Greek Mavericks: Winning The Enigmatic Greek. Tara Pammi

unsettled as ever. Which was why he found himself making an unplanned trip to England on his private jet, telling himself it was always useful to pay an unexpected visit to his London office because it kept his staff on their toes. And besides, he liked London. He kept a fully staffed apartment there which he used at different times during the year—often when the summer heat of Lasia was at its most intense. But even in London he found himself struggling to concentrate on his latest shipbuilding project or enjoy the fact that the company had been featured in the prestigious Forbes magazine in a flattering article praising his business acumen.

      He told himself it was curiosity—or maybe courtesy—which made him decide to call on Keeley, to see how she was doing. Maybe she’d calmed down enough to be civil to him. He felt the beat of anticipation. Maybe even more.

      He had his car drop him down the road from her bedsit and when he knocked on the door, the long silence which followed made him think nobody was home. A ragged sigh escaped from his lungs. So that was that. He could leave a note, which he suspected would find its way straight into the bin. He could try calling but something told him that if she saw his name on the screen, she wouldn’t pick up. And that had never happened to him before either.

      But then the door opened a little and there was Keeley’s face peering out at him through the narrow crack—her expression telling him he was the last person she had expected to see. Or wanted to see. His eyes narrowed because she looked terrible. Her blonde hair hung in limp strands as if it hadn’t been washed in days, her face was waxy white and she had deep shadows beneath her eyes. He’d never seen a woman who had paid such scant attention to her appearance—but then he’d never made an impromptu call like this before. ‘Hello, Keeley,’ he said quietly.

      Keeley stiffened, her knuckles tightening over the doorknob as she stared into Ariston’s searing blue eyes and a wave of horror washed over her. What in heavens name was he doing here—and how was she going to deal with it? Her instinct was to slam the door in his face but she’d tried that once before without success and, besides, she couldn’t do that, could she? Not in the circumstances. She might despise him but she needed to talk to him and it just so happened that fate had scheduled that unwanted prospect without her having to arrange it herself. She found herself wishing she’d had time to brush her hair or put on clothes she hadn’t fallen asleep in, but maybe it was better this way. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him making a pass at her when she looked like this. Why, he must be wondering what had possessed him to take someone like her to his bed.

      ‘You’d better come in,’ she said.

      He looked surprised at the invitation and she understood why. After the way they’d parted he must have thought she’d never want to see him again. But no matter how much she wished that could be true, she couldn’t turn him away—just as she couldn’t turn the clock back. She had to tell him. It was her duty to tell him.

      Before he worked it out for himself.

      ‘So what brings you here today, Ariston?’ she said, once they were standing facing each other in the claustrophobically small sitting room. ‘Let me guess... Pavlos is back in London and you’ve decided to check whether or not I’ve got my greedy hooks in him. Well, as you can see—I’m here on my own.’

      He gave a short shake of his head. ‘Pavlos is engaged to be married.’

      ‘Wow,’ she said, feeling winded though she wasn’t sure why. ‘Congratulations. So you got what you wanted.’

      He shrugged. ‘My wish to see my brother happily settled with a suitable partner has been fulfilled, yes.’

      ‘But if Pavlos is safe from my supposed clutches, then what brings you to New Malden?’ She frowned. ‘An area like this isn’t exactly a billionaire’s stomping ground, is it? And I don’t recall leaving anything behind on your island which might need “returning”.’

      ‘I was in London and I thought I’d drop by to see how you are.’

      ‘How very touching. Do you do that with all your ex-lovers?’

      His mouth hardened. ‘Not really. But then, none of my lovers have ever walked out on me like that.’

      ‘Oh, dear. Is your ego feeling battered?’

      ‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ he said drily.

      ‘So now you’ve seen how I am.’

      ‘Yes. And I don’t like what I see. What’s the matter, Keeley?’ His frowning blue gaze stayed fixed on her face. ‘You look sick.’

      Keeley swallowed. So here it was. He’d given her the perfect opportunity to tell him her life-changing news. She was surprised he hadn’t worked it out for himself and if he’d bothered to look harder at her baggy shirt, he might have noticed the faint curve of her belly beneath. She opened her mouth to tell him but something made her hesitate. Was it self-preservation? The sense that once she told him nothing was ever going to be the same?

      ‘I have been sick,’ she admitted, before the words came out in a bald rush. ‘Actually, I’m pregnant.’

      He didn’t catch on, not straight away—or if he did, he didn’t show it.

      ‘Congratulations,’ he said evenly. ‘Who’s the father?’

      It was a reaction she should have anticipated but stupidly she hadn’t and Keeley felt hurt. She wanted to tell him that only one man could possibly be the father but he probably wouldn’t believe her and why should he? She hadn’t exactly acted with any restraint where he was concerned, had she? She’d fallen into his arms—not once, but twice and made it clear she’d wanted sex with him. Why wouldn’t a chauvinist like Ariston Kavakos imagine she behaved like that all the time? She licked her lips.

      ‘You are,’ she said baldly. ‘You’re the father.’

      His face showed no reaction other than a sudden coldness which turned his eyes into sapphire ice. ‘Excuse me?’

      Was he expecting his cool question to prompt her into admitting that she’d made a mistake, and he wasn’t going to be a daddy after all? That she was trying it on because he was so wealthy? The temptation to do just that and make him go away was powerful, but her conscience was more powerful still. Because he was the father—there was no getting away from that and the important thing was how she dealt with it. Suddenly, Keeley knew that, despite her morning sickness and ever-present sensation of feeling like a cloth which had been wrung out to dry, she now needed to be strong. Because Ariston was strong. And he was a dominant male who would ride roughshod over her to get what it was he wanted, if she let him.

      ‘You heard me,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re the father.’

      His face darkened as he studied her and suddenly she got an idea of just how formidable an opponent he might be in the boardroom.

      ‘How do you know it’s mine?’

      She flinched. ‘Because you’re the only one it could be.’

      ‘I only have your word for that, Keeley. You were no virgin.’

      ‘Neither were you.’

      He gave a cruel smile. ‘Like I told you—it’s different for men.’

      ‘You think I would lie about something like this?’

      ‘I don’t know—that’s the thing. I know very little about you. But I’m a wealthy man. There are undoubted benefits to getting pregnant by someone like me. So was it an accident, or did you plan it?’

      ‘Plan it? You think I deliberately got myself pregnant, just to get my hands on your money?’

      ‘Don’t look so outraged, Keeley. You wouldn’t believe the things people would do for money,’ he said, his gaze flicking over her coldly. ‘Or maybe you would.’

      ‘You seem to be very good at dishing out blame, but I’m not going to carry the entire burden.’ She sucked in a deep breath as she walked over to the