Millionaire Mavericks. Jennifer Lewis

Mitch and Lexi had been having a secret affair. News of the baby would only cement the rumors.

      Even though Lexi knew Mitch and Lance had ultimately done it for their business, she couldn’t help but feel honored that they had gone to such lengths in part to salvage her honor.

      And she thought chivalry was dead.

      Despite his casual attitude, it must have been humiliating for Mitch. Or maybe he was one of those men who honestly didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.

      “I could ring the flight attendant for an ice pack,” she offered.

      “I’m fine,” he said. “Do you need anything?”

      She shook her head, which was a mistake because the movement made her stomach lurch. She wished she’d chosen a more casual outfit for the flight instead of the fitted silk suit she’d worn for the ceremony. Something loose and comfortable, like her pajamas.

      “You don’t look well,” he said.

      “Thanks.”

      “That wasn’t an insult. I’m concerned.”

      “I’m just a little airsick. It happens sometimes. And it’s kind of embarrassing, so if you don’t mind, can we just drop it?”

      “Sorry.”

      After that, they sat in awkward silence. During their week together in D.C. they had seemingly endless conversations. Most people viewed her as a spoiled and witless debutante, and her father didn’t help, perpetuating the rumors by pampering and coddling her. But Mitch had seen past that. He had listened to her, made her feel…special. Now she had no idea what to say to him.

      How about something along the lines of, By the way, did I mention that I’m pregnant with your child?

      She had planned to tell him in the limo on the way to the airport, but she’d been otherwise occupied, trying not to be sick all over the leather interior. She’d decided to wait until they settled into the villa in Greece. She didn’t doubt the news was going to come as a shock, but she was sure that when he grew used to the idea, he would be happy to be a father.

      As if reading her thoughts, Mitch said, “Maybe we should have a talk about our expectations in regard to our relationship.”

      She hoped he wasn’t talking about sex, because that hadn’t been part of the deal. This was supposed to be a business arrangement. She had no intention of being his concubine. “What kind of expectations?”

      Her wariness seemed to amuse him. “Not the kind you’re obviously thinking of. Our relationship stops at the bedroom door.”

      “Good,” she said, feeling relieved. And strangely enough, a little disappointed.

      “What I meant, for example, is that as a part of my business, it’s required that I occasionally attend social functions. As my wife, I will expect you to accompany me, and of course I’ll do the same for you.”

      That didn’t sound so terrible. “I can do that.”

      “You’ll also be expected to host several parties.”

      That was something that she was actually quite good at. “Of course.”

      “And since I’m not particularly fond of seeing my name in the tabloids, or being the source of the latest gossip, I think it should appear to everyone that we’re happily married. If word gets out that this is part of a business deal, we’ll never hear the end of it. I personally value my privacy.”

      Personally, she didn’t give a damn what people thought. But for the baby’s sake, it would be best if they kept up a ruse of wedded bliss, so the child wouldn’t feel unwanted.

      “As soon as we get back to the states we can start house hunting. Or if you prefer, we could build.”

      “What about your townhouse?”

      “It’s too small for our needs.”

      “If you think so,” she said. She had never actually been there, but she couldn’t imagine that someone as wealthy as Mitch would live anywhere that could be considered small. Although she couldn’t deny that the idea of having her own home was a little exciting. All of her life she had lived in her father’s Houston estate or D.C. townhouse. He hadn’t even allowed her to decorate her own room, preferring instead to let a professional choose the decor. She had never had a place that was truly hers.

      “Of course, you’ll be in charge of the household,” Mitch continued. “You’ll be responsible for the hiring and dismissal of the staff.”

      “Will I be allowed to decorate?” she asked.

      The question seemed to puzzle him. “Of course.”

      “I won’t need your approval for every little thing I do?”

      He looked confused. “Is there a reason you should?”

      She had just assumed that, like her father, Mitch would deem her untrustworthy or incapable. Or maybe he was just saying these things to lull her into a false sense of security. Maybe he would be an overbearing tyrant.

       And maybe you’re paranoid.

      “Other than the obvious financial requirements, is there anything specific that you expect from me?”

      She wasn’t sure what he meant by financial requirements. Did he think she would expect him to pay her a salary? “What ‘financial requirements’ are we talking about?”

      “Credit cards, cash. As I assured you, you won’t want for anything.”

      Despite what most people believed, she wasn’t the spoiled, pampered heiress they described in the society pages of the paper. Her father had always provided her with a generous allowance for clothing and essentials, but otherwise kept her on a pretty short fiscal leash. He monitored her credit card statements to be sure that she wasn’t spending his money on anything inappropriate, and he limited the amount of cash she was allowed. She’d always wondered what it would feel like to be financially independent, to not have someone scrutinizing her every move.

      If Mitch did give her financial freedom, maybe this marriage deal wouldn’t be quite as miserable as she’d expected.

      “Come on,” he said. “There must be something you want.”

      Though she was going to wait, he’d left the subject wide open, and she couldn’t resist dipping her toes in to test the waters. “What about children?”

      “What about them?”

      “Well, I know this is just a business arrangement, but I’ve always wanted kids.”

      The dark expression that spread across his face chilled her to her core. He shook his head and said, “I think that would be a bad idea.”

      Oh, this was not good.

      Maybe it was the act of conceiving the baby that he had a problem with. Maybe he no longer found her attractive. Their kiss after the vows couldn’t have been colder or more formal. Maybe she had been so terrible in bed that first time, he had no interest in a repeat performance.

      “If it’s the intimacy you’re concerned about,” she said, “there are other ways—”

      “It has nothing to do with that. I feel it would be unfair to bring a child into a loveless marriage.”

      Her stomach bottomed out. How would he feel if he didn’t have a choice in the matter? Would he insist on a divorce? Tell her father the truth about what happened in D.C.? Or even worse, would he disown his child? Then where would she be?

      A sense of panic filled her. There had to be a way to convince him, to make this right. “Maybe if we—”

      “No,” he said firmly, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “There is no maybe. I’ll give you anything you want, Lexi. Anything but this.”

      Just