The Pregnant Mistress

“Such anger, Miss Brewster. Such hostility. Could it possibly be a disguise for your real feelings about what happened that night?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Anger is a safer emotion than embarrassment.”

Sam flushed. Maybe he was right, but she’d choke before she admitted it. “You mean, it’s safer than bad judgment. If I hadn’t had that caparhinia—”

“Imagine that. A reserved spinster with a drinking problem.” Demetrios folded his arms. “Your brother-in-law would be fascinated to hear it.”

“I don’t have a problem. I was tired. And surely you don’t expect me to believe Nick described me as a reserved spinster!”

“No. Certainly not. Rafe said that. Nicholas merely said that he had a sister-in-law who was an excellent translator.” He smiled coldly. “I had no reason to think they were describing the woman who’d promised everything and delivered nothing that night in Brazil.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Karas.”

Demetrios took her elbow, deftly maneuvered her into the booth and slid in beside her.

“Your brothers-in-law see you as an intelligent, honorable woman leading a lonely existence. By the time they finished describing you, I pictured a stick in a tweed suit.”

“I am intelligent and honorable,” Sam said, wincing for having said something so nonsensical. “I am certainly not lonely. And if you think of women as stereotypes, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“I had to lie to Nicholas—to my good friend—to protect your, ah, honor.”

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