His Pregnant Bride: Pregnant by the Greek Tycoon / His Pregnant Princess / Pregnant: Father Needed. Robyn Donald
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her. ‘Yes, I do. We could have adopted…’ Her face brightened. ‘There are a lot of babies out there who need a home,’ she told him earnestly.
‘It would seem,’ he said slowly, ‘that I underestimated you.’
‘When were you going to tell me?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ he admitted.
Truth be told, he had been willing to ignore every precept of decency that had been instilled in him all his life in order to marry a woman he hadn’t even believed loved him, and now it seemed that woman’s feelings had been deeper and less selfish than his own.
And he had blown it big time.
‘At the moment our feelings for each other are not important,’ he began in a voice totally devoid of emotion.
She pulled herself onto her knees and brushed the sand from her skirt with slow, deliberate strokes. ‘Neither are they any mystery,’ she said dully. To her way of thinking, if he had ever felt a shred of true feeling for her, he would never have sent her away.
She experienced a sudden swell of emotion. After everything he had done she still loved him and would continue to love him to her dying breath. The injustice of it all hit her. Why should he not know what he had done to her? Why should she spare him?
‘Do you want to know how I feel about you?’
A muscle along Angolos’s taut jaw clenched. ‘We will discuss your feelings for me at a more appropriate moment, when you are less emotional.’
‘Which, roughly translated, means when you say so—no change there, then.’
The muscle clenching in his lean cheek reminded her of a ticking time bomb. Georgie supposed she ought to be grateful that his response had spared her from making a total fool of herself. All the same she couldn’t help but think that it would be an enormous relief to get it all out into the open.
‘Our son’s future is what we must decide.’
‘Nothing to decide.’ Externally at least she maintained the appearance of control.
Actually his comment had terrified her. If there was one thing she had learnt from her short time with the Constantine clan, it was not to underestimate the power of money! Angolos might never get custody of Nicky—access was another story—but he could tear her life to shreds while he was trying.
‘I beg to differ.’
‘You never beg,’ she cut back bitterly. ‘You had your chance to be a father, Angolos, and you blew it. And look at it this way—there’s nothing to stop you going out there and making babies with someone else.’
Her comment brought a gleam of pure fury to his eyes. ‘You think I’m going to leave it like this?’
Her slender shoulders lifted. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want babies, I want…Nicky.’
She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. ‘You don’t always get what you want, Angolos.’
‘Wake up, Georgette,’ he recommended harshly. ‘This is the real world.’
‘No, your world isn’t my reality. My world doesn’t have designer dresses and glitzy first nights, or people who judge you by how much money you have and who your parents are!’ she declared hotly. ‘My reality is making ends meet, a good day at work, a parking space in the high street, scraped knees, temper tantrums and doctor’s appointments.’ She stopped to catch her breath. The incoherent inventory of her life made it sound less attractive than it actually was.
‘All I’m asking for is a chance to be part of that world.’
It would seem Angolos hadn’t picked up on the unattractive part.
Taken aback by the intensity of his unexpected request, she stared at him warily. Perhaps I should have added sleepless nights and guilt. Guilt was a major part of parenting that all the literature skimmed over.
‘This isn’t a glamorous world we are talking here.’
‘Glamour!’ He dismissed it with a contemptuous click of his long fingers. ‘If anyone was seduced by the so-called glamour of my world, it was you,’ he contended.
Her eyes widened in protest. ‘That’s a stupid thing to say.’
‘Wasn’t the fact I came from a different world than you part of the attraction?’ he challenged. ‘You put me on a pedestal!’ he accused. ‘And I exploited it.’
‘I didn’t feel exploited.’ She didn’t like the idea his comment created that she’d been some sort of victim walking blindly to her fate.
‘The moments from our time together that remain clearly in my mind are not the lavish parties or dinners.’
‘What are they, then?’ She was probably going to regret asking, but if she didn’t the question would plague her for the rest of her life.
‘That picnic we had sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor…’
Georgie’s eyes widened. It had been the one time when she had dared the wrath of the kitchen staff and made a personal request. When asked what sort of wine she’d wanted with her fish-paste sandwiches she had said any old thing would do…white and fizzy maybe…?
The horror etched on the face of the chef had been comical.
Of course the sandwiches had been smoked salmon, the wine had been champagne, and the cutlery Georgian silver, but she hadn’t quibbled. Instead she had pronounced herself delighted, and thanked the staff warmly.
‘You remember that?’ she asked, astonished.
‘Of course I damn well remember. I also remember what followed it—more so…’ He studied her unblinkingly through eyes that contained an explicitly sexual message.
It was a message that Georgie received. The pupils of her eyes dilated dramatically until they almost swallowed up the amber. Breathing fast and shallow, she traced the outline of her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and drew a long shuddering breath. Her hand came up in a fluttery gesture and then fell away again, leaving her fingers trailing in the sand.
‘Do you…?’
‘You know I do.’ She screwed up her eyes and tried to ignore the slick heat between her thighs. ‘We had some good times,’ she admitted huskily.
‘A bit better than good.’
He was right. Good was safe and comfortable; what they had enjoyed had been neither. ‘Think about it, Angolos,’ she appealed to him. The glint in his eyes suggested he wasn’t in the mood for thinking. ‘Nothing has changed, not essentially. You came here to get a divorce.’
This did get his attention.
‘I came here to find out the truth,’ he rebutted.
‘And I bet you wish you hadn’t found it.’
‘Wishes do not enter into it,’ he told her, his voice low and controlled. ‘I have a son… Dios mio!’ he gasped, no longer the least bit controlled. His blazing eyes locked with hers. ‘My life has changed profoundly. If you imagine even for one second that I would prefer to live in ignorance you are insane. I have a son. I may be slow but I do recognise a miracle when I see one.’
‘You can have more children. Like I said, go and have a baby with someone else,’ she recommended, fixing him with a belligerent glare. ‘That’s what you really want,’ she contended. ‘Nicky already has a family.’
She knew enough Greek to recognise that the low, impassioned flood that issued from his lips would have been severely censored by even the most liberal of censors. ‘You think a solution would be for me to go away and impregnate another woman?’
‘Frankly