The Greek's Pregnant Bride. Michelle Smart

we will be married—what couples choose to do in the privacy of their own home is entirely their own business.’

      Her throat moved, a subtle movement, but one he recognised.

      He leaned in closer. ‘When we stay anywhere that is not under one of our own roofs, we will share a bed. What we choose to do in that bed is nobody’s business but our own.’

      Their marriage would be a merger, yes, but not a business merger. This was going to be a merger of two flesh-and-blood people.

      Something pulsed in her eyes and he knew with certainty that she was remembering how good it had been between them.

      They had been combustible.

      All the supressed memories of that night came back in startling colour.

      She’d been wild. Carnal. Eager to 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.