His Pregnancy Ultimatum. Helen Bianchin
It was a polite acknowledgement, nothing more.
‘My elder son, Nikolos.’
He turned, and she felt as if her heart suddenly ceased beating.
No. The silent cry rose up from the depths of her soul. It couldn’t possibly be…
There had to be a mistake. How could Cris’ brother and the man with whom she’d spent a wild night of unbridled sex be one and the same?
Yet his identity was beyond doubt. His height and breadth of shoulder were achingly familiar. So too were his broad-sculpted facial features, the strong jaw, dark eyes, and a mouth that was to die for.
All it took was one look, and her bones began to melt.
Dear heaven…just thinking about what they’d shared almost brought her undone.
He knew. It was there in the depths of his eyes, the sensual curve of his mouth…an instant recognition that appeared fleetingly as he moved forward to greet her.
She wanted to obey an instinct to turn and run, and it was only courage that forced her to remain.
‘Mia.’
Her name on his lips sent the blood surging through her veins, heating her body to fever pitch, and it was all she could do to utter a brief acknowledgement.
Did he recognise her discomfort? Worse, did anyone else in the room sense it?
She wanted to rage against fate for being so unkind. It was bad enough accepting she’d discarded every moral she’d held dear for all of her adult years. Difficult to condone it had happened with a stranger. Discovering she was pregnant went right off the Richter scale.
Yet this…this was her worst nightmare.
CHAPTER TWO
MIA tried for calm politeness, and held the instinctive feeling she failed miserably.
‘Nikolos.’ His name on her lips sounded strange, even to her own ears, and she dismissed the inclination to close her eyes, then open them again in the hope she was locked into some nightmarish dream.
In the name of heaven, get a grip. In the list of awkward situations, this took top place in her book. But doubtless not in his.
In his late thirties, Nikolos Karedes bore the air of a seasoned sophisticate, well-versed in every social nicety.
Yet she’d caught a glimpse of the man beneath that façade…someone who’d destroyed her previously held defences with galling ease. Worse, she’d allowed him to.
As if she’d had a choice, she reflected wryly, aware of the intervention of a divine power over which she’d had no control.
Had it been the same for him? That instinctive knowledge they were twin halves of a soul? Or was it merely fanciful thinking on her part?
The latter, she perceived with rueful acceptance. Without a doubt.
So her name was Mia…Nikolos perceived. The petite sable-haired young woman who’d managed to get beneath his skin in a way no other woman had. The thought, taste of her had driven him mad with longing since that unforgettable night they’d spent together twelve weeks ago. She was an itch he couldn’t scratch…heat and light and passion, and so much more.
Did she have any idea how he’d felt when he’d woken and found her gone?
Or the steps he’d taken in subsequent days and weeks to try to discover who she was? Each avenue he’d explored had brought no result. It was as if she’d appeared out of nowhere, only to disappear.
He’d wanted to wring her neck…dammit, his own, for not anchoring her close to him in sleep so that her slightest move would have brought him awake.
There were occasions when he wondered if he’d dreamed the entire night, her…yet he retained a vivid memory of her scent, the clean, fresh smell of her hair, the silky smoothness of her skin beneath his hands, his mouth.
As to her response…the tentative surprise, the burgeoning sensuality beneath his touch, her generosity in giving herself up to him so completely… It had proven a powerful aphrodisiac that had changed want to need through the night, and seeded an emotion he hadn’t cared to define.
Mia glimpsed the momentary darkness evident in his dark, almost black eyes. The faint edge of mockery, and something else she was unable to determine. Anger? Why anger, for heaven’s sake?
‘Please take a seat.’ Sofia indicated a chair close by, and Mia sank into it with a feeling of relief.
‘What can we offer you to drink?’
Something strong to settle the wild tango in which her nerves were indulging would be great…except alcohol in any form was a no-no. ‘Thank you. A soda,’ she indicated. ‘Or mineral water.’
Mia was acutely aware of Cris’ interested gaze, and that of his grandmother. Sofia seemed intent on acting the gracious hostess. As to Nikolos…his part in this wretched tableau was something at which she could only hazard a guess.
What had held the portent of being a difficult evening had taken a shift for the worse.
How long before she could leave? Two hours, three?
Mia accepted a frosted glass from the proffered tray.
‘Cris has spoken very highly of you.’
She could do polite conversation. ‘We share a few classes at university.’
‘How old are you?’ Angelena Karedes demanded, and earned Sofia’s chiding protest.
‘Please. Mia is a guest.’
Oh, hell, could the evening get any worse? ‘Twenty-seven.’ She waited a beat. ‘Would you like to check my driver’s licence?’
The old lady’s eyes gleamed. ‘Sassy. I like that.’ The gaze didn’t shift. ‘What do you see in my nineteen-year-old grandson?’
Mia’s chin tilted slightly. ‘A friend.’
‘Hmm.’
One word, that wasn’t really a word at all, yet it conveyed a wealth of meaning.
‘Yiayia,’ Nikolos chided gently. ‘Enough. You embarrass our guest.’
The matriarch’s sharp gaze speared her own. ‘Are you embarrassed, child?’
‘Do you mean me to be?’
‘Dinner is served.’
Costas’ announcement was timely, and brought an inward sigh of relief that was short-lived as she found herself seated opposite Nikolos.
Accident or design?
Design, Mia decided. As the eldest male and presumably head of the family, there could be little doubt the reason for his presence was to check out his younger brother’s friend and deduce an ulterior motive for the friendship.
Familial protectiveness or necessary caution? Undoubtedly both, and, while she could see the sense of it, she abhorred the not-so-subtle interrogation.
Would she have felt differently if Nikolos weren’t present, and part of it? Innate honesty compelled an affirmative answer.
He disturbed her…mentally and emotionally. It was almost as if every nerve cell recognised him on a base level, and she had to fight to retain her composure.
Difficult when he was there, almost within touching distance on the opposite side of the dining table.
The thought of eating anything made her feel ill, yet good manners ensured she sampled a few morsels from each course…of which there seemed far too many. Or was that merely her imagination, due to her acute sensitivity of the man seated close by?
‘Are you a perpetual student,’ Angelena queried, ‘intent on gaining academic