Mistresses: In His Bed: The Billionaire's Trophy / Strictly Temporary / Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

Emmie flicked a glance at his lean, darkly handsome face and the lustrous brilliance of his dark, thickly lashed eyes and turned pink and uncomfortable. He was spectacularly good-looking and had the most colossal impact on her every time she saw him. Heat flickering like an uneasy flame low in her pelvis, she undid her coat, shrugged it off, sat down, and pressed her knees and her hands together like a child urged to be on her very best behaviour. ‘It’s not good news,’ she told him awkwardly.

Bastian’s gaze roamed across her flawless face and down over the elegant lines of her willowy figure with instinctive appreciation. There was something special about her and he still didn’t know what it was but it was a quality that shouted at him every time he saw her. ‘That depends on how you look at it.’

‘I’m pregnant,’ Emmie delivered curtly. ‘And no matter how you look at it, it’s a problem. I don’t want a child right now when I’m only at the start of my career and yet I couldn’t live with having an abortion just because it’s a case of bad timing—’

‘I could take the baby,’ Bastian interrupted.

Thoroughly taken aback by that suggestion, Emmie lifted her head and stared back at him with bright blue eyes of disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious?’

‘Why not? I was prepared to get married to have a family. How is this situation different?’

‘If you had married, you would have had a wife—’

‘Don’t be prejudiced. I would make an excellent single father. Certainly, I know all the things a father shouldn’t do,’ Bastian proffered with brutal honesty. ‘My father was an appalling role model.’

‘So was mine…er—’

‘All I’m saying is that if you don’t want the baby, I do—’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t want it!’ Emmie protested, dismayed by his attitude and suddenly feeling ridiculously protective of the new life forming inside her. And yet on another level, she respected him for his unexpected willingness to get involved and take responsibility. ‘I think it’s just that I don’t know what to do now.’

‘We don’t have to make any serious decisions for months yet,’ Bastian pointed out soothingly.

‘I do want my baby,’ Emmie started to confide but her tummy was rolling about like a ship on a stormy sea and she was forced to leap back upright. ‘Where’s the cloakroom?’ she gasped in dismay.

Luckily, she made it there in time and was sick for the second time that evening. Afterwards, limp and drained, she leant across the vanity unit to freshen up and peered at her bloodshot eyes and extreme pallor in the mirror. She looked like death warmed over, she conceded painfully.

‘Should I call a doctor?’ Bastian greeted her right outside the door, which embarrassed her. ‘Take you to a hospital?’

‘No, I assume this is what the books call morning sickness, only it seems to strike me at all hours of the day,’ Emmie told him morosely, rubbing her cheeks on the recollection of how pale she had looked and then wondering why she was bothering…as if that were going to make a difference and transform her from a humble waitress clad in an ugly overall into a sexually appealing woman! Why on earth would she even want to appeal to him now?

‘I didn’t think you would be affected by anything of that nature this early,’ Bastian remarked.

‘That makes two of us, but I already feel pretty sick most of the time.’

‘Where are you staying at the minute?’ Bastian asked.

Emmie reddened and sat down again. ‘How did you know I’d moved out of my mother’s flat?’

‘I tried to contact you there.’

‘She was still trying to get me to accept bookings from her clients,’ Emmie admitted reluctantly. ‘I had no choice but to leave.’

‘I thought she would continue to put you under pressure. Where are you currently staying?’ he asked again.

Emmie admitted she was sleeping on a sofa at a friend’s house. ‘There’s not much else I can do. I’m not earning enough to pay rent,’ she admitted stiffly, mortified by the difference in their financial situations but determined to be as honest as she could be.

Bastian’s face tensed, his wildly sensual mouth compressing into a taut line. ‘That is something I can help with. I own several apartments for the use of employees flying in from abroad. You can move into one of them.’

Emmie frowned. ‘I couldn’t possibly—’

‘Of course you can,’ Bastian cut in firmly. ‘I’m responsible for the situation you’re in. It’s the least I can do.’

Emmie swallowed hard on the pride threatening to choke her. The prospect of sleeping on a sofa for another night had little appeal and she couldn’t possibly inconvenience her friend by staying with her for much longer. Being homeless was frightening, Emmie acknowledged wretchedly. The security of a roof over her head would give her a much-needed breathing space, which she could use to decide what to do next. ‘OK, but I’m only agreeing because I don’t have any other option.’

Bastian pulled his phone out and spoke to someone at length in his own language. ‘The place will be fully stocked for your use by the time we arrive,’ he asserted. ‘Give me the address where you have been staying and I will arrange to have your belongings conveyed to the apartment for you.’

He made everything sound so easy. Although she could not help being impressed she also knew that nothing could have better illustrated the vast gulf between them—the extent of his wealth and power versus her poverty and lack of influence. Only that did not mean she had to be weak or meek, she reflected, tilting her chin. But sometimes accepting a helping hand when life was tough was the most sensible move.

Two hours later, Bastian gave Emmie a tour of the apartment he had offered her. It contained every luxury she could think of, from a stock of DVDs and a power shower to a fridge freezer stocked with every necessity. ‘I’ll be very comfortable here,’ Emmie remarked carefully. ‘But you have to promise to tell me when you need it for someone who works for you.’

Dark golden eyes accentuated by luxuriant black lashes focused on her intently and her heart hammered hard beneath her breastbone. ‘Right now, your needs are more important. Let’s face it, that’s my baby you’re carrying,’ he traded levelly. ‘Naturally you’re my first priority.’

The possessive note of that comment about the baby disconcerted her. Her soft pink lips parted. ‘Is that really how you feel? Do you like children?’

‘Never really thought about it. I don’t dislike them,’ Bastian declared pensively. ‘But the child you have, whether it’s a boy or a girl, will be my heir.’

‘Even though we’re not married?’

‘It will still be my child with my blood in its veins.’

There was something rather basic and territorial about that statement and Emmie was even more surprised. She recognised that he had not only adapted to the idea of becoming a father but had also warmed to the prospect.

‘To be blunt, I’ve never been in a hurry to get married,’ Bastian admitted drily. ‘Watching my father screw up matrimonially four times over soured me on the institution.’

‘I can understand that. So you think that having a child without having to tie yourself down to marriage might actually suit you better?’ Emmie queried, keen to understand his point of view.

‘Only time will answer that question. In the morning I’ll make enquiries and organise an obstetrician for you,’ Bastian continued. ‘You must have proper medical care.’

‘You can be very…bossy.’ Emmie selected the label with care, because in spite of the shock news she had given him he had been remarkably kind and considerate and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

A wicked grin that was the very essence of masculine charisma sliced across Bastian’s beautifully shaped and stubborn mouth. ‘You could say that being dominant comes naturally to me, glyka mou. Or even beware of Greeks bearing gifts,’ he teased.

‘Needs must when the devil rides,’ she quoted, her gaze compulsively welded to that grin, and she was as short of breath as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the atmosphere.

‘I’m not the devil. I only want to do what’s best for you,’ Bastian told her thickly, staring down at her with smouldering golden eyes.

Emmie felt her treacherous body react to his proximity and the husky, sexy note in his deep voice. Her nipples tingled, awareness washing through her in an exhilarating overload of sudden sexual energy. But this time, Emmie fought what she was feeling to the last ditch. She stepped hurriedly back from him, her cheeks burning as she deliberately turned her head away from him to avoid eye contact. She was hugely attracted to him but could not forget his renewed intimacy with Lilah on the night of his sister’s wedding. Although there had been no reference in the gossip columns to a reconciliation between Bastian and his former fiancée, Emmie didn’t want to risk getting more deeply involved with a man already entangled with another woman. Wasn’t it worrying enough that she was pregnant by him? The last thing she needed now was to let her overwrought emotions persuade her that she was in some way attached to Bastian Christou.

‘Emmie…’ he breathed thickly, stroking a fingertip very lightly over the back of her hand, making her quiver and long to twist round and hurl herself into his arms like a lovesick fool. But she wasn’t lovesick and she wasn’t a fool, she told herself fiercely.

‘Let’s not complicate things,’ Emmie pleaded in a charged undertone. She found him almost impossible to resist but there was such a thing as common sense and it was way past time she exerted it over her more self-destructive promptings. And going to bed with Bastian again would definitely come under the heading of destructive, she thought painfully.

Bastian closed a strong hand to her shoulder and turned her back to face him. Diamond-bright dark eyes locked to hers enquiringly. ‘We’re already complicated.’

‘Exactly, and you’re helping me out here, which I’m very grateful for,’ she said shakily. ‘But—’

His winged black brows drew together. ‘Just as you didn’t expect diamonds, I’m not expecting any kind of reward for helping out,’ he told her drily.