His Contract Christmas Bride / Confessions Of A Pregnant Cinderella

CHAPTER FOUR

LUCY AWOKE TO the sound of a baby’s cry and instinct made her sit bolt upright in bed, her heart clenching with painful recognition. Hunger, she thought, as she listened some more. Funny how you could still recognise the different nuances of an infant’s cry even though it had been so long since that sound had been part of her daily routine.

Heavy-eyed after a restless night, she got out of bed and it took a few seconds for her befuddled brain to realise she wasn’t tucked up in her cosy riverside cottage, but in the fanciest bedroom she’d ever seen. Her new home. The vast Mayfair apartment where she would live as wife to one of the world’s most powerful men. Above her head, a chandelier glittered like a shoal of falling diamonds and silk rugs lay strewn over a pale wooden floor, which felt deliciously silky against her bare feet. Grabbing her dressing gown, she knotted it tightly around her waist. It was actually her old dressing gown which she’d brought with her from home because it seemed that her luxury replacement wardrobe didn’t cater for a sensible garment you could throw on first thing in the morning to cover up your pyjamas and feed a baby in. Presumably because once she was married she would no longer be wearing pyjamas. Running her fingers through her hair to tame its tousled wildness, she set off towards the nursery.

The crying had stopped by the time Lucy got there and she was greeted by a scene of perfect domesticity. Sofia was sitting on a yellow sofa giving Xander a bottle while soft nursery rhymes played gently in the background. It felt a little strange for Lucy to be standing in her nightclothes in front of someone she’d only met a couple of times but the middle-aged nanny merely looked up and gave her a friendly smile as she entered the room.

‘Good morning, Lucy,’ she said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ said Lucy with more politeness than truth—because nothing was more boring than hearing someone relate the story of what a bad night they’d had. She certainly didn’t want Sofia quizzing her about the reasons for her restlessness. Reason, she corrected herself silently. One reason alone—all six feet three of him. ‘You should have woken me.’

Sofia shook her head. ‘Drakon said you were to be left undisturbed.’

Drakon. Lucy started at the mention of his name and she thought—how pathetic is that? Had her heart missed a beat because she’d resisted his sexual overtures when she’d arrived yesterday and been haunted by tantalising dreams about him ever since? Or because it was still difficult to believe that the gorgeous billionaire would soon be her husband and that this was now her reality? A reality brought home by the stilted dinner they’d shared last evening, presided over by his stern-faced housekeeper, Zena—a meal which had kept being interrupted while Drakon had dealt with one international phone call after another. He’d been talking to someone in New York when eventually Lucy had excused herself and his absent wave of farewell as she’d headed off to her bedroom had spoken volumes. He hadn’t followed her and she hadn’t really expected him to, because instinct told her that a man like Drakon would never beg a woman for intimacy when she had told him it wasn’t going to happen. She’d lain there listening until eventually she’d heard him heading for bed, freezing with hope and expectation as his footsteps had paused outside her door, before moving on. As an introduction to life in the fast lane, it hadn’t exactly felt welcoming. Or maybe he had just been making a point...

She stood in the doorway watching as Sofia fed the baby and suddenly felt almost redundant. With a touch of anxiety she licked her lips and looked around, but the room was pristinely tidy. ‘Is there anything I can do? Some dusting, or tidying up?’

‘No, honestly, I’m fine. It’s all under control. Drakon employs an army of people to do the housework for him. He’s going down for a nap shortly but you could do the midday feed if you like. But only if you have time before you go out for lunch,’ Sofia amended hastily.

Lucy maintained her bright smile even though she was aware that her voice sounded brittle. ‘I wasn’t aware that I was going out for lunch.’

Sofia’s eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘Apparently. Zena told me. The car has been ordered for you. Lucky you,’ she added, in her perfect but heavily accented English. ‘It will inevitably be somewhere grand.’

Lucy hoped her expression didn’t give away her feelings as she returned to her bedroom and tugged off her dressing gown. Whether or not the restaurant was grand was completely beside the point. It was one thing to agree to a marriage of convenience, she thought furiously as she stood beneath the fierce blast of the shower. But quite another when she was being treated a convenience. Did Drakon think he could just move her around like a vacuum cleaner? How come the housekeeper and the nanny knew she was going out for lunch, when it was a mystery to her?

She dried her hair and, for the first time, tried on some of the new clothes which had been chosen by his business partner, Amy. Last night at dinner she’d stubbornly insisted on wearing one of her own dresses, still needled by the fact that Drakon had asked someone else to kit her out for her new role in his life. Yet hadn’t her defiance backfired on her, so that she’d been left having to endure the entire meal feeling somewhat less than? Her navy shirt-dress dress was her go-to favourite but there was no doubt that the fabric looked cheap against all the unrestrained luxury of Drakon’s home and Lucy was certain his housekeeper had been looking down her nose at her, as if wondering why someone like her was associating with the impeccably clad tycoon. Hadn’t the same question crossed her own mind more than once as the evening had progressed?

So just go with the flow, she told herself as she rifled through the colour-coordinated rows of garments before pulling out a long-sleeved dress in silk chiffon. The soft violet hue was the colour which sometimes tinged a late sunset and, admittedly, a shade she would never have thought of choosing for herself. The delicate fabric floated to just above the knee and made her waist look positively tiny, and she teamed it with a pair of shoes higher than anything she’d ever worn before. Did the added height make her assume a rather awkward gait? Was that why the middle-aged housekeeper did a double-take as Lucy cautiously picked her way into the dining room for breakfast?

‘Good morning, Dhespinis Phillips,’ said Zena.

‘Good morning, Zena.’ Lucy sat down at the table and gave the housekeeper a nervous smile. ‘Um...is Drakon...?’

‘The master went to the office at seven this morning, but he left you a note,’ said Zena, indicating an envelope which was propped up in front of a vase of flame-coloured roses. ‘I will bring you some breakfast.’

‘Thank you.’

Lucy thought about the housekeeper’s words as she picked up the envelope. The master. It was an oddly archaic term of address yet it seemed scarily suitable. Because Drakon was the master, wasn’t he? The master of all he surveyed. At least that was the impression he gave, with his cabal of loyal staff, his enormous wealth and his different homes dotted around the world. Was he expecting to become her master once they were wed—was she to obey him in all things, as the marriage ceremony used to demand but which most modern couples now rejected? And shouldn’t this be something they discussed before she allowed him to slide that gold ring on her finger?

Slitting open the envelope, she pulled out a single sheet of paper, realising that this was the first time she’d ever seen Drakon’s writing. It was exactly as she would have imagined it to be. Angular black lines slashed over the thick writing paper. Succinct, forceful and strong. A reluctant smile curved the edges of her lips. Just like him.

My car will pick you up at 12.25. We’ll eat lunch at the Granchester for reasons which will quickly become evident.

Mysterious as well as autocratic, she thought as she drank some inky Greek coffee and picked at a bowl of iced mango, before getting up to leave.

She spent the next hour exploring the sprawling apartment and studying some of the books she found in the library, before going to the nursery to give the baby his feed. But at least her interaction with Xander cheered her, and as he glugged greedily on the teat she buried her nose in his silky hair, remembering how much she loved tiny babies and how much she’d missed them. And this baby would soon be her son. The child she had always longed for and never thought she’d have.

But she couldn’t stem the dark doubts which began to crowd into her mind as she winded the infant and laid him in his crib. He was so cute, with his black eyes and matching hair—a miniature version of his father’s identical twin brother. What if she fell hopelessly in love with this little infant and her marriage failed, as so many marriages did, despite Drakon’s determination for that not to happen? Because he couldn’t control everything, could he, no matter how much he tried?

He’d told her he didn’t believe in love and that he’d never been in love—but who was to say that the thunderbolt wouldn’t one day hit him, as it had hit so many cynical disbelievers in the past? In that scenario, wouldn’t she become an also-ran in Xander’s life? The woman with no blood ties with no real claim on the child who could be dispensed of as carelessly as you would yesterday’s newspapers. Lucy sighed, knowing she mustn’t think like that because nobody was ever given any guarantees in this life—you just had to do the best you could in the circumstances.

She was nervous as she snuggled herself into the cashmere coat with the velvet collar and slid into the back of the waiting limousine, and even more nervous when the car drew up outside the landmark Granchester Hotel after a ridiculously short journey from the apartment. Outside the impressive building, she could see an enormous Christmas tree, topped with a huge golden star and smaller gold and silver stars which dangled from the abundant branches. The doorman hurried forward to open the door for her and Lucy gingerly made her way into the gilded foyer in her new shoes, her heart missing a beat when she spotted Drakon, with his back to her, standing beside another decorated fir tree—almost as big as the one at the front of the hotel.

Dark, broad-shouldered and powerful, he seemed oblivious to the stares he was attracting from the other guests and she wondered whether something must have alerted him to her approach. Why else did he suddenly turn around? He was mid-conversation on his phone but his eyes narrowed and his words seemed to die away as she approached and, abruptly, he cut the call. Something about the way he was looking at her was making her feel breathless and excited and scared all at the same time and Lucy found herself resenting his effortless power over her.

‘Lucy,’ he murmured as he helped her slide the coat from her shoulders. ‘You’re here.’

‘Yes, I’m here. Though I could have walked in less time than it took to drive!’

‘I don’t think so. Not in those shoes,’ he commented wryly, his gaze travelling down to her feet and lingering on them for longer than was strictly necessary.

‘You don’t like them?’ she asked, berating herself for needing reassurance but asking for it all the same.

Drakon heard the genuine doubt in her voice and, unusually, he was surprised—searching her face for signs of disingenuousness and finding none. Was she out of her mind? Didn’t she realise that every man in the place was staring at her as if she’d just tumbled down from the heavens? Of course, she didn’t. Because she was totally without guile, he realised. An innocent who stood out from the women he usually mixed with. But she looked incredible. Having slipped the coat from her shoulders, he saw the filmy dress, which hinted at the firm flesh which lay beneath, and in those spike-heeled shoes... He swallowed. Didn’t her calves look ripe for stroking and her ankles made for wrapping around a man’s neck?

‘I like them very much,’ he said unevenly. ‘In fact, there’s a term which is commonly used to describe shoes like those but I don’t think that now is the right time to introduce it into the conversation.’

Predictably, she blushed and Drakon felt a powerful beat of lust, which made him wonder why he’d arranged to meet her here, in one of the most public venues in the city, rather than exploiting the intimacy of his nearby apartment. You know why, he thought grimly. Because she had firmly stated that they weren’t going to have sex until they were married and he was in no doubt that she meant it. Just as he was aware that he was in part responsible for her old-fashioned stance.

He frowned. He’d thought he’d tantalise her by offering her a separate room, thinking that interludes of pleasure would keep her on her toes. More than that, he liked his own space and was used to it because he’d never shared a bedroom full-time with a woman before. He’d thought he would use the opportunity for some extended personal space before things changed once they were married.

Yet Lucy had neatly turned the tables on him by telling him she thought they should wait until after the wedding before being intimate again. He sighed with frustration and anticipation—tinged with a grudging sense of admiration, because he couldn’t think of another woman who would have refused to have sex with him.

And if that was the way she wanted to play it, why not go along with it? He had chosen her because of her pliability but the fact that she was now showing some token resistance made this arranged marriage of theirs seem a little less predictable. In a way, it amused him to let Lucy Phillips think she was calling the shots, because he could have broken her self-imposed sexual embargo any time he wanted. He knew that and he suspected she knew it, too.

The pupils of her eyes were huge and dark and he could sense the sudden tension in her body as she met his gaze, as if silently acknowledging the inexplicable chemistry which was sparking between them. He’d never seen her looking so sleek and so sexy. He’d never imagined she would scrub up this well. The tremble of her lips kick-started something indefinable inside him and a lump rose in his throat. Drakon swallowed, certain that if he reached out to whisper his fingertips over the pulse which fluttered so wildly at the base of her neck, or snaked his hand around her impossibly slender waist, she would do the predictable thing, and melt against him with a hunger which matched his.

But leaving aside the fact they were in a public space, it would be wrong to act on hormonal impulse. He would use restraint because this was too important a deal to jeopardise with sexual impatience. And if he was being honest, wasn’t it turning him on to an unbearable pitch at the thought of being made to wait—he who’d never had to wait for a woman in his life? True, she might be playing games with him—possibly in an attempt to make him fall in love with her—but that certainly wasn’t going to give him any sleepless nights. She would soon discover he was immune to the ruses women employed and was not in the market for ‘love’. All he cared about was that Lucy Phillips was going to make the perfect mother to his adopted son and the exquisite sharpening of his sexual appetite in the meantime was simply a bonus.

Touching his fingers to her back, he guided her towards the Garden Room restaurant. ‘Come on. Let’s go and have lunch.’

They walked along a long corridor, where golden baubles and scarlet ribbons were woven into the seasonal greenery which festooned the walls, and he watched as she looked around and drank it all in.

‘What an amazing hotel,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s enormous!’

‘You’ve never been here before?’

‘Funny you should say that, but no,’ she answered, dead-pan. ‘Five-star hotels aren’t my usual stomping ground on one of my rare visits to the capital. I’ve seen photos of it, obviously.’

‘I thought we could get married here,’ he offered casually.

‘Here?’ she said, coming to an abrupt halt just before they reached the restaurant entrance and nearly losing her balance on the spike-heeled shoes.

‘You really don’t like surprises, do you?’ He put out an arm to steady her. ‘Why shouldn’t we? It’s a very famous wedding venue.’

‘I know it is! Don’t film stars and princes choose it for their nuptials?’

‘I don’t keep tabs on celebrity weddings unless I happen to be a guest at them,’ he drawled. ‘But Zac Constantinides, the owner, is a friend of mine, so he’s given us a date when it was supposed to be shut. As a favour, you understand.’

‘Of course,’ she said faintly.

‘It’s a perfect solution, especially this close to Christmas. So what do you say, Lucy? Apparently, there’s an in-house wedding planner who’ll do most of the donkey work for you.’

Lucy registered his puzzled expression as she hesitated. Was he expecting her to gush her thanks, or swoon about the sumptuousness of the venue, instead of standing there chewing her lip in a state of nervous anxiety? But she was having difficulty getting her head round the idea of someone like her standing up in a place this grand and making her wedding vows.

But what was the alternative? Surely she could overcome her nerves enough to get married in one of the world’s most glamorous venues—especially if she was marrying such a high-profile man. And wouldn’t the wedding co-ordinator take away some of the stress?

‘You had something else in mind?’ he prompted, when still she said nothing.

Lucy shook her head. ‘You don’t mind the fact that it will be a very public wedding?’

‘You think I want to hide the fact away? I’m Greek, Lucy,’ he said simply. ‘And we Greeks like a good party.’

‘Okay,’ she said, speaking as quietly as possible in order to eliminate any telltale tremble of nerves. ‘In that case—why not?’

‘Not the most rapturous reaction I might have hoped for,’ he observed drily. ‘But I suppose it will have to do. Come on. Let’s eat.’

The maître d’ greeted him with easy familiarity as he showed them to a table which offered a perfect view of the winter garden, with its icy fountain and dark red branches of dogwood.

‘Are we celebrating anything in particular today, Mr Konstantinou?’

‘We certainly are. Ask the sommelier to bring my fiancée a glass of Dom Perignon rosé, would you, please, Carlos?’

There was a split-second pause and, when he spoke, Carlos’s voice sounded faintly strangulated. ‘Certainly, sir. And for yourself?’

‘Just water, thanks.’

Lucy waited until they were alone before she spoke. ‘That man looked as if he’d just been hit by a sledgehammer when you described me as your fiancée.’

‘He was probably surprised, neh. I have a reputation which precedes me.’

‘What kind of reputation?’

He gave a wolfish smile. ‘As a man who has never wanted to settle down. A man who was fundamentally opposed to marriage. Maybe I was unconsciously drawing a line in the sand, to demonstrate that, from now on, things are going to be very different.’

Were they? Lucy wondered distractedly. But how different? A glass of champagne was placed in front of her but she stared uninterestedly at the fizzing pink bubbles before lifting her eyes to Drakon. ‘I suppose you’ve brought loads of women to this hotel in the past? Probably to have lunch in this very restaurant before taking them to bed?’

His black gaze was very steady. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Lucy. I was never promiscuous or indiscriminate but I’m thirty-one, single and, yes, of course I’ve slept with women during that time. Why wouldn’t I? The evidence is everywhere if you care to look for it—because you can find out pretty much anything online.’ He leaned forward, across the starched linen of the tablecloth. ‘But I’m hoping you won’t bother because I’m being perfectly transparent with you. I see no point in pretending to you, or rewriting history. You may have been a virgin when we hooked up, but I most certainly was not.’

‘So why announce our engagement to someone you don’t really know? Was that really necessary?’

‘I think so. Carlos is perfectly aware how these things work.’ He gave a flicker of a smile. ‘He’ll mention it to someone, who’ll mention it to someone else. The press will get to hear about it and there will be a diary piece—only by then it will be old news.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Like I said, it draws a line in the sand and discourages any hopeful overtures from ex-lovers.’

His statement was more matter-of-fact than arrogant and Lucy told herself it shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did, and she was taken aback by the hot flash of jealousy which pulsed through her. But of course he would have plenty of exes eager to return into his life. Hadn’t she been pretty keen to see him herself when she’d returned from Prasinisos, forever glancing at her mobile phone and wondering if he would ring? Which, of course, he hadn’t.