Page 4 of Christmas Baby with Her Ultra-Rich Boss

But he’d smiled that eveningandwithout his face cracking. His eyes—a gorgeous clear green she’d not even noticed until sitting opposite him in the restaurant—had lost their coldness and, if not softened, warmed. Possibly it had been the wine goggles she’d ended up wearing but the longer their meal went on, the more fascinating she’d found his face and the deep olive of his skin, which always looked in need of a shave, and the more fascinating she’d found the deep, gravelly voice she’d always thought faintly terrifying. Konstantinos’s English was so precise and his Greek accent so heavy that to her ears he’d always sounded as if he was barely concealing impatience. That evening his tone, like his eyes, had warmed. By the time they’d reached her cabin her whole body thrummed, hot, dizzying awareness rocketing through.

It hurt to look at him now. It hurt to hear his voice.

Her body had come alive for him. It had sung to him. She’d gazed at his sleeping face the next morning with a heart clambering to break free and then climbed out of her bed and practically bounced to the window like a spring lamb to throw the curtains open.

Inexplicably, it had been the single happiest moment of her life in six long years.

And then he’d woken and delivered those awful words that had punctured her inexplicable joy.

As she walked apprehensively in her three pairs of socks over the thick carpet to him, she wondered for the umpteenth time how she’d gone from finding Konstantinos completely unattractive to incredibly sexy in the space of one evening.

Noticing her approach, he gave a short nod of acknowledgement and continued his grilling of Sven, forcing Lena to stand around like a hovering lemon and do her best not to let her eyes keep falling on him. He’d removed the dark suit and long overcoat he’d arrived in, his lean frame now wrapped in black jeans and a thick black sweater. She hoped he had thermal layers on beneath it. Layers were the key to survival here. Multiple layers. She wouldn’t ask him, though. Konstantinos was not a man who encouraged unsolicited advice.

She wished she didn’t care if he’d layered up. She doubted he cared if she had. She doubted he’d given her a second thought since he’d left her cabin five months ago.

‘You’re ready?’ he asked a short while later, finally fixing his attention on her.

‘I just need to put my snowsuit and boots on.’

He nodded and strode to one of the armchairs by the open fire where a black thermal snowsuit had been draped over it. Snatching it up, he sat down to put his feet into the legs and then stood back up to pull it to his waist, past calves and thighs far more muscular than would be believed when clothed.

From the other side of the room, Lena did the same with her too-large staff-issue blue-and-white thermal suit, trying not to watch him, trying not to let her mind remember the strength in his arms as he slid them into his suit’s sleeves, or think about the defined muscularity of his abdomen and chest, or the thick black hair that covered it as he zipped it up to his chin. When he sat back down and forced his huge feet into the all-weather boots that would allow him to tread on the ice without danger of slipping, a sliver of fear crawled up her spine.

Lena had toured the latest incarnation of The Igloo just three days ago. Her own boots were as sturdy and ice resistant as Konstantinos’s, but she’d had a real terror of losing her footing and landing on her backside. It wasn’t fear of hurting her bottom that had frightened her but fear of hurting her baby. She knew there was little danger of slipping in the Ice Hotel, but knowing something intellectually was a lot different than feeling it emotionally. Today she had the added danger of touring it with her baby’s father, the one person she so desperately needed to keep her pregnancy secret from. Konstantinos’s discovering she was pregnant was the single biggest danger to her baby. She couldn’t risk him finding out yet. She just couldn’t. She hadn’t saved enough money yet to support herself for longer than a fortnight and had none of the supplies a newborn baby needed.

She hated that she had to keep it from him, but the coldness emanating in waves from him was unnerving enough to convince her that she’d made the right decision. There was little chance of him accepting the baby as his without a paternity test and every chance he would sack her on the spot.

Both fully suited and booted, thick hats rammed on their heads and thick scarves wound around their necks and half their faces—Lena always felt claustrophobic with a balaclava on and only wore one in blizzards—they lifted their hoods over their heads and stepped out into the bracing cold.

The vast complex that constituted the Siopis Ice Hotel was dominated by two main sections. One was the year-round area centred by the main lodge reception. Dotted around it were the guest log cabins, restaurants, boutiques, spa, the buildings that housed the snowmobiles and ski hire, and all the other facilities that enabled them to cater to their guests’ every adventurous or more sedate desires. To its left was the path that led to the second section, commonly known as The Igloo.

A ten-minute walk from the all-year reception, the path to The Igloo was lit by the same magical quality lights used to guide guests and staff to the lodge and cabins. The only sounds as they made their way to it were the low throb of music from one of the occupied cabins and their own breaths, each exhale accompanied by a white cloud of expelled air.

‘How long are you planning to stay here?’ Lena asked as they passed the ice rink and snow-covered permanent cabin used as The Igloo’s reception and the huge, cleverly lit dome of The Igloo itself emerged fully from the darkness, and she could bear the tension tautening her every sinew no more.

‘One night,’ he said with a clipped tone of voice that suggested it was more than enough time.

‘One night too long?’ she queried wryly while inwardly heaving a giant sigh of relief. That meant he expected the inspection to be wrapped up by the end of day tomorrow.

One night was manageable. With any luck, he’d leave Sweden none the wiser about the child growing in her belly.

When she did tell him, he would be furious. The green eyes that had flared with such hunger would fill with loathing; the mouth that had kissed her so passionately would curve in disgust. There would not be an ounce of warmth in his voice.

She wished she could blame him but she couldn’t.

‘At this time of year, one hour is too long to spend here.’

‘Not a fan of the cold?’

‘No,’ he answered shortly.

The entry to The Igloo was a permanent structure. The sensor doors slid quickly open and they entered a world of sparkling white. Before them lay the welcome room adorned with long chairs and low tables made entirely of clear ice, and with a fireplace carved into the wall that gave the illusion of white flames flickering in it. It was a sight replicated year after year that never failed to bring a gasp of awe to their guests’ mouths. It was an awe that only increased when they were led through the rest of it.

The cold of the Ice Hotel’s interior sucked the air from Konstantinos’s lungs. He knew it was warmer inside—if you could call minus five degrees warm—than outside but being plunged into an ice-white surround played tricks on the mind. The immediate plunge into silence didn’t help with the mind tricks. He tightened his hood and kept his gaze on the giant dome he’d stepped into rather than the woman he’d entered it with.

He was in half a mind to leave when the tour of this icebox was done with. He could fly to his hotel in the south of Spain where the weather was currently balmy, stay there for the night, and then fly as planned to Australia to deal with his many southern hemisphere business interests until Christmas. Have Nicos complete the full inspection when he was back to full health.

To leave Sweden immediately, though, would be a sign of defeat, not just of the cold but of Lena. He would not be pushed out of his own hotel because of the tightness that pulled sharply at his stomach every time he looked at her. She was a beautiful woman. That was a fact he’d registered on a superficial level at their first meeting much in the same way he noted the colour of a person’s clothing. Until that damned celebratory dinner, she was just another employee. Just another face. Another name.

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