Expecting His Love-Child. Carol Marinelli

family demands that had been delivered by the sweetest, the most vulnerable of them all.

      His father was dying.

      Which, according to the family, meant there was now no question of Levander leaving—no question of him turning his back on the people who had apparently given him everything he possessed.

      Five more years of hell was what they were demanding.

      Levander had gritted his teeth at the prospect, but the sentencing hadn’t ended there—a wife and child had been added to the non-parole period.

      Well, they could all go to hell!

      He’d more than served his time—he had saved the House of Kolovsky from financial suicide almost the second he’d joined the firm. That they now had the audacity to think he actually owed them anything made Levander’s stomach churn with loathing.

      To think that that bastard, after all he had done—

      ‘Hey.’ Her sweet voice broke into his black thoughts, her smiling, trusting face such an engaging contrast with the hard-nosed women he was too used to dealing with. ‘Did you manage to persuade him?’

      ‘Of course,’ Levander answered calmly, though his mind was anything but. ‘I am a very good persuader.’ He watched her eyes widen a touch, registered the tiny nervous swallow in her throat at the slightly provocative statement, and so badly he wanted to kiss her—to push that soft body against a wall, to press his lips to hers, to feel her soft, fragrant skin beneath his hands, to take her up to his hotel and make love to her…

      To somehow take refuge from the savage sleet of his thoughts…But strangely, for Levander, it wasn’t all he wanted from her.

      For the first time Levander wanted more than the passion of a woman to fill his night.

      He wanted her company.

      CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS the strangest first date she’d ever been asked on—but one thing was sure: it was a date.

      Millie knew that—knew from the way he was looking at her and the fact that she couldn’t stop looking at him—knew from the butterflies dancing in her stomach and the shrill of pleasure that there was definitely romance in the air.

      If it had been with anyone else a romantic horse and cart ride around the city would have been tacky, but with Levander it didn’t feel that way. With the feel of the cool night air on her cheeks, the noise of the horse as it clipped through the semi-deserted streets and the warmth of Levander by her side it felt amazing. It was a whirlwind Monopoly board tour of Melbourne. They clopped past Flinders Street Station, the famous old building stunning by night and lit up like a fairground, and Levander pointed out the sights as they went, from a vibrant Southbank that was still awake despite the hour, and the casino glittering and beckoning, to the smart theatre district and lavish hotels at the top end of town.

      ‘This is where I live.’

      He had to lean into her to say it. Her skirt had already ridden up a touch, and, feeling his suited thigh against her bare one, it was almost all she could do to look up instead of down. Her whole focus was on his body against hers.

      ‘It’s a hotel.’

      ‘Up there,’ Levander elaborated. ‘On the top floor.’

      ‘You actually live there?’

      ‘Why not?’

      He stared down at her and she forgot her question, sure he was about to kiss her. She almost wept in frustration when the cart halted somewhat abruptly, lurching them both backwards into their seats, but Levander gave a small lazy smile as he climbed out—a smile that told her there was plenty of time for that later. And as he stepped down and took her hand to help her down, just his touch confirmed what they both knew.

      There would be a later.

      ‘You like to dance?’

      ‘No,’ Millie admitted, gulping as they descended steep stairs into a tiny smoky and very exclusive private club that she wouldn’t have known existed even if she’d been walking on the street outside.

      Exclusive because only the most beautiful or famous seemed to be present—faces that had Millie frowning as she tried to place them, then jolting in recognition as the social pages she devoured in magazines came to life before her very eyes.

      ‘Do you?’

      ‘Sometimes.’ Levander shrugged, pushing her through the crowd with one arm around her.

      The slow, heavy thud of the music was out of time with her rapidly beating heart as he led her to a small, plush impossibly sexy booth that was clearly designed for intimacy. Like some erotic confessional, the purple velvet-lined seats went up to the ceiling, dulling the chatter and noise enough to allow conversation so long as one leant forward. And as he sat opposite her the table was so narrow it was impossible not to touch knees—impossible to look anywhere but at him.

      He ordered their drinks—didn’t even ask her what she wanted—and some strange red cocktail appeared that tasted icy and delicious, burning her throat and stomach as she sipped it. But it didn’t compare to the sensations Levander evoked.

      ‘Relax,’ he ordered, as if she should be able to on command. Only Millie couldn’t.

      Even here, amongst Melbourne’s most beautiful, Levander caused a stir—she’d seen the ripple effect wash through the crowd as they’d walked to their table. Like a mini Mexican wave going through the bar, heads had turned and conversations had paused; Millie had half expected oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling as every female sucked in her stomach en masse—but all eyes were most definitely on Levander. His questionable choice of date tonight didn’t even merit a second uninterested glance.

      Clearly there’d be a new one tomorrow.

      Clearly every woman present hoped it might be them.

      ‘You are here to sell paintings, I take it, not for a holiday?’

      ‘That was the plan,’ Millie sighed.

      ‘So why are you going back now?’

      ‘I gave myself three months. It was Anton who suggested I come out here.’

      ‘You knew Anton before you came?’

      ‘I met him last year, when he was in London.’ Millie nodded. ‘I was just finishing my degree and he came as a guest speaker.’

      ‘He is not an artist?’ Levander checked.

      ‘No—but he’s extremely well known for showcasing new talent, and I was fortunate because he liked my work. We got on well, and he said if I was ever interested in coming over…So here I am—at least until tomorrow. I really can’t afford to stay on any longer.’

      He pulled back just enough to squint down at his watch. ‘It is already tomorrow,’ Levander pointed out. ‘So what happens now—when you go back, I mean? If your work is not selling…’

      ‘I studied teaching as well.’ Millie sighed at the prospect. ‘As something to fall back on. I suppose it’s just as well I did.’

      ‘You can do both,’ Levander pointed out. ‘Just because you cannot make a living from your art, it does not mean that you have to give it up completely.’

      ‘I know that.’ Millie sighed again. ‘It’s just…’ her voice faded. Melancholy musings were not really the correct form for a first date, but Levander pushed her to continue and, given that nothing about tonight had even bordered on normal, Millie decided to tell him—to reveal just a little more of herself than she otherwise might. ‘When I work…well, it’s sort of hot and cold. Yes, in theory it would be fabulous to work Monday to Friday, and save my art for the weekends and evenings—I know it’s what a lot of people do—but…’

      ‘But?’

      ‘The