Pregnant By The Commanding Greek. Natalie Anderson
‘I already told you,’ he replied. ‘I like challenges.’
Surely he didn’t see her as a challenge?
But she was pleased somehow, that he didn’t dally with anyone and everyone who offered.
Leon picked up her journal from the counter and opened it again to look at the long columns of her lists. ‘You could write a list about whether or not to have dinner with me.’ He shook his head and snapped her book shut. ‘Or you could just trust your instincts.’
Ettie regarded him warily. Her very basic instincts were hell-bent on leading her into trouble and her instincts had let her down before. Leon Kariakis was pure temptation and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, she was determined to remain in control of herself.
But this was a dare and he didn’t scare her.
‘All right, then,’ she decided with spirit. ‘Only to tell you all about the Cavendish.’
‘Wonderful.’
He waited while she closed up the shop and set the security alarm. She grabbed her coat, but despite the chill in the air she didn’t put it on. The thing was ancient and the zip was broken and she didn’t want him seeing how worn it was.
‘What do you usually have for dinner?’ he asked as they walked along the crowded footpath.
Usually on the nights she’d worked late she grabbed a chocolate bar from the tube station on the way home or didn’t bother. Tonight had been going to be a not-bother night. But she wasn’t about to admit that. ‘I might cook a quick stir-fry.’
‘But if you were to dine out?’
She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. Truth? She never dined out.
He sent her a sideways look. ‘I know a good place.’
‘I thought you were new to the area and didn’t know any of the cool places.’ She couldn’t help smiling.
‘I asked one of the concierges at my apartment building,’ he replied smoothly. ‘They offer a superb service.’
She rolled her eyes and kept pace with him along the busy footpath. A couple of corners later he paused outside a beautiful brick mansion.
She shook her head at him. ‘No chance. You have to have a booking.’
He shrugged as if he wasn’t fazed. ‘We won’t take up much space.’
It was a celebrity chef’s place—the kind you had to make a reservation for six months in advance, which was actually a good thing, as it then gave you the time to save the small fortune you needed just to enjoy an appetiser, let alone sample the full menu. Ettie made bookings all the time on behalf of her Cavendish residents.
But Leon simply walked up to the door, which the discreet security guard immediately opened. The maître d’ swept towards them, his wide gaze fixed firmly on Leon and his smile welcoming and wide. Leon didn’t even need to utter a word.
‘May I have five minutes, sir, if you’d like a drink first?’
‘Thank you,’ Leon answered with the ease of one born to privilege. ‘Champagne?’ He turned to Ettie.
‘Lemonade,’ she replied firmly and caught a gleam of pure amusement in his eyes.
‘Definitely not a risk-taker,’ he murmured.
‘Fine, then,’ she breathed. ‘Champagne.’
One glass wouldn’t do any harm.
They’d barely been given their drinks when the maître d’ reappeared to lead them through the busy dining room. Ettie tried not to stare. Several faces were familiar to her but not through personal acquaintance. These were publicly led lives—an actress, a politician. Possibly a minor royal? They stopped at a secluded table in an alcove near the rear of the restaurant. It was quieter than the main dining room, more intimate and far more private.
‘You like it?’ Leon asked as she took her seat.
‘You know the owner?’ She hazarded a guess as she tried not to stare at the gleaming lighting and sumptuous décor, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. The place was amazing. ‘This is really kind of you.’
‘No, I’m not really kind,’ he corrected bluntly. ‘This is pure self-interest. I get a pretty companion for dinner to take my mind off my misery.’
‘Misery?’ She quirked an eyebrow while battling the warmth she felt at his compliment. He didn’t really mean it. He was just adding ‘charming’ to his repertoire, which was very unfair of him. ‘Because your life’s so terrible?’ Curious, she watched him keenly for his answer.
But he turned the conversation back on her. ‘Was it really going to be a stir-fry?’
‘No,’ she admitted with a chuckle. ‘I hate cooking. Generally I exist on grilled cheese sandwiches.’
‘There’s a place in the world for a good grilled cheese sandwich.’ He nodded. ‘But not here.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘I suggest we leave it to the experts.’ He nodded at the maître d’, who, with a slight bow, left for the kitchen. ‘So, why are you working such intense hours?’ Leon sipped his champagne. ‘Do we not pay you enough to live on?’
She too took a sip and savoured the fizz of bubbles before replying. ‘I’m saving.’
‘For travel? A house?’
She laughed and shook her head. Was she really here to entertain him and take his mind off whatever torments he thought he had? ‘I’ve a younger sister who aspires to go to university.’
‘It’s just the two of you?’
She nodded and took another sip.
‘How old is she?’ His gaze narrowed.
‘Seventeen. She’s away at boarding school up north.’
‘You support her financially?’
‘She’s on a partial scholarship.’
‘And you pay the rest?’ His mouth tightened. ‘But you’re not that far out of school yourself.’
‘I’m twenty-three, so a few years out. It’s her last year, so it really counts.’
‘And she’s obviously talented.’
‘Top of her school.’ Ettie beamed with unashamed pride. ‘She’s amazing. She wants to study medicine. So.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘A lot of study.’ And a lot of tuition and living fees. But Ophelia was worth it and she’d do anything to see her achieve her dreams.
‘What happened to your parents?’
‘Twenty questions, huh?’ She sent him a look but answered anyway. ‘My father was never around. My mother passed away a couple of years ago.’
‘That must have been hard.’
It had been but she didn’t want to dwell on her mother’s slow decline with cancer. Not tonight. Not here. She smiled softly. ‘We’ve survived.’
She didn’t tell him about the huge mistake that she’d made not long after her mother’s death either. The total car crash that had been her love life.
‘What’s your sister’s name?’
‘Ophelia.’
‘Antoinette and Ophelia,’ he said quietly. ‘But you’re “Ettie”?’
‘Yes, fingers crossed neither of us suffers the delusions or disappointment of our namesakes.’ She sat back as the waiter appeared and placed dishes on the table. ‘My mother was a romantic.’ Not that she’d had any kind of romantic luck. Like