The Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress / To Tame Her Tycoon Lover: The Tycoon's Pregnant Mistress

MAYA BANKS has loved romance novels from a very (very) early age and, almost from the start, she dreamed of writing them as well. In her teens, she filled countless notebooks with over-dramatic stories of love and passion. Today her stories are only slightly less dramatic, but no less romantic.

She lives in Texas with her husband and three children and wouldn’t contemplate living anywhere other than the South. When she’s not writing, she’s usually hunting, fishing or playing poker. She loves to hear from readers and she can be found online at either www.mayabanks. com or www.writemindedblog.com, or you can e-mail her at maya@mayabanks.com.

To Marty Matthews and Shara Cooper. That bar conversation at RT 2007 was the first kick in the behind to do something about my long-standing dream of writing for Desire

. I still remember that gush-fest fondly.

To Roberta, for saying, “Let’s do it” when I outlined my career goals in the summer of 2007. Hey, we did it!

To Amy: You of all people know how much I love category and just how excited I was to be given a chance to write it. Thanks for being just as thrilled as I was.

To Dee, who I think wanted this for me as much as I did and was with me every step of the way. Thank you!

And finally to Steph, who started it all for me. Without you, I wouldn’t have written The Tycoon’s Pregnant Mistress and I wouldn’t have submitted. It was that phone call that started everything in motion. I’ll always love you for that.

Chapter One

Pregnant.

Despite the warmth of the summer day, an uncomfortable chill settled over Marley Jameson’s skin as she settled on the bench in the small garden just a few blocks from the apartment she shared with Chrysander Anetakis.

She shivered even as the sun’s rays found her tightly clenched fingers, the heat not yet chasing away the goose bumps. Stavros wouldn’t be happy over her brief disappearance. Neither would Chrysander when Stavros reported that she hadn’t taken proper security measures. But dragging along the imposing guard to her doctor’s appointment hadn’t been an option. Chrysander would have known of her pregnancy before she could even return home to tell him herself.

How would he react to the news? Despite the fact they’d taken precautions, she was eight weeks pregnant. The best she could surmise, it had happened when he’d returned from an extended business trip overseas. Chrysander had been insatiable. But then so had she.

A bright blush chased the chill from her cheeks as she remembered the night in question. He had made love to her countless times, murmuring to her in Greek—warm, soft words that had made her heart twist.

She checked her watch and grimaced. He was due home in a few short hours, and yet here she sat like a coward, avoiding the confrontation. She still had to change out of the faded jeans and T-shirt, clothes she wore only when he was away.

With reluctance born of uncertainty, she forced herself to her feet and began the short walk to the luxurious building that housed Chrysander’s apartment.

“You’re being silly,” she muttered under her breath as she neared the entry. If the doorman was surprised to see her on foot, he didn’t show it, though he did hasten to usher her inside.

She stepped onto the lift and smoothed a hand over her still-flat stomach. Nervousness scuttled through her chest as she rode higher. When it halted smoothly and the doors opened into the spacious foyer of the penthouse, Marley nibbled on her lip and left the elevator.

She walked into the living room, shedding her shoes as she made her way to the couch, where she tossed her bag down. Fatigue niggled at her muscles, and all she really wanted to do was lie down. But she had to determine how to broach the subject of their relationship with Chrysander.

A few days ago, she would have said she was perfectly content, but the results of today’s blood tests had her shaken. Had her reflecting on the last six months with Chrysander.

She loved him wholeheartedly, but she wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with him. He seemed devoted when he was with her. The sex was fantastic. But now she had a baby to think about. She needed more from the man she loved than hot sex every few weeks as his schedule permitted.

She trudged into the large master suite and started when Chrysander walked from the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around his waist.

A slow smile carved his handsome face. Every time she laid eyes on him, it was like the first time all over again. Goose bumps raced across her skin, lighting fire to her every nerve-ending.

“Y-you’re early,” she managed to get out.

“I’ve been waiting for you, pedhaki mou,” he said huskily.

He let the towel drop, and she swallowed as her eyes tracked downward to his straining erection. He paced forward predatorily, closing rapidly in on her. His hands curved over her shoulders, and he bent to ravage her mouth.

A soft moan escaped her as her knees buckled. He was an addiction. One she could never get enough of. He had only to touch her, and she went up in flames.

His mouth traveled down her jawline to her neck, his fingers tugging impatiently at her shirt. Of their own accord, her fingers twisted in his dark hair, pulling him closer.

Hard, lean, muscled. A gleaming predator. He moved gracefully, masterfully playing her body like a finely tuned instrument.

She clutched at his neck as he lowered her to the bed.

“You have entirely too many clothes on,” he murmured as he shoved her shirt up and over her head.

She knew they should stop. They needed to talk, but she’d missed him. Ached for him. And maybe a part of her wanted this moment before things changed irrevocably.

He released her bra, and she gasped when his fingers found her highly sensitized nipples. They were darker now, and she wondered if he’d notice.

“Did you miss me?”

“You know I did,” she said breathlessly.

“I like to hear you say it.”

“I missed you,” she said, a smile curving her lips.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that he made quick work of her clothing. He tossed her jeans across the room. Her bra went one way, her underwear the other. Then he was over her, on her, deep inside her.

She arched into him as he possessed her, clinging to him as he made love to her, their passion hot and aching. It was always like this. One step from desperation, their need for each other all consuming.

As he gathered her in his arms, he whispered to her in Greek. The words fell against her skin like a caress as they both reached their peaks. She snuggled into his body, content and sated.

She must have slept then, because when she opened her eyes, Chrysander was lying beside her, his arm thrown possessively over her hip. He regarded her lazily, his golden eyes burning with sated contentment.

Now was the time. She needed to broach the subject. There would never be a better occasion. Why did the thought of asking him about their relationship strike terror in her heart?

“Chrysander,” she began softly.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. Had he heard the worry in her voice?

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He stretched his big body and pulled slightly away so he could see her better. The sheet slid down to his hip and gathered there. She felt vulnerable and exposed and trembled when he slid his hand over the peak of one breast.

“What is it you want to talk about?”

“Us,” she said simply.

His eyes grew wary and then became shuttered. His face locked into a mask of indifference, one that frightened her. She could feel him pulling away, mentally withdrawing from her.

A buzz sounded, startling her. Chrysander cursed under his breath and reached over to push the intercom.