The Greek's Billion-Dollar Baby / The Innocent's Emergency Wedding. Natalie Anderson

At the top, another guard opened a section of the boat’s balustrade, forming a gate. The noise was deafening up here. She braced herself for a moment, frozen to the spot as she recognised at least a dozen Hollywood celebrities walking around in a state of undress. Men, women, all in their bathers, suntanned, impossibly slender and toned with very white teeth and enormous eyes.

      Hannah stared at them self-consciously, this world so foreign to her, so foreign to anything and anyone she knew. These people were his friends?

      There was a loud noise, a laugh, and then the splashing of water. She turned, chasing the interruption, to see a handsome man standing above the pool, a grin on his chiselled face. It wasn’t Leonidas, but she recognised him nonetheless from the few photos she’d pulled up while trying to find out how to contact Leonidas.

      Thanos Stathakis, the playboy prince of Europe, all golden and carefree, and surrounded by a dozen women who were quite clearly vying for a place in his bed. She pulled a face, straightened her spine and began to cut through the party.

      She didn’t belong here. She didn’t want to be here. She just needed to tell him and get out.

      ‘Miss May?’ A woman wearing a crew uniform approached Hannah, a professional smile on her pretty face. ‘This way, please.’

      Hannah nodded stiffly, falling into step beside the woman, almost losing her footing when she saw a Grammy award–winning singer breeze past, laughing, arm in arm with the undisputed queen of talk-show television.

      Hannah stared after them, her heart pounding. She felt like a fish way, way out of water. The crew member pushed a door open and Hannah followed, grateful for the privacy and quiet the room afforded.

      ‘Would you like anything to drink, miss?’

      Hannah shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

      She waited until she was alone and then scanned the room, her eyes taking in the obvious signs of wealth that were littered without care. The yacht was unlike anything she’d ever seen, the last word in luxury and money. Designer furniture filled out this room, a television the size of her bed on one wall, and through the glass partition a huge bedroom with a spa against the windows.

      Leonidas’s bedroom?

      Her pulse picked up a notch and on autopilot she wandered towards it, her heart hammering against her chest as she pushed the door open.

      Yes. She couldn’t say how she knew, only there was something in the air, his masculine, alpine fragrance that instantly jolted her senses.

      She backed out quickly, as though the very fires of hell were lining the floor in there.

      She had to do this. She would tell him, and then leave, giving him a chance to digest it, and to consider her wishes. This would be over in minutes.

      Minutes.

      She waited, and with each moment that passed her nerves stretched tighter, thinner, finer and more tremulous, so, five minutes later, she honestly thought she might pass out.

      She was on the brink of leaving the room and going in search of Leonidas herself when the door burst inwards and he strode into the room, wearing only a pair of swimming shorts, and a look that—in the seconds before surprise contorted his expression—showed his impatience with her arrival.

      He was partying.

      He was probably the centre of attention, being just as fawned over and celebrated as his brother. Jealousy tore through her, but Hannah told herself it was outrage. Outrage that she’d been agonising over the baby they were going to have while he’d slipped out of bed and gone back to his normal life as though it had never happened.

      If she’d held even a single shred of hope that he might be glad to see her, it disappeared immediately.

      ‘Hannah.’ His eyes roamed her face and then dropped lower, until he was staring at her stomach, and she felt the force of his shock, the reverberation of his confusion. It slammed into the room, slammed against her, and if she weren’t so consumed with her own feelings she might almost have felt sympathy for him.

      ‘Yes.’ She answered the unspoken question, her voice slightly shaky. ‘I’m pregnant. And you’re the father.’

       CHAPTER FOUR

      HIS EYES SWEPT SHUT, almost as if he could wipe this meeting from reality, as if he would open his gaze and she’d be gone. It wasn’t until that moment Hannah realised that she’d been partly hoping he would react well to this news. While neither of them had planned this, nor wanted it particularly, a baby was still cause for celebration, wasn’t it?

      Apparently not.

      When he opened his eyes and his gaze pierced her soul, it was with a look of rejection, and panic.

      ‘No.’ He glared at her. ‘This cannot be happening.’

      Hannah curved a hand around her stomach, trying to be generous, to remember he was shocked, that she’d had time to adjust to this news and he was being presented with it all now.

      ‘Really?’ She arched a brow, her obvious pregnant state contradicting that.

      He swore in his native tongue and moved towards a bar in the corner, pulling out two bottles of mineral water. He stalked towards her and held one out and she took it without thinking, her fingers curving over the top.

      But, oh, she was so close to him now, and the last five months disappeared, everything disappeared, except this wave of intense recognition and need, that same spark of hunger that had incinerated her on New Year’s Eve.

      Her breath escaped her on a hiss; she stood frozen to the spot, her eyes glued to his, her face tilted upwards, her body on alert for his nearness. It was an instant, visceral, physical reaction and it shook her to the core.

      But even before her eyes, Leonidas’s surprise was giving way to comprehension. His jaw tightened and he nodded slowly, releasing the water bottle into her grip and stepping away from her, turning to stare at the ocean.

      ‘How do you feel?’

      She was surprised by the question—she hadn’t expected it, this rapid assimilation of information, acceptance and then a hint of civility.

      ‘I’m mostly okay.’ She nodded, opening the bottle and taking a sip gratefully. ‘I’m quite tired but otherwise fine.’

      He didn’t react. ‘Do you know what gender it is?’

      Hannah nodded again, but he wasn’t looking. ‘Yes.’ She reached into her handbag, her fingers fumbling a little as she lifted out an ultrasound picture. ‘Here.’

      At that word, he turned slowly, his expression grim, his gaze lowering to the flimsy black and white photograph. He made no effort to take it.

      ‘It’s a girl,’ she said quietly.

      He still didn’t reach for the picture, but his eyes swept shut as though he were steeling himself against this, as though it wasn’t what he wanted. Hurt scored her being. But before she could fire that accusation at him, he was shooting another question at her.

      ‘When did you find out?’

      She swallowed in an attempt to bring moisture back to her dry throat. ‘A while ago,’ she admitted.

      ‘When?’

      A hint of guilt flared in her gut but she reminded herself she’d done nothing wrong.

      ‘I’ve known for a few weeks.’

      He stared at her, long and hard, for several moments. ‘You didn’t think I deserved to know when you did?’

      She shook her head once, from one side to the other. ‘You didn’t think I deserved more than to wake up to a crummy note?’

      He