The Pregnant Mistress. Sandra Marton
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looked from Demetrios to Sam. “Do you two know each other? Sam? You never said anything. I mean, all of us wanted—we hoped—and now it turns out—it turns out—”
“Perhaps I’ve given the wrong impression.” Demetrios’s voice was smooth as silk. “We met, but only briefly. And, before we really got to know each other, I was, ah, distracted. By the time I returned, your sister was gone. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”
What kind of game was he playing? “No,” Sam said, glaring at him. “And it’s Miss Brewster.”
“Sam,” Amanda said nervously, “what’s the matter with you? Demetrios, really, I apologize. My sister’s had a, uh, a difficult day. She went on two job interviews—”
“Amanda!”
“—two interviews, one with a guy who wanted her to write love letters for him and another with some jerk who had a poem to translate. Both job offers were so much below her capability that it’s pathetic.” Amanda flashed a wary look at her sister. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”
“Those interviews have nothing to do with this,” Sam said coldly.
“I would hope not.” Demetrios’s smile tilted. “It would be unfortunate if Samantha…sorry. If Miss Brewster were to let her disappointment over her morning affect her dealings with me.”
Nick and Amanda looked from Demetrios to Sam. They might as well have been at a tennis match, Sam thought bitterly. And, in a way, they were right. Demetrios had just sent her a wicked backhand shot. He’d woven a story that sounded plausible, if you didn’t think too much about it. She was a woman with a dented ego; he was a man who’d become inattentive. The self-deprecation was enough to make her want to be sick or to slug him, especially now that he’d added a threat so well-disguised that nobody but she would recognize it for what it was.
Still, the bottom line was that he’d chosen to keep their secret, and heaven knew that was better than blurting out the sleazy truth.
Why had he lied? She wasn’t fool enough to think it had anything to do with his being a gentleman. He wasn’t. He was a rogue in a custom-made suit and yes, maybe that was part of what had attracted her to him that night, but that nonsense was long past.
Wasn’t it?
She shivered. Nick, who still held her in a loose embrace, gave her a quick hug. “Cold?”
“No,” she said brightly, “I’m not. I’m just—I’m just—”
“She’s just still hungry,” Amanda said quickly. She flashed a smile around the little group. “We were about to order dessert when you guys showed up.”
“I am not the least bit interested in dessert. And I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” Demetrios smiled lazily, just as he had that night. “Women always think too much, when it comes to things that bring pleasure.” His eyes met hers. “Like dessert,” he said smoothly. He moved closer, linked his hand through hers. She jerked at his touch and his fingers tightened on hers in silent warning. “Coffee and something sweet sounds like a fine idea. And then, after your sister and brother-in-law leave, we can have a second cup of coffee and discuss my need for your services.”
“I have no intention of—”
“You know,” Amanda said briskly, “I really don’t want any dessert. Nick? Darling? How about you?”
“Well,” Nick said, looking bewildered, “actually, I thought I might even have a sand…” His voice trailed off as he met his wife’s gaze. “No. No, I don’t.”
“In fact,” Amanda said, “we have to leave. We have an appointment.”
“Right,” Nick stammered, “right. An appointment. How could I have forgotten?”
They were lying, the both of them. Sam knew it. Everyone in the uncomfortable little group knew it, but she couldn’t blame them for wanting to get out of the line of fire though knowing Amanda, she was probably romanticizing the whole thing.
Demetrios’s hand tightened on hers again. Don’t make a fuss, he was telling her, but why would she? The things she had to say to him were best said without an audience, especially one made up of family.
Moments later, after hugs and kisses, handshakes and phony smiles, they were alone. Sam jerked her hand away and glared at Demetrios.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,” she snapped, “but it won’t get you anywhere.”
“Such anger, Miss Brewster. Such hostility. Could it possibly be a disguise for your real feelings about what happened that night?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Anger is a safer emotion than embarrassment.”
Sam flushed. Maybe he was right, but she’d choke before she admitted it. “You mean, it’s safer than bad judgment. If I hadn’t had that caparhinia—”
“Imagine that. A reserved spinster with a drinking problem.” Demetrios folded his arms. “Your brother-in-law would be fascinated to hear it.”
“I don’t have a problem. I was tired. And surely you don’t expect me to believe Nick described me as a reserved spinster!”
“No. Certainly not. Rafe said that. Nicholas merely said that he had a sister-in-law who was an excellent translator.” He smiled coldly. “I had no reason to think they were describing the woman who’d promised everything and delivered nothing that night in Brazil.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Karas.”
Demetrios took her elbow, deftly maneuvered her into the booth and slid in beside her.
“Your brothers-in-law see you as an intelligent, honorable woman leading a lonely existence. By the time they finished describing you, I pictured a stick in a tweed suit.”
“I am intelligent and honorable,” Sam said, wincing for having said something so nonsensical. “I am certainly not lonely. And if you think of women as stereotypes, that’s your problem, not mine.”
“I had to lie to Nicholas—to my good friend—to protect your, ah, honor.”
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