скачать книгу бесплатно
A winged ebony brow quirked. ‘And if I agree, you’ll get back into bed?’
‘I have just one more thing to say.’
‘You’re pricing yourself out of the market.’
Erin gazed back at him, remembering when she had loved him, when she had simply lived for his quick easy smile and attention and shrinking from the recollection, fearful of ever laying her heart out again. ‘No, I’m worth waiting for.’
Cristo dealt her a hungry appraisal that made her triangular face burn as though he had turned an open flame on her skin. ‘Speak …’
‘Ask yourself why I would commit fraud and put myself at risk of a prison sentence while refusing to accept the valuable diamond jewellery you tried to give me on several occasions,’ she advised softly. ‘If I wanted money that badly, keeping the diamonds and selling them would have been much more sensible.’
Cristo held her eyes coolly without reaction and then released his breath on a slow measured hiss. ‘Get back in bed,’ he breathed.
Erin retrieved her pillow and undid the tie on the robe, letting it fall as she scrambled onto the divan. Cristo watched, desire igniting almost simultaneously to raise his temperature. Surely there had never been any woman with paler, more perfect skin or more delicate yet highly feminine curves? He lay down on the bed beside her with a sense that all was right in his world for the first time in a long time. Erin studied the stark beauty of his features, knowing why no other man had tempted her, knowing why she was still heart whole. Nobody had ever come close to comparing to Cristo either in looks or passion. Eyes drowsy, she lifted a hand in the simmering silence and with her forefinger gently traced the volatile curve of his full lower lip. His gaze smouldered and his hand came up to entrap hers, long fingers wrapping round her smaller hand with precision.
‘Go to sleep,’ he breathed ruefully, noting the shadows that lay below her eyes like bruises. ‘You’re exhausted.’
Why should it bother him that she looked so tired? Why had he even noticed? His expressive mouth tightened.
They were enjoying the equivalent of a two-night stand: finer feelings of any kind were not required. Nor had he any intention of getting caught up in discussing their previous relationship. There was nothing to discuss. But Erin had looked so shocked when he accused her of cheating on him. Perhaps she had been shocked that he had found her out. Clearly her partner that night had stayed silent about Cristo’s entry to the hotel room. And Erin had always had a talent for playing innocent and naïve. Once that had charmed him, fooled him. Now it merely set his teeth on edge with suspicion.
What was Erin hoping to get out of this weekend? She was a survivor. As was he and he didn’t like the fact that he was enjoying her company so much.
The next day they had breakfast on the terrace mid-morning. Erin had slept so late she was embarrassed. Sleeping in, after all, was a luxury she no longer enjoyed at home. The twins woke up at the crack of dawn demanding attention and since their birth Erin had learned to get by on short rations of sleep. Casually garbed in white cotton trousers teamed with a colourful silk top, she spread honey on her toast and enjoyed the picturesque landscape of rolling hills covered with mature chestnut and oak woods at the rear of the villa. It occurred to her that she might as well have been on a pleasure trip, for the accommodation and food were superb and even the company was acceptable.
Acceptable, jeered a little mocking voice in her head as she glanced at Cristo, lean and darkly magnificent in a black polo shirt and tailored chinos, predictably pacing the terrace as he ate and drank, the restive spirit that drove him unable to keep the lid on his sheer energy this early in the day. He had let her sleep undisturbed, had already been up and dressed when he finally wakened her. As his spectacular dark golden eyes surged her she went pink, something akin to panic assailing her as she felt her treacherous body’s instant response to his powerful masculinity. There was an ache at the heart of her, a physical reminder of the wild passion they had shared. Yes, shared, she labelled, refusing to overlook her own behaviour. The sleazy weekend of her worst imaginings had come nowhere near reality and it had also proved surprisingly informative, she acknowledged wryly as she continued to think deeply about Cristo’s admission that he had believed she had cheated on him. How could he not have confronted her about that? And yet she knew why not, she understood the bone-deep unforgiving pride that was so much a part of his nature. He had successfully hidden his anger from her at the time, refusing to vent it, something she could not have done in his place. He had accepted her supposed betrayal and, even now, his lack of faith in her when she had loved him appalled her. As Cristo had reminded her, though, it was the past and she thought it was wiser not to dwell on it.
He took her out for a drive in an open-topped sports car. Such freedom felt strange to her. She was accustomed to taking the twins to the park on Saturday mornings. Guilt weighed her down for she knew that her children would be missing out on that outing because Erin’s mother found it difficult to watch over her grandchildren alone in a public place. Lorcan loved to explore and he wandered off, often followed by his sister. Erin had twice found her son standing up to his knees in the boating lake and had carried him kicking and screaming back to dry land where Nuala waited to enrage him with the toddler version of, ‘I told you so.’
‘How did you end up working for Sam Morton?’ Cristo prompted.
‘Pure good luck. I was living at home and working as a personal trainer again. My best client was a friend of Sam’s. That kind lady talked me up to him when he was looking for a spa manager and he phoned me and offered me an interview.’
‘What made you leave London to return to Oxford?’
Erin shot him a taut glance and opted for honesty. ‘I couldn’t afford city life when I was living on benefits. I should never have resigned from my job at the Mobila spa—that was rash and short-sighted of me.’
‘I was surprised when you resigned,’ Cristo admitted. ‘Later I assumed it was because you’d been dipping into the till and you thought it would be safer to stage a vanishing act.’
Erin stiffened at that reminder but said nothing, resigned to the fact that she could not combat that charge until she had, at least, tackled Sally Jennings. ‘I left because I didn’t want to keep running into you and I assumed you’d feel the same way but I was over-sensitive. Leaving after working there such a short time blighted my CV. It was also much harder to find another job than I thought it would be.’ Especially once she had realised that she was pregnant and no longer feeling well, she completed inwardly.
A hundred memories of their time together were assailing Cristo and lending a brooding edge to his mood. He remembered her twirling in the rain with an umbrella. She had preferred nights in watching DVDs to nights out at a club but the horror movies, which she loved, gave her nightmares. He had learned not to mind being used as a security blanket in the middle of the night. They had virtually lived together at weekends when he was in London, his innate untidiness driving her wild while her love of pizza had left him cold. Now he asked himself how well he had ever known her.
The sun beat down on them as they walked around a little hill village, packed with stone houses and narrow twisting alleys. In the cool quiet interior of the tiny ancient church, she lit a candle and said a little prayer for peace while Cristo waited outside for her. Around him she couldn’t think straight and the level of her emotional turmoil was starting to scare her. She needed to hate him but what she was feeling was not hatred. That she knew, but what she did feel beyond the pull of his magnetic attraction was much harder to pin down and she abandoned the challenge. In twenty-four hours she would be heading home and this little episode would be finished, she reasoned doggedly, keen to ground herself to solid earth again. What was the point in tormenting herself with regrets and foolish questions?
They had a simple lunch in the medieval piazza where Cristo stretched like a lion basking in the midday heat while Erin sat back in the shade, aware that without it her winter pale skin would burn. The waitress, a young woman in her twenties, couldn’t take her eyes off the striking beauty of Cristo’s classic features or the sizzling effect of his honey-coloured gaze when he smiled. With a sinking heart Erin recalled when she had been even more impressionable.
Even now, she flushed beneath his disturbingly intent scrutiny. ‘What?’
‘You look beautiful and you didn’t even have to make an effort. It only took you ten minutes to get dressed.’
‘You’re accustomed to more decorative women … that’s all.’
‘You always turn aside compliments as though they’re insincere,’ Cristo murmured, his attention lodging revealingly on the voluptuous curve of her raspberry-tinted lips.
Erin knew that look, recognised his sexual hunger and felt the raw pull of it deep inside her body. Her nipples tingled and a pool of liquid heat formed in her pelvis, making her instantly ashamed of her lack of self-discipline. Breathing rapidly in the warm still air in an attempt to suppress those unwelcome reactions, she tensed but she remained insanely aware of his appreciative scrutiny. The atmosphere positively smouldered. Cristo laughed with husky satisfaction and her heart hammered like a trapped bird in her chest.
‘Time for us to leave, koukla mou,’ he murmured, silkily suggestive, sliding fluidly upright to take care of the bill.
Tomorrow could not come soon enough for her, Erin told herself. The weekend would be over and she could pretty much slip back into the comforting routine of her very ordinary life. But she would also be working for Cristo again and in the wake of this forty-eight-hour break from reality that would be no easy challenge.
They walked back downhill, Erin moving a few steps in Cristo’s wake. It was the hottest hour of the day and even her light clothing was clinging to her damp skin but she loved the sunshine. He caught her hand as he drew level with the car and drew her closer, hot, hungry eyes with the pure lustre of gold connecting with hers. He bent his dark head and claimed her lips in a searing kiss. Every response she had fought since leaving the villa bubbled up in a fountain of need. The erotic charge between them was delirious, devastating her defences as he fed hungrily from the sweetness of her mouth. She could feel the leashed demand in his lean, hard body as he bent her back against the car bonnet, the tremor in the long fingers clasping her cheek as her tongue tangled with his. She wanted to eat him alive. With a ragged groan, he stepped back from her.
‘Let’s go,’ he rasped.
Her legs were as bendy and unreliable as twigs as she stumbled into the passenger seat. With her heart thundering and her head swimming after that lusty exchange her thoughts ran blood red with guilt and shame. This was not how she had expected the weekend to turn out: she had never counted on still being so attracted to Cristo that every barrier between them dropped.
Snatching in a steadying breath, Cristo drove off. He felt out of control and he didn’t like that. When had ‘just sex’ become ‘must-have sex’? And what had happened to the exorcism goal? This was getting her out of his system? He thought of his marriage, an infallible reminder of the danger of undisciplined impulses, and straight away the electrifying heat in his blood cooled, his arousal subsiding to a more bearable level.
Erin’s mobile phone started ringing as she entered the villa. She snatched it out of her bag with a frown and answered it. ‘Mum?’ she queried into the excited barrage of her mother’s too fast hail of words. ‘Calm down. What is it?’
Cristo watched Erin begin to pace the hall in quick short steps. ‘What sort of an accident?’ she was asking urgently, her triangular face lint white with shock and dismay. ‘Oh m-my … word … how bad is it?’
Erin pressed a concerned hand to her parted lips and turned in a clumsy uncoordinated circle. Nuala had had an accident at the playground and had broken her arm. It was a fracture and required surgery. Erin’s heart was beating so fast with worry that she felt sick. Assuring her mother that she would be at the hospital as soon as possible, she ended the call.
‘Bad news?’ Cristo prompted.
‘It’s an emergency—you’ve got to get me home as fast as you can. I’m sorry. I’ll go and pack.’
Erin fled upstairs, nothing in her head but the thought of her daughter suffering without her mother’s support. She had never felt so guilty in her life. Nuala was hurt and about to have an operation and Erin couldn’t be with her. It would never have happened if Erin had stayed at home. Deidre Turner had tried to take the twins to the park in her daughter’s place. Nuela had squirmed to the top of the climbing frame and hung upside down in spite of her grandmother’s pleas for her to come down. When the child fell she might have broken her arm but she was exceedingly lucky not to have broken her neck. Knowing that her daughter had to be in pain and frightened, Erin felt her tummy churn with nausea. She should have told Cristo that she couldn’t make the weekend because she now had children, responsibilities. Staying silent on that score had been the act of an irresponsible parent.
‘What’s going on?’ Cristo questioned from the bedroom doorway.
Erin paused in the act of flinging clothes back into her case and twisted her head round. ‘How quickly can you get me back home?’
‘Within a few hours—we’ll leave as soon as you’re ready, but I’d appreciate an explanation.’
Erin folded her lips, eyes refusing to meet his, and turned back to her packing. ‘I can’t give you one. A relative of mine has had an accident and I need to get home … urgently.’
Cristo released an impatient sigh. ‘Why do you make such a song and dance about even simple things? Why can’t you tell me the whole story?’
Erin dealt him a numb, distanced look. ‘I don’t have the words or enough time to explain.’
Within fifteen minutes they had left the house to travel to the airport. Erin was rigid with tension and silent, locked in her anxiety about her daughter, not to mention her guilt that her mother was being forced to deal with a very stressful situation alone. This was her punishment for deceiving her mother about where she was staying for the weekend, she thought painfully. Her children needed her but she was not within reach to come quickly to their aid. Instead their next-door neighbour, Tamsin, a young woman with kids of her own, had come to the hospital to collect Lorcan so that her mother could stay on there and wait for Nuala to come out of surgery.
They were walking through the airport when Cristo closed a hand to Erin’s wrist and said curtly. ‘We have to talk about this.’
‘Talking isn’t what you brought me here for,’ Erin countered tartly. ‘I appreciate that you feel shortchanged but right now there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Cristo said glacially, frustration brightening his black diamond gaze to brilliance in his lean, strong face. ‘I’ll get you back to Oxford as quick as I can but you have to tell me what’s going on.’
Erin nodded agreement and bit her lip. ‘Once we’re airborne.’
Tell him—he made it sound so simple. She thought of those phone calls she had made, desperate to tell him, desperate for his support in a hostile world. When she’d realised she was pregnant she had reached out in panic, not thinking about what she would have to say or how he would react. Those kinds of fears would have been luxuries when she was struggling just to survive. Now she was older, wiser, aware she was about to open a can of worms with a blunt knife and make a mess. But why not? Why shouldn’t Cristo know that he was a father? How he reacted no longer mattered: she already had a job, a roof over her head. She didn’t need him any more.
Ensconced in the cream-leather-upholstered luxury of Cristo’s private jet, Erin struggled to regain her composure but she was too worried about Nuala and her mother. Deidre Turner didn’t deal well with the unexpected and suffered from panic attacks. How could she have left her mother with the burden of the twins for the weekend when the older woman had already looked after them all week long? Her mother would have been tired, tested by the daily challenge of caring for two lively toddlers, who didn’t always do as they were told, a combination that was an accident waiting to happen.
Cristo released his seat belt and stood up, six feet four inches of well-groomed male, in a dark business suit that made the most of his lean, powerful physique. Shrewd dark golden eyes below sooty lashes welded to her, he dealt her an expectant look.
‘I have children now,’ Erin declared baldly, breaking the tense silence. ‘Twins of two and a bit, a boy and a girl—’
Unsurprisingly, Cristo was stunned. ‘Children?’ he repeated the plural designation in a tone of astonishment. ‘How could you possibly have children?’
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_5e917b14-8252-5d98-89a4-71be27949c1e)
‘THE usual way. I fell pregnant. I became a mother eight months later,’ Erin told him flatly.
‘Twins?’ Cristo bit out a sardonic laugh to punctuate the word.
‘Yes, born a little early. And my daughter, Nuala, got hurt in a playground accident this morning. She broke her arm and she has to have surgery on it. That’s why I have to get home asap,’ Erin completed in the same strained tone.
‘And you didn’t feel that you could mention the little fact that you’re a mother before this point?’ Cristo derided grimly.
Erin studied the carpet. ‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’
‘I’m more interested in finding out who the father of your twins might be,’ Cristo admitted, his stubborn jaw line clenching hard. ‘Is it Morton?’
‘No,’ Erin fielded without hesitation. ‘My children were very young when I first met Sam.’
‘Why is this like pulling teeth?’ Cristo demanded with ringing impatience.
‘Because you’re going out of your way to avoid the most obvious connection.’ Erin lifted her chin and studied him with cool amethyst eyes, an ocean of calm cocooning her as she moved towards the final bar she had set herself to clear. ‘Lorcan and Nuala are your children and don’t you dare complain about only finding that out now! It’s your fault that I made endless attempts to get in touch with you and failed.’
His stunning dark eyes widened, his beautiful mouth twisting. ‘My children —don’t be ridiculous. How could they possibly be mine?’
‘The traditional way, Cristo. You turned over in bed one night shortly before we broke up and made love to me without using a condom. Of course I can’t be a hundred per cent certain about the exact timing, but certainly that’s when I assume that I conceived,’ she explained curtly.
Beneath his bronzed skin, Cristo had grown pale as if such nit-picking detail added a veracity to her claim that nothing else could have done. ‘You’re saying that I got you pregnant?’
‘There wasn’t anyone else in the picture, in spite of all your misconceptions about Tom’s little brother.’ Erin rose to her feet with determination. ‘You are the father of my children. You can do DNA tests, whatever you like to satisfy yourself. I really don’t care. That side of things is immaterial to me now.’
Cristo poured himself a drink from the built in bar. His hand wasn’t quite steady as he raised the glass to his lips and drank deep. ‘This is inconceivable.’
He wheeled back round to stare at her with cloaked intensity, momentarily stepping outside the dialogue while with every fibre of his being he relived that last sweet taste of her in sunlight as her tongue tangled with his. The burn of that hunger had electrified him. She was a sexual challenge that never waned. That was what she meant to him, a high of satisfaction he craved every time he looked at her. He hated what she was but he wanted to bed her over and over again. That was easier to think about than the fantastic idea that he might have accidentally got her pregnant in the past. Hadn’t he only just emerged from a nightmare in that category? A nightmare that had comprehensively blown his marriage and his family apart? And now, the least likely mother of all was telling him that he was immaterial? He would never let another woman deny him his paternal rights.
‘I’ll take a soda and lime,’ Erin told him pointedly.
Frowning, his black brows drawing together, Cristo turned back to the bar to prepare her drink. His movements were deft and precise. He handed her a tall moisture-beaded glass, turning his arrogant dark head to study her afresh as he did so. He was so deep in shock at the concept of being a father that he felt as if the passage of time had frozen him in his tracks. ‘You said you made endless attempts to get in touch with me.’
‘Your PA finally told me that she had instructions not to put my calls through to you and that I was wasting my time.’
Cristo set his glass down on the bar with a sharp little snap of protest. ‘I never issued any such instruction!’
‘Well, maybe it was the bad fairy who issued it.’ Erin lifted and dropped a slight shoulder, unimpressed by his plea of innocence. All too well did she remember how humiliated she had felt having to make those repeated and clearly unwelcome phone calls. ‘I also sent a couple of letters.’
‘Which I never received.’
Erin ignored that comeback. ‘You had changed your private cell phone number. I had no choice but to try and contact you through your office. At the last, I even phoned your family home in Athens …’
‘You contacted my … parents?’ Cristo queried with frank incredulity.
‘And your mother refused to pass on a message to you. She said you were getting married and that you wanted nothing more to do with “a woman like me”,’ Erin grimaced as she repeated that lowering description.
‘I don’t believe you. My foster mother is a kind, gentle woman. She would never be so offensive, particularly to a pregnant woman—’
‘Oh, I didn’t get as far as telling her that I was pregnant during our conversation. I could hardly get a word in edgeways once she realised who I was.’
‘She would not have known who you were,’ Cristo countered with conviction. ‘I never once mentioned your existence to my parents.’
Erin tried not to wince. She had often wondered and he had just confirmed her deepest suspicions. While evidently his foster mother had known her son did have a relationship with a woman in London, she had not received that information from him. Evidently, Erin had never been important enough to her lover to warrant being discussed with his family ‘I wrote to your office as well. The letters were returned to me unopened,’ she confided doggedly. ‘That’s when I gave up trying to contact you.’
Cristo drained his glass, set it down, shook his head slightly. ‘You say I’m the father of your children. I cannot accept that.’
Erin shrugged and sank back into her seat. At least he wasn’t shouting at her or calling her a liar … yet. Time might well take care of that oversight. In truth, though, she had never seen him so shaken, for Cristo was strong as steel and given to rolling with the punches that life dealt out. But right now he was in a daze, visibly shattered by her revelation.
‘It’s OK if you can’t accept it. I’ll understand. But at least I’ve finally told you. How you feel about it, whether or not you believe me, isn’t relevant any more.’
Cristo shot her an exasperated look that hinted at the darker, deeper emotions he was maintaining control over beneath his forbidding reserve. ‘How can it not be relevant?’
‘Because it doesn’t matter any longer. When I first fell pregnant, life was tough. I needed your help then and I didn’t get it,’ Erin pointed out ruefully. ‘Now, thanks to my mother’s support, the kids and I are quite self-sufficient as long as I have a reasonable salary to rely on.’
In the strained silence, Cristo poured himself another drink. She watched the muscles work in his strong brown throat and then recalled how only hours earlier she had wanted to eat him alive and she cringed at that reminder of how weak she could be around him. On the other hand, he was a sophisticated man and he had the sexual experience to make her burn—that was all! It would be foolish to punish herself just because she had sunk low enough to enjoy their intimacy on his terms. She was a healthy, warm-blooded woman who had suppressed her natural needs for too long. In the end, if anything, too much self-control had made a victim of her. Of course she had never met a man she wanted as she wanted Cristo, never known a man who, even in the midst of the most emotional scene she had ever endured, could still make her mind wander down undisciplined paths. For there he stood, shocked but unbowed, gorgeous dark eyes smouldering with raw reaction in his even more gorgeous face.
‘If this story of yours is true, why didn’t you tell me the instant I came back into your life?’ he pressed, lifting his proud dark head high, a tiny muscle pulling tight at one corner of his unsmiling mouth.
Erin compressed her lips, shook her head. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know that we’d even had a past relationship, never mind that you’re the father of my kids.’
‘I don’t follow that reasoning. Would Morton have turned against you had he known the truth?’
‘Stop dragging Sam into everything. He’s nothing to do with any of this,’ Erin said vehemently. ‘I owe Sam. He took a risk on me. The job with his hotel group made it possible for me to survive. As for other people knowing about our … er … past connection, I would have found that embarrassing.’
Embarrassing? Cristo gritted his even white teeth while resisting the urge to bite back. Why would she lie now? After all, if he was the father of her twins, he had to owe her thousands of pounds in child support. Nor, until he had made checks, could he disprove her claim that she had tried to contact him to tell him that she was pregnant. If it was true and if she had continued with the pregnancy rather than seeking a way out of her predicament, he owed her a debt, didn’t he? While his intelligence urged caution, he would be careful of uttering any disparaging comments.
‘I’ll accompany you home,’ Cristo announced in a tone of finality.
Disconcerted, Erin frowned. ‘But why would you do that?’
‘Perhaps I would like to see these children whom you insist are my flesh and blood.’
