her as if she were a puppet and he her master, but suddenly she didn’t care. How could she care about anything when her senses were fizzing over like shaken-up champagne from which the cork had just been eased?

It had been so long since she had been in his arms like this. Not like that time at her flat, when she’d only recently given birth and she had been feeling awkward and unsure. Tonight, in her party dress and high heels—all perfumed and pampered—she felt like a real woman. And, oh, there was no doubt about the authenticity of this ultimate alpha-male who was now pulling her closer still.

She could feel the muscular strength of his powerful body and sense the rapid building of his desire as he tipped her face up to look at him. ‘Did you want him?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Did you?’

‘No—’ But the word was lost as he crushed his mouth down on hers in a kiss which felt more about punishment than desire, and although Rebecca knew that she should not be responding to it—she just couldn’t stop herself.

He was hot and aroused, his hands tumbling in her hair as if he had never touched her hair before, and his thigh was nudging insistently at hers, causing them to part and him to groan. ‘Rebecca—’

Her hands flew up as she kissed him back with a fervour of someone who had never been kissed before, winding her arms sinuously around his neck, unable to get enough of him. She pressed herself into his body, but not as close as she wanted to be and she began to melt with unbearable longing. Why shouldn’t she want him? When had she ever really stopped wanting him? She moaned softly as he splayed his hands over her buttocks and it made her long for him to touch the aching skin beneath. After all, they were two adults who were…were…’

‘Miss Gibbs!’

A voice broke into her stupefied arousal and in a daze Rebecca lifted her head as Xandros abruptly stopped kissing her—to see Betty standing at the top of the stairs leading to their front door, her face creased with concern.

‘Miss Gibbs—can you come in? It’s the baby. He’s sick!’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THEY heard the sound of a dreadful cough, which sounded like the barking of a seal, before they had even set foot inside the house.

‘Which baby is it?’ asked Rebecca desperately. As if it mattered!

‘Alexius, I think!’ answered Betty.

Rebecca moaned. No one knew them as she and Xandros knew them—so how could they have gone out when they were still so young? ‘What happened?’

‘He started coughing like that about half an hour ago and it’s been getting worse. I think it’s croup—my own had it.’

Croup? A vague memory of some respiratory condition swam into Rebecca’s mind. Did she have it referenced in a book somewhere?

Xandros ran up the sweeping staircase with the two women following after him and Rebecca’s terrible guilt was only increased as she ran into the nursery to see him cradling one of his sons who was making a horrible, wheezing sound.

‘It’s Alexius,’ he said. His black eyes icy-bleak as they met hers.

Rebecca bit her lip. ‘I’m going to ring the doctor,’ she said, and turned to Betty. ‘And then I want you to tell me exactly what you noticed.’

The doctor came quickly—a surprisingly young medic who barely looked old enough to have qualified, but he examined the baby with confident, gentle hands before straightening up.

‘Your housekeeper’s right. It’s croup,’ he said. ‘Good old-fashioned croup.’

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