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Greek’s Baby of Redemption
by Kate Hewitt
CHAPTER ONE
‘STAY.’
Milly James stilled, shock racing through her at the sound of that single word, uttered in a husky voice by a man she’d never actually seen in person. Her employer.
‘Pardon...?’ She turned around slowly, blinking into the dim gloom of the wood-panelled study, the curtains drawn against the Aegean’s azure sky, the tiniest sliver of lemony sunlight peeking through the heavy material. It was a beautiful summer’s day, but in the gloomy shroud of the study it could have been the depths of a dark winter’s night, the thick stone walls of the villa keeping out the island’s baking heat.
‘Stay.’
It was clearly a command, uttered with brusque authority, and so slowly she closed the door, the final-sounding click echoing in through the room.
She hadn’t even realised he was in the study when she’d opened the door to do her usual dusting, only to stumble back at the sight of him sitting in the shadows, barely visible.
Alexandro Santos’ instructions had been clear—he was not to be disturbed. Ever. And now she’d unwittingly done just that, because she’d heard the car motor starting and she’d thought he’d gone out. Her heart climbed its way to her throat as she tried to make him out through the gloom. Was he angry? How could she have been so careless? ‘I’m sorry, Kyrie Santos. I didn’t realise you were here. Is...is there something you need?’ she asked in as steady a voice as she could.
In the nearly six months since she’d been hired as housekeeper by Alexandro Santos, she’d never spoken to him, save for the first, rather abrupt conversation on the telephone when he’d offered her employment. This was the first time he’d been back to his luxurious retreat on the Greek island of Naxos since she’d started work, and she’d been tiptoeing around the villa for the last two days, trying to avoid him since he’d made it so clear he didn’t want to be bothered. At all. And now she might have messed it up completely.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she blurted, wishing he would say something to break the taut silence. ‘I won’t disturb you again...’
‘Never mind that.’ He dismissed her words with a flick of his fingers; she sensed the movement rather than saw it. ‘You asked if I needed something, Miss James.’ He spoke in a cold drawl, more than a hint of darkness in his tone. She wished she could see his face; the room was so very dark, and the sliver of light barely touched the top of his midnight-dark head.
She blinked, her eyes straining to see more, and, as if he sensed her scrutiny, he moved from where he’d been sitting behind his desk, walking to the window so his back was to her, the light gilding his outline in gold—all six feet three of powerfully built man, his crisp white shirt stretching tautly across his back and broad shoulders.
‘Yes,’ he answered his own question. ‘I do need something.’
‘Then how can I help you?’ Milly asked, glad that there might be something she could do. ‘Would you like a meal...or the room tidied...?’ She trailed off, because she had the sudden, inexplicable sense that he didn’t want either of those things, and she felt foolish for offering them.
Alexandro Santos didn’t answer her. He hadn’t moved, and she still couldn’t see his face. She knew what he looked like from the Internet search she’d done when she’d first been hired: dark hair, sculpted cheekbones, cold, blue eyes, a body of leashed and lethal power.
Ridiculously handsome, but in a way that had trailed a chilly finger of unease along her spine. He’d looked both intent and remote, a fierce determination in those blue, blue eyes, a sense of distance about him so even in a crowd he stood out, apart. Now she couldn’t see him at all, and that wasn’t any better.
‘How long have you been working for me, Miss James?’ he asked after another endless moment.
‘Nearly six months.’ Milly shifted where she stood, trying not to fidget. He had no reason to fire her, surely? No cause for complaint. For the last five and a half months she’d kept the villa clean, helped in the garden, and paid all the household bills. As housekeeper for a house that was empty most of the time, she knew she had an easy job, but she loved the villa and the island of Naxos, and she’d been very glad for the work—and the pay.
Although some might have found her life lonely, it suited Milly perfectly. After too many years on the fringes of her parents’ chaotic social scene, bounced from boarding school to boarding school, with an endless round of vapid and dissipated parties in between, she’d been looking forward to some solitude...as well as the extremely generous salary Alexandro had offered. He couldn’t take it away now, not when she was getting closer to saving the kind of money she needed to make Anna safe and happy, for ever.
‘Six months.’ Alexandro turned slightly so she could make out his profile—the close-cut dark hair, the straight nose, the angled cheekbone and full lip. He looked like a statue—a dark, dangerous and beautiful block of marble, perfect and so very cold. Even in the dim room, she sensed a remoteness about him, a certain distance in the way he held his body, angled his head. ‘Are you happy here?’
‘Happy?’ The question, the idea, startled her. Why should he care for her happiness? ‘Yes. Very.’
‘It must be rather lonely, though.’
‘I don’t mind my own company.’ She relaxed a fraction, because it seemed as if he were merely concerned for her welfare. And yet...that didn’t seem like her employer at all, a man who, according to the Internet, at least, was a cold, driven workaholic, with whispers of ruthlessness towards his competitors. A man who was photographed at various social scenes looking hard and unsmiling; sometimes there would be an elegant woman draped on his arm, but he rarely paid them any attention, at least in the photos and videos she’d looked at. It was almost as if they weren’t there at all.
‘Still, you’re quite young.’ He paused, and Milly waited. ‘How old...?’
‘Twenty-four.’ Which he must have known from her rather brief and unremarkable CV.
‘And you went to university...’
‘Yes, in England.’ Four years studying modern languages, and she was fluent in Italian and French as well as her native English, and now she had a smattering of Greek, as well. But Alexandro Santos knew all this.
‘Surely you have more ambition, then?’ he asked. ‘Than cleaning rooms...?’
‘I’m perfectly happy as I am, Kyrie Santos.’
‘Please, call me Alex.’ She remained silent. ‘You haven’t considered moving back to Paris? You were working as a translator, I believe, before you came here?’
‘Yes.’ And being paid peanuts compared to her salary now. She thought of her days in a drab office, translating dreary business letters. Then she thought of Philippe, with his golden hair and gleaming smile, his oh-so-honeyed words, and her insides shuddered. ‘I have no desire to go back to Paris, Kyrie—’
‘Alex.’
She said nothing, uncertain and again on edge, wondering where this unsettling line of inquiry was meant to lead.
‘What about romance?’ he asked abruptly, shocking her. ‘A husband, children...?
Do you want those things, eventually?’
Milly hesitated, unsure how to respond. Surely the question was inappropriate, coming from an employer? And yet how could she not answer?
‘I ask because I prefer continuity,’ Alex resumed, almost as if he’d been able to read her thoughts. ‘If you’re going to leave after a year to follow some man...’
‘I am not going to follow some man,’ Milly retorted with stiff dignity. Once upon a time, she would have followed Philippe. She would have followed him anywhere, until she’d found out the truth. Until he’d told her. Even now she could recall the mocking glint in his eyes, the cruel twist to his mouth. She forced the image away and focused on Alex Santos, even though she could barely see him. ‘The question is offensive.’
‘Is it?’ Alex continued to gaze out through the crack between the curtains. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. She felt like a prop in a play, something he could almost forget was there. And yet he was asking her such personal questions...why? ‘And what of children?’ he asked after another long moment.
Milly tried not to gape. ‘I haven’t thought about that,’ she said at last. ‘I’m not interested in having children now, at any rate.’
‘Not now? Or not ever?’
Milly shrugged helplessly. ‘Certainly not now. And perhaps not ever. Not any time soon.’ She knew how fractured and fraught families could be, and while on some level she might have the maternal instinct most women possessed, she had no desire to kick-start it. Anna was her primary concern.
‘So you do not wish to have children?’
Milly felt herself flush. Why was he trying to pin her down on this? ‘Maybe one day,’ she half muttered. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. But really, I can’t see how it is any concern of yours.’
‘Perhaps you will.’
‘I’m sorry...?’ He didn’t answer and she released the pent-up breath that had bottled inside her lungs. ‘Is that all, Kyrie... Alex?’ she finally asked. ‘If so, I’ll go now...’
‘That’s not all.’ His words stopped her in her tracks. ‘I have a proposition for you, Miss James.’
‘A proposition?’ She didn’t like the sound of that. The word was loaded with meaning, laced with innuendo, even when spoken in Alexandro Santos’ curt tone. ‘I’m not sure I...’
‘A perfectly respectable one. As respectable as one could possibly be, in fact.’ A note of rather bleak humour that she didn’t understand had entered his voice, and so she simply waited, having no idea how to respond. ‘A business offer,’ Alex clarified. ‘A very generous one. You accepted this position because of the salary, did you not?’
‘Yes...’ And to get away from Paris and the mocking eyes of Philippe and his crowd, but she wasn’t about to go into that.
‘Money is an incentive to you?’
‘Financial stability is.’ And saving money for Anna, but that was something else she had no intention of explaining. It was all too complicated, too sad and too sordid, and her employer did not need to know her personal details.
‘And my business proposition will certainly give you financial stability. In fact, that might be considered its chief benefit. But I admit, it might seem, at first glance, a rather unconventional idea.’ He let out a humourless rasp of laughter that would have chilled her if it hadn’t seemed so despairing. ‘Although perhaps not, considering how sensible and level-headed you seem. I think you might well see the practical advantages.’
‘Thank you, I think?’ Milly gazed at him uneasily, completely out of her depth. ‘But I really have no idea what you’re talking about. What is this...business proposition?’
Although she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like something expected or normal. What could he possibly want from her, in exchange for money?
She wasn’t naïve; neither was she, sadly, that innocent. She had an inkling of what he might want, and yet she could hardly credit such a possibility. She knew she wasn’t pretty—mousy-brown hair, same coloured eyes, a slight, unassuming figure. She wasn’t the sort to incite impassioned desire in any man, never mind what she’d once foolishly, so foolishly, let herself believe, with stars in her eyes and fairy tales in her heart. But she wasn’t going to think about Philippe.
And it would be just as foolish now to imagine that a man like Alexandro Santos, a handsome billionaire who could probably have any woman he wanted, was interested in her in that way. It was laughable, utterly so, and she would do well to remember that. Just looking at him now, shrouded in darkness, emanating a dark and innate authority as well as an undeniable charisma, made her realise how far apart they were in their experiences. Even when she couldn’t see him, she felt him, like an electric pulse in the air—dangerous and exciting, and definitely off-limits.
Yet what could he want? What else did she have? Her mind darted into possible corners, disliking what she imagined there. What if he was into something...well, strange? Some kind of fetish or weird kink he wouldn’t dare suggest to anyone he considered respectable...but no, she was being really fanciful now. Maybe he simply wanted her housekeeping services.
Perhaps he wanted to fly her to Athens to clean his penthouse there. But Milly knew she was fooling herself. Dusting and sweeping were hardly the most marketable or desirable skills, and it was obvious whatever Alex Santos was about to suggest was something out of the ordinary.
‘Kyrie Santos...’
‘Alex.’
‘Alex.’ She made herself repeat his name, the syllables sounding sharp as they came out of her mouth, like the pins turning in a lock. He still hadn’t turned, hadn’t spoken. ‘Are you going to tell me what this proposition of yours is?’
He didn’t turn from the window as he answered, his voice flat, toneless, without any warmth. ‘I want you to marry me.’
* * *
Although Alex remained staring out of the window so Milly couldn’t see his full face, he felt her shock. It rippled through the room like an electric current, pulsing between them with a dangerous charge. He angled his head so he could glance back at her, his eyes straining in the darkness. Her own almond-brown eyes widened, her pink lips parting.
She wasn’t a beautiful woman by any means, but there was something compelling about her slender frame, the innate dignity in the proud set of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin. To his surprise, Alex felt a shaft of interest slice through him—desire, something he hadn’t felt in years. That was rather inconvenient.
‘You’re...you’re not serious,’ she finally stammered.
‘I assure you, I am.’
‘Why would you want to marry me?’
It was, of course, an excellent question, and one Alex intended to answer truthfully. There would be no games in their marriage, no pretence in what he intended to be an extremely straightforward transaction. ‘Because I don’t have the time to find a more suitable and willing woman—’
‘Wow, thanks.’ The words burst out of her, full of hurt bitterness.
‘And,’ he continued implacably, ‘I need an heir as soon as possible.’
Milly reeled back, hitting the door, her hand fumbling for the knob. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Alex said. ‘I’m trying to be truthful. It would be foolish for either of us to pretend, even for a moment, that a marriage between us would be anything more than a business arrangement, one involving courtesy and respect on both sides, of course.’
‘And yet you said an heir...’
‘This would not be a marriage in name only, obviously.’ He still spoke calmly, but images danced through his mind all the same. Skin burnished gold by candlelight, light brown hair loose on bare, freckled shoulders. Absurd, because their marriage would never be like that, and he didn’t even know if she had freckles.
‘Obviously...’ Milly repeated faintly, still looking stunned.
‘And time is rather of the
essence, although we can discuss the particulars—assuming you are agreeable.’
‘Agreeable—’ The word came out in a squeak. He’d shocked her, clearly, and she hadn’t even seen his face yet. The thought almost made Alex laugh, except he hadn’t actually found anything funny in months. Twenty-two months, to be precise. ‘Kyrie Santos,’ she said firmly, once she’d recovered her composure. ‘I am not agreeable.’
‘You haven’t even heard the terms.’
‘I don’t need to hear the terms. I’m not in the habit of selling myself.’
‘We’d be married,’ Alex pointed out reasonably. ‘It would hardly be classified as that.’
‘It would be to me.’ She shook her head, a shudder running through her whole body, a visceral reaction of something close to disgust, which caught him on the raw. She hadn’t even seen him yet. ‘I’m sorry, but no. Never.’ She spoke with such vehemence that he was intrigued as well as irritated. It was exceedingly inconvenient for her to refuse.
‘You almost sound as if you’ve had such an offer before,’ he remarked. ‘The way you’re reacting, as if you’re remembering something offensive. As if my proposition recalls another.’
‘Of course it doesn’t!’
‘Of course?’ he queried, arching an eyebrow, the one she could see.
‘Most men are not in the habit of making such propositions,’ Milly said in that same chilly voice of maidenly affront. She donned that voice like a dress—something that could be taken off as needed, a bit of flimsy armour. It made him wonder what she was protecting underneath.
‘Aren’t they?’ he queried. ‘Most marriages are business deals of some kind, Miss James. A negotiation of sorts, no matter what emotional underpinnings they possess.’
‘And yet our marriage would have no emotional underpinning,’ she returned. ‘I don’t even know you. I’ve never met you before today.’
‘That is not out of the ordinary, for situations such as this.’
Shock Heir For The King (Secret Heirs 0f Billionaires) Page 18