Hot Nights with a Greek: The Greek's Forced Bride / Powerful Greek, Unworldly Wife / The Diakos Baby Scandal

‘Good morning,’ she returned in cool English.

A half-smile clipped at the corners of his mouth. ‘You slept well, I trust?’

He met her challenge with mockery.

‘Yes, thank you.’ Natasha kept with cool.

Pulling her eyes off him, she dug her hands deeper into her robe pockets, curled them into tense fists, then made herself walk towards the table and slip into the chair opposite him, expecting Leo to return to his seat, but he didn’t.

‘Bernice was unsure what you preferred to eat for breakfast so she has provided a selection.’ A long, lean hand indicated another table standing to one side of the terrace, which was spread with covered dishes. ‘Tell me what you would like and I’ll get it for you.’

Glancing at it, then away again, ‘Thank you, I’m fine with just toast.’

‘Juice?’ he offered.

A small hesitation, then she nodded. ‘Please.’

He went to pour the juice from the jug set on the other table. You couldn’t get a more pleasantly generated scene of calm domesticity if you tried, Natasha noted—though there was nothing domesticated in the way her eyes had to follow him or the way they soaked in every inch of his powerful lean frame like greedy traitors.

Looking away quickly when he turned around, she pretended an interest in the daytime view of Athens glistening in a hazy sunlight. Then one of his hands appeared in front of her to set down the glass of juice. Ice chinked against freshly squeezed oranges. He did not move away and another of those hesitations erupted between them sending out vibrating signals Natasha just did not want to read. And he was standing so close she could smell the clean, tangy scent of him, could feel the sheer masculine force of his sexuality that to her buzzing mind was barely leashed.

Then he brought his other hand around her to settle a rack of toast next to the glass of juice.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

‘My pleasure,’ he drawled—and he moved away to return to his seat, leaving Natasha to pull in a breath she had not been aware she had been holding on to.

He picked up his coffee cup and his newspaper.

Tugging her hands out of her pockets, she picked up the glass and sipped the juice. The sun beat down on the gardens below them while the overhang from the roof suspended above the terrace kept them in much pleasanter shade.

She was about to help herself to a slice of toast when she saw her mobile telephone lying on the table and her fingers stilled in midair.

‘Bernice found it in my jacket pocket. I had forgotten I had it.’ He might give the appearance of being engrossed in his newspaper, but he clearly was not.

Having to work to stop yet another polite thank-you from developing, Natasha pressed her lips together and nodded, then picked the phone up, her fingers stroking the shiny black casing for a few seconds before she flipped the phone open and looked at the screen.

It filled up with voice and text messages from Rico or Cindy. Aware that Leo was watching her, aware of the silence thickening between the two of them, she began to delete each message in turn, gaining a cold kind of pleasure from watching each one disappear from the screen. As the final one disappeared she flipped the phone shut and placed it back on the table before reaching for the slice of toast.

‘I need to shop for some clothes,’ she said coolly.

Leo said nothing, though Natasha could feel his desire to say something about the way she had wiped her phone clean. Had he read her messages? Had he expected to find a volley of instructions from Rico instructing her on how to sneak away from here so she could hole up with him somewhere until the six weeks were up and they could get at their stolen stash?

What Leo did do was to reach inside his jacket pocket and come out with a soft leather wallet. ‘I will arrange an account for you with my bank,’ he said evenly, ‘but for now…’

A thick wad of paper money landed on the table next to her phone. Cringing inside, Natasha just stared at it.

‘Buy anything you want,’ he invited casually. ‘Rasmus will drive you into Athens—’

‘I don’t need a driver,’ she whispered tautly. ‘I can find my way to the shops by myself.’

‘Rasmus will not be there merely to play chauffeur,’ his smooth voice returned. ‘He will escort you wherever you go while you are here.’

‘For what purpose?’ Natasha forced herself to look at him—forced herself to keep silent about the phone and the hateful money he’d tossed down next to it. ‘To guard me in case I decide to run out on you? Well, I won’t run,’ she stated stiffly. ‘I don’t want to be thrown into jail if I get caught.’

‘In that case think of Rasmus as protection,’ he suggested.

‘Which I need because…?’

The attractive black arc of his eyebrows lifted upwards. ‘Because it is a necessary evil in this day and age?’ he offered. ‘For you perhaps.’

‘You are an intimate part of me now, which means you must learn to take the bad with the good.’

So where was the good in being his woman? she wondered furiously. ‘People would have to know I’m with you to make a bodyguard necessary for me.’

‘But they will know—from tonight,’ he countered, calmly folding his newspaper on that earth-rocking announcement. ‘We will be dining out with some friends of mine. So while you are shopping buy a dress—something befitting a blacktie event. Something—pretty.’

Pretty? ‘I don’t do pretty.’ Reaching for the pot of marmalade, Natasha began spreading it liberally on the toast.

‘Something—colourful, then to—complement your figure.’

‘I am not—’ the knife worked faster ‘—going to dress up like some floozy just to help you prove a point to your awful ex-wife!’

‘Why? Don’t you believe you have the power to compete?’

The challenge hit Natasha blindside, and she felt her breath stick in her throat.

‘It seems to me, Natasha, that you’re too easily intimidated by conceited bullies like your selfish sister and my ex-wife,’ he went on grimly. ‘Woman like them can pick a shrinking violet like you out from a hundred feet away as an easy target. But what really gets to me is that you let them. Grow up, agape mou

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