Baby for the Greek Billionaire. Susan Meier
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She sat. “Yes. Thank you.”
“My father insisted everything be formal. I’m more accommodating.” He shook out his napkin. “I hope you like Italian.”
“Actually, I love most foods.” She risked a glance at him and fought a quiver of attraction. That morning she’d noticed that he looked very good in the casual clothes, but tonight he hadn’t shaved. The scruffy stubble on his chin and cheeks made him sexy in a disreputable, sinful way. The man was simply too handsome for his own good and she was vulnerable. She hadn’t interacted with a man like this—single and attractive—since she’d met her husband. She was out of practice, attracted and needy. A deadly combination when three feet away from a gorgeous man. Especially when she didn’t want to get involved with another man.
But she couldn’t be a total grouch or, worse, an unappreciative guest. “You don’t have to worry when it comes to me and food. I’d eat constantly if I didn’t have work to keep me busy.”
He laughed. Pinpricks of delight raced up her spine. It had been so long since she’d made a man laugh in simple conversation that she’d forgotten the joy of it.
“I don’t believe it.” His gaze rippled down the lines of her body and lingered on her breasts. “Your figure’s too nice.”
Good Lord! He was flirting with her!
The desire to flirt back shoved at her. It rattled through the recesses of her brain like a prisoner banging the bars of his cell, longing for release. Especially with the joy of having just made him laugh taunting her, reminding her of what it felt like to be normal.
But it had been so long since she’d done anything even remotely like flirt, and he was absolutely the wrong guy to experiment with—
Or was he? They both needed each other too much professionally to cross any lines. He’d walked away from the perfect opportunity to kiss her the night before, proving that he might be attracted to her, but he didn’t intend to follow through. And she was too frightened of relationships to let anything she attempted go any further than flirting. He might actually be the perfect person to practice on.
She smiled, trying not to look obvious, trying not to look self-conscious, trying desperately to look simply like a single woman flirting with a single man. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
He laughed again. “Only the really pretty ones.”
Joy exploded inside her. She’d done it! Or maybe they were doing it. Flirting. Getting her back into the real world. What was a simple conversation for him was turning into a monumental event for her. But she hoped to God he didn’t realize that.
A younger woman served dinner, standing off to the side to attend to their every need, precluding any possibility that the conversation could become intimate. The flirting stopped, but the discussion stayed casual, neutral and she relaxed totally.
At the end of the meal, Darius rose. “How about a game of pool?”
“Pool?”
“You know balls, sticks, table with green felt?”
She laughed then marveled that she had. Maybe her dad was right. Maybe it was time. She wanted so badly to be normal again. Real. Honest. Just herself. And Darius seemed to have the power to help her take the steps.
Still, no good would come of pushing things.
“I don’t think so, I’m—”
“Tired? Really, Ms. Ross? I’m about to suggest you take some vitamins.”
She laughed again, feeling light, young, incredibly carefree. Memories of her other life, her sadness, nudged at her, but she shoved them back. She needed this. She wanted this.
He directed her to the door on the right. “Come on. This house is filled with things to entertain us. It would be a shame not to take advantage. Particularly since we’re going to be spending lots of time together over the next eighteen years. We should get to know each other.”
Fear and elation collided, creating goose bumps on her upper arms. Getting to know each other didn’t have to be something to be afraid of or even something sexual. He wanted the same thing she did. Nothing sinister. Nothing difficult. Just a simple evening spending time together. To get to know each other. Because they had joint custody of a child.
Inclining her head in acceptance, she ignored the fear and tamped down the elation and reminded herself that spending time getting to know each other didn’t have to be a big deal. She didn’t have to tell him about her family that night. She could wait for a more suitable time. Tonight, he was only asking for a game of pool.
“All right.”
The room with the pool table was a huge den. Cherrywood walls and leather furniture gave the space a totally masculine feel.
“Your dad’s room, I assume,” she said, walking to a wall lined with sticks, as Darius gathered and racked the balls.
“Got it in one.” He ambled over to choose a stick. “But before you begin feeling sorry for Missy, take a look around. They might have lived in Greece, but they spent time here. Her influence is all over the place.”
“Really?”
“She’s redone at least three rooms.” He winced. “Including the master bedroom.”
“You don’t like her taste?”
“If you’re asking if I like floral bedspreads and lacy curtains, then no.”
She laughed, glad she’d agreed to spend some time with him. Over the next half hour they played several games of pool and he handily beat her.
“You’re a ringer.”
“Ringers make you believe they’re terrible so they can persuade you to bet them, and then they take your money. I haven’t done that.” He shrugged. “We’re just having a nice friendly few games.”
“With me getting my butt beaten.”
He racked the balls and broke, scattering the colorful orbs across the table with a clack and clatter. In an uncharacteristic turn of events, none of them fell into a pocket.
“Hey! Looks like I get a turn this time.”
She walked around the table, sizing up potential shots. When she found one she liked, she angled her stick across the table, levering her body in sync with the stick.
“No. No. You’ll never make the shot that way.” He strode around the table to her. “Let me help you.” He lowered himself over her, his one hand covering hers on the stick, his other circling around her so he could guide her hand on the handle.
Her nerve endings exploded at the contact. Rivers of molten need rode her blood. And she remembered why they had to be careful. Even about becoming friends. Their attraction was like nitroglycerin. One bump and they could go up in flames.
As if realizing how close he’d put them, he turned his head and caught her gaze. Their faces were only millimeters apart. His warm breath fanned her face. Longing burst inside her. Her fingers itched to touch the stubble on his cheeks and cruise his throat. Just a brush. Just a touch to feel the warmth of another’s skin. To feel the pulse of another heartbeat, to know that she was alive.
His hands shifted from the stick to her shoulders and he lifted her from the awkward position of leaning across the table. For a few seconds, they stood there, barely a foot apart. She watched myriad emotions play across his face, as if he were arguing with himself about whether he should kiss her. It crossed her mind to say something. It crossed her mind to run. This attraction they felt was nothing but wrong, but curiosity and need warred with common sense. This entire night had been an experiment of sorts for her. A return to life. To people. She didn’t want to stop. She almost couldn’t stop. She needed him to kiss her as much as she wanted it.
Slowly his head descended, as