Their blissful encounter was a secret…

Until her pregnancy shock!

Powerful Greek Leon Kariakis is not accustomed to being challenged—least of all by an impulsive woman who’s mistaken his identity. Yet warmhearted Ettie Roberts is a breath of fresh air, and Leon can’t resist indulging in a night of tantalizing pleasure! But Ettie’s pregnancy bombshell demands action. Leon’s heir will not be born out of wedlock, so Ettie must say “I do”…

Discover this passionate pregnancy romance!

USA TODAY bestselling author NATALIE ANDERSON writes emotional contemporary romance full of sparkling banter, sizzling heat and uplifting endings—perfect for readers who love to escape with empowered heroines and arrogant alphas who are too sexy for their own good. When not writing you’ll find her wrangling her four children, three cats, two goldish and one dog…and snuggled in a heap on the sofa with her husband at the end of the day. Follow her at www.natalie-anderson.com.

Also by Natalie Anderson

The Forgotten Gallo Bride

Claiming His Convenient Fiancée

Princess’s Pregnancy Secret

The King’s Captive Virgin

Awakening His Innocent Cinderella

The Throne of San Felipe miniseries

The Secret That Shocked De Santis

The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Pregnant by the Commanding Greek

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08775-9

PREGNANT BY THE COMMANDING GREEK

© 2019 Natalie Anderson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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For Kathleen,

your relentless perseverance and efforts

are such an inspiration to me—you rock!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he wants us to “get rid of it”?’ Antoinette Roberts scooped up the small, greying terrier and clutched him close. ‘Doesn’t he realise that “it” is a gorgeous, living creature?’ She glared at Joel, her junior colleague.

‘I don’t think he does, Ettie,’ Joel answered in an agitated whisper. ‘He just stormed in here first thing and demanded access to Harold’s apartment and started clearing stuff out.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Disgust surged through Ettie.

Cavendish House, an exclusive apartment building in the heart of London’s Mayfair, offered full concierge service to its privacy-loving residents, and, as head concierge, Ettie was used to delivering it for her demanding guests; from everyday mundane queries to the most outrageous, extravagant requests.

She didn’t just arrange parcel deliveries and make restaurant bookings, she sourced rare first editions of famous novels and cajoled Michelin chefs to cook in a resident’s apartment to help create the perfect proposal… And she was proud of the service she worked hard to provide. Until today there’d been no request she hadn’t been able to fulfil.

But she drew the line at the euthanasia of a perfectly healthy, beloved pet on a total stranger’s whim.

‘I suppose George let him in?’ she growled.

Joel nodded.

That’d be right. George, the building manager, was obsequious to clients, pernickety with petty rules while sloppy with what was actually crucial, and a belligerent bully to the personnel. Ettie spent half her time fixing his blunders and soothing staff resentment when he’d blamed them.

It was her fault it had got this far with the dog. She’d arrived late for the first time in years because she’d been up most of the night counselling her stressed-out sister, Ophelia, who was panicking that she’d flunked her latest physics test. Not that Ophelia had flunked a test in her life. Fiendishly academic, she was away at boarding school on a partial scholarship. Ettie was paying the rest of the fees and Ophelia was desperate to secure a university place. That meant another scholarship, which in turn meant outstanding results in every assessment in this last year of her schooling. As amazing as Ophelia was, Ettie worried the pressure was too intense. But she wouldn’t let Ophelia give up her dream. Ettie had sacrificed too much herself to allow that. So, after calming Ophelia, she’d lain awake fretting about how she could better financially support her. Since their mother’s death two years ago, it fell to Ettie to make it happen.

But making things happen was what Ettie did. She’d learned and worked for it, making miles-long lists and instituting systems so her sometimes impulsive and distraction-prone self wouldn’t forget anything. But today she’d lapsed into her natural disorder. She’d overslept, in her mad scurry she’d missed breakfast, lost her last hair tie and resorted to using an old rubber band, and still missed her train.

When she’d finally raced into Cavendish House this morning, it was to the shocking news that her favourite long-term resident, Harold Clarke, had been rushed to hospital in the small hours of the night. While his passing had been quick and peaceful, his family—the family Ettie hadn’t seen visit once in the five years she’d been working there—was already on the premises and clearing out his treasures. Apparently they didn’t regard Toby, Harold’s small terrier, as a treasure. They’d sent him down for Joel, her junior concierge, to “get rid of”.

If Ettie had been at work on time, that nephew would never have made it into the apartment, let alone cast his callous instructions for Toby.

‘Ettie, there’s something else…’ Joel called after her.

Not now there wasn’t.

Shock, grief and sheer fury overrode the caution and calm she’d schooled within herself over the years. Ettie tightened her hold on the small dog and impulsively swept to the lift. Appalled by that uncaring request, she’d no time for niceties or other distractions. The family were monsters.

At the slide of the doors, Ettie stepped out onto Harold’s floor. His apartment door was open and curt voices echoed along the corridor. She stalked the length of it, unconsciously stroking the soft fur of the small dog. A quick glance into the room showed George on the far side looking as smarmy as ever, next to an older-looking couple. All three were facing a tall man who had his back to her but, given the sullen looks on the faces of the others and the iceberg-thick atmosphere, he wielded the power. His immaculate appearance and crisply clipped hair enraged her all the more. He was obviously loaded because the impeccably tailored suit was clearly bespoke. No off-the-rack number ever fitted so perfectly—lovingly emphasising his height and strength. Though most men didn’t have perfect physiques either. One look and she knew he was fit, healthy and wealthy. So why did he need to be so greedy over Harold’s assets? Why be so cruel?

‘You shouldn’t be in here.’ Ettie didn’t hesitate stepping into the room.

How could he not have visited Harold in all this time and yet turn up the second he thought there were valuable possessions to be claimed?

‘You don’t storm in here and start stripping out Harry’s assets and condemning his dog to instant death.’ She barely paused to draw breath. ‘You want to us to “get rid of” Toby?’ Her voice quivered but she stood straight, not letting the tremble in her knees spread to the rest of her.

Because the man had turned around and Ettie was rendered breathless. He was much taller than her and younger than she expected. No older than thirty. But it was his face that stopped her—he had the sharpest, most handsome face she’d ever seen. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a full mouth, a cleft in his chin and a square, relentlessly masculine jaw…and to cap it off, deep brown, unbearably intense eyes. Brown eyes usually held some warmth, right? Not his. She’d never encountered either such beauty or such coldness. He was totally intimidating.

But it seemed he wasn’t left as much breathless as speechless. Good. It was obviously time someone challenged him and his appalling instructions. Inhaling sharply, Ettie recovered enough to continue her attack.

‘Toby is the sweetest little dog ever, not that you’d know because you never visited him or Harold in all this time…’ Her voice trembled as she thought of the quiet elderly man who’d been gentle. And so alone. ‘Now it’s barely five minutes after…and you want Toby put down? Are you even human?’

George cleared his throat. ‘Ettie—’

‘You’re not going to get away with it,’ she carried on passionately, too steamed up to let George and his lack of spine stop her from telling this jerk some home truths. ‘I won’t let you.’

She became aware Joel had arrived and was breathlessly standing beside her, an appalled but fascinated expression on his face. The older couple present didn’t look at her at all but stared at the tall stranger with silent, seething resistance. She knew how they felt.

The man’s arctic glare sharpened on her, pinning her with almost visceral force. ‘Who are you?’

She refused to quake. ‘I think that’s my question. You’re the one trespassing.’

‘I think not,’ he said softly. There was a faint foreign tone to his cutting, cold accent.

George was frantically doing some kind of dance behind the arrogant ass’s back. But she paid no attention—she was too incensed. The guy needed to be schooled. Tired and strung out and sad, Ettie couldn’t hold back her contempt. ‘You’ve never once set foot in this place before now.’

‘No.’ His quiet confirmation sounded stronger than George’s audible gasp.

‘You’re despicable,’ Ettie told him.

‘Despicable?’ He glanced behind him and caught George midway through miming self-strangulation. He turned back to face her. ‘I think what your colleague is trying to convey is that you’ve made a mistake.’

There was the slightest curl to the man’s lips—as if he was deriving some small, hideous pleasure from this moment.

Ettie frowned, not comprehending. She was still puffed from the force of her emotions and her furious dash up to the apartment. ‘I’m not Mr Clarke’s nephew,’ he informed her with brutally cold precision. ‘In fact, I’m no relation whatsoever to Mr Clarke.’

Nonplussed, Ettie blinked. Now she took a moment to study him, he didn’t look anything like Harold. This man’s hair was dark and thick and his eyes were that wintry brown, not blue, and his bronze complexion was more than a summer tan. A wave of relief so strong it was shocking rippled through her. He wasn’t an animal-murdering brute?

Then she was hit with a wave of something else altogether. Something from deep inside, so hot and intense that she refused to acknowledge, let alone define it. Because it was shocking.

‘Then what are you doing in here?’ she snapped uncharacteristically. But she was determined to halt the appallingly inappropriate, intimate direction of her thoughts. Why was everyone looking at him as if he was ridiculously important? Why was George turning greener by the second?

‘You’ve made a mistake.’ His gaze drifted over her uniform in an inspection so quick it was almost insulting. ‘And yet I think you’re this star concierge I’ve heard about. Cavendish House’s very own Girl Friday.’

She had a sudden prickling sensation that a giant black hole had opened up before her, but that she’d already taken the fatal step. It was too late to stop—the fall was in play and there was no way to backpedal and stop herself tumbling into a bottomless pit.

‘My name is Leon Kariakis. And as of close of business last night, I own this building.’

Leon Kariakis? The Leon Kariakis? Serious, publicity-averse, wealthier-than-most-small-countries Leon Kariakis?

Ettie stared at him, slack-jawed. Oh, yeah, she’d fallen into one never-ending crevasse. All she could do was comment stupidly, ‘You own…’ she drew in a breath and tried to regroup ‘…and you’re not—’

‘No relative. This man is Mr Clarke’s nephew and I’ve already spoken to him and his wife about Mr Clarke’s belongings. Nothing will leave this building until the executor of his will has been to the premises and itemised everything.’

The other man began to bluster but Leon Kariakis turned and quelled him with a filthy look. ‘Is it true you instructed the staff to get rid of the dog?’

The nephew didn’t respond.

‘Is it true?’ Leon Kariakis demanded an answer.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Evidently it was very clear what you meant.’ Leon cut the man off. ‘You will leave immediately.’

‘You can’t throw us out.’

‘I think you’ll find I can,’ Leon Kariakis replied softly. The atmosphere chilled even more, his physical threat apparent even though he didn’t move an inch. If Leon Kariakis wanted to manhandle this guy out of the apartment, he’d do so with ease. And the sorry excuse for Harold’s family knew it.

Ettie’s heart raced faster than a puppy chasing a pigeon. Since when was Cavendish House even on the market? And to be bought by Leon Kariakis? Even she’d heard of the serious son of the incredibly rich Kariakis holiday empire. His parents owned a number of swanky five-star hotels on the continent, but sole heir Leon had gone into finance, making even more eye-watering amounts of money in an unseemly short amount of time. Apparently buying up exclusive residential apartment buildings was his new hobby. And she’d just called him out—accusing him of animal cruelty and disgusting greed.

‘This isn’t over, Kariakis,’ the nephew blustered. ‘You’ll be hearing from our lawyers.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Leon replied tersely. ‘I imagine they’ll be much more pleasant to deal with than you.’

Ettie bit down on her lip to stop her unbidden smile as the nephew and his wife stomped out of Harold’s apartment. They didn’t so much as look at her, or the small dog she was still cuddling. But neither she nor Toby were out of the woods yet. All-powerful, super-serious, still scowling, Leon Kariakis wouldn’t have appreciated her shouting at him in public like that.

‘Everyone else, please leave as well.’ He seared her with an icy glance. ‘Except you.’

Yeah, she’d just lost her job.

George stepped in. ‘Mr Kariakis, I’m terribly sorry for this misunderstanding. Ettie is always—’

‘I’ll meet with you later.’ Leon Kariakis’s snappy dismissal brooked no argument.

George shot her an irritated look that she ignored, even though she knew he’d been about to throw her even further under the bus. She was fine. She could handle it. But her heart thudded as her Joel reluctantly left too.

She turned to face the music, disconcerted to discover Leon Kariakis was still watching her and still wasn’t smiling. Indignation surged and she lifted her chin at him. She’d been doing her job—protecting her client’s pet—and she wasn’t going to apologise for that. The silence echoed in the apartment. Even Toby, the dog, didn’t stir in her arms, but she stroked him regardless.

‘You’re Antoinette Roberts,’ he said quietly. ‘Cavendish’s Girl Friday. I’ve heard much about you and yet…’

She’d disappointed him?

Too bad. Even though she knew she was about to lose her job, she felt a small flush of pride that he’d been told about her. What had he said before—star concierge? Yet she couldn’t claim any praise as entirely her own. Joel and the other guys were always willing to help.

‘I have a very good team,’ she said.

He kept regarding her steadily, but no warmth softened his eyes.

She should probably apologise for mistaking him for one of Harry’s mean relatives, but suddenly she couldn’t get her voice to work. Awareness trickled down her spine as the tension within her transformed. She’d loathed him on sight, only now…it was another emotion stiffening her spine. And it was just insane. Ettie Roberts did not lust after anyone. Ettie Roberts was far too sensible.

But Leon Kariakis was abnormally handsome and the way he was looking at her right now was unbearably intense. It was only that, mixed with relief that he wasn’t a cruel tyrant out to murder an innocent animal, that made him all the more attractive in this moment, right? It wasn’t real. Leon Kariakis wasn’t someone she’d ever be interested in and he’d certainly never be interested in her.

A sudden wave of defensiveness let her mouth slip the leash. ‘If you’re going to sack me, just get it over with.’

There was another moment of profound silence. She burned with a horrible mix of embarrassment, nerves and resentment. She hated how calm and in control he was. Even when she’d shouted at him he hadn’t lost his ice-cool composure.

‘You don’t like uncertainty?’ He watched her steadily.

‘I don’t like being kept waiting.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m taking the time to think.’

‘Does it usually take you this long?’ She didn’t mean to be rude, but it surprised her. He was incredibly successful and she bet he hadn’t become so by mulling over trivial decisions about low-level staff.

But wasn’t she was doing him a disservice? He’d already stood up to those horrible, grasping relatives before she’d even arrived and he’d had no hesitation in showing them the door. She was finally about to offer a shamefaced, belated apology when he spoke.

‘I’ve found that giving a problem my full consideration, rather than making a snap judgment, results in a better night’s sleep for me.’ He offered the slightest sarcastic curve to his lips in lieu of an actual smile.

She’d made a snap judgment that he was Harold’s nephew, and this was an unsubtle rebuke for that. Yet it wasn’t his reprimand that bothered her. It was another ripple of that forbidden feeling slithering down her spine. She did not need to be thinking about sleeping—specifically him sleeping—at this moment. And she did not need to be wondering what he’d look like with an actual, genuine smile on his face when he was already this attractive.

He studied her for another long moment and his gaze lowered to the resting creature in her arms. ‘The dog is old,’ he said bluntly.

‘So that means we should just put him down?’ she asked scornfully, her outrage torched again. The debate was on and she was fighting for Toby.

‘He’ll miss his owner,’ Leon answered with surprising softness. ‘He’ll fret.’

The note of compassion from him oddly made her more uncomfortable.

‘So we find him someone who can be with him all the time so he has the companionship he needs while he grieves.’

He reached out and petted the dog’s head gently. Ettie froze, stunned by the illicit surge in her body at his closeness…the craving.

‘He can’t go to a shelter,’ she added.

She couldn’t help staring at Leon. She’d never seen someone as handsome, or as serious, and suddenly he felt more of a danger to her than when she’d thought him to be a heartless brute or when she’d thought he was going to fire her. The unaccustomed response within her to his fierce masculinity was shocking.

She whipped up her resistance. She didn’t want to like him. Of all the moments for her stagnant sensuality to spark up…

‘Would you take him?’ Curiosity burned in his eyes.

‘I would,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘Except I’m at work all hours and he’d be lonely. And I’m not allowed pets in my building.’

‘Pets aren’t allowed in these apartments either,’ he muttered. ‘Isn’t that the rule the previous owner implemented?’

‘No resident ever minded Toby. He’s lovely and he was around before that petty rule came into force.’ She looked down at the dog protectively. She’d disliked that owner who’d wanted to charge more but offer less. He’d employed the awful George to enforce the ‘new way’—most of which involved paying the staff less for more onerous rules and rosters, which had led to that festering resentment and feeling as if they couldn’t be trusted. Ironically, the rumour was that the absent owner had got into money trouble…and now she was faced with this guy.

‘You aided and abetted Mr Clarke in keeping Toby a secret, didn’t you?’

They all had. But Ettie lifted her chin; she wasn’t about to offer excuses or drag her friends under with her. ‘Are you going to sack me for it?’

He remained impassive but she sensed his assessment. And his judgment. ‘That depends. What other rules do you break?’

‘Just the stupid ones.’

He watched, waiting for her to expand on her answer, but she refused. She was not going to desperately fill the awkward silence he was deliberately leaving. And she was not going to let his stunning looks have a stupefying effect on her brain any longer either. She was here for Toby—for the last thing she could do for old Harold Clarke.

‘He needs to be in a familiar environment,’ she said. ‘Given he’s not a nuisance to anyone, you should allow Toby to remain in Cavendish House, don’t you think?’ she asked with more defiance than deference in her voice.

Because more than anger bubbled within her at his silent appraisal and that stern stare beneath those slightly pulled strong eyebrows.

She tore her gaze from him and desperately looked around Harold’s apartment to remind herself of her mission. The old man had been their longest resident. He’d mostly kept to himself, but he’d been kind and his dog had been his world. He’d protected the vulnerable even when he was vulnerable himself. ‘We owe it to Harold to take care of Toby.’

‘We?’

‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin pointedly and looked back at him. ‘Why can’t you take him?’ she challenged directly.

There was another moment of total silence, but as she gazed into his eyes, the amber light within them flared. ‘No reason that I can see,’ he muttered.

She blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘Toby will move to my penthouse. You’ll take him for fresh air.’

Her jaw dropped. He wanted her to go to his penthouse? ‘You want him to sleep in your apartment?’

‘It’s a temporary arrangement,’ he said brusquely. ‘On the condition that you walk him. You feed him. I do nothing but provide the space.’

The sizzle she felt was just her, right? She gave herself a mental shake. Just because he was insanely good-looking didn’t mean she had to turn into a twittering ditz. She’d pull herself together and get the job done. ‘You want me to—’

‘Morning and night obviously. Yes.’ He turned that cool demeanour on her and dared her to object.

Ettie was so stunned, she couldn’t help questioning him. ‘Why can’t you walk him?’

The coldness that entered his expression now stunned her. ‘We’ll find a more permanent solution in a few days. In the meantime, there’ll be no disturbance to the other residents.’

She was shocked. ‘You really want me to—’

‘Do I really need to repeat myself?’

‘No. Of course not.’ She stilled, annoyed with his superciliousness. Usually she’d say ‘sir’, but she was struggling to suppress her rebellion and tell this guy what for again. He couldn’t walk or feed the dog himself? Was he for real?

And yet he’d just offered up his own space to ensure Toby’s safety and security, so that the vulnerable little dog could stay.

* * *

What the hell had forced that foolish suggestion from him? Leon Kariakis smothered his growl and gritted his teeth. He didn’t want anything to do with the dog. The ancient, arthritic creature was most probably incontinent and most definitely going to be a pain. Except he was a sweet-looking thing with the saddest eyes Leon had ever seen, and there was no way he could resist reaching out again to soothe the boy with a gentle pat. As he pulled back, he inadvertently brushed his fingers on Antoinette’s arm. He glanced up to her face. Sea-green, luminous, emotion-drenched eyes glared back at him.

Why was she looking so angry again now?

He was the one who ought to be put out. And truthfully he was still oddly angered by her assumption he was the selfish bastard who’d issued the instruction to destroy the innocent creature. Somehow he wanted to make her pay for the conclusion she’d so swiftly, and unjustly, leapt to.

Not somehow.

His body knew exactly how he wanted her to pay. He wanted her to keep looking at him with those overly emotional green eyes, but not with anger and judgment. He wanted to see hunger and willingness. Desire.

Basic instinct roared. Because he knew it was there within her too. She’d studied him anew once she’d realised her error. And she’d responded on the same basic level as he had—the sparkle of awareness in her eyes, the flush in her face, had given her away.

He wanted her beneath and about him. His primal response to her passion shocked him. He wanted her in the most animal, basic of ways.

It was the most inappropriate thought of his life. Lusting after her was wrong. He was staying in the building for only a week or so to understand its processes first-hand before deciding on what changes needed to be made. The last thing he should do was flirt with one of the staff who was literally in his firing line. She was off-limits and he was never that out of control. Ever. This was a situation that required a swift conclusion. Yet he couldn’t resist getting involved directly.

‘You’ll need to bring the dog and all his accoutrements.’ He checked his watch and then glanced back at her.

‘Yes, of course.’ She lifted her chin.

The action didn’t make her any taller. She remained a smidgeon shorter than the average woman and slight through the shoulders. Her dark blonde hair was swept off her face into a loose, messy ponytail and her wide green eyes offered unusually clear reflections of her feelings.

She wasn’t the sleek automaton he’d envisaged when he’d been told about her. She wore barely any make-up—as far as he could tell, there was little more than a slick of lip gloss. Yet her skin was smooth, unblemished and glowing. The uniform black trousers and monogrammed T-shirt she wore did little to reveal much of her figure, but what they did show was slim and the suggestion of fit. His overall impression was of supple, fresh femininity. He’d been accosted by another of the more elderly residents in the lift this morning who’d been at pains to tell him that Antoinette Roberts was the only reason he’d remained at Cavendish House in recent years.

One look at her and Leon understood why.

But she wasn’t his type. She’d spoken to him in a way no one else dared to. Tearing strips off him with blunt, brutal honesty, not stopping to censor herself or having the slightest hesitation in telling him what she really thought. Her heart wasn’t just on her sleeve, she was waving it on a flag in front of him.

It was extremely novel. In his life, communicating emotions had not only been discouraged, but also punished. As his parents had ruthlessly taught him, any kind of emotional display was a weak loss of self-control.

Yet he didn’t want Antoinette to start picking her words with care now. He liked knowing, without any uncertainty, exactly what she was feeling. And it was her fierce protectiveness that riveted him. Like a lioness protecting a lone cub, she’d held her corner and not given an inch, no matter the possible personal cost to herself. She’d fully expected him to fire her. But Leon knew people made mistakes. He’d give her one chance to redeem herself.

‘Be on time. Always. I don’t like to be disturbed,’ he said roughly.

‘I can be discreet,’ she answered defiantly.

He simply stared at her. As if she could come into his apartment unseen? Unheard? As if she could ever be anything but disruptive?

A thread of wicked amusement trickled through him as she stilled in the face of his silence. He knew the exact moment she mentally replayed her words and realised an alternative innuendo. The same intimacy-drenched scenario he was imagining. A deep rose burnished her creamy skin—her cheeks, her neck, even the small hint of skin he could see at the vee of her high-collared T-shirt. But then he registered the rebellion in her gaze again—together with her less than subtle attempts to suppress it.

He didn’t want her to suppress anything.

The urge to haul this petite emotional tornado close and kiss her into a frenzy of desire almost felled him. Grimly he fought the need to provoke her into taking everything else she might want from him. He knew he could. He saw the awareness in her eyes. Women found him attractive and sex was a fun relaxant. But he’d bet that sex with Girl Friday here wouldn’t be as much fun as mind-blowing. If the incandescence of her anger was anything to go by, in bed she’d be unrestrained and utterly responsive.

Sex of the best kind. The kind that was irresistible.

He knew she felt the sparks. They were why she’d flushed over her choice of words. Why she’d trembled at his inadvertent touch before. Why she was looking at him with unrestrained rebellion now. Because she didn’t want this chemistry either. And that irritating rejection was precisely why he couldn’t resist making what he knew would be a massive mistake.

He roughly pushed the request past the tightness in his throat. ‘I want you in my apartment in one hour.’

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