A Passionate Surrender

Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in tailored trousers, singlet top and jacket, she felt measurably better, and she caught up her shoulder bag and ran lightly down the stairs to the kitchen where Petros was preparing eggs Benedict and the smell of freshly brewed coffee was ambrosia.

‘Luc is in the dining-room. You will join him there.’ He spared her a warm smile. ‘I have made you tea.’

‘But I prefer—’

‘Tea. Caffeine is not recommended during pregnancy.’

Ana wrinkled her nose at him, feeling her spirits lighten a little. ‘Bossy, aren’t we?’ Hunger assailed her, and she took a slice of toast from the stacked rack Petros had just added to the breakfast trolley, nibbled on it, then filched a fresh strawberry and popped it into her mouth.

She curled both hands over the trolley handle. ‘Want me to take this through?’

‘Really, Ms Dimitriades,’ the man chastised with an aloofness that brought forth a smile. ‘Most definitely not.’

‘Don’t you think you could call me Ana?’ she cajoled, then added teasingly, ‘I’m almost young enough to be your daughter.’

He drew himself up to his full height. ‘You are the wife of my employer. I could not begin to be so familiar.’

A laugh bubbled up in her throat and escaped as a mischievous chuckle. ‘You call him Luc,’ she reminded, and met his level glance.

‘We have known each other a long time.’

‘So how many years do I have to wait before you accord me the honour of using my Christian name?’

‘Five years,’ he responded solemnly, skilfully transferring grilled bacon onto a heated platter and placing it on the trolley together with the eggs. ‘At least.’

‘In that case, I get to wheel the trolley.’

His mouth parted in silent protest, then he pursed his lips as he caught her cheeky grin, watching as she took care of the chore and leaving him to tidy the kitchen.

The informal dining-room was at the back of the house, overlooking the pool, and caught the morning sun.

Ana reached it in seconds and swept through the open door. ‘Breakfast…at your service.’

Luc was seated at the head of the table, the day’s newspaper spread out in front of him, a half-finished cup of coffee to one side.

His jacket hung over the back of his chair, on top of which lay his tie. A briefcase and laptop rested on the floor near by.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, cast the trolley a quizzical glance, then folded the newspaper.

‘How did you manage that?’

‘Feminine wiles and logical rationale.’ She shifted platters onto the table, added fresh coffee, tea, and toast, then she drew out a chair and sat down.

She poured herself tea, added milk, then helped herself to eggs and toast.

Heaven, she decided after the first mouthful. No one but Petros made eggs Benedict this good.

‘I imagine you’ll call your father and Rebekah this morning?’

‘Yes.’ She took a sip of tea, and felt her stomach settle. ‘Dad, as soon as I finish this.’ She indicated the plate with her fork. ‘Then I’ll go into the shop.’

‘Not to work.’

There was almost an edge of command apparent, and she paused in the process of transferring a portion of food to her mouth. ‘Of course, to work.’

‘There’s no need for you to work.’

‘Are we talking today specifically?’

‘At all.’ There was no mistaking the clarification.

‘Now that I’m pregnant?’ Her voice was quiet, too quiet.

‘I don’t see the necessity for you to be on your feet all day, put in long hours, and become overtired.’

She replaced her cutlery with care and pushed her plate aside. ‘Instead, you’d prefer me to join the social-luncheon set, shop a lot and rest each afternoon like a delicate swan?’

‘You can shift your interest in the shop to that of silent partner, and have Rebekah employ an assistant.’

‘No.’

‘I’m not giving you an option.’

His voice was silk-smooth with an edge of anger she chose to ignore.

‘Don’t try to manipulate me, Luc.’ Heat flared, turning her eyes into brilliant blue shards. ‘I won’t stand for it.’

‘Finish your breakfast.’

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She stood to her feet and tossed the napkin onto the table. ‘I have a few calls to make.’

He caught hold of her arm, halting her flight, and she had no illusions his grasp would tighten if she attempted to struggle.

‘Tell Rebekah to employ your replacement.’ Those who knew him well would have blanched at the silkiness in his tone, recognised the predatory stillness apparent…and quailed. ‘Or I will.’ He waited a beat. ‘Meanwhile, ensure your time at the shop is kept to a minimum.’

‘Go to hell.’

His gaze chilled. ‘Don’t push me too far.’

She ignored the urge to respond as he released her arm. Instead she chose dignified silence, and walked out onto the terrace and descended the few steps to the garden.

There, she extracted her cellphone and called her father, confirmed her return and suggested lunch, only to have it postponed due to a business meeting until the following day.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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