Bought: The Greek's Baby. Jennie Lucas

hadn’t even known about the baby an hour ago, but now he was absolutely sure of one thing.

       He had to protect his child.

      “So I don’t live in England,” he heard her say. Steeling his expression, he turned to face her. Her face looked bewildered, almost sad as she added hesitantly, “I don’t have a home?”

      Home. Against his will, he had the sudden image of Eve in his bedroom at Mithridos, spread across his large bed, with the curtains twisting from the sea breeze coming off the sparkling Aegean. That had never happened, and it never would!

      “You live in hotels,” he answered coldly. “I told you. You travel constantly.”

      “So how do I hold down a job?” she said in disbelief.

      “You don’t. You spend your days shopping and attending parties around the world. You’re an heiress. A famous beauty.”

      She gaped at him. “You’re joking.”

      “No.” He left it at that. He could hardly explain how she and her dissolute friends traveled in packs like parasites, sucking a luxury hotel dry before moving on to the next. If he told her that, she might hear the scorn in his voice and question the true nature of his feelings.

      Malakas, how was it possible that he’d been so caught by her? What madness had possessed him to be so enslaved?

      How could he make sure that his child never was neglected, hurt or abandoned by her after she regained her memory?

      A new thought suddenly occurred to him.

      If she could not remember him, if she could not remember who she was or what she’d done, it meant she would have no idea of what was about to hit her. She would have no defenses.

      A slow smile curved his lips as he built his new plan. He could take everything from her, including their baby. And she would never see it coming.

      “So I was here for my stepfather’s funeral,” she said softly. “But I’m not British.”

      “Your mother was, I believe. You both returned to England some years ago.”

      She brightened. “My mother!”

      “Dead,” he informed her brutally.

      She froze, her face crumpling. Watching the swift movement of scenery on the outskirts of London through the window behind her, he remembered that her mother’s death was fresh news to her. And that he was supposed to be in love with her. He had to make her believe that if he wanted his plan to succeed.

      “I’m sorry, Eve,” he said abruptly. “But as far as I know, you have no family.”

      “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

      Pulling her into his arms, he held her close against his chest, kissing the top of her head. Her hair, messy and unwashed, still managed to smell like vanilla and sugar, the scents he associated with her. The scent that immediately made his body go hard and taut with longing, with the immediate temptation of a long-desired vice.

      Thee mou. Why couldn’t he stop wanting her? After everything she’d done, the way she’d nearly ruined him, how was it possible that his body still longed for her like a dying man thirsting for water? Was he really such a suicidal fool? Did he have no honor, no pride?

      He had pride, he thought, clenching his jaw. It was her. Even now, acting so sweetly demure, her innocence attracted him like a flame. He remembered the fire of passion inside her. And how he was the only man who’d ever tasted it.

      He felt himself tighten.

      Stop! he ordered himself. He wouldn’t think about her in bed. He wouldn’t want her. He did have some control over his own body, damn it!

      She clenched her fingers against his sleeve, her face pressed into his crisply tailored shirt.

      “So I have no one.” Her voice was small, almost a whisper. “No parents. No brothers or sisters. No one.”

      He looked down at her, tipping her chin upwards so he could see the tears sparkling in her beautiful violet-blue eyes. “You have me.”

      She swallowed, searching his face as if trying to read the emotion behind his expression. He schooled his features into concern and admiration and the closest attempt at love he could manage, never having actually felt it.

      A sigh came from her lips as she exhaled. A soft smile traced her lips. “And our baby.”

      He gave a single grim nod. Their baby was the reason he had to make sure his control over Eve was absolute. The reason he had to make her believe he cared about her.

      It was no different, he thought sardonically, than she’d once done to him. He would lull her into believing she could trust him. Make her willingly marry him.

      Then—oh, then…

      The instant their marriage was final, his life’s goal would be to make her remember the truth. He would be with her when she finally remembered. He would see her face as it fell.

      And he would crush her. The thought of revenge made his heart glad.

      Not revenge, he told himself. Justice.

      Leaning forward, he held her closer in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce.

      “Eve.” He cupped her face in his large hands. “I want you to marry me.”

      

      Marry him?

      Yes, Eve thought in a daze, looking up into his handsome face. Feeling his strong, rough hands against the softness of her skin, the warmth of his touch seared her, tracing down her neck to her breasts and lower still.

      How could any man be so masculine, so beautiful, so powerful all at once? Talos was everything her tattered, empty, frightened soul had desired. He would protect her. Love her. He would complete her life.

       Yes, yes, yes.

      But even as the words rose to her lips, something stopped her. Something she couldn’t understand made her pull her face away from his touch.

      “Marry you?” she whispered. She searched his dark eyes, her heartbeat quickening in her chest. “I don’t even know you.”

      He blinked. She saw that he was surprised. Then his eyebrows lowered into a frown.

      “You knew me well enough to conceive my child.”

      She swallowed. “But I can’t remember you,” she said. “It wouldn’t be fair to take you as my husband. It wouldn’t be right.”

      “I was raised without a father. I do not intend my child to endure that. I will give our baby a name. Do not deny me,” he said urgently.

      Deny him? How could any woman deny anything to a man like Talos Xenakis?

       But it didn’t feel right.

      With a deep breath, she turned away, glancing out at the passing scenery. It had changed since they’d left the outskirts of London, become soft and green beyond the rain-splattered windows. Trees had started to turn orange and yellow, rich autumnal colors between the green.

      “Eve.”

      She looked back at Talos. He was so darkly handsome and powerful, and at the moment his sensual mouth was pressed into a hard line. He was clearly determined to have his way.

      But something inside her made her resist him.

      “Thank you for asking me to marry you,” she said awkwardly. “It’s very warm and loving. But my baby won’t be born for months—”

      “Our baby,” he corrected her.

      “And I can’t be your wife when I can’t even remember you.”

      “We’ll see,” he said softly.