The Greek's Pregnant Cinderella

Her knees sank into a curtsey without any input from her brain.

Strong nostrils flared. He put a hand to his stomach and inclined his head in a bow.

Then he took hold of her right hand with his left and slipped his other hand around her waist to rest just above the small of her back.

Sensation shot through the fingers being held in his, seeping straight into her bloodstream.

Muscle memory took control of Tabitha’s left hand and she placed it on his right bicep, splaying the thumb away from her fingers to cup it.

The orchestra struck the first note and then she was being spun across the great ballroom in his arms.

In Giannis Basinas’s arms.

Her first ever dance with a man.

This man.

This man who controlled their moves effortlessly and steered them around the other couples without his clear blue eyes ever leaving hers.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from the face that had captured her attention from that very first glance either.

And nor could she stop herself breathing in his spicy scent.

But, even with the feeling that she had entered the most magical of dreams strong inside her, there was a voice in her head whispering that this one dance was all she could have with him.

Never mind the danger that being with him put her in, he would want to dance with other women. If the rumours were true and this ball was a ruse for him to find a new wife then he would want to spread himself out and talk and dance with as many women as he could.

It felt as if no time had passed at all when the dance finished. The couples around them parted like the Red Sea.

Tabitha let out a breath that contained both relief and disappointment and moved her hand from his arm. But there was no relinquishing her hand by his. His grip on it tightened.

He brought his mouth to her ear. ‘You don’t think I’m letting you go, do you?’

Brand new sensation skittered down her skin at the warmth of his breath on her ear and cheek.

She tried to think of an excuse to pull away but her brain refused to co-operate.

Her body refused to co-operate too. Her hand reached back up to cup his bicep.

Around them, new couples formed.

The orchestra played the first note of the next dance and then she was being spun around the floor again.

All the reasons she needed to escape seeped away as the music made its way through her body and down into her dancing feet. Masked faces floated around her, dresses twirled, beautifully played music...

And the heavenly arms of Giannis Basinas.

When that dance finished and the master of ceremonies took to the floor to announce that it was time to dance the polonaise, she met Giannis’s eyes. There was a question in them.

She nodded. She remembered this dance.

He smiled and, holding her left hand, led her to the forming line of couples.

In and out they wove, separating then coming back together, curtseying, separating... She curtsied and danced with other men but her attention was always on Giannis.

She simply could not tear her gaze from him.

Not until they’d danced another waltz, and then a foxtrot, did he steer her away from the dance floor to one of the round tables on the raised dais running the lengths of the ballroom walls with a murmured, ‘Time for a drink.’

Unwilling to leave her side for a moment, Giannis signalled for champagne to be brought to them.

He had a feeling this ravishing creature would disappear if he turned his back on her.

She hadn’t exchanged one word with him during their time on the dance floor.

Their champagne was brought to them. He held his flute to hers then drank from it. ‘Are you hungry?’

She shook her head.

‘You don’t speak much, do you?’ he observed. In his experience, women always had to fill any silence with chatter, however inane. His sisters were the worst for it. Their mother always said Niki had been born with a never-ending battery in her tongue. He’d caught a glimpse of Niki in the arms of a bemused man trying to cut above her incessant chatter to waltz her around the dance floor.

Slim shoulders raised in a tiny shrug. ‘I do if I have something to say.’

He laughed. ‘And do you have anything to say, Tabitha?’

She shook her head again.

‘I thought Beddingdales taught its girls how to make small talk in social situations.’

There was the faintest spark of amusement in the cornflower eyes. ‘I failed that class.’

He laughed. ‘But obviously not the ballroom-dancing lessons.’

‘I liked those.’

‘Do you go to many balls?’

Another shake of the head.

‘I’m going to have to stop asking you closed questions, aren’t I?’

Now there was the slightest of curves in the full heart-shaped lips to accompany her shaking head.

He laughed. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

The faint amusement he’d detected vanished. She looked away from him, her lips pulling in together. ‘What do you want to know?’

Everything.