The Pregnant Mistress

“Demetrios!”

Sam’s eyes widened. The booming voice belonged to her brother-in-law but the man who responded to it by stopping dead in his tracks and turning towards Rafe was no rotund, over-aged Lothario.

It was Mr. Twelve.

She watched, openmouthed, as he and her brother-in-law clasped hands, then laughed and threw their arms around each other in a bear hug.

“When did you get here, Demetrios?”

Demetrios. Demetrios Karas. Sam could hardly get her mind around the reality. This gorgeous creature was the man her sisters wanted her to meet? Not a toad that marriage would turn into a prince? This tall, handsome, dangerously sexy-looking man was their idea of Mister Eminently Suitable?

Only two women floating on the euphoria of wedded bliss would come up with such a plan. Demetrios Karas was no more marriage material than she was. What was that old saying? It took one to know one. Well, she knew. The man was a confirmed bachelor, a state of mind Sam understood, completely.

She stepped quickly back into the darkness and bit her lip to keep from bursting into laughter. Here she’d been skulking around because she didn’t want to be shoved into the arms of someone like the professor or the rancher, men who’d expect her to cook a hot meal at the end of a long, dull day of knitting or crocheting or whatever it was the wives of men like that did and all the time her sisters’ quarry had been the best-looking male on three continents.

Make that four continents.

Marriage must have turned her sisters’s brains to mush.

Surely, they knew this man was not marriage material. He would cherish his freedom just as much as she cherished hers. Actually, she wouldn’t even date someone like this. Oh, he might be fun for an evening but that would about do it. The smile. The swagger. He’d be self-centered, hot-tempered…and Greek. Really Greek, as in old-world, I-am-male, you-are-female, macho.

Sam rolled her eyes.

Just wait until she got hold of Carin and Amanda in the morning. Her brothers-in-law, too. And her mother, who’d done more than her fair share of trying to find her The Right Man. Get out of my life, she’d tell the bunch of them. No more matchmaking. No more setting me up. No more—

“Samantha.”

Rafe purred her name in that wonderful Brazilian accent of his. Sam took a deep breath and turned towards him.

“Rafe,” she said calmly. She smiled, rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “What a lovely party.”

“Carin arranged it all,” he said proudly.

“Well, she did a wonderful job.”

Rafe nodded. Then he tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and cleared his throat. “So. Have you met everyone?”

Here we go, she thought. “How could I?” she said, with wide-eyed innocence. “You have a zillion guests. I couldn’t possibly meet everyone.”

“Ah. No, of course not. But you should come inside, Sam, so you can—so you can meet some of them.”

She stared at her usually unflappable brother-in-law. A flush spread across his tanned cheeks and she sighed.

“Rafe,” she said gently, “I do not wish to meet Demetrios Karas.”

“Carin thinks…”

“Carin should stop thinking. About me, anyway.” Sam softened her words with a smile. “I’m happy as I am. Honestly.”

Her brother-in-law looked relieved. “I know it. I tried telling that to her, but…”

“You didn’t say anything to him, did you? To Karas?”

“Certainly not,” Rafe said briskly.

“Well, that’s good.” Sam fluttered her lashes. “Because I’d hate to have him think of me as goods in the marketplace, if I should decide to go over and introduce myself.”

“But you just said—”

“I said I didn’t want to meet him. I meant as a marriage prospect.” She dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper. “Actually, he wouldn’t be a very good one.”

“He would agree with you, I am certain,” Rafe said, and smiled.

“But he’d make a great evening’s entertainment.”

“Samantha!”

Sam laughed. “I’m joking.”

Of course she was. It was all a joke. The matchmaking. The handsome stranger with the groupies hanging all over him. The attraction she’d imagined she felt to him and the idea that he’d been looking at her. Even if he had noticed her, even if he were her type, what did it matter? She wasn’t in the mood to get involved with anybody, not for an evening, not for a week, not for a long time. She wanted some peace and quiet while she came down after the months in Indonesia. Some simple translating arrangement that would keep her in New York for a bit. Then, perhaps, she’d be in the mood to meet someone and enjoy him until the next job took her someplace else.

“…if you’ll forgive me.”

Sam focused her eyes on Rafe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.”

“I said I was going to find my wife and see if I can steal her for myself for a little while. That is, if you’ll excuse me…?”

She smiled. “Of course. Actually, when you do find Carin, would you give her a message? Would you tell her the party’s marvelous but I’m completely wiped out, and I’m going to call it a night?”

“Of course.” Rafe kissed her temple. “Boa noite, Sam.”

“Good night, Rafe.”

That was precisely what she was going to do. No slinking around on the dark terrace, either. She’d go straight through the house. She’d been behaving like a schoolgirl, trying to avoid Demetrios Karas. And so much for imagining he’d been watching her, coming to claim her…

To claim her?

Sam rolled her eyes. Enough was enough. She needed a good night’s sleep and she was going to get one. She smoothed back her hair, lifted her chin, put a polite smile on her face, walked briskly into the crowded living room…

And went in search of Demetrios Karas.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE was beautiful, this woman with hair the color of autumn and eyes the deep green of the open sea.

Demetrios had noticed her as soon as he entered the room.

She was a vision of femininity in silk a shade just paler than her eyes. A short top—cropped, his last mistress had called the style—skimmed her breasts. Her trousers matched the pale green top. Ordinarily, he didn’t care for women in trousers, but these…