The Stephanides Pregnancy

by Lynne Graham

'Any day of the week, I'd choose to be bored rather than humiliated!'

  'How does having my baby inside you humiliate you?' Cristos enquired, pulling her up against him and without warning splaying a bold hand across her stomach, lean brown fingers striking warmth and intimacy through the fabric that separated him from her skin.

  Betsy found herself backtracking. 'I didn't mean it precisely that way. But 1 think it's really embarrassing that people should know that 1 slept with you so soon after meeting you… they'll all think I'm a slut,' she pointed out in a stifled undertone.

  Cristos flipped her round and gave her a wholly unrepentant grin that radiated his natural charisma.

  That grin made her want to hit him but it also sent her heart racing in a dual response that was becoming all too familiar to her in his radius.

  'I'll take out full-page ads in all the major newspapers announcing that you were a virgin when we first shared a bed,' Cristos suggested levelly. 'Would that make you feel better?'

  Thrusting herself free of him, Betsy studied him aghast. 'You're not serious?'

  Glittering dark eyes gazed steadily back at her. 'I'm rather proud of the fact 1 was your first lover… I'd need very little encouragement to go public with the news. If you truly feel so humiliated-'

  Betsy was pink to the roots of her hair. 'I don't feel that humiliated… you don't tell people stuff like that!’ Cristos closed an assured hand over hers, flung back his darkly handsome head and laughed with rich enjoyment.

  Betsy launched herself back up against him and looked at him with a combination of chagrin, relief and grudging respect. 'You were teasing me!' she gasped, mortified that he had succeeded in fooling her.

  Cristos folded an arm back round her and suddenly she twisted round and pressed into him to wind her arms tight round his neck. The feel of his lean, muscular body and the wonderfully familiar scent of his skin made her weak with longing. 'Sorry, I've been acting the diva,' she muttered guiltily. 'You're right… nothing should be allowed to cloud our day.'

  In response, hard fingers tipped up her face. He drove her soft lips apart in a sensually savage kiss that brought her body alive with almost painful enthusiast. 'I'm burning for you, pethi mou,' he growled with roughened urgency.

  They had arrived at the hotel where the reception was to be held. The passenger door opened. Dolius' craggy face split into a smile at finding the bridal couple in each other's arms and then went poker-straight again.

  Betsy had never met so many people in her entire life as she met at the wedding reception. Her head whirled with names and snatches of conversation. She was seated with Cristos before it dawned on her that she had yet to meet her bridegroom's closest relative, Patras Stephanides.

  'Where's your grandfather?' Betsy asked in an urgent whisper. 'Didn't he want to sit at this table?'

  'It may have passed your notice but my grandfather

  is not among our guests,' Cristos said stonily.

  Betsy flushed. 'He's not here… why? Is he ill?' 'He chose not to attend.'

  'For goodness' sake, why didn't you tell me?' Betsy whispered back in dismay. 'What an awful thing to do to you when you're so close! I'm so sorry-'

  'It was my grandfather's right to choose not to be here. I won't have him criticized for it.' Grim dark eyes reproved her. 'His decision does not lessen my respect for him in any way.'

  Betsy had lost color. She tried not to feel hurt because she knew that she had touched a raw wound. Cristos was very attached to the older man. Naturally he was feeling the sting of his grandfather's decision to absent himself from so important a milestone in his grandson's life. At the same time Betsy could only feel as though she had been tried and found wanting. In opting out of their wedding, Patras Stephanides was expressing his uncompromising disapproval of the woman whom Cristos had decided to marry. Her heart sank because his grandfather's refusal to accept her was anything but a promising start to their marriage.

  Later, after they had eaten and done a lot of socializing, which made any personal conversation impossible, Cristos drew her onto the dance floor. 'Stop brooding about Patras,' he instructed, demonstrating a dismaying ability to read her thoughts. 'He's as set in his ways as most men of his age and, in time, he'll come round.'

  . 'Was he terribly fond of Petrina?' Betsy asked in a rush.

  Cristos released his breath in a slow, measured hiss. 'It's not that simple. An engagement is a serious commitment in Greece. Having given my word that I would marry Petrina, I then asked to be released from it. Patras was devastated. The Rhodias family are out~ raged and Patras believes that I have dishonored him.

  'And I bet he's blaming me for it.' Betsy sighed into his jacket, feeling more responsible than ever.

  'There was no easy solution to our predicament,' Cristos murmured wryly, lean, strong face reflective. 'We have to be realistic. When you injure other people, there is always a price to pay.'

  'But I don't want you to have to pay a price…' Betsy confided, disturbed that he had yet to make even the smallest reference to his own feelings regarding his broken engagement."

  But then what on earth would be the point of Cristos confessing that he still cared about Petrina? It would change nothing and only make Betsy feel like an albatross round his neck. Having married her for the sake of their child, Cristos was the sort of guy who would make the best of their marriage. In fact he had already begun to act like a husband. He had tried to protect her from the hurtful intrusion of the press into their private lives. In a similar vein, he had not rushed to inform her that his grandfather was boycotting their wedding because he had known that that news would only upset her.

  'I hope that a year from now you'll be able to look back and think that all this was worth it,' Betsy whispered earnestly.

  'A year from now I'll be a father… I have no regrets now and I will have none then.' His beautifully shaped mouth quirked. 'Don't look for problems that aren't there.'

  It was an excellent piece of advice but hard to follow. If he had loved her, she would have felt much stronger. It took two to make a baby, she thought unhappily. He had kept his promises to her because he was standing by her. For her sake, he had ended his engagement and as a result he was now estranged from his grandfather. He seemed to be the only one of them paying that price he had mentioned. After all, she loved Cristos and could hardly look on becoming his wife as being in any way a punishment.

  Early evening, Cristos told her that they would soon have to leave. She went off to get changed in the hotel room set aside for that purpose and wondered where they were going on their honeymoon. Garbed in a funky pale blue tweed jacket teamed with a matching short skirt that was hemmed with a fringe, she was heading back towards the stairs when Rory accosted her.

  'Can I have a word?' her former boyfriend asked earnestly.

  'I've barely had a chance even to speak to you today.' Forced to move out of the path of a chambermaid and her trolley, Betsy backed round the comer and then shifted across into the more private seating area there.

  'If you had taken the chance, Gemma would have thrown a fit.' Rory sighed. 'But I'm coming to the conclusion that that may be my fault. I haven't been fair to Gemma or you. The more she made it plain that she expected me to marry her, the more I dug my heels in. Now I'm going to make up for it…'

  Betsy was hanging on his every word, a big smile building on her face..

  'I've bought a ring,' he confided.

  'Make sure you set the scene right… dinner out, Mum babysitting Sophie,' Betsy warned him chokily, her eyes overbright with happy tears. 'Gemma likes everything perfect. Don't just bung the ring at her and act like her acceptance is a foregone conclusion.'

  'I've learned since I did that to you,' Rory confided with gentle irony.

  She flung her arms round him and sniffed and, laughed almost simultaneously. 'Just promise me one thing…'

  'What?' Smiling down at her, he closed his arms round her and gave her a hug.

  'Tell her that
you care far more about her than you ever did about me,' she urged, wiping at her damp eyes with her fingers as she fell back from him again. 'I'd better get back downstairs… '

  Rory only a step behind her, she walked round the comer and cannoned straight into Cristos. All three of them stopped dead. There was one of those horrid awkward silences.

  Inclining his head with perfect civility to Rory, Cristos murmured silkily to his bride, 'Are you ready?'

  Their departure was swift rather than lingering.

  Within seconds of getting into the car, Betsy was smothering a yawn. It had been an incredibly exhausting day. 'I'm so tired,' she muttered apologetically.

  'Then close your eyes and sleep… ' Cristos said it as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. 'Where are we going?'

  'We're spending the night at my country house.

  Tomorrow, we'll fly to Greece.'

  'It was a beautiful wedding,' she told him drowsily. 'Was it?'

  Something in his tone made her tense. 'Are you teasing me again?'

  'Yes… forgive my cruel sense of humor.' Lounging back into his comer of the limousine, Cristos tugged her back against him, encouraging her into a more relaxed and comfortable position. Kicking off her shoes, she curled up against him with a grateful sigh and that was the last thing she remembered for a long time.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was in a beautiful bedroom furnished with timeless antiques and lit with gracious lamps. According to her watch, it was almost eleven at night and Betsy groaned in dismay. It certainly promised to be a wedding night to remember. Cristos had to be really fed up with her for sleeping for so long! Catching a glimpse of her tousled and crumpled reflection in the dresser mirror, she winced in even greater consternation. Her cases were sitting just inside the door.

  Forty minutes later, breathless from the speed with which she had showered, reapplied a little make-up and donned her slinky midnight-blue silk nightdress, Betsy descended the sweeping staircase.

  She found Cristos in the library. Jacket and tie discarded, white silk shirt open at his strong brown throat, he was staring down into the fire, a brandy goblet curled in one hand.

  Her attention welded to his classic bronze profile, she hovered on the threshold. 'Cristo… '

  He straightened, brooding dark golden eyes narrowing. 'What are you doing out of bed?'

  It was not quite the welcome Betsy had been hoping for. 'It's our wedding night…'

  'Theos mou…is that an invitation?' Cristos drawled in apparent wonderment, his intent gaze dropping from her softly parted lips down to the pouting thrust of breasts defined by the silky material of her nightdress.

  'I suppose it is… ' Betsy dragged in a quick shallow breath to steady herself. She felt very self-conscious. Her body was already reacting with enthusiastic awareness to his appraisal. The rosy crests of her nipples stirred behind the lace bodice, the swollen tips tender. Her heart was thumping an upscale beat. The atmosphere had grown thick and heavy.

  'A duty screw…?' Cristos lifted an ebony brow, his lean, darkly handsome features stamped with derision.

  • 'Is that what you're offering me?'

  Her mouth fell open. 'A… what kind of a thing is t that to say to me?'

  'That if you're only offering me your body because I married you today, I can get by without it.' Cristos drained his brandy and set down the empty glass with a decisive snap. 'I'm not that desperate.'

  Betsy stared back at him in shaken disbelief. 'Are you drunk? Is that why you're speaking to me like this?'

  'I saw you weeping over Rory at our wedding. All that chummy hugging and pawing was a rather nauseating turn-off.'

  Her troubled brow began to clear as she realized that he had misinterpreted what he had seen. 'I wasn't exactly weeping over him-'

  Hard dark eyes rested on her. 'You were-'

  'But not in the way you seem to mean. At the minute, a sad story could make me cry buckets. If my emotions are stirred at all, my eyes start flooding with tears. It's embarrassing but according to the doctor it's just my hormones.' While noting that Cristos was looking deeply unimpressed, Betsy was eager to explain. 'Rory was telling me that he's about to ask Gemma to marry him-'

  Cristos vented a roughened laugh. 'Which is why the pair of you were tucked into a hidden dark corner in each other's arms, was it? Next you'll be telling me you were crying with happiness!'

  'Why didn't you tackle me about this earlier?' Betsy prompted worriedly. 'Why did you pretend everything was OK?'

  . 'Let me see…' Cristos murmured flatly. 'How many reasons would you like? Five hundred wedding guests? The fact that you're carrying my baby and shouldn't be subjected to stressful scenes? Or the simple reality that you told me you loved Rory on Mos? It's not very fair to castigate you for it now, is it?'

  While he'd spoken, Betsy's color had fluctuated, and by the time he made that last statement she was embarrassed enough to instinctively turn away. What an idiot she had been ever to claim that she loved

  Rory! Words employed to conserve her pride had come back to haunt her. She saw that she had no choice but to explain herself and with as much frankness as possible.

  'That stuff about me loving Rory,' Betsy confided, cheeks hot, green eyes only contriving to meet his for an instant. 'It was a total fabrication. I just didn't want you getting the idea that I might be getting too keen on you, so I told what I saw as a harmless fib at the time.'

  'A total fabrication…' Cristos repeated rather thickly, brilliant dark-as-midnight eyes locked to her guilty face.

  'Yes… maybe it sounds a bit strange to you but you're a guy… at the time it seemed a good idea to lie,' Betsy completed awkwardly.

  'I don't believe you,' Cristos asserted without the smallest hesitation.

  Betsy winced, her smooth brow furrowing. She was very aware that she was not telling him the whole truth. On the other hand, she was highly reluctant to confide that at any stage of her relationship with Cristos she had genuinely believed that she was still in love with Rory. 'All right…I'll tell you the truth-' 'Wasn't that what I got a minute ago?' Cristos asked with dangerous quietness.

  'It was a harmless, slightly doctored version,' Betsy muttered, horribly aware that, for someone stuck in a literal hot seat, she was not doing very well. 'The truth is that I remained very fond of Rory for quite a while after he and I broke up because I didn't get close to anyone else.' _.•.

  The silence stretched.

  'Is that it?' Cristos queried.

  Betsy nodded jerkily, studying him with desperate intensity in an effort to read his thoughts. Right now the last thing their marriage required was his conviction that she was madly in love with another man.

  'I thought there might be a version three in the pipeline…' Infuriatingly, Cristos elevated a questioning brow. 'No?'

  Feeling like a child caught out in a shameful act,

  Betsy compressed her lips. 'No.'

  'So why did you come looking for me?' Her face flamed.

  'I'm only teasing…' But there was no lightening flare of gold in his stunning gaze, no amused curve to the sculpted line of his beautifully shaped mouth. He could not even summon up a smile at the sure knowledge that he was married to a woman who lied so badly she embarrassed him.

  'You do believe me, don't you? About Rory, I mean,' Betsy checked anxiously. 'It's so important that you do… I really want our marriage to work.' His incisive gaze vei1ed~ 'I believe you.'

  Betsy tensed when it finally dawned on her that she was practically begging him to come upstairs and make love to her! Mortified by that conviction, she walked to the door, a tall, slender figure with a mane of copper hair that was a vibrant splash of color against her pale skin and the dark blue of her nightdress. 'Goodnight, then,' she told him rather stiffly.

  On the way up the stairs, she was thinking fast and furiously. This was the same guy who had hardly been able to keep his hands off her on the island. Why was he so uninterested? Did pregnancy m
ake her seem less attractive to him? She might not have the big tummy yet but was he already looking at her and mentally endowing her with an imaginary one? Or was it possible that he mistakenly believed that sexual intimacy might endanger her pregnancy? Who knew what strange old-fashioned ideas he might be harboring?

  Shedding her nightdress, because there was not the smallest sign that Cristos had ever had any intention of even sharing the same room as her, she got into bed. She was reaching out to switch off the lights when her bridegroom entered. Cristos sent her a winging golden glance, kicked the door shut with an air of purpose and began to undress. Her hand fell back needless from the light.

  'r need a shower… give me five minutes, pethi mou.'.

  He stripped where he stood. Out of the comer of her· vision, she was maddeningly conscious of him. She listened to the shower running and wondered what had-kept him from her earlier. Would she ever understand Cristos Stephanides? Would she ever learn to penetrate that tough facade. that could keep her as much in.the dark as a stone wall?

  When Cristos reentered to the bedroom, crystalline drops of water were still shimmering on the curling dark hair that accentuated his powerful pectoral muscular 'You stayed awake for me…' he murmured lazily.

  And that fast the atmosphere switched to electrifying. Her tummy tensed and flipped. Meeting his shimmering golden eyes, she was suddenly extraordinarily short of breath. 'I thought you weren't even going to sleep here,' she confided, relief making her chatter.

  1Sleep is the last thing on my mind, yineka mou.' With. a rueful laugh that sent a sizzle of awareness travelling down her backbone, Cristos flicked back the sheet and lounged beside her.

  His first kiss sent fire slivering through her tautness and made her melt from the outside in. Her hands coiled tight in on themselves. The silky touch of his tongue flicked the roof of her mouth. She gasped and he shifted against her, acquainting her with the bold potency of his arousal.

  He let his lips travel hungrily down to the delicate skin of her throat and she rubbed against him with helpless encouragement, reacting to the tormenting pressure of his mouth in certain places. He toyed with her urgently sensitive nipples, suckled the straining pink buds until she was clutching at him and crying out helpless in the grip of her own excitement.