Pregnant By The Commanding Greek. Natalie Anderson
asked a customer if she needed help. He stared into the store, listening through the open door. Either Antoinette Roberts had a doppelgänger, or she’d come straight here after her shift at Cavendish and was now helping some woman choose a set of thank-you cards.
He walked in, quickly taking in the high-end stationery supplies the shop was stocked with. A couple of minutes later the female customer walked past him on her way out carrying a beautifully wrapped parcel and a satisfied smile on her face.
Leon walked up to the woman behind the counter. ‘Ms Roberts?’
It was definitely her. And he definitely couldn’t stop staring. Gone was the utilitarian, practical Cavendish concierge uniform and now she was in a lithe little black dress. He could finally see something of her legs and, just as he’d suspected, they were smooth, shapely and gorgeous. He’d known that if she could make those black trousers look sexy, she’d be dynamite in a dress. This one had a slightly scooped neckline, which meant there wasn’t anywhere near enough cleavage, but there was skin—creamy, silken-looking skin and the suggestion of sweet curves beneath the fabric. And her glorious hair was freed from that bouncing mess of a ponytail and now cascaded in glossy wild waves down her back. It looked lush, as if it’d be soft to touch and he’d bind it around his wrists—
‘Oh.’ A blush flooded her smooth cheeks and she licked her lips. ‘Mr Kariakis?’ Then her wide-eyed gaze narrowed. ‘You left Toby alone?’
The beseeching reproach in her eyes made him feel guilty even when he shouldn’t. ‘You know he ate a good dinner; now he’s fast asleep. He’s not missing me.’
The inward tension he’d been trying to settle tightened again. He’d needed to get out of that soulless apartment. He’d wanted to exorcise the ghost of her standing there, challenging him with that sassy look in her eyes as she’d flicked his stupid pen back at him. He’d been hopelessly distracted by the memory—but he was thrown back into that whirling web of desire again now.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked irritably.
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ Her tone cooled to match his.
His tension spiked, he released it on her insane workload. ‘You’ve worked all day already.’
She stiffened. ‘Lots of people work more than one job. I’m sure you work long hours too.’
But there was a hint of tiredness in the backs of her eyes.
‘You’re tired.’ He refused to believe she wanted to work fourteen or more hours a day.
‘Oh, no,’ she answered airily. ‘Actually as soon as I’m done here, I’m going clubbing.’
‘Are you?’ He fired with her challenge. ‘Excellent. Take me with you—I’m new to town and don’t know all the cool places.’
A disconcerted expression crossed her face and he inwardly laughed. He couldn’t lie to himself any more. His offer to care for the dog was based in selfish motivation: to see more of Antoinette. He wanted her in his bed. Ideally tonight. It had hit in that first second—lust at first sight. Lust that was only increasing the longer he spent in her company. Perhaps if he satisfied the urge, it’d disappear as swiftly as it had come.
And her reaction to him? He could tempt her.
‘I…’ She glanced at her watch and that flush across her delicate, high cheekbones built.
It was five minutes until closing and he wasn’t planning on leaving. ‘You like working here?’
He made conversation to ease her embarrassment. Despite those delicious feisty flashes, she displayed hints of shyness. He found the combination unbelievably tantalising.
‘It’s nice.’ She nodded.
He tensed. ‘Nicer than Cavendish?’
Was she thinking of leaving her concierge job? In some ways that would be good—it would free them of any messiness, given their positions there.
‘It’s quieter than Cavendish, but I don’t build the same relationship with my customers as I do there. I only work the late nights here.’ She glanced at the counter display. ‘It’s beautiful stationery.’
‘That’s why you work here—because you like the product?’
A bubble of laughter burst from her shimmering lips. ‘No, if I just liked the product, I’d buy it.’
‘So it’s money.’ He frowned, unhappy at the thought that she was forced to work two jobs. ‘We don’t pay you enough.’
A wary expression crossed her face. ‘It’s fine. I have commitments. Most of us do, right?’
He shouldn’t pry further but he couldn’t help watching intently, waiting to see if she’d say more. Her clear eyes dimmed with faint shadows.
‘Saving,’ she muttered, unable to help herself.
Unusually for him, his curiosity deepened. But it wasn’t his business. He had no right to press further. ‘Good for you.’
She nodded awkwardly. ‘So did you want anything in particular?’
He bit back the blunt answer of what he particularly wanted and made himself breathe first. ‘I wanted to see if it was really you.’
‘Well.’ That impish smile flashed on her lips, flicking away the shadows in her eyes. ‘It is.’
‘In another uniform.’ He couldn’t help noticing that damned demure neckline again.
‘Black again.’ She bit her lip as she quickly glanced down as if afraid she’d spilled something. ‘Always ready for a funeral, that’s me,’ she quipped. ‘But it’s discreet. Unobtrusive.’
‘I would never describe you as unobtrusive,’ he muttered quietly.
She’d burst into his life in a blaze of passion and fury.
She met his gaze, silently questioning just how he’d describe her. Unspoken awareness flickered between them, like a gravitational pull.
Her blush returned full force, a ruby tide over her creamy complexion. ‘I should get back to work. It’s almost time to close.’
She was flustered again. He was fascinated by her unconscious dance—she advanced closer with those challenges, then retreated in shyness. He glanced around the shop, pleased to discover it had emptied completely of other customers. ‘Show me the biggest seller.’
‘Seriously?’ The droll scepticism on her face was a picture.
Entertained by her expressiveness, he leaned closer. ‘Why not? You don’t think I can afford it?’
She sent him another look. ‘Well, I know you don’t need a new pen.’ She lifted an item from the counter and met his gaze with a prim, shop-girl pose. ‘But we have an exquisite range of journals.’
‘Exquisite,’ he echoed dryly.
‘Incredibly so,’ she emphasised, refusing to acknowledge his soft sarcasm.
‘What is it about girls and diaries?’ He reached out and traced the smooth leather cover with his finger. ‘Do you pour out your soul into one of these every night?’
‘What if I do?’ She lifted her chin in that irresistibly defiant gesture.
‘Would it make for fascinating reading?’ He was appallingly curious now. For the first time intrigued enough to want to know all a woman’s thoughts, all her wishes, every last secret and deepest desire.
‘Sadly, no. I only keep lists in mine.’ She reached across the counter and flipped an open book around to show him. ‘See?’
‘This is yours?’ His pulse rate lifted.
‘I work on it in quiet moments,’ she said. ‘I have permission from my