His Contract Christmas Bride / Confessions Of A Pregnant Cinderella. Эбби Грин

       CHAPTER THREE

      THERE WAS BARELY any room for the limousine to make its way down the icy lane and Lucy’s heart was hammering as she locked the door of her cottage and made her way towards the luxury car. She looked around at the leafless trees and frosty bushes as if committing them to memory one last time—because who knew when she would be back?

      Inadvertently she cracked through an icy puddle and mud sloshed onto her newly polished boots as Drakon’s chauffeur opened the door of the car, her tentative smile being met with nothing more than a deferential nod. As she slid onto the back seat she could feel her anxiety grow and the doubts which had been bugging her for days threatened to overwhelm her. She thought about the way Drakon had kissed her and the way her body had responded so hungrily. She thought about his track record with women and her own miserable tally of just one lover. She thought about how detached and indifferent he could seem, except when engaged in some form of sensual contact and a very real fear washed over her as she realised she was entering territory which was completely alien to her.

      You don’t have to do this, she told herself. It’s not too late to pull out. Nobody’s forcing you to become the Greek tycoon’s wife. If he can’t get you to look after his orphaned nephew then his money will buy him the best care in the world. It isn’t your responsibility.

      For a split second she thought about jumping out of the car. About rushing back to the sanctuary of her cottage and emailing Drakon to tell him she couldn’t go through with it. But then the limousine’s powerful engine fired into life and they were on their way to London and suddenly it was too late for Lucy to change her mind. And wasn’t the truth of it that deep down she didn’t want to, for all kinds of reasons? It certainly wasn’t the lure of the Greek tycoon’s glamorous lifestyle which was calling to her. She’d seen enough rich boys at the boarding school where her mother had worked to know that money certainly didn’t come with a guarantee of happiness. The thought of having a baby and a family of her own was the most powerful motivator, of course it was—but there was something else, too. Something which was much more intangible, and that was the way Drakon made her feel whenever he touched her. As if she were real. As if she were capable of things she’d never imagined she could do. It was a heady feeling but it was tinged with a danger she didn’t quite yet understand.

      All through the journey to the capital, she tried to relax, trying her best to keep her boots from smearing mud on the pristine leather interior. Not for the first time she wondered what had happened to one of her suede moccasins, which had mysteriously gone missing—and it was something of a relief to be able to think about something unconnected to Drakon as she tried to work out exactly what had happened to it. Once she had exhausted all possibilities she tried to concentrate on the landscape which was rushing past the tinted windows, but her busy thoughts ensured that most of what she saw remained a blur until they reached the centre of London. And that was when Lucy blinked in surprise, feeling as if she’d emerged from her countryside bubble to arrive in a city she scarcely recognised.

      Because Christmas was all around and it was as if the entire city had been taken over by Disney. The big stores were shiny with tinsel and glitter and fake snow. Red-clothed Santas with fluffy white beards rocked manically as little children pressed their noses against the plate-glass windows. Past the giant tree on Trafalgar Square the luxury car purred and when they stopped at some traffic lights, Lucy opened one of the windows slightly so she could hear the carol singers who were collecting money for the homeless. Her heart clenched as she registered the first notes of ‘Silent Night’ because it always reminded her of her brother, and quickly she pressed the button so that the electric window floated up to blot out the nostalgic carol. Instead she focussed on the crowds of people who all seemed to be on a mission, hell-bent on buying gifts even though there were several weeks left until the big day.

      There were plenty of things Lucy liked about Christmas. The lights. The colours. The music. The way usually inhibited people went out of their way to smile and say hello. She just didn’t like the way it made her feel, because it seemed to emphasise all the things she didn’t have. It was a time when you could feel extra-lonely if you lived on your own because most people seemed to have somebody, while she had nobody. It was when she most missed having a family. When she found herself feeling emotionally vulnerable—which wasn’t a particularly nice sensation. Usually she tucked herself away with a large supply of chocolate and sobbed her way through just about every corny film which was showing on TV.

      But this year was going to be different. Her teeth pressed down hard on her bottom lip and she gnawed away at it. And how. She had a wedding to organise and—this was the bit she still couldn’t get her head around—she was going to be a Christmas bride. At least, that was the plan—although nothing had been arranged just yet, which was making the thought of marrying Drakon seem even more surreal than it already was. Excitement and dread flooded through her, yet the truth was that, despite her misgivings about becoming the Greek tycoon’s wife, she had stumbled at the first hurdle. She had fallen in love with his orphaned nephew.

      Her throat thickened as she remembered meeting the tiny baby—a meeting on which everything had hinged. She had insisted on Drakon being absent. Had she been afraid he would influence her? That he would distract her with his powerful presence and remind her of how much she still wanted him? She had expected objections from the powerful tycoon. She’d imagined he might wish to observe her first contact with his tiny nephew as a kind of interactive job interview, but to her surprise he had agreed to stay away. She’d been jittery with nerves—because the thought of holding a baby again after so long had thrown up all kinds of complicated emotions. Alone, she had waited in one of the reception rooms of Drakon’s vast London apartment until the nanny had appeared with a snowy white bundle in her arms. Greek-born Sofia must have been in her fifties, though her step was spritely as she carried the baby towards Lucy.

      And Lucy remembered the compassion which had washed over her as she’d stared down at Xander’s tiny head and it had been pure instinct which had made her extend her arms so that she could cradle the infant close to her racing heart. She had been prepared for the pain which had speared through her at the thought that she would never hold a child of her own like this, but not for the instant bonding which had followed. Had it been provoked by tenderness for one who had lost so much at such an early age, or by the tiny starfish hand which had clutched her extended finger and melted her heart?

      She had asked if she could give the baby his bottle and then cuddled him until he had fallen asleep. And soon after Sofia had taken Xander back to the nursery, Lucy’s telephone had rung, as if it had been programmed to do so.

      ‘Well?’

      Drakon’s question