The Stephanides Pregnancy

‘Everything in order, sir?’ she asked.

‘There’s no still water in the fridge,’ he informed her.

And there she had been thinking he would be dazzled by the array of soft drinks available to him! He was supposed to be very rich, she reminded herself, and the rich were reputed to be picky about little details. There was the proof. His refined taste buds could not tolerate sparkling in place of still water. She pulled off the road at the first garage and was in the act of climbing out when he buzzed down the glass partition dividing them. ‘Why have we stopped?’ he demanded.

Betsy spun back in surprise and leant back into the limo to address him. ‘You wanted still mineral water. My boss said your every wish should be my command…’

‘I wish…’ Cristos Stephanides murmured, smooth and soft as velvet.

Staring at him, she was entrapped by his sheer animal magnetism and exotic dark good looks. His luxuriant hair looked very dark against the pale backdrop of the leather head restraint. His bronzed skin was stretched taut over hard masculine cheekbones, an arrogant nose and a beautifully chiselled wide, sensual mouth. With an immense effort, she broke free of the scorching dark golden eyes that were making her tummy flip like a schoolgirl’s.

She hurried into the garage shop. Her legs felt like cotton-wool supports. She was in a daze. So he was flirting a little—so what was new? Some guys thought you expected it. Some guys flirted with every woman they met. I wish he had said. Why was she suddenly acting and thinking like a ditzy teenager? He made her feel like one. She blinked in bemusement as she turned away from the checkout.

His senior bodyguard, a giant with shoulders the size of tree trunks, barred her passage. ‘Who gave you permission to stop the limo without warning us?’ he asked in an angry hiss. ‘You have left Mr Stephanides in an unlocked vehicle without protection. How could you be so foolish?’

Betsy was astonished by the force of that verbal attack. ‘Nobody told me I needed permission or that I should warn you—’

‘How else can we do our job? Don’t deviate from the agreed route again,’ he admonished.

Pale with angry discomfiture, Betsy got back into the car. She passed the mineral water into the rear seat without turning her head and ignited the engine when she heard her passenger speak. She was annoyed at a telling off that she considered unjust. She drove people to functions like weddings and balls and had only once dealt with a minor celebrity. Imperial Limousines was a small firm that did not have a VIP client list. She was not accustomed to dealing with wealthy international businessmen and had not been trained to handle complex security requirements. The sooner she delivered him to his fancy country estate, the happier she would be.

‘What happened back there?’ Cristos enquired.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Betsy questioned in turn, face and voice deadpan.

‘One of my bodyguards approached you…’ Dolius, the head of his security team, whose abrasive personality would never fit him for a diplomatic career. Cristos had watched her green eyes flare with anger while her chin had tilted at a very feminine wounded but stubborn angle. He had been startled by his own urge to leap out of the car and tell Dolius to pick on someone his own size and sex if he wanted a fight.

‘Oh, that…yes, he was just wondering why I’d pulled off the road,’ she advanced with studied lightness.

Dolius had come down on her like a ton of bricks for that impulse, Cristos translated. ‘He upset you.’

‘No, of course he didn’t!’ No way was Betsy about to tell tales on another employee whom she had to deal with.

Cristos was furious that she was lying to him. That she was upset was painfully obvious. She was no good at hiding her feelings. She was also driving very, very slowly and making all kinds of restless, unnecessary adjustments to various switches and dials. He was even less pleased when she closed the partition.

Betsy was trying not to think about what a truly horrible week she had had. She had ignored her ESP when it came to Joe Tyler and she had paid the price. A cold shiver of remembrance ran through her. At the end of the first date he had parked the car down an entry and tried to treat her like some hooker he had picked up off the street. She had had to fight him off and he had been very abusive. It had been a seriously scary experience. In the light of that ordeal, she could only marvel at her own adolescent response to Cristos Stephanides. As she hadn’t been remotely attracted to Joe, she should never have encouraged him. Cristos Stephanides? He was as safe a fantasy as a poster on a bedroom wall, she decided, and she accelerated down the motorway.

Cristos had never been so comprehensively ignored by a woman. Having no intention of opening a conversation with the back of her head, he opted for the direct approach. He lifted the car phone to communicate with her. ‘Take the next turn off. There’s a hotel. We’ll stop there for a break.’

‘Is this a scheduled stop?’ Betsy enquired.

‘I don’t have a schedule this weekend. I’m not working,’ Cristos spelt out.

Betsy tried not to smile at the thought of the mayhem that had to be breaking out in the bodyguards’ car when the limo was seen to deviate yet again from the agreed route. But she resisted any urge to glance into the back seat and catch another glimpse of her passenger. At twenty-five years of age, she was too old to be daydreaming like a schoolgirl over a guy she knew nothing about.

Her footsteps crunching over the gravel outside the gracious country hotel, she pulled open the passenger door.

‘I hate being locked in a car for hours on end,’ Cristos imparted in his rich, dark drawl. ‘We’ll have coffee.’

She forgot her embargo on looking at him and tipped her head back to encounter brilliant dark golden eyes fringed by black spiky lashes. ‘Thank you, sir…but I’ll stay with the limo.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘That wasn’t a request…it was an order.’

Off-balanced by that unhesitating contradiction, she stared at him for a split second too long and then hurriedly dropped her head, her colour fluctuating. Maybe he was keen to ensure that his driver remained alert by taking an adequate break. Fair enough. She locked the car and followed in his arrogant wake. His head bodyguard strode towards them. Cristos Stephanides addressed him in what she assumed to be his own language. Just a handful of brief, softly spoken words and the security man turned pale and backed off with what might have been a hasty apology.

Indoors, engulfed in the ticking-clock silence of the kind of luxury establishment set up to create the atmosphere of a private country house, she was hugely uncomfortable. But it made no impression whatsoever on her companion. He addressed the receptionist with the calm expectancy of a male who had been waited on hand and foot from the day of his birth.

‘Sit with me…’ With a lean brown hand he indicated an armchair beside the magnificent marble fire-place.

Betsy stared fixedly into the burning embers of the welcoming fire. ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate, sir.’

‘Allow me to decide what’s appropriate.’

‘But not what I do with my free time. If this is an official break,’ Betsy responded with flat clarity, ‘I’m entitled to choose how I spend it.’

‘Obviously the whip and chair approach is unwise with a woman of your strength of character,’ Cristos Stephanides conceded lazily. ‘I ask you in all humility…please join me for coffee.’

Involuntary amusement tugged at Betsy. In all humility? Was he serious? She almost laughed out loud. He had the extreme poise and arrogant assurance of a male who had never known what humility was. Why was he even making the invitation? What was in it for him?

‘Why?’ she asked baldly, tipping her head back, eyes as bright as emerald chips gleaming with suspicion.

Theos mou, why was she fighting him? Back at the car park in that very first visual exchange, Cristos had recognised her desire. She had not been able to hide the feverish longing that he had seen on so many female faces since he’d been a teenager. But he could not recall when he had last had to make so much effort. She was not encouraging him. She was making everything difficult. He had got lazy, he acknowledged. His women always did most of the running, but now he was dealing with a female who looked as if she would bolt at the first ill-chosen word or move.

‘I feel like company,’ he murmured with deliberate casualness, hitching back his powerful personality and swallowing the smarter comments hovering on the tip of his tongue.

Betsy was bemused. A client had never tried to cross the boundaries with her before. She saw no reason why he should be any different. Her uniform was old-fashioned and unflattering. In the course of her working day few men had given her a second glance.

‘Are you married?’ Cristos asked abruptly, belatedly wondering if there was a reason for her surprising hesitance. ‘Living with someone?’

‘No…but—’

Cristos curved a confident hand to her spine and urged her down onto the richly upholstered sofa. ‘Then join me.’

Unyielding as a stone pillar, she sank down. He took her taut silence in his stride and filled it with the story of a society wedding he had recently attended at the hotel. He was very amusing. She sat there enthralled, unable to take her eyes from his lean, devastating features. Indeed the excuse to watch him was a conscious pleasure and a release from the deprivation of not being able to look. Everything about him fascinated her.

She drank her coffee without tasting it. At his request she took her cap off and coloured at the intensity of his scrutiny. She answered his few questions. She was twenty-five, single, had worked at Imperial for three years, had always wanted to work with cars. That he was not that interested in her answers was not something she judged him on for she initially assumed he was merely making polite conversation. Slowly, very slowly, for she had always held a very modest opinion of her own looks, she realised that Cristos Stephanides actually appeared to be attracted to her and was seeking a response.

At the point where she could no longer mistake his motives and without any hesitation whatsoever, Betsy lifted her cap, replaced it on her head and rose to her feet. ‘I’m your driver,’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m not interested in anything else.’

In fierce disconcertion at that sudden bold assurance, Cristos sprang upright, brilliant dark eyes cool as black ice. ‘That’s a lie.’

Mortified colour stained her fair skin at that direct contradiction but Betsy still lifted her chin. ‘I can admire a painting without wanting to buy it—’

‘This situation may be unconventional—’

‘There isn’t a situation and if there were, it would be tacky.’ Betsy was infuriated by his attempt to excuse his behaviour. ‘This isn’t a social occasion and I wouldn’t risk my job for you. I drive limos for a living and you do whatever you do to afford to hire people like me…and that’s it—’

‘I’m not a snob—’

‘No?’ A delicate auburn brow rose, questioning that assertion, green eyes scornful and furious. ‘But then you don’t need to be. You weren’t asking me out on a date, were you? The only invite I was going to get was a sleazy sexual one. Well, no, thank you!’

Cristos wanted to rip the cap off her again and…? His lean brown hands coiled into savage fists. And then do all the sleazy sexual stuff until she was on her knees with gratitude that he had honoured her with his interest. Her attack on him was out of all proportion to anything he had said or done and he was outraged that she had chosen to spring such a scene on him in a public place where he could not freely respond. Across the room, Dolius and his second-in-command were studiously avoiding looking anywhere near him, which told Cristos that they had not missed a single second of the drama. Seething with injured pride and a fierce sense of injustice, Cristos Stephanides watched Betsy Mitchell stalk out of the hotel.

What a smooth, calculating, utterly ruthless bastard, Betsy thought tempestuously, slamming her way into the driver’s seat of the limo and still shaking with fury. Had he really believed that he could sweet-talk her into going upstairs to a hotel room with him? For when he’d insisted she join him for coffee that had surely been his intent! Did she look stupid enough to make a mistake of that magnitude? Or so cheap and easy he had assumed she would be a pushover? Had he planned to reward her with an extra large tip? Or his magnificent body? When she saw him approaching in the wing mirror, she sat tight.

Hard jaw line at a stubborn angle, Cristos refused to open the door for himself. He stood there challenging her and, had it been necessary, he would have continued to stand there through thunder, lightning and a force-ten gale to make his point. Clumsy with resentful haste, Betsy finally scrambled out and wrenched open the passenger door for him.

‘Thank you,’ Cristos breathed, smooth as glass.

She did not believe that she had ever hated another human being so much as she did him at that instant. She drove for an hour with a fierce concentration that shut out every thought. The limo left the motorway for quiet country roads and speed was no longer possible. With scant warning a tractor pulled out of a lane. As the slow vehicle forced a passage out in front of the bodyguards’ car Betsy almost smiled at the thought of the annoyance it would cause.

The partition between driver and passenger buzzed down. ‘For the record,’ Cristos Stephanides breathed with sardonic bite, ‘I’m not into sleazy sex.’

‘If you want an argument, come back and see me when I’m no longer working for you and forced to be polite,’ Betsy snapped.

‘Back at the hotel…that was you being polite?’ Cristos stressed in a derisive tone of wonderment that made her want to stop the limo, leap into the back seat and beat him up.

‘You were out of line,’ Betsy snapped at him furiously. ‘What sort of a guy tries to pull his chauffeur?’

‘One who has just become a convert to total snobbery,’ Cristos spelt out with maddening assurance.

It was at that point that Betsy saw a male figure crouched down by the side of the road just ahead. That was the only warning she had before something that gleamed metallic and grey in the sunlight was thrown at the car. The wheels ran over it. A tyre blew out and then another, sending the powerful vehicle out of her control into a dangerous swerve. The limo hit the ditch with a thunderous jolt that rattled every bone in her body. Almost simultaneously the door beside her was yanked noisily open.

In disbelief, Betsy saw Joe Tyler peering in at her and momentarily wondered if she was coming round after having been knocked out, for she could not understand how otherwise he could have been there on the spot. ‘Joe…?’ she framed uncertainly, still reeling from the impact of the crash.

‘Have a nice sleep, Betsy.’

Too late she noticed that he had what looked like a gun clutched in his hand. She did not even have time to panic. A tingling pain hit her midriff and she gasped because without warning her limbs seemed to turn to jelly. Joe thrust her aside with no more care than he would have accorded a sack. Just before she passed out she heard him speak again, but what he said made little sense to her.

‘Imagine a bloke like you fancying my girlfriend…well, you both deserve a surprise!’

The black claustrophobic cloud of oblivion rolled in over Betsy and her body slumped down on the seat. Within seconds her passenger was in the same condition.

CHAPTER TWO

CRISTOS recovered consciousness first.

Instantly he came alert and defied any awareness of physical discomfort to spring off the bed on which he had been lying. His keen dark eyes took on a dazed aspect as he struggled to get a handle on his unfamiliar surroundings. He studied the unconscious woman still on the bed with scorching intensity. The ubiquitous cap had gone and straying strands of bright Titian hair feathered her brow. Her skin was white as snow. Like Mary’s little lamb in the nursery rhyme? A harsh laugh escaped Cristos but there was nothing of humour in it.

What a very dangerous distraction Betsy Mitchell had proved to be! There was nothing more galling to Cristos than the awareness that he had allowed a woman to lead him into a prearranged trap. It was poetic justice however that she had been double crossed by her partners in crime and abandoned to the tender mercies of their victim. No doubt she would learn the hard way that Cristos would choose death over victimhood any day.

Fierce thirst brought Betsy out of her stupor. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew she felt dreadful. Her limbs felt as heavy as leaden weights. She was also incredibly hot and it was that awareness that first roused her to register that something was wrong. She was wearing clothes and she never lay down fully dressed. In the same moment as she lifted her lashes on an unfamiliar room, she remembered Joe attacking her. She pressed a hand to her midriff, felt a slight soreness there and tore off her uniform jacket to lift her shirt and touch the tiny red puncture wound. A sense of complete unbelief enveloped her. He must have shot her with some sort of tranquilliser dart because she had passed out. But why would Joe have done such a thing? Cristos! Cristos Stephanides. Where on earth was he?

In the grip of fear and horror that Joe was some kind of maniac who had kidnapped her because she had rejected him, Betsy scrambled upright. She was only wearing one shoe and there was no sign of the missing one. Kicking off the one that remained, she raced out of the bedroom and headed straight for the wide open door several feet beyond.

In that doorway, Betsy came to a breathless halt. She blinked. Her lower lip parted company from the upper in an inelegant expression of astonishment. Barely a hundred feet away a shimmering sea as crystal-blue as the sky above was washing a sandy beach. The beauty of the scene struck her as incongruous and she thought she had to be hallucinating. When she had lost control of the limo, it had been raining. It had been a typical English spring day: sunny and damp in turns with a breeze thrown in for good measure. But the heat of the golden sun above seemed Mediterranean.

Cristos strode into view from behind the rocks girding the northern edge of the beach. Her tummy flipped. Intense relief filled her. He was safe and, whether it was logical or not, his presence made her feel less afraid. As he drew closer she charted the changes in his once immaculate appearance. He had doffed his suit jacket and tie. A pearl-grey shirt open at his brown throat outlined his broad shoulders. His black hair was tousled and a heavy growth of dark stubble outlined his stubborn jaw line and wide, sensual mouth. He still looked spectacular. Her tummy performed another somersault. His hardcore sexuality had a powerful charge.

Seeing her, Cristos came to a halt. Glittering dark eyes zeroed in on her, his lean, handsome features clenching into formidable stillness. ‘Where are we?’ he asked roughly.

Her brow furrowed, for she could not understand why he should ask her that question in a tone that implied that she would have that information at her fingertips. ‘I don’t know…do you?’

‘How the hell would I know? Don’t play dumb with me,’ Cristos warned her.

Her spine stiff with tension and forgetting that she was not wearing shoes, Betsy moved out onto the sun-warmed path. The surface was uncomfortably hot for soles encased only in nylon tights and she hurried into the sparse shade thrown by the gnarled tree that grew at the front of the house. ‘Play dumb? I don’t understand—’

‘I know that you were involved in plotting my kidnapping—’

‘You know…what?’

‘You must’ve been shattered to wake up here and realise that your fellow conspirators had decided to ditch you—’

‘My fellow conspirators? What on earth are you accusing me of?’ Betsy fired back at him in frank bewilderment.

‘You greeted the gorilla who shot us both full of knock-out drugs by name.’

Her brain, she discovered in frustration, was very reluctant to process thoughts with anything like its usual efficiency. Gorilla? Did he mean Joe? Of course Joe was involved in the kidnapping because he had attacked them both. ‘Joe works for Imperial Limousines…I didn’t appreciate what was happening when he first opened the car door—’

‘You said his name quite happily,’ Cristos Stephanides countered.

‘I was in shock…I hadn’t had enough time to appreciate that the crash hadn’t been an accident.’ She lifted an unsteady hand to her brow, which was damp as much with stress as with the unfamiliar heat. She pulled out the clip anchoring her hair and let it fall, massaging the back of her neck where the clip had left a tender spot. ‘That was a stinger that was hurled in front of the car to puncture the tyres and force us to a stop, wasn’t it?’

Cristos surveyed her with brooding intensity. ‘If you’re trying to convince me that you’re innocent of any involvement, you’re wasting your breath. You are also making me angry—’

Her anxiety growing, Betsy gazed back at him. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? But you can’t decide that I’m a criminal just because I know Joe—’

‘I don’t think I’m quite that simplistic.’ Cristos dealt her a derisive look.

‘How could I not know him when he works in the same place?’

‘Oh, I think the connection between you and Joe was a touch more intimate than that,’ Cristos murmured with scathing softness.

Betsy was exceedingly reluctant to accept that he might be implying a certain fact that she was in no hurry to tell him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He referred to you as his girlfriend.’

The guilty colour ran up hot beneath her skin. Too late she recalled Joe making some crack in that line before she’d lost consciousness. ‘I went out with him once…OK?’

‘No, it’s not OK. Nothing about this situation is OK.’ His lean, hard-boned face was grim. ‘You’re involved in this filthy business right up to your throat—’

‘Look, if you dated a serial killer once, would you be responsible for her crimes?’ Betsy threw at him. He was being so unfair to her. She was ashamed and embarrassed that she had ever gone out with someone of Joe’s evident propensities. But surely nothing she had said or done could possibly have contributed to the current situation?

‘I haven’t got time for this nonsense…’ Cristos strode forward and closed lean hands to her forearms. ‘I’ve been kidnapped. My life is at risk. I have no plans to sit around on a deserted island in the middle of an ocean waiting for the kidnappers’ next move—’

‘We’re on an island?’ Betsy interrupted in dismay, wincing a little at the strength of those long, tensile fingers, which were biting just a tad uncomfortably into her arms.

She had always considered herself to be a fair height. However, Cristos Stephanides had to be around six feet four inches tall. He towered over her to such an extent that she felt tiny. Indeed she was beginning to feel actively intimidated by him. He was very strong and he was very angry and he was not listening to her. Could she blame him for that? He had been kidnapped. His life probably was at risk. Whether she liked it or not she could understand why he should be highly suspicious of a woman who appeared to have been on terms of familiarity with one of his kidnappers.

‘Where is this island?’ Cristos demanded harshly. ‘I need to know everything that you know so that I can work out what’s coming next!’

‘But I don’t know anything…’ In a sudden movement that took him by surprise, Betsy tore herself free and backed hurriedly away from him. ‘You’ve got to believe me about that—’

Unafraid to turn up the pressure, Cristos advanced. ‘I don’t. You were the bait, and very effective bait. I went for it—’

Her slender length rigid, Betsy slowly increased the distance between them with quiet, cautious steps. Her nervous antenna was on a high state of alert. After all, what did she know about Cristos Stephanides and how violent he might be in such circumstances? He believed she had conspired with his kidnappers and might feel that his need for information was justification for getting rough. She found it bitterly ironic that just ten days earlier she would have stood her ground against Cristos, blithely confident that she could look after herself and that most men were essentially decent. It was Joe Tyler who had taught her to fear masculine strength. He had held her against her will long enough to teach her to be scared and had for ever stolen her peace of mind in male company.