The Greek's Pregnant Bride. Michelle Smart

please and be pleased, to touch and be touched.

      Her arousal had been a living thing...

      She cleared her throat. ‘And if I choose to sleep and only sleep...?’

       Then his balls would probably turn blue.

      ‘Then you will be left to sleep.’ He let his voice drop further, inching his face closer to hers. ‘But, if you choose not to sleep, you won’t find me complaining.’

      ‘Is that because you’re not fussy about who you lie in bed with?’ Her words had a breathless quality to them. He could feel the tension emanating from her.

      ‘No.’ He shook his head in emphasis and pressed his lips to her ear. ‘It’s because you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known and I get hard every time I think of how you came undone in my arms.’

      He moved back to see her lips part and her doe eyes widen.

      ‘I understand your opinion of my sex life is less than flattering,’ he said, thinking that she turned the most beautiful colour when she blushed. ‘But, I assure you, I think with the head on my shoulders and not the one in my boxer shorts.’

      She swallowed before saying, ‘I think that’s a matter of opinion.’

      ‘Point proved,’ he said. ‘But, to prove my point, I will not make a move on you until we are legally married.’

      Her eyes narrowed but he caught the spark that ignited in them.

      ‘And, of course, you will still reserve your right to say no.’ He dipped his head to whisper into her ear again, inhaling her scent for good measure.

      All his senses heightened. He could feel the heat from her skin; knew the spark that had drawn them together in the first place was still well and truly alive. ‘We’re both going to have to make sacrifices for this to work—the bedroom is the one area where compromise and sacrifice are not needed, where our marriage can be about nothing but mutual pleasure.’

      She raised a shoulder and exhaled a shuddering breath that sounded almost like a moan. It was a long moment before she next spoke, breaking the charged silence that had sprung up between them. ‘I will not have sex with you just because it’s expected.’

      He pulled away, creating a little distance so he could look at her. ‘My only expectation is that, when we’re in public, we both put on a display of being in love.’

      She held his gaze for a fraction longer before blowing out a puff of air and fixing her gaze back on the lake. ‘Bene.’

      ‘So we are in agreement?’

      ‘Yes. We are in agreement. I will marry you.’

      It was Christian’s turn to exhale. Who would have thought he would feel relief to hear a woman agree to marriage?

      ‘It would be best to marry as soon as we can—before you start showing.’

      ‘I don’t want to arrange anything until I’ve spoken to Rocco.’

      The mention of her brother’s name hit him like a blow: the metaphorical elephant in the room spoken aloud.

      ‘We will speak to him together.’

      ‘It will be best if I speak to him alone. He’s my brother.’

      ‘And he’s one of my closest friends. He’s not going to be happy about this.’

      ‘I would prefer it if he gave us his blessing but if he refuses...’ She sighed, a troubled expression crossing her features.

      ‘We will wait until he returns from his honeymoon,’ Christian decided, although his guts made that familiar clenching motion they did whenever he thought of what his friend’s reaction would be.

      Rocco would never forgive him.

      He didn’t blame him.

      Whatever was thrown his way, he would take. It would be no less than he deserved.

      He remembered the first time he’d met Rocco, Stefan and Zayed during his first week at Columbia. He’d never left Athens before that, never mind Greece. New York had been a whole new world. He’d felt out of his depth on every level, especially when comparing himself to his new friends’ wealth and good breeding. He’d had neither and hadn’t been able to understand why they’d accepted him as one of their own.

      Even now, a decade on when his own wealth rivalled the best in the world, he still struggled to understand what they’d seen in him.

      He was Christian Markos, born a gutter rat without a penny to his name. She was Alessandra Mondelli, born into one of Italy’s premiere families. She had class and breeding. She could be a princess.

      In a perfect world she would marry someone from a similar background. Someone worthy of her.

      All the same, they might be from disparate backgrounds but on marriage they had common ground: relationships were not for either of them. In that one respect they were perfect for each other. She would never need him or require more than he could give.

      And he would never need her.

      Messy, complicated emotions would never infect their marriage.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ALESSANDRA PRESSED THE button allowing Christian into the building and took deep breaths to compose herself.

      It would be the first time she’d seen him in ten days.

      They’d spent a couple of days together in Milan, seeing her doctor then a private obstetrician. Both had confirmed that she and the baby were in excellent health. She’d known in her guts everything was well but hearing it vocalised had lifted a weight she hadn’t been aware of carrying until it was gone.

      A scan had been taken, a copy of which they had both taken before Christian had left. She’d spent hours gazing at that picture, making out the tiny head and limbs, so imperceptible she had to rely on memory from where the nurse had pointed. Sometimes, gazing hard, everything inside her would constrict, her throat closing so tight that she had to swallow to loosen it. Her beautiful baby. Her and Christian’s beautiful baby.

      She hadn’t see him since, all their communication coming via daily text messages and phone calls, during which he filled her in on all the wedding plans. He wanted a Greek wedding so it made sense for him to organise it. She didn’t think she would have been able to handle getting involved anyway. She was having a hard enough time coping with the magnitude of what she’d agreed to.

      She’d known Christian since she was twelve and Rocco had brought the Brat Pack—as she privately called her brother and his little gang of university friends—home for a week-long holiday at the family villa. But she didn’t know him.

      He drank bourbon rather than his national drink of ouzo. He was a snazzy dresser. His brain was lauded around the world. He was completely self-made. He liked rock music. He’d slept with a quarter of the world’s most beautiful women, the others being shared out between her brother, Stefan and Zayed. He was used to getting his own way. And that was it. The rest was a mystery. She was marrying a stranger.

      Dio l’aiuti—God help her—she would have to share a bed with him on occasion.

      And, dio l’aiuti, the thought made her heat from the inside.

      Ever since that particular aspect of their talk, it had felt as if a glow had been lit inside of her. His lips against her ear, his breath whispering on her skin...the heat it had ignited...

      When he entered her apartment, impeccably dressed in a fashionable navy suit and striped pale-yellow tie, her heart made an involuntary skip. It skipped again when she caught his clean, freshly showered scent.

      ‘My