The Greek Tycoon's Pregnant Wife

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is [e-mail] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

The Greek Tycoon’s Pregnant Wife

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

JANE let herself into her apartment and headed straight for the fridge. It might be empty of anything to eat, but she knew she’d left a half-pack of colas on the shelf. Pulling out one of the chilled cans, she flipped the tab and drank. Then, savouring its coolness on her tongue, she kicked off her shoes and walked back into the living area.

It was good to be home, she thought, looking round the large space that served as both living and dining room. She was glad now she’d had the builder knock down the wall that had once separated the two rooms. Together with a small service kitchen, her bedroom and the adjoining bathroom, it had been her home for the past five years.

She’d dropped her suitcase in the small entry hall and as she went to retrieve it, she saw the message light blinking on her answering machine. Her mother, she thought resignedly. Mrs Lang would be anxious to hear that her daughter had arrived home safely. Even though she was familiar with the internet and would no doubt have checked flight arrivals at Heathrow, she still needed the confirmation of Jane’s voice to assure her that all was well.

Sighing, Jane pressed the key to retrieve her messages and waited patiently for Mrs Lang’s recorded voice to speak. Her friends knew she was away, and all business calls would be routed to the gallery. So she was unprepared when a disturbingly familiar male voice spoke her name.

‘Jane? Jane, are you there? If you are, pick up, will you? Ineh poli simandiko.’ It’s important.

Jane sank down weakly onto the small ottoman she kept beside the phone. Despite her determination never to let Demetri Souvakis into her life again, she couldn’t deny that his rich dark voice with its distinctive accent still had the power to turn her weak at the knees.

But then, it wasn’t his voice that had made him a millionaire several times over before his twenty-fifth birthday. That had come from his heritage and his complete ruthlessness in business, she reminded herself, a ruthlessness that had somehow spilled over into his private life.

Jane expelled an unsteady breath now and was still trying to calm her racing pulse when a second message started. ‘It’s me, Jane,’ he said. ‘Your husband. Theos, I know you’re there. Don’t make me have to come looking for you. Can’t we at least deal with one another like civilised adults?’

That helped. The arrogance in his voice, the way he just assumed she’d be available whenever he chose to contact her. And how could he call himself her husband when for the past five years he hadn’t cared if she was dead or alive?

Her nails dug into her palms in her efforts to control the anger that swept through her, but that didn’t stop the painful memories from tearing her hard-won objectivity to shreds. How dared he contact her now as if he had some right to do so? As far as she was concerned, she’d cut him out of her life.

Well, almost.

She sighed. She remembered when she’d first encountered his father at the gallery where she’d worked in London. Leo Souvakis had been so charming, so polite. He’d explained that he was looking for a piece of sculpture to take back to Greece, a bronze, if possible, to match the other pieces he’d collected over the years.

Jane had only been working at the gallery for a short time, but already she’d begun to show an aptitude for recognising talent when she saw it. And the delicate sculpture of the goddess Diana by a virtually unknown artist seemed an appropriate choice to make.

Leo Souvakis had been delighted, both by the piece and by Jane, and they’d been discussing the relative merits of oriental pottery and porcelain when Demetri Souvakis had appeared…

Jane shook her head. She so much didn’t want to think about this now. She’d just come back from a very successful trip to Australia and Thailand and what she really wanted to do was go to bed. She’d been travelling for the better part of fourteen hours, the unexpected layover in Dubai not part of her agenda.

She was just about to get up, determined not to be intimidated, when a third message began. ‘Jane? Are you there, darling? I thought you told me you’d be home by eight o’clock. It’s half-past now and I’m getting worried. Ring me as soon as you get in. I’ll be waiting.’

Putting all thought of her other calls to the back of her mind, Jane reached for the receiver. Pressing the pre-set key, she waited only a couple of rings before her mother picked up. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, trying to inject a note of confidence into her voice. ‘Sorry you’ve been worried. The plane made an unscheduled stop in Dubai.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Mrs Lang sounded relieved. ‘I thought it might be something like that. So, are you OK? Did you have a good trip? You’ll have to tell me all about it over lunch.’

Lunch? Jane only just managed to suppress a groan. There was no way she was going to feel up to having lunch with her mother today. ‘Not today,’ she said apologetically, knowing Mrs Lang wouldn’t take kindly to her refusal. ‘I’m beat, Mum. I need at least eight hours of sleep before I do anything else.’

Her mother tutted. ‘Eight hours. Really, Jane, I rarely get more than four hours a night! Didn’t you sleep on the plane?’

‘Not much.’ Jane wished she were less honest. ‘How about lunch tomorrow, Mum? That’ll give me time to come round.’

There was silence for a moment, and then Mrs Lang said, ‘You’ve been away for almost three weeks, Jane. I’d have thought you’d want to see your mother. Particularly as you know I’m stuck in this house most of the day.’

Whose fault is that? Jane was tempted to ask, but she didn’t want to start an argument. ‘Why don’t you ask Lucy to have lunch with you?’ she suggested instead. ‘I’m sure she’d jump at the chance.’

‘I’m sure she would, too.’ But Mrs Lang was not enthusiastic. ‘Besides, if your sister comes here for lunch, I’ll have Paul and Jessica running all over the house.’

‘They are your grandchildren, Mum.’

‘Yes, and they’re totally undisciplined.’

‘Oh, Mum…’

‘Anyway, if you can’t be bothered to visit your mother, I’ll have to make do with my own company.’ Mrs Lang sniffed. ‘What a shame! I wanted to tell you who came to see me last week.’

Demetri!

Jane expelled a calming breath. ‘You had a visitor?’ she asked, trying to sound only vaguely interested. ‘Well, that was nice.’

‘It wasn’t nice at all,’ her mother snapped angrily. Then, with a sound of impatience, ‘Oh, I suppose he told you. Is he the reason I’m being put off until tomorrow?’

‘No!’ Jane caught her breath. ‘But I assume you’re talking about Demetri. He left a couple of messages on my machine. When he couldn’t get an answer, he must have guessed you’d know where I was.’

‘Which, of course, I did.’

‘Did you tell him?’ Jane was wary.

‘I said you were abroad,’ declared Mrs Lang tersely. ‘I hope you didn’t expect me to lie for you, Jane.’

‘No.’ Jane sighed. ‘Did he say what he wanted to speak to me about?’

‘As I said earlier, if you want to hear all about it, you’ll have to wait until you have time for me in your busy schedule. You know I don’t like discussing family matters over the phone.’ She paused. ‘I’ll expect you tomorrow, shall I?’

Jane gritted her teeth. She so didn’t need this. She’d had a successful trip and she’d been looking forward to taking a couple of days break before having to return to the gallery. Now she felt compelled to go and see her mother, if only to find out what this was all about.

‘How about supper?’ she asked, knowing Mrs Lang was going to love this. Having her eldest daughter over a barrel was one of the joys of her life. It so rarely happened these days, although when Jane had been living with Demetri she’d constantly been aware that her mother was waiting for the marriage to fail. When it had, she’d been there to pick up the pieces, though Jane had known there’d been a measure of satisfaction in being proved right once again.

‘Supper?’ she echoed now. She considered. ‘Tonight, you mean?’

It was a game, Jane knew, but she was too tired to play it. ‘Whenever suits you,’ she said wearily. ‘Leave a message when you’ve made up your mind.’

‘Now, is that any way to treat your mother?’ But Mrs Lang seemed to realise it was time to back off. ‘Tonight will be fine, darling,’ she said serenely. ‘Shall we say seven o’clock? Or is that too early for you?’

‘Seven’s OK.’ Jane’s tone was flat. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll see you then.’

It was a relief to hang up the receiver and, when the phone rang again before she could move away, she snatched it up with a definite edge to her voice. But it was only a cold call, asking her if she was interested in buying a new kitchen, and she slammed it down with a definite feeling of exploitation.

Of course, she realised belatedly, it could have been Demetri, but she didn’t think that was likely. Demetri was no doubt in London on business and he’d have no time to think about his estranged wife if he had meetings to attend. She would come fairly low on his agenda. As she’d always done, she thought bitterly. Judging by his tone of voice, she had no reason to think he’d changed.

Sighing, she abandoned any idea of unpacking until later and trailed into the bathroom to take a quick shower. She looked exhausted, she thought, tucking strands of honey-blonde hair back behind her ears. Gazing into the mirror, she wondered how much she’d changed in the last five years. There were tiny lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes, but her skin was still smooth in other places. Of course, she’d gained a couple of inches around her hips, which was annoying, but her breasts were firm even if they’d filled out, too.

Oh, well, who cares? she thought, too tired to even dry herself properly after her shower. Twisting her still damp hair into a loose knot on top of her head, she tumbled naked between the sheets. And not even her worries about why Demetri might want to see her could keep her eyes open.

The phone awakened her. At least, she thought it was the phone, but when she groped for the extension beside the bed the ringing still went on. It was the doorbell, she realised. Someone wanted access to one of the apartments and was probably ringing every bell in the building until they got lucky.

Sighing, she flopped back against the pillows and looked at the clock on the bedside cabinet. It was almost noon. She’d slept for less than four hours, but that was something, she supposed. Amazingly, she didn’t feel as tired as she’d done when she flew east. Coping with jet lag was always easier in this direction.

The bell rang again and, throwing back the covers, Jane slipped her arms into the sleeves of a green silk wrapper. Then, padding across the living room to the intercom, she lifted the handset. ‘Yes?’

‘Jane?’ It was Demetri, and her stomach made a sickening dive. ‘Jane, I know it’s you. Hristo, will you open the door?’

Jane didn’t move. She couldn’t. She felt frozen. The faint sense of disorientation she’d felt when she’d first woken up seemed to be paralysing her ability to speak. It was too soon, she thought. She needed time to pull herself together. If she’d ever considered encountering her estranged husband again, she’d assumed it would be on her terms, not his.

‘Jane!’ She heard him swear in his own language. ‘Jane, I know you’re in there. Your mother was kind enough to tell me you’d be home today.’ His voice was becoming more impatient. ‘Come on, open the door. Do you want me to be arrested for soliciting or some such thing?’

Anyone less likely to allow himself to be arrested for soliciting Jane could hardly imagine. Demetri Souvakis was far too sure of himself for that. Besides which, that was just an excuse to get her to press the release button. Her fellow flatmates were evidently out at work—or shopping in the case of Mrs Dalladay—and she was his only means of access.

‘I’m not even dressed yet, Demetri,’ she blurted at last, aware that her voice had a breathy sound to it. It was all she could think of to say, but it wasn’t enough.

‘Aghapita, seeing you naked is nothing new to me,’ he reminded her drily. ‘Come. I’ve been trying to reach you for the better part of a week. We can’t all spend half the day in bed.’

That got her juices flowing again. ‘I’ve just flown over six thousand miles, Demetri,’ she told him tartly. ‘And if I remember correctly, you don’t do jet lag very well yourself.’

‘Ah, yes. Signomi. Sorry.’ But he didn’t sound it. ‘I guess that was thoughtless. Put it down to frustration. I’m not very good at that either.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Jane tried to sound sardonic. ‘How are you, Demetri? Still as impatient as ever, I see.’

‘Theos, I have been patient, ghineka. Now, are you going to open up, or must I break down this—’ there was a pause while he obviously endeavoured to control his anger ‘—this door?’

Jane’s jaw took on a stubborn curve. She badly wanted to call his bluff. Only the embarrassment she would suffer if he made good on his threat deterred her, and without another word she jabbed a finger onto the button.

There was a low buzz as the door downstairs was released and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Heavy footsteps, climbing the stairs with a speed that had her retreating to the far side of the living room. She’d left the door ajar and, although she told herself she didn’t care what he thought of her, it occurred to her belatedly that she hadn’t even brushed her hair since she’d tumbled so unexpectedly out of bed.

She was finger-combing it behind her ears when Demetri appeared in the doorway. Tall and lean, with the thick dark hair of his ancestors, he too looked older, she reassured herself. But despite the threads of grey at his temples, his face, with its familiar trace of dark stubble, was tougher, harder than she remembered, but just as attractive.

His presence had lost none of its impact, reminding her of the day he strode into the gallery, looking for his father. When the old man had introduced them he’d been polite, but hardly flattering, treating her with a cool indifference she’d half resented then.

Now Demetri paused in the doorway, and then stepped into the apartment. So this was where she lived, he thought broodingly. He’d heard she was doing well at her job. He couldn’t help admiring the huge expanse of living space that swept from the front to the back of the old Victorian building. The sun pouring in from the windows at each end filling the place with a watery light.

But for all his irritation at the way she’d kept him waiting outside, it was to Jane that his eyes were irresistibly drawn. She stood the width of the room away, her arms wrapped protectively about herself. She was wearing a silk robe that she was holding tightly around her. As if he’d threatened her, he reflected, disliking the notion. For pity’s sake, what was she expecting him to do? Jump her bones?

‘Jane,’ he said, before that idea could take hold and destroy his detachment, and her lips, which she’d been pressing together, relaxed a little. She looked good, he thought unwillingly. Too good to a man who was planning to marry another woman as soon as he was free. But then, Jane had always had that effect on him. It was why he’d married her, for God’s sake. Why he’d been so reluctant to find another woman to take her place.

Why his mother had been so opposed to him doing this himself!

‘Demetri,’ Jane responded stiffly, and when he leaned against the door to close it she stood a little taller, as if bracing herself for whatever was to come.

She wasn’t wearing any make-up, of course, and he suspected the colour in her cheeks owed more to a mental rather than a physical source. Green eyes, which used to haunt his sleep, as clear as the mountain-fed lakes on Kalithi.

‘How have you been?’ he asked, straightening away from the door, and Jane’s mouth went a little dry when he moved further into the room. He had an indolent grace of movement that made anything he wore look like a designer item, though she guessed the casual cargo pants and black leather jacket were the real thing.

He was still wearing his wedding ring, she noticed. The wedding ring she’d bought him when they’d exchanged their vows in the small chapel on Kalithi, the island his family owned and where he lived when he wasn’t flying around the world attending to the demands of his shipping empire. His father had retired before they’d married, much against his mother’s wishes. But then, she’d never wanted Demetri to marry an English girl, particularly one who had opinions of her own.

‘I’m OK,’ she said now, forcing a tight smile. ‘Tired, of course. But then, I haven’t had much sleep in the last twenty-four hours.’

‘And I woke you up?’ Demetri came to stand beside one of a pair of mulberry printed sofas that faced each other across a taupe rug. It was the only floor covering at this end of the room, the stripped maple floor requiring little adornment. A dark brow arched in reluctant apology. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘Are you?’ Jane gave an indifferent shrug. ‘So, do you want to tell me what you’re doing here, Demetri? You didn’t come here just to pass the time of day. You said it was important.’

Demetri averted his eyes, concentrating instead on his fingers massaging one of the sofa cushions. ‘It is,’ he said flatly. Then he lifted his head again, giving her a look out of night-dark eyes, causing a shiver of apprehension to slide down her spine. ‘I want a divorce, Jane. Is that straight enough for you?’

CHAPTER TWO

NOW it was Jane’s turn to look away from his cold stare. Despite her best efforts, she was trembling, and she hoped like hell that he couldn’t see it.

It wasn’t a total shock to her, of course. For years after their separation she’d lived with the very real expectation that sooner or later Demetri was going to want his freedom. She was sure his mother would persuade him, if no one else. And she’d wanted it, too, in those days. But somehow, with the passage of time, she’d actually begun to believe that it was never going to happen.

‘You OK?’

Dammit, he had noticed. And he was coming across the room towards her. Jane had to get out of there, and fast, before he started feeling sorry for her. She didn’t think she could bear that.

‘Let me get dressed,’ she said, speaking without breathing, knowing that if she sucked in a gulp of air the sobs that were rising in her throat would choke her.

‘Janie…’

The name he used to call her when he was making love to her was almost her undoing. ‘Just give me a minute,’ she said and, opening the door into her bedroom, she closed it firmly behind her.

But once she was alone, she couldn’t prevent the storm of emotion that engulfed her. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and, with her nose running too, she groped her way across the room to the bathroom. Grabbing a handful of tissues from the box she kept there, she endeavoured to staunch the salty flow, sinking down onto the toilet seat and burying her face in her hands.

‘Agapita—’

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when he spoke. Dear God! Her head jerked up in disbelief. Demetri was standing in the bathroom doorway watching her and she knew she’d never felt so humiliated in her life.

‘Get out!’ she choked, struggling to get to her feet. ‘How—how dare you come in here? You have no right to invade my privacy like this.’

Demetri merely sighed and propped his shoulder against the frame of the door. Then he regarded her with disturbing gentleness. ‘I dare because I care about you,’ he said, his accent thickening with emotion. ‘Theos, Janie, how was I to know you’d react like this? I’d have thought you’d be glad to get me out of your life.’

Jane sniffed. ‘I am.’

‘It looks like it.’

‘Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Demetri. I’ve just flown halfway around the world and I’m exhausted.’ It was an effort but she managed a tight smile. ‘It was a shock. I don’t deny it. But I’m not crying because I’m—heartbroken. Far from it.’

Demetri didn’t look convinced. ‘So—what? You usually break down like this when you get back from a trip? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Don’t be even more of a jerk than you have to be,’ Jane retorted, struggling to regain a little of her composure. ‘OK. What do you want me to say, Demetri? That I’m—crushed? Desolated? That hearing the arrogant louse I married is going to inflict himself on some other poor female has devastated me?’ She managed a harsh laugh. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’