Page 22 of Reunited By the Greek's Baby

Or would hewanttheir child? Would he demand regular access or even, her breath backed up in her lungs, demand to raise it? Try to buy her off or get sole custody?

Was that even possible?

Isla discovered she was gripping the edge of the bathroom basin with both hands, trembling with something alarmingly like the beginnings of panic.

Deliberately she grabbed her hairbrush and began to sort out her morning tangles, concentrating on long, rhythmic strokes and slow breaths.

She was letting her mind run away with her. Theo had lied to her and rejected her but he wasn’t a monster.

He’d surprised her yesterday. He might have been prompted by duty rather than fondness, but he’d looked after her.

He’d sent her to get ready for bed while he tidied up and she’d been too drained to object. When she’d returned to the kitchen it was to find the food packaged up and Theo, sleeves rolled high, wiping down the table.

He’d looked at home, familiar in a way that made her heart squeeze. She’d drunk in the sight, memories of happier days filling her head.

Until he’d turned and seen her. True, she’d been wearing a tatty old dressing gown over her sleep shirt, but there’d been nothing in his expression, nothing at all, to hint that he found her attractive.

Once he hadn’t been able to get enough of her. Or she him.

That blank, careful stare had confirmed what she already knew. He had no interest in her any more, except that she carried his baby.

He didn’t desire her. That was over.

Isla tugged viciously at a knot till her eyes watered.

When the doorbell rang she reached for her dressing gown, to find she’d left it in the bedroom. The bell rang again, long and insistent. Enough to disturb her neighbours.

She hurried to the door, stopping to look through the peephole. Her breath hissed. Annoyance, she told herself. It wasn’t excitement. Not even a little bit.

Setting her mouth, she opened the door. ‘Have you looked at the time? It’s too early for visiting.’

Theo shrugged, that dimple appearing in his cheek and she silently chastised herself for noticing. He was closely shaved, hair slightly damp, and he looked disturbingly wonderful.

‘Not too early for breakfast. You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to work.’

He stepped through the open door, nudging it closed with his foot as he offered her a carton. In it were white bakery boxes, fresh fruit and takeaway cups.

The smell hit her, pungent and inescapable. Strong coffee, the rich aromatic sort that Greeks seemed to love. That she used to love.

Isla’s insides rebelled, her nose crinkling in dismay as her stomach churned. She spun on her bare foot and raced for the bathroom.

Shocked, Theo stared as Isla ran, all long, gorgeous legs and rippling chestnut hair. Yet it wasn’t surprise that tightened his grip on the box but a gut-slamming hit of need.

He’d felt it yesterday too, between the shock of Isla’s news and being continually berated.

They weren’t lovers any more. He’d had to end that for both their sakes. Going back again... He couldn’t do that to either of them. Not with the mess his life still was.

But you want her, don’t you? That hasn’t changed. It wasn’t just the news about the baby that kept you from sleep last night, was it?

The sound of the bathroom door slamming, followed almost instantly by retching, set him into action. A few strides took him to the tiny kitchen where he left the food. Then he was at the bathroom door, debating whether to enter or give her privacy.

The sound of running water made him pause. How could he help? Unless she needed help standing, she wouldn’t welcome him.

His intentions had been good. He’d been buoyed by her appetite last night, seeing her eat what looked like her first proper meal in months. But this morning... He shook his head. He should have thought. Morning sickness was called that for a reason.

By the time the bathroom door opened he’d dumped the box outside her apartment.

Her pallor was marked, the hair around her face damp. The change from the pink-cheeked, attractive woman who’d opened the door shocked him. He had to force himself not to ask if she were okay. He’d learned that with his stepsister, Toula, who was always prickly when she felt weak. Instead he held out the glass of water he’d poured.

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