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A teeth-gritting, bracing cold shower restored a little sanity. But with sanity came the acknowledgement that perhaps I hadn’t bargained as well as I’d thought for what I wanted.
Because what I wanted was...more.
And nothing drove home that realisation harder than the first prenatal scan just days later.
When I heard the strong, powerful heartbeat of my child for the first time.
I couldn’t look away from the unrestrained stamp of possession on Neo’s face and that flash of uncertainty and apprehension as he stared at the monitor. I might have serious doubts as to his motives in other things, but in this I couldn’t dismiss the strength of his feelings. But were they positive? Or calculated?
As the doctor took measurements and studiously recorded details, Neo’s gaze drifted feverishly over my face, then down my body to latch onto my belly.
‘Dikos mou,’ he murmured, with even more fervour than he had two days ago.
Mine.
That proclamation moved something in me, and I was glad for the echo of my baby’s heartbeat otherwise I was sure he’d have heard my own thundering heart.
Would it be the end of the world to give in to this unrelenting craving?
The thought wasn’t easy to dispel, especially now, when he leaned closer, his body bracing mine on the king-sized bed.
Like a flower reaching for the sun, my every cell strained for him, defiantly ignoring my inner protests.
It was almost a relief when the doctor finished the scan and printed off two copies, which Neo immediately took possession of, sliding one into his wallet and handing me the other.
When I reached for it he held on to it for a moment, his eyes pinning mine as his fingers brushed my skin. Something heavy and intense fired up in his eyes—something that should have sent apprehension dancing down my spine but instead left molten heat in my belly, my heartbeat fast enough to match my baby’s.
The moment passed.
After Neo’s rapid-fire questions provided reassurance that the baby was healthy, the doctor and his technician were dismissed and Neo turned to me.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
‘Well enough to start work.’
His mouth compressed and I geared myself for another disagreement.
‘The morning sickness has passed?’
I nodded. ‘It stopped about a week ago.’
His gaze returned to my belly, stayed for fevered seconds. ‘Very well. We’ll leave in half an hour.’ With brisk strides, he left the room.
I rose, spinning slowly in place, still awed by my surroundings. By the size of the bedroom that would easily fit my previous home twice over. Not to mention the dressing room.
I approached the large, cavernous room decked from floor to ceiling in wood, and tastefully arranged into sections for shoes, handbags, day and evening wear.
Last night, when the helicopter landed in the exclusive neighbourhood of Voula, minutes from the centre of Athens, I’d been too overwhelmed by the hour spent in close proximity to Neo to appreciate the opulence of his tiered mansion.
Unsurprisingly, every square inch dripped with luxury. Cream with grey-veined marble and hues of dark blue and grey was the theme running through each room. Set into its own vast exclusive hillside, it overlooked a miles-long vista, with the Acropolis the jaw-dropping centre of attraction.
The staff of six spoke impeccable English, and after I’d dressed, the housekeeper directed me to Neo’s study.
My knock was answered in deep, crisp tones. When I entered his gaze was hooded, loaded with the sort of heavy speculation and calculation that sent another wave of sensation over my skin.
I’d walked away on Saturday night believing that I’d ended that dangerous episode before it had blown up. But with each look, I got the uncanny sensation that we weren’t done. That Neo’s machinations were merely gathering pace.
Which made walking beside him on the way to his underground garage a monumental task in composure keeping for me. But once we were seated in the black Maserati, the powerful engine speeding us through early-morning traffic, he was all business.
