Greek Pregnancy Clause

He should dismiss this nonsense, march back into that room he hadn’t been permitted to enter as the son of the boss’s chauffeur, insist to his father that they were leaving. That this was indeed the absurd idea he’d suspected it was when Sergios had suggested it.

The look in her eyes—appeal battling with the pride she so very staunchly hung on to—stayed him. Was that all that was stopping him leaving? Or was it that taunting, delectable little addendum she’d thrown in?

‘In return, I will give you whatever you want.’

He hated himself further for the memory those words evoked…for the time when he’d craved just that from her.

To have her. To walk away. Never look back.

Wouldn’t that make him as bad as the very people he despised with every fibre of his being? Men like her father? Her uncle? That cretin Bartorelli, with his too-harsh thuggish hands and slimy lust in his eyes?

‘I know you heard me,’ she muttered, then pursed her lips, drawing his attention to her mouth.

The full mouth that he’d only had the opportunity to taste once before it had been wrenched away from him. The mouth she’d used to betray him, casting him aside as if he was nothing.

‘Say something,’ she pushed at his prolonged silence.

‘Are you sure?’

Her beautiful eyes blinked. ‘What do you mean, am I sure?’

‘Do you really want me to say something? Because there’s a high probability that you won’t get the answer you wish if I do.’

She swallowed, and again his gaze was compelled to that part of her body, noticing how smooth her neck was, how creamy and so very inviting.

He clenched his gut, unwilling to be led by desire down another disastrous road littered with betrayal.

Her chin lifted another notch, and perhaps that was the catalyst that stopped him from walking away. Because the urge to master that pride and defiance, watch her crumble completely, slowly shattered his resolve. The need to win, just for once, in this insane situation with Odessa Santella trumped any other need.

That she would dare to flaunt her pride in the face of apparent abject hopelessness was a challenge he couldn’t resist.

‘Yes, I want to know your answer,’ she replied, her voice firm, her eyes boldly locked on his. Daring him to tell her no.

Again, he felt that urge to laugh—an absurdity in this situation that should never even have occurred. But then didn’t his father continue to stump him with his own unique outlook on life? And hadn’t he vowed a long time ago never to be like his father?

As much as he loved him—and he did, with an unfettered well of affection that had surmounted their many challenges—he still couldn’t accept or forgive how his father had allowed himself to be treated by the Santellas. What his misguided devotion had cost his own family before he’d been chewed up, then spat out, disposed of with barely the clothes on his back when he’d outlived his usefulness. Yes, the ultimate betrayal lay with his mother, but Ares couldn’t help the sliver of bitterness for what his father’s own actions had prompted.

‘Very well then,’ he said, taking perverse pleasure in the statement. ‘My answer is…no.’

Pride and defiance deflated like a pricked balloon, her shoulders sagging. She went pale, her bottom lip trembling for a second before she firmed it. Her most unique trademark, the Santella silver eyes that had haunted his dreams for far longer than he wanted to admit, darted around the room, then returned to his face, searching, as if unsure whether to believe him or not. He held her gaze, infused his own with ruthless purpose until her eyes dimmed in acceptance.

‘I see.’

Silence reigned, and he found himself holding his breath, gut clenched tight. In anticipation of what? He realised that he was waiting for something more from her. For her to fight harder for him?

Yes.

When he registered that she wasn’t going to speak, a disarming confusion bubbled inside him, which triggered more volatile emotions.

She wasn’t going to fight now, just as she hadn’t fought back then. Was it because, despite seeing him as a last resort, she still deemed him inferior? Or, he amended cynically, was it because she’d chosen to make herself clear back then in a very different way by betraying him with another?

‘If you don’t wish to marry that idiot with his too-eager hands, why don’t you simply tell him that?’

Sparks lit her silver eyes, her mouth twisting. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten how things work around here?’ she threw at him.

His mouth soured. No, he hadn’t forgotten. But wasn’t she the princess of the castle? Or, better yet, the queen now? ‘Your father’s gone. Surely you’re free to do as you wish now?’

Bitterness pinched her mouth, drawing his eyes back again to the sensual curve of it, the soft, velvety plumpness that made heat flow with eager abandon through his pelvis. It was an unwelcome indication that in some ways things hadn’t changed. This woman still drew effortless sensations from him.