The Stephanides Pregnancy. Lynne Graham
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when you’ve made your mind up, tell me. But then maybe I’ll need—’
‘No, you took me up wrong,’ Joe protested, planting a large hand on her arm to prevent her walking away again. ‘Offer’s still open.’
He was built like a rock face and the unease that he had awakened in her before almost surfaced again. Mastering the urge to go into retreat, she managed to smile instead and told herself not to take offence at the smug satisfaction he could barely hide. If Joe Tyler thought she would be a pushover for his muscular charm, he would soon find out how wrong he was…
Six weeks after his previous visit, Cristos flew into London from the South of France.
Timon met him off his flight and handed him a sealed envelope.
Cristos raised a questioning brow. ‘What’s this?’
‘Spyros Zolottas asked me to give it to you before you left the airport.’
Cristos pulled out a brash greetings card signed by his cousin. ‘But it’s not my birthday,’ he said in bewilderment.
Timon looked tense and said nothing. Some minutes later, Cristos came to a halt twenty feet away from the limousine that his PA had indicated across the car park. His mystification came to a sudden end and was replaced by a raw leap of anticipation. He had a photographic memory. It was the same car that had been driven by the beautiful redhead he had admired while in his cousin’s company more than a month earlier. He could not initially credit that Spyros could have come up with such a classy surprise.
Timon broke into an urgent explanation, ‘Your cousin was determined to surprise you. He said that he would take responsibility for hiring this particular limo company for the weekend but I didn’t feel—’
‘No need to hyperventilate,’ His employer advised in a husky undertone, his bold dark eyes glittering over the female figure already emerging from the driver’s seat.
Not even the chauffeur’s uniform could conceal her essential perfection. Slender as a reed with a waist that could not be larger than the span of his two hands, she moved with the liquid grace of a dancer. He pictured her in silk. Silk that would slide across her fine skin and feel smooth as satin beneath his hands. It did not cross his mind for even a moment that he might not be able to have her. Whenever he wanted a woman, she came to him. Whichever woman he wanted, he got. Once or twice the strength of his own magnetic pull with her sex had been a curse when the wives and partners of his friends had given him willing and eager signals. But he had never met with failure.
‘I should warn you that your security team are very concerned by this last-minute change in your travel arrangements,’ Timon continued anxiously. ‘There has not even been time to check out this new company.’
‘I am entirely content,’ Cristos drawled, his whole attention on the young woman pacing round the limo in a last-minute inspection. He sensed her innate pride in the angle of her small head, the straightness of her spine and the upward tilt of her delicate jaw line. Would she be a challenge? He loved a challenge but he was practical too: he only had a weekend to spare.
‘It is a much smaller firm…standards of service may not be what you are accustomed to—’
The beginnings of a wicked smile tugged at Cristos’ wide, sensual mouth. ‘On the other hand, standards of service might be beyond any I have previously received.’
At that point, Timon took the hint and surrendered to the inevitable.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to find your own way back to the office today,’ Cristos added without hesitation.
An involuntary grin chased the earnest aspect from the younger man’s face.
Betsy was in a very prickly mood. Her boss had warned her that the new client was a mega-rich foreign VIP to be treated like a god in the hope of attracting further business. While amazed that an employer who gave all the best opportunities to the men on his staff had selected her as driver, she had been pleased as well. However, before she’d even left for the airport Imperial Limousines had received a visit from Cristos Stephanides’ bodyguards. That had caused a stir. Their usual clients were not in the league that required hefty personal security. The bodyguards had not been impressed by the shabby premises that housed the limo firm. They had turned up their noses at the vehicle she was to use, queried her excellent driving credentials and warned her that they would be in close supervision at all times. A bunch of unredeemable sexist pigs, she thought bitterly, who had been busily engaged in patrolling the car park like the cast of a gangster movie ever since her arrival.
Sixth sense warned her that she was under scrutiny. Spinning round, she jerked still at the sight of the male striding towards her. It was as if someone somewhere turned the pace of time to slow motion. He was tall, lean and…and so beautiful that her chest went all tight and she couldn’t breathe and couldn’t stop looking. But then her brain stepped into the breach and forced her to grab a hold of herself and break free of her own shocking paralysis.
‘Mr Stephanides…’ Mercifully her voice emerged a little breathless round the edges but calm and quiet in tone.
‘And you are…?’
‘Betsy Mitchell,’ she framed, holding open the door to the rear passenger seat.
‘Betsy…’ He said her name as if he were savouring something edible and he had a voice like no other she had ever heard before. His drawl had a dark, deep, masculine pitch, a sizzlingly sexy accented edge that sent a quiver down her taut spine. ‘So that’s what I call you.’
‘Mitchell will do, sir,’ she answered without expression, throwing up the barrier of their differing status with a strong sense of relief.
Unaccustomed to being contradicted, Cristos glanced down at her. She was not as tall as he had assumed she was from a distance: she was around five feet eight or nine. What was more, her façade of cool professionalism was a fake. He was a trained observer and he could see the almost undetectable tiny nervous tremors assailing her slight length.
‘I prefer Betsy,’ he murmured softly to make her look up at him.
Disconcerted, she tipped back her head to lift her gaze and met his brilliant dark eyes for the first time. Her mouth ran dry and her heartbeat took off at a sprint. His provocative appraisal dropped to linger on her soft full lips and then roamed on down to the pouting thrust of her breasts before flicking back up again to spell out a message of sexual interest as blatant as a speech.
Deeply shaken, she tore her gaze from his fiercely handsome features. He swung into the car and she closed the door on him. Her palms were damp on the steering wheel. How dared he look her over as if she were on offer to him? Perhaps he had noticed the way she looked at him, a snide little inner voice mocked and a wash of hot, guilty pink warmed her cheeks. What had come over her? He was the fanciable equivalent of a flying saucer. Of course she had stared. Any woman would have stared. Why was she beating herself up about a perfectly natural reaction? The guy was drop dead gorgeous. He was lucky she hadn’t stuck a pin in him to check he was real and not an illusion. Nervous laughter bubbling in her throat, she hit the communication button.
‘Everything in order, sir?’ she asked.
‘There’s no still water in the fridge,’ he informed her.
And there she had been thinking he would be dazzled by the array of soft drinks available to him! He was supposed to be very rich, she reminded herself, and the rich were reputed to be picky about little details. There was the proof. His refined taste buds could not tolerate sparkling in place of still water. She pulled off the road at the first garage and was in the act of climbing out when he buzzed down the glass partition dividing them. ‘Why have we stopped?’ he demanded.
Betsy spun back in surprise and leant back into the limo to address him. ‘You wanted still mineral water. My boss said your every wish should be my command…’
‘I wish…’ Cristos Stephanides murmured, smooth and soft as velvet.
Staring