Billionaire Prince, Pregnant Mistress

Something to eat, something bland, would make her feel better. Nerves had made her bypass breakfast; lunch had been a joke. Definitely, she had to put something in her stomach.

Soup? Scrambled eggs? Grilled cheese? Better still, she could order in from Lo Ming’s, down on the corner. Egg drop soup. Steamed dumplings. Forget the calories. Forget the cost. An order of Chinese comfort food, then she’d turn on the TV, curl up on the sofa, get lost in something mindless while—

The doorbell rang.

Now what? It was late. Who would come here at this hour?

Of course. Joaquin. He knew what a setback today had been. He’d probably gone half a block, phoned Sela on his cell phone and she’d ordered him to go back and insist Maria come for supper.

The bell rang again. Maria pinned a smile to her lips, went to the heavy door, undid the lock and pulled it open.

“Joaquin,” she said, “honestly, you have to learn to take ‘no’ for an ans…”

Alexandros Karedes, snow dusting the shoulders of his leather jacket and glittering like jewels in his dark hair, stood at the door. Maria felt the blood drain from her head.

“Good evening, Ms. Santos.”

His voice was as she remembered it. Deep. Husky. Perfect English, but with the faintest hint of a Greek accent. And cold, as cold as it had been that awful morning she would never forget, when he’d accused her of horrible things, called her terrible names…

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

She fought for composure. Last time they’d faced each other, they’d been on his turf. Now they were on hers. She was in command here, and that meant everything.

“There’s a sign on the door downstairs,” she said, her tone every bit as frigid as his. “It says, ‘No soliciting or vagrants.’”

His lips drew back in a wolfish grin. “Very amusing.”

“What do you want, Prince Alexandros?”

A tight smile eased across his mouth and it killed her that even now, knowing he was a vicious, arrogant man, she couldn’t help but notice what a handsome mouth it was. Chiseled. Generous. Beautiful, like the rest of him, which made him living proof that beauty could, indeed, be only skin deep.

“Such formality, Maria. You were hardly so proper the last time we were together.”

She knew his choice of words was deliberate. She felt her face heat; she couldn’t help that but she damned well didn’t have to let him lure her into a verbal sparring match.

“I’ll ask you once more, Your Highness. What do you want?”

“Ask me in and I’ll tell you.”

“I have no intention of asking you in. Tell me why you’re here or don’t. It’s your choice, just as it will be my choice to shut the door in your face.”

He laughed. It infuriated her but she could hardly blame him. He was tall—six two, six three—and though he stood with one shoulder leaning against the door frame, hands tucked casually into the pockets of the jacket, his pose was deceptive. He was strong, with the leanly muscled body of a well-trained athlete.

She remembered his body with painful clarity. The feel of him under her hands. The power of him moving over her. The taste of him on her tongue.

Suddenly, he straightened, his laughter gone. “I have not come this distance to stand in your doorway,” he said coldly, “and I am not going to leave until I am ready to do so. I suggest you stand aside and stop behaving like a petulant child.”

A petulant child? Was that what he thought? This man who had spent hours making love to her and had then accused her of—of trading her body for profit?

Except, it had not been love, it had been sex. And the sooner she got rid of him, the better.

She let go of the door knob and stepped aside. “You have five minutes.”

He strolled past her, bringing cold air and the scent of the night with him. She swung toward him, arms folded. He reached past her, pushed the door closed, then folded his arms, too. She wanted to open the door again but she’d be damned if she was going to get into a who’s-in-charge-here argument with him. She was in charge, and he would surely see a tussle over the ground rules as a sign of weakness.

Instead, she looked past him at the big clock above her work table.

“Ten seconds gone,” she said briskly. “You’re wasting time, Your Highness.”

“What I have to say will take longer than five minutes.”

“Then you’ll just have to learn to economize. More than five minutes, I’ll call the police.”

Instantly, his hand was wrapped around her wrist. He tugged her toward him, his dark chocolate eyes almost black with anger.

“You do that. And I’ll tell every tabloid shark I can contact about how Maria Santos tried to buy a five-hundred-thousand-dollar commission by seducing a prince.” He smiled thinly. “They’ll lap it up.”

She blanched, but she kept her chin up and her eyes on his.

“Don’t try to scare me with lies! You can’t afford that kind of gossip.”

“I’ve learned to endure that kind of gossip, Ms. Santos. It’s part of my life. Besides, I’m the righteous prince who discovered what you wanted and tossed you out on your backside.” Another of those cold smiles twisted his lips. “They’ll eat you alive. How do you think that will go over with the handful of reputable clients you’ve somehow managed to snare?”

Maria yanked her hand free. “!Usted es uncochon!” she hissed. “!Un cochon malnacido!”

“I think not. If I truly were an ill-bred pig, I would have told you exactly what I thought of you eight weeks ago instead of just throwing you out of my apartment.”

Color rushed to her cheeks. She hadn’t figured he understood Spanish but, then, she’d been wrong in every judgment she’d made about this man from the start.

“You did tell me,” she snapped, “and now it’s my pleasure to return the favor. You’re down to four minutes before I call the cops. Dealing with the media will be worth it, if I can just get rid of you.”

“What’s the problem, Maria? Expecting your lover to return?”

“What?”

“Your lover. What did you call him that morning? Joaquin?”

Joaquin. The idea was so ludicrous she almost laughed, but laughter would take more energy than she could spare. Besides, she didn’t have to explain anything.

“Joaquin is none of your business.”

“You’re right, of course.” Alex strolled across the room to the front window and peered out at his limo, waiting at the curb across the street. “But I had a front-row seat for your little welcome home this evening. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

Maria rushed to the window. A front-row seat? Impossible. The Prince of Arrogance would surely not have stood in the cold and the snow, watching her window…

The big car. It was his. Furious, she swung toward her unwelcome guest.

“You were sitting out there, spying on me?”