Greek Bachelors: Bound By His Heir: Carrying the Greek's Heir / An Heir to Bind Them / The Greek's Tiny Miracle

HER WEDDING RING no longer mocked her and neither did the closed door of Alek’s room. Because Ellie now shared that room, just as she shared the bed within and the man who slept in it.

Pulling on a tea dress, Ellie began to brush her hair. To all intents and purposes, she and Alek now had a ‘full’ marriage. Ever since the night of their wedding—when they’d broken the sexual drought—they had been enjoying the pleasures of the marital bed in a way which had surpassed her every expectation.

He could turn her on with a single smile. He could have her naked in his arms in seconds. Even when she told herself she ought to resist him—in a futile attempt to regain some control over her shattered equilibrium—she would fail time and time again.

‘But you can’t resist me, poulaki mou,’ he would murmur, as if he guessed exactly what she was trying to do. ‘You know you really want me.’

And that was the trouble. She did. She couldn’t seem to stop wanting him, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that she was getting in too deep. And if sometimes she lay looking wistfully at the ceiling after he’d made love to her, she made sure it was while Alek was asleep. She tried to stop herself from caring for him too much—and certainly to hide her feelings for him. Because that wasn’t what he wanted. This was as close to a business arrangement as a personal relationship could be.

But her life had changed in other ways, too. They started going out more as a couple, so that at times the marriage felt almost authentic. He took her to the theatre, which she loved. They watched films and ate in fancy restaurants and explored all the tiny backstreets of the city. They drove down to the south coast, to visit Luis and Carly in their amazing house which overlooked a beautiful river.

And yet, despite the increased richness of their day-to-day existence, it was difficult to get to know the real man behind the steely image, despite the external thaw between them. He could do that thoughtful stuff of massaging her feet when she was tired, but if his fingers hadn’t been made of flesh and blood she might have thought she was being administered to by some sort of robot. Sometimes it felt as if she didn’t know him any better than when that list of his likes and dislikes had been circulated to staff at The Hog before his arrival. She still wasn’t sure what motivated him, or what made him sometimes wake her in the night when he’d had a dream which had clearly been a bad one. She would turn to find his eyes open but not really seeing, his body tense—suspended between the two worlds of sleeping and waking. But when she gently shook him awake, his face would become guarded and he would deflect her concerns with something sensual enough to send any questions scuttling from her mind.

He was a master at concealing the real man who lay beneath; adept at avoiding questions. His cool blue eyes would narrow if she tried to probe more deeply; his gaze becoming one of sapphire ice. Don’t push me, those eyes seemed to say. But that didn’t stop Ellie from trying, even though he would deflect her questions by sliding his hand beneath her skirt and starting to make love to her. He’d leave her breathless and panting as all her questions dissolved and nothing was left but the pleasure he gave her, time after time. And she didn’t give up. She just lowered her sights a little. She stopped expecting big revelations and just concentrated on the little ones.

And every time she discovered something about him, it felt like a major victory—like another little missing bit of the jigsaw. In those sleepy moments after making love, he told her about how he’d worked his way up from being a kitchen boy in Athens, to owning an entire chain of restaurants. He told her about working on a fancy vineyard in California, so that he knew all about the wine trade. He made a wistful face when he described his friend Murat’s beautiful country of Qurhah and told her how big the stars looked when you were out in the middle of the desert. He explained how life was just one great big learning experience and everything he knew, he had taught himself.

And one thing she was learning faster than any other was that it wasn’t so easy to put the brakes on her own emotions. She wasn’t sure if it was her fluctuating hormones which were changing her feelings towards her Greek husband, or just that sex had removed the protective shield from her heart. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from caring for him in a way that went bone-deep. Her heart was stubbornly refusing to listen to all the logic her head tried to throw at it.

Yet she knew what happened to women who were stupid enough to love men who didn’t love them back. She’d watched her mother’s life become diminished because she had wanted something she was never going to have. She’d wasted years on bitterness and resentment, because she’d refused to accept that you couldn’t make another person do what you wanted them to.

And that was not going to happen to her.

She wouldn’t let it.

Smoothing down the folds of her tea dress, she walked into the kitchen to find Alek seated at the table, a half-full coffee pot beside him as he worked his way through a stack of financial newspapers. He glanced up as she walked in, his eyes following her every step, like a snake bewitched by a charmer. She had become used to his very macho appraisal of her appearance and, with a certain amount of guilt, had grown to enjoy it.

He put the newspaper down as she sat down opposite him and his eyes glinted as she reached for the honeypot.

‘I enjoyed licking my favourite honey last night,’ he murmured.

Her eyes widened. ‘Alek!’

‘Are you blushing, Ellie?’

‘Certainly not. It’s just the steam from the coffee making me hot.’

‘Would you like to come to Italy?’ he questioned.

Ellie dropped the little wooden spatula back in the pot. ‘You mean, with you?’ she said.

‘Of course with me. Unless you had someone else in mind?’ He smiled and gave a lazy shrug. ‘We can treat it as a kind of honeymoon, if you like. I thought we could go to Lucca. I have business in Pisa and I can go there afterwards while you fly home. And Lucca is an extraordinarily pretty city. They call it the hidden gem of Tuscany. It has an oval piazza instead of a square one and a tower with trees growing out of the top. Lots of dark and winding streets and iconic churches. You’ve never been there?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve never been anywhere apart from a day trip to Calais with my mother.’

‘Well, then.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t you once tell me how much you longed to travel?’

Yes, she’d told him that, but that had been when she’d still had ambition burning big in her heart. When travelling had been part of her work plan and independence had been a believable dream which seemed to have fallen by the wayside since she’d discovered she was pregnant. She thought of Italy—with its green hills and terracotta roofs. All those famous churches and marble statues she’d only ever seen in pictures.

Wouldn’t it be good to go on an unexpected honeymoon for some sunshine and culture—even if it was the most unconventional honeymoon in the history of the world? And yet, just the fact that Alek had suggested it brightened her mood. Wasn’t this a bit of a breakthrough from her enigmatic husband? Could she possibly make it a real honeymoon—as if they were people who genuinely cared about one another, rather than two people who were just trying to make the best of a bad situation?

She began to spread the thick, golden honey on her toast and smiled at him. ‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘Thavmassios. We will fly the day after tomorrow.’

* * *

Two days later their flight touched down in Pisa where Alek had arranged for a car to take them to Lucca. The drive took less than an hour and they arrived in the late afternoon, when all the shops were closed and the place had a drowsy feel about it. Ellie looked up at the high city walls and thought she’d never seen anywhere more beautiful. Alek had rented an old-fashioned apartment overlooking a sheltered courtyard, where geraniums tumbled brightly from terracotta pots. The wooden frame of their bed was dark and worn and the sheets were crisp and scented with lavender.

She knew that they weren’t like other traditional honeymooners, and yet as he closed the apartment door behind them Ellie was filled with something which felt awfully like hope. She thought: We’re in a city where nobody knows us. Two strangers blending with all the other strangers. Mightn’t there be a chance that here the man she had married would let his mask slip for once, when there was only her to see?

They made love, unpacked and showered and then Alek took her out to dinner in a garden shimmering with candlelight where they ate the local delicacy of tortelli lucchese—a bright yellow stuffed pasta, topped with a rich ragu sauce. Afterwards, they sat beneath the star-spangled sky and drank their coffee—their fingers linking together on the table, and for once it felt real. As if they really were genuine honeymooners and not just a pair of actors acting out the parts. When he took her home, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately and he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom with a look on his face which made her tremble.

The following morning Ellie awoke alone. For a minute she lay there as sensual memories of the previous night filtered into her mind, then she pulled on a robe, splashed cold water over her sleepy face and went off to find Alek. He was sitting on their balcony with breakfast laid out on the small table and the aroma of coffee vying with the powerful scent of jasmine.

‘Where did all this come from?’ she questioned as she looked at the crisp bread, the buttery pastries and the rich red jam.

‘I got up early and you looked much too peaceful to wake. I went for a walk around the city walls and called in at the panificio on the way back.’ He poured out two cups of coffee and pushed one across the table and smiled. ‘So what would you like to do today?’

And suddenly—she had no idea what caused it—the perfect scene before her began to disintegrate. It was like tugging at a tiny nick on a delicate piece of fabric which suddenly ripped open. It all seemed so false