‘Poor woman,’ she said quietly.
He turned back to face her; his habitual composure was back and his eyes were as cold as a winter sea.
‘You defend her? You defend the indefensible?’ he iced out. ‘Do you think that everybody has a redeeming feature, Keeley? Or just if it happens to be a member of your own sex?’
‘I was just trying to see it from a different perspective, that’s all.’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to you and to Pavlos.’
‘Save your words.’ He began to walk across the vast sitting room towards her. ‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted your sympathy.’
‘No?’ A shiver ran down the length of her spine as he approached. ‘Then why did you tell me?’
He had reached her now and Keeley’s breath caught in her throat because he was close. Close enough to touch—and she wanted him to touch her. So much. He was towering over her and she could detect the anger simmering darkly from his powerful frame.
‘So that you recognise what is important to me,’ he husked. ‘And understand why I will never let my child go.’
She looked up at him, her heart beginning to pound. Yes, she could understand that perfectly, but where did that leave her? Old sins cast long shadows—was she to be punished for the sins of his mother? Would she be simply another woman for him to despise and mistrust—another woman to regard with suspicion? He’d told her unequivocally he wouldn’t tolerate a sexless marriage and would take a mistress if he was forced to do so. But he had also promised her his fidelity if she took him as her lover, and she believed him. Why was that? Because she wanted to believe the best in people, or because she was empty and aching and wanted to reach out to him in the only way she suspected he would let her?
She shifted her gaze from the distraction of his handsome face to the hands which were clasped tightly in her lap. She studied the shiny golden ring which sat beneath the gleaming diamonds of her hastily bought engagement ring and thought about what those bands signified. Possession, mainly—but so far there had been no physical possession. He’d put his arm around her after the ceremony but that had been done purely for show. Yet despite everything she wanted him. Maybe even more than ever before—because didn’t the things he’d told her just now make him seem more human? He’d revealed the darkness in his soul and she’d come to understand him a little better. Couldn’t they draw closer to one another as a result? Couldn’t they at least try?
She wanted to taste the subtle salt of his skin and to breathe in all his masculine virility. She wanted to feel him inside her again. And it was her call—he’d already told her that. She ran her fingertip over the cold diamonds. She could act all proud and distant and drive him into the arms of another woman if that was what she wanted, but something was making that idea seem repellent.
She snaked her tongue over bone-dry lips, because the alternative was not without its own pitfalls. Was he aware that she was crippled with shyness at the thought of trying to seduce a man as experienced as him? All they’d shared so far had been a mindless night of passion with the sound of the sea muffling their cries. It had happened so spontaneously that she hadn’t had to think about it—while the thought of having sex now seemed so calculated. Was she expected to stand up and loop her arms around his neck—maybe shimmy her body against his, the way she’d seen people do in films? But if she tried to pretend to be something she wasn’t—wouldn’t he see right through that?
‘Ariston?’ she said, lifting her gaze to his at last in silent appeal.
Ariston read consent in the darkened pools of her green eyes and a powerful surge of desire shafted through him. He had revealed more to her than to another living soul and instinct told him it would be better to wait until he had fully composed himself before he touched her. Until the dark and bitter memories had faded. But his need was so strong that the thought of waiting was intolerable. How ironic that this woman carried his child and yet he scarcely knew her body! He’d barely explored the lushness of her breasts or stroked the bush of blonde hair which guarded her most precious of treasures. His heart was hammering as he pulled her to her feet and all he could feel was her soft flesh as she melted against him.
‘A real marriage?’ he demanded, tilting her chin with his fingers so that she could look nowhere but at him. ‘Is that what you want, Keeley?’
‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘Or as real as we can make it.’
But as he pulled the ribbon from her ponytail, so that her hair fell in a pale waterfall of waves, Ariston knew he must be honest with her. She needed to realise that the confidences he’d shared today were not going to become a regular occurrence. He’d told her what she needed to know so she could understand where he was coming from. But she needed to accept his limitations, and one in particular.
‘Don’t expect me to be the man of your dreams, Keeley,’ he husked. ‘I will be the best father and husband that I can and I will drive you wild in bed—that much I promise you, but I can never love you. Do you understand? Because if you can accept that and are prepared to live with it, then we can make this work.’
She nodded, her lips opening as if to speak, but he crushed her words away with his kiss. Because he was done with talking. He wanted this. Now. But not here. He saw her startled look of pleasure as he picked her up and began to carry her towards the bedroom.
‘I’m too heavy,’ she protested, without much conviction.
‘You think so?’ He saw her eyes widen as he kicked open the bedroom door and too late he realised this was the kind of thing that women built their fantasies around. Well, that was too bad. He could only be the man he really was. Hadn’t he warned her what he was and wasn’t capable of? He laid her down fully clothed on the bed, but when her fingernails began to claw at his shoulders he gently removed them. ‘Let me undress first,’ he said unevenly.
His fingers were trembling like a drunk’s as he unbuttoned his shirt and he noted that aberration with something like bemusement. What power did she have over him, this tiny blonde with her moon-pale hair and those green eyes which were forest-dark with desire? Was it because beneath that ridiculous fluffy sweater she carried their child—was it that which made him feel powerful and weak all at the same time?
He saw her eyes dilate as he dropped the shirt to the floor and stepped out of his trousers, yet the kind of flippant question he might usually have asked about whether she was enjoying the floorshow didn’t seem appropriate. Because this felt…different. He felt the hard beat of rebellion. Surely those meaningless vows he’d made earlier hadn’t got underneath his skin?
‘Ariston,’ Keeley whispered and suddenly she was feeling confused—wondering what had caused his face to darken like that. Was he having second thoughts? No. She swallowed. She could see for herself that was definitely not the case, and though she should have been daunted by all that hard, sexual hunger—the truth was that she was shivering with anticipation.
She raised her lips but his kiss was nothing but a perfunctory graze as he slid off the velour sweat-pants and pulled the voluminous sweater over her head, so she was left in nothing but her underwear. And she was glad she’d allowed the stylist to steer her towards the fancier end of maternity lingerie to buy a matching set of underwear which had cost the earth. The front-clipped lilac silk bra clung to her breasts and the matching bikini briefs made her legs look much longer than usual. As his dark gaze raked over her, the look of appraisal on his face made her feel intoxicatingly feminine, despite her shape.
His hand starfished darkly over one breast and as she felt the nipple tighten so presumably did he, because a brief smile curved his lips.
‘I want you,’ he said unsteadily.
‘I want you, too,’ she whispered.
He leaned over to skim down her little bikini briefs. ‘I’ve never had sex with a pregnant woman before.’