by Lynne Graham
‘It should be here soon,’ she said soothingly. ‘Just chill.’
‘Don’t have a lot of practice at just chilling. I’m naturally impatient.’
Pixie sat on her knees by the bed because there was nowhere else to sit in the room. She breathed in deep and slow. She was very tired but she had to stay awake until the taxi arrived and she saw him off. At least he had taken her mind off what had happened during her shift: the pointless death of a young life in a car accident, a young woman on the brink of marriage, deeply mourned by her heartbroken fiancé and her devastated family.
‘What’s he like? The guy you want to notice you?’ Tor prompted without warning, startling her out of her reverie.
‘What’s it matter? Leprechauns aren’t sexy,’ she pointed out in a defeatist tone. ‘Antony’s a paramedic so I don’t know much about him, only that he’s a lovely guy. For all I know, he could have a girlfriend.’
‘I think you look more like a forest fairy than a leprechaun,’ Tor remarked, wondering when a woman had last told him that she was attracted to someone else rather than him. He didn’t think it had ever happened to him. It was a startling, disconcerting novelty. He was used to walking into a bar and every beautiful woman there making a beeline for him. He was young, he was rich, he was single. That was how his world worked and casual sex was always easily available, not something he had to plan.
Before his marriage, though, he hadn’t had much experience. He had grown up with Katerina. Their families had been and still were friends. He had known even as a teenager that he would marry Katerina and he had insisted on going ahead and marrying her when he was only twenty. Maybe his parents had been right when they had tried to talk him out of that, tried to tell him that they were too young. He had been ready for that commitment but evidently Katerina hadn’t been. Yet he had honestly believed that she loved him the way he loved her.
Forest fairy? That sounded rather more complimentary than a leprechaun, Pixie was reflecting ruefully. OK, she was fishing for hope! What he had already taught her without even trying was that what she had regarded as attraction with Antony was a laughable shadow in comparison to the way in which Tor drew her. Perhaps she had only focused on Antony because there was nobody else around and she had yet to find a boyfriend.
‘Maybe that depends on your point of view. If I still look like I belong in a kid’s storybook, it’s not exactly seductive,’ Pixie muttered. ‘But you’ve definitely got the gift of the gab.’
‘Gift of the gab? What’s that?’ he questioned.
‘A ready tongue. You know the right thing to say. If you were interested in a woman, you would know better than to compare her to a leprechaun,’ she guessed.
‘That’s true,’ Tor acknowledged without hesitation.
Pixie studied him, liking his honesty in admitting that, where women were involved, he was as smooth and cutting edge as glass, instinctively knowing the right words to impress and please. That fitted. No guy as downright gorgeous as he was could be an innocent or clumsy with his words. He had already been married, which made her respect and trust him more because he had committed to one woman young when he must have had so many other options.
In his marriage, however, he had been badly burned, she reflected with fierce compassion, because the woman he had married had betrayed his trust and hurt him. And that was what he was truly struggling with, she decided thoughtfully. He wasn’t only striving to handle the pain of loss, but he was also dealing with the pain of being betrayed by someone whom he had loved and trusted.
She went out to the front door to check for any sign of the taxi, but the street was quiet. She padded back into her room, colliding with watchful dark eyes shot through with accents of gold. He really did have the most beautiful eyes and the thickest, longest, blackest lashes and any woman would have noticed those attractions, she reasoned uncomfortably. The guy had dynamite sex appeal. ‘Why were you on your own tonight?’ she asked him curiously as she leant over him.
‘I go out every year on this date and remember Katerina’s and Sofia’s deaths,’ he confided, dismaying her.
‘If you have to drink to handle those memories, it’s a destructive habit,’ Pixie told him gently. ‘It would be wiser to talk about them and leave the booze out of it.’
Tor pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘And what would you know about it?’
‘I lost my parents six years ago,’ she reminded him. ‘I used my nursing course to work through those feelings of loss by helping other people. I have to deal with bereaved people at work on a regular basis. Sometimes their unhappiness makes me feel anxious and sad. Let me look at your head.’
She had the brightest blue eyes and a full soft pink mouth. Arousal slithered through Tor and he struggled to master it and concentrate on the conversation as he lowered his head. ‘And how do you handle it?’
‘I have a box with a lid at the back of my mind. At work I cram anything that makes me uncomfortable in there and then close the lid down tight. I don’t allow myself to think about any of it until the end of my shift.’
He shivered as gentle fingertips brushed his brow and delicately traced the bump. He was already imagining those soft fingers smoothing over a far more sensitive part of his body and he castigated himself for his arousal because she had been kind to him and she was too young for him, possibly not that experienced either. She didn’t deserve for him to take advantage of her sympathetic nature.
‘All that restraint sounds rather too taxing for me.’ Tor tilted his head back again to look up at her.
And her heartbeat pounded like a crazed drum as their eyes met again, a wild fluttering breaking free in her tummy even as an almost painful ache thrummed between her thighs. It was lust, instant and raw and nothing at all like the simple sexual curiosity Antony had stirred in her. A man had never made her feel anything that powerful before and that shocking intensity stopped her dead in her tracks. Long brown fingers reached up to lace with care into her curls, tugging her head down to his.
‘I want to kiss you,’ Tor murmured almost fiercely.
‘Do it,’ she heard herself urge without hesitation, so greedy was she for more of the new sensations he had awakened.
And his mouth tasted hers, gently parting and seeking, startling her with that sensual testing appeal and warm invitation. His mouth sent a curling flame of liquid heat to the heart of her, which made her lean down, instinctively seeking more of the same. Long, lazy arms extending, he brought her down on top of him and effortlessly turned them both over, flipping her down onto the bed beside him without her registering any sense of alarm.
In fact, as he slid partially over her, the weight of one masculine leg parting hers, a naked thrill of excitement raced through Pixie and her entire body tingled as the tip of his tongue skidded over the roof of her mouth. Nothing had ever felt so good or so necessary as the hot urgency of his mouth on hers. She was no innocent when it came to kissing but never before had she enjoyed kisses that set her on fire. Beneath her top she was ridiculously conscious of the heavy swell of her breasts and the prickling tightening of her nipples while in her pelvis a combustible mix of heat and craving seethed.
He eased a hand below her top and cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing an urgently tender nipple, and her back arched and her hips bucked, and a breathless moan was torn from her lips without her volition. He thrust the top out of his path and locked his mouth to the straining, tightly beaded tip of her nipple and her whole body rose against his on the surge of tormenting sensation that darted straight to the hollow between her legs.
‘I love your body,’ he husked. ‘It’s so sexy.’
And her lashes almost fluttered open on surprised eyes because she had never been told she was sexy before. No, she was always the girl the stray men locked on to and shared their life stories with. They told her about their past break-ups and what sort of girl they were hopin
g to meet. It was never ever a short curvy blonde who liked to listen and didn’t like exercise much. No, it was always someone tall, slim and into the gym. She had more gay friends than heterosexual ones, friends who told her she needed to be more confident, outgoing and chatty if she wanted men to notice her. That instant of clear thought and surprise faded as Tor divided his attentions between her breasts with a single-minded intensity that destroyed any control she had over her sensation-starved body.
Tor was making her feel sexy. He was making her feel good about herself and her body and the burning, yearning ache at her feminine core, making her hips writhe, cutting through every other consideration she might have had. He touched her there, where she needed that touch most, tracing her slick folds with skilled fingertips, toying with her to make her gasp and then circling her unbearably sensitive core until she didn’t know what she was doing any more, only knew that her body felt like one giant yawning scream in desperate need of release. She was shifting, moving, out of control, feverish with a need she had never felt so strongly before.
‘Want me?’ he groaned as he skimmed off her pyjama bottoms.
‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, longing for that gnawing hunger to be satisfied.
‘Thee mou... I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you right now!’ Tor growled, shifting over her, rearranging her willing body to push her legs up and back and higher.
And then he was surging into her, partially sating that desire for more with a compelling rush of new sensations. There was the burn as he stretched her tight channel and then a sudden sharp sting of pain as he plunged deeper. It made her grit her teeth but before she could linger on that development a whole host of new reactions was washing her memory of it away.
‘So tight, so good, you feel amazing, moraki mou,’ he framed raggedly, dark eyes sheer smouldering golden enticement as he looked down at her, shifting his lithe hips to send another cascade of sensual response travelling through her pliant body that made her breath catch on a gasp of wonder.
What had momentarily felt new and disconcertingly intense now felt absolutely right. Deep down inside, her body was tightening and tightening while his every passionate stroke inside her sent a sweet tide of rapturous sensation rippling through her. His urgency increased her breathless excitement. She thought her heart was about to burst from her chest. Only quick, shallow breaths came to her lungs and her body was rising up to his until finally the unbearable tension gripping her broke and she convulsed, her body clenching tight on his as an exquisite surge of release sent her over the edge and engulfed her in ecstasy.
In the wake of that shattering conclusion, Pixie stirred, shifting out awkwardly from beneath Tor’s weight. ‘Tor?’ she whispered. ‘Tor?’
She scrambled out of bed, worriedly scanning him. Breathing normally, he was fast asleep. Her fingers grazed his brow, but his temperature was already cooling from his exertions on her behalf. Her face flamed hotter than hellfire.
Pixie was in shock as she eased back into her pyjama shorts with a wince because a part of her that she didn’t want to think about just then was sore. Tor had kept on warning her that he was very drunk, but she hadn’t really believed him. Some people retained better control under the influence of alcohol, and he was clearly one of those individuals, capable of having a normal conversation and putting up a front. His conduct, however, was more revealing, she conceded uneasily. Intoxicated people were less inhibited, more liable to succumb to impulsive, uncharacteristic behaviour.
And having sex with her could only have been a random impulse and something he wouldn’t have done under any other circumstances. She could feel the blood draining from her shaken face as she made that deduction.
Saffron had brought him home for sex and he had said no. While respectfully engaged in remembering the death of his loved ones, Tor had not wanted a one-night stand with anyone. Pixie completely understood that, so she could not explain how she had lost control of the situation to the extent of actually having sex with Tor. How had that happened? How had she contrived to take advantage of a guy who was drunk and probably concussed and confused into the bargain?
She hurried into the compact en suite bathroom and went for a quick shower, registering in consternation as she undressed that neither one of them had thought to use contraception. She lifted chilled hands to her distraught face because she wasn’t on the birth-control pill or the shot or anything, having deemed such advance precautions unnecessary when she had yet to have even a relationship with a man and had never felt any urge to try more casual encounters.
Of course, she could ask for the morning-after pill, she reminded herself, and tensed at the prospect of having to make that decision. Why was that the exact moment when she had to recall her late mother tugging her curls and saying, ‘You were my little surprise baby!’ Although she hadn’t been planned by her parents, both of whom had been in their forties when she was unexpectedly conceived, she had been welcomed into the world and loved all the same. How could she do any less for any child she conceived?
Well, she was being a little theatrical in imagining such a challenging scenario in the immediate aftermath of her first sexual encounter, she told herself in exasperation.
But in truth, she was in shock at what she had done. She wasn’t an impulsive person and yet from that first scorching kiss she had succumbed to Tor and had encouraged his every move. She hadn’t made the smallest attempt to call a halt, she reminded herself crushingly. Her body and the fiery seduction of her own eager responses had enthralled her. All these years, it seemed, she had totally underestimated the fact that sexual arousal genuinely could lead to seriously bad choices.
Tor was gorgeous and he had got her all excited and everything that had happened from that point had been her fault. He had told her that he was drunk, and she had seen for herself that he was probably concussed. She had chosen to have sex with a drunk, grieving man and could only thank herself for the powerful sense of humiliation and shame that she was now enduring. She had taken advantage of him.
Pixie moved back into the bedroom, where Tor still slept. In only a couple of hours she had to get up again and go to work. She got back on the bed and clung to her side of it, eyes so heavy they ached. She felt sad, ashamed that she had been so foolish as to get carried away like a wayward teenager with the excitement of sex. She knew better, she knew the risks to her health and happiness and knew she would be visiting a clinic as soon as possible to be checked and go on some form of birth control. Although the guilt currently assailing her warned that she was highly unlikely to make such a mistake twice.
His phone was buzzing in his pocket and she drew it out with careful fingers and gently switched it off before replacing it. She was in no mood to be confronted by an angry, confused man because she couldn’t explain what had happened between them either.
Dawn was lightening the skies when she rose again and quietly dressed for her shift. Tor was still heavily asleep, and she decided to leave him to let himself out. That approach would neatly sidestep any embarrassing conversations or partings. She never ever wanted to lay eyes on the guy again!
CHAPTER THREE
TEARS WERE BURNING the backs of Pixie’s eyes as she sat stiffly in the waiting area of the opulent office building. The receptionist was exasperated with her for refusing to take a polite hint and leave: Tor Sarantos was not available for an appointment or even a phone conversation with anyone whose name wasn’t on the ‘approved’ list.
So, how was she supposed to tell the man that he had got her pregnant? Putting such a confidential disclosure in a letter struck her as foolish and careless. It would be read by office staff and likely discarded as the ravings of some desperate wannabe striving to importune the boss. And if it was given to him, he would be embarrassed that employees had been made aware of information that he would probably prefer stayed private.
Yes, Tor Sarantos, banker extraordinaire, h
ad certainly been hiding his light under a bushel, a virtual forest of bushels, according to everything that Pixie had learned about him on the internet and in the media in the months since their meeting. He was an incredibly rich and important banker and as far removed from her ordinary world as a gold nugget would be in a wastepaper bin. Only the craziest accident of fate could have ever let them meet in the first place, never mind conceive a child together.
It had taken Pixie quite a few months to decide that she had to tell Tor that she was pregnant. It was his right to know that he was going to be a father again. She would never forget the devastation she had seen in his haunted eyes when he told her about his wife and daughter dying. He had loved and cared for his daughter and it was that fact more than any other that had forced Pixie to listen to her conscience and seek him out.
He might not want any sort of relationship with her, but he might well want a relationship with their child, and she could not bring herself to deny either him or their unborn child that opportunity.
She was almost six months pregnant now. And, so far, pregnancy was proving to be a long, exhausting haul. She had finished her nursing training before she even allowed herself to acknowledge her symptoms and do a pregnancy test. She had wasted weeks running away from a looming truth that frightened her, she acknowledged shamefacedly, afraid to face the trial of being pregnant, alone and unsupported.
Her brother had been incredulous. ‘You’re a nurse!’ he had exclaimed when she had told him. ‘How could someone with your training fall pregnant? Why weren’t you on birth control? And why haven’t you gone for a termination yet?’
Yes, there had been loads of awkward, painful conversations between her sibling and her, conversations mostly bereft of Eloise’s more sympathetic input because her brother and his partner had split up and Eloise had moved out. Sadly too, although Pixie still saw Eloise as a friend away from the house, Eloise’s departure had worsened their financial situation and made meeting the mortgage payments an even bigger challenge.