Bought: The Greek's Baby. Jennie Lucas
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leaned against Talos’s hard chest. Even through his black shirt she could feel the heat off his skin.
Then he smiled down at her. His smile did all kinds of strange things to her, making her heart pound. Her days of darkness and emptiness in rainy London now seemed like a lonely dream. She was in Italy with Talos. And their baby. She placed her hand on her still-flat belly.
The water taxi slowed, pulled near the dock of a fifteenth-century palazzo. She stared at the high pointed windows that embellished the crumbling red stucco facade with awe at its exotic Gothic beauty. “Is that where we’re going?”
His black eyes gleamed as he looked down at her. “Our hotel.”
Oh. Their hotel.
She swallowed as she climbed from the taxi to the dock, picturing what it would be like to share a room with this man. To share space. To share a bed.
Just thinking of it, she stumbled on the dock.
“Careful,” Talos said gruffly, grabbing her arm to steady her. “You don’t have your sea legs yet.”
All the colors of Venice, the twisting, sparkling water, the bright blue sky and tall, red campanile tower of the nearby piazza, seemed to fade into the background with a swirl of color behind him.
“You’re right,” she said over the lump in her throat. “I don’t.”
They stood on the dock as his bodyguard-assistant, Kefalas, paid the young Italian taxi driver and organized the luggage. But all Eve could see was Talos.
He was so handsome and tall and strong, she thought. She felt his arms tighten around her, and she suddenly wondered if he was going to kiss her. The thought scared her. She jerked away from him nervously. “We will, um, get separate rooms, won’t we?”
She heard a low, sensual laugh escape him as he shook his head.
She licked her lips. “But—”
“I don’t intend to let you out of my sight.” He came forward toward her on the dock, and it took every ounce of her courage not to back away. He loosely brushed a tendril back from the blowing salty breeze. Kissing her temple, he whispered, “Or out of my arms.”
Enfolding her hand in his own, he drew her toward the palatial hotel, where they were whisked inside by the waiting staff.
As Eve walked through the exquisite lobby, past soaring gilded arches and the sweeping staircase, she became slowly aware of men’s heads whipping around to stare at her, almost like spectators following a tennis match.
It would have been funny, if she hadn’t felt like the yellow ball.
Why were they staring at her?
What was wrong with her?
The doorman gaped at her, then jumped to open the door.
The male clerk did a double take from the elaborate desk before he looked away, clearing his throat.
The group of Italian businessmen crossing the lobby weren’t so discreet. Three young men in pinstriped suits stopped in place on the marble floor, staring at her with open jaws. One man jabbed another in the ribs with a grin. Speaking rapidly in Italian, he started to come toward her. His friend stopped him by grabbing his wrist, gesturing toward Talos with palpable fear. Apparently too cowed by Talos to approach her, all three men continued to stare at her, murmuring soft words of appreciation.
Eve felt vulnerable.
Exposed.
Her cheeks went hot beneath all the scrutiny. She was grateful when Talos took her hand and led her toward the elevator. She could feel all the men in the lobby stare after her, hear their mournful sighs meld with the click of her stiletto heels on the marble floor. They were probably staring at her backside right now.
Her neck broke out into a cold sweat.
Why were they staring at her?
Then in a flash, she knew.
The dress.
The tiny red dress that she’d taken from her bedroom closet in Buckinghamshire. Compared to the rest of the wardrobe, she’d thought it the simplest, easiest choice, comfortable and casual. It had seemed like a nice, though somewhat small, sundress in stretchy fabric. And since she apparently owned no comfortable shoes whatsoever, she’d chosen the black stiletto sandals, which at least wouldn’t squeeze her toes. After her shower, she’d brushed out her dark hair and tentatively put on the lipstick in her handbag.
She’d hoped she would get used to her own clothes, feel confident in them.
Boy, had she been wrong.
Though the knit fabric was indeed soft and stretchy, it was no match for her pregnant breasts, which spilled out quite distressingly over the top. The stiletto heels made her legs very long but also caused her hips to thrust forward and sway with every commanding step.
Comfortable? Casual?
Her clothes cried out for male attention, and no matter where they went, men’s eyes centered on her. No matter their nationality, no matter their age or profession, men couldn’t stop staring!
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