The Greek's Pregnant Cinderella. Michelle Smart

she would revert back to being a chambermaid and this night would be nothing but a memory.

      She was in the midst of the most wonderful of dreams and she didn’t want to wake up.

      They danced. They drank more champagne. They danced again.

      The hands that held as they danced clasped tightly, their forearms pressing together.

      The hand that had rested just above the small of her back moved up so it palmed her bare skin. She had never imagined the thrills that could race through her veins at a mere touch of flesh upon flesh.

      Their eyes stayed locked. The guests surrounding them were nothing but blocks of colour in the periphery of her vision.

      When the next group dance started there were no words to communicate their unspoken agreement to leave the dance floor.

      More champagne was consumed.

      Time slipped even faster. She tried her hardest to hold on to it but the great clock on the wall ticked on.

      As midnight approached the dances slowed in tempo but Tabitha felt giddy. The champagne she’d drunk, the setting, the arms holding her so closely, the undiminished attention from the clear blue eyes holding hers...

      She felt as if she were coming to life. Never before had she been so aware of the blood pumping through her body, of the beats of her heart, of the sensitivity of her skin.

      And never before had she been so aware of another. Giannis. The olive skin, the strong throat, the strong jaw, the rise and fall of his chest...the sensuous mouth.

      She no longer cared that he had the power to make her homeless with nothing but a single word. Maybe it was the champagne doing her thinking for her but these were feelings she had never known before. Tomorrow was tomorrow. Right now it didn’t exist.

      ‘The fireworks start soon,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Watch them with me.’

      She shivered at the sensation of his breath against her skin. Her fingers reflexively tightened on his. They were pressed so tightly together her breasts were crushed through the fabric of her dress and his suit against his chest.

      She smiled her answer.

      His lips curved.

      The orchestra was reaching the end of its piece.

      Giannis put his nose to her ear and breathed in the soft, floral scent.

      He ached to take this ravishing creature somewhere private and feel those heart-shaped lips against his own.

      When he had imagined this night he had seen himself dancing with a parade of women, making bored small talk in the vain hope one might capture his attention.

      He’d never imagined he would find someone before the dancing had even started and be greedy to keep her in his arms. Ballroom dancing was a chore he’d endured at his boarding school but there was nothing chore-like about dancing with this enigmatic woman with whom small talk had proven itself unnecessary. He could dance with her all night. He would dance with her all night.

      But the dancing was about to finish for a short period while the orchestra took a break and the firework display took place.

      He knew the best spot to watch it with her.

      Drifting his hand further up her back, marvelling at the soft texture of her skin, he found the spot where her spine formed at the base of her neck and circled a finger around it. Then he pressed his cheek against hers, a last contact of their bodies before he pulled away and guided her out of the ballroom.

      Hands clasped tightly together, they walked past the champagne fountain. He picked a glass up and handed it to her then took one for himself.

      The corridor they stepped into was deserted but the rooms they passed were full of revellers wanting a break from the dancing for food or to rest their feet.

      Outside in the gardens, the scent of roses in bloom filled the warm air.

      Giannis loved the palace hotel gardens at night. Beautiful though it was by day, the night brought a new dimension to it, imagery from childhood books coming to life amongst the carved statues, water fountains and, further back, in the thick hedges that formed the famed maze.

      The spot he took Tabitha to was in a white gazebo in a secluded part of the garden. She stared at the vast structure perfectly suited to such lavish grounds and imagined aristocracy from centuries ago treading this same path.

      Flutes of champagne in hand, they stood at the balustrade, arms pressed together, and watched the guests spill out onto the vast lawn, but they were blurs in Tabitha’s eyes, her senses too attuned to the man beside her for anything else to sink in with any substance.

      ‘How long are you in Vienna for?’ he asked casually, a question to make her stomach turn.

      Before she could think of an answer, the moonlight caught one of the figures on the lawn, mask removed. Tabitha’s blood turned cold in an instant as recognition flashed at her.

      It was her stepsister, Fiona.

      She hadn’t had any communication with her in well over four years, not since Tabitha had been forced to leave the family home.

      So many emotions rushed through her to see Fiona there, dressed in a beautiful gown that no doubt had been paid for by money intended to be Tabitha’s inheritance, but the primary emotion that shot through her like an echo was fear.

      Fiona had made her life a living hell.

      Tabitha’s fingers tightened around the now empty champagne flute, but she must have exerted too much subconscious pressure for the glass shattered in her hand.

      She jumped back as shards of glass fell to the ground, too shocked at seeing her stepsister—how had she not noticed her before?—to realise her hand was bleeding until she caught Giannis’s concerned stare.

      He snatched at her hand and peered closely at it. ‘Are you okay?’

      She inhaled deeply through the shock and stinging pain and managed to nod.

      ‘We should get a doctor to look at this. I’ll make a call and see if we have one here.’ Still holding her hand, he used his free hand to tug off the black cravat around his neck.

      ‘I don’t need a doctor.’ A drop of blood rolled off the palm of her hand. She took another deep breath. ‘It’s superficial. Just a cut.’

      She would have argued against a doctor even if she’d severed half her hand. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. The mask and the dress gave her anonymity amongst her colleagues but if anyone who knew her were to look too closely the game would be over. Now she knew Fiona was here—and maybe Saffron too—she dared not risk it. It wasn’t just that her identity would be blown. The thought of seeing either of them without any preparation was an ordeal she was in no way ready to put herself through.

      She remembered the day she’d first met them and how excited she’d been at the thought of having two big sisters, along with a new mother, and her heart clenched at the trusting innocence of her ten-year-old self.

      The cravat freed, Giannis gave it a sharp flick then wrapped it gently around her bleeding hand. ‘That’s a lot of blood for a superficial cut.’

      ‘That’s the body doing what it’s designed to do. I’ll find a bathroom and clean it out.’

      He kept his hand on the cravat wrapped around her cut. ‘My apartment is right behind us. We can clean it there and assess for damage.’

      She was quite sure the flow of blood seeping from her wound increased at the casual way he said ‘we’.

      When her gaze drifted back up to meet his eyes there was a lurch in both her heart and stomach.

      If the choice was to dart across the garden and risk facing her stepsister, or to go to the apartment of this man who, despite his being a virtual stranger, she felt a strange sense of safety being