Page 2 of Pregnant Behind the Veil

Of being just like the other women who had set out to conquer him and his fortune.

I hate that his last allegation stabbed so deep. Not only did he consider our night together to be just like all his other affairs, but he labeled me an opportunist. A gold digger. A liar. How could I have been so damn stupid as to think he saw me, really saw me, in those moments we spent together? All he saw was a willing body and the chance for quick, no-strings-attached sex.

I was the idiot who saw him as someone I could fall for.

The shrill ring of my office phone cuts through my musings. I glance at the screen, recognize the number. Our front desk, manned by our night security guard, Donnie, when everyone else goes home.

I let it ring once, twice. Then I punch the talk button.

“Hi, Donnie.”

“Evening, Miss Wright. Your visitor is on his way up from the lobby.”

A thickness fills my throat. “Thanks.”

Donnie clucks his tongue. “I hope you don’t work as hard at your next job. You should go out with friends, maybe a date.”

“Are you offering, Donnie?”

His booming laughter gives me a much-needed boost.

“If I was thirty years younger and unmarried, Miss Wright, I’d…” His voice fades. I hear him murmur something, then come back on the line. “Your client is here.” Another pause, then he drops his voice. “Need me to come sit in your office with you? Man looks like he just chewed rocks.”

“He probably did.” The knock on my door makes me flinch. “I’m okay, Donnie. I promise.”

“I’m checking on you in ten minutes.”

“Hopefully he’ll be gone in five.”

I hang up, smooth my hands over the silky material of my skirt as I suck in a deep breath and walk to the door. Each step echoes in my bones as dread wars with memories of a hard body pressing me into bougainvillea blooms cascading over a stone wall and kissing me like I was his last breath.

God, I need this to be over.

Another knock sounds, sharper and louder, as I reach for the door handle. Irritation gives me something to grab onto other than illicit memories and misplaced hopes.

I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin and open the door.

Too close. He’s far too close, his massive frame filling up the doorway as he towers above me. Hands tucked into the pockets of his black pants and a navy dress shirt molded to his chest. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top button undone as if he couldn’t be bothered with it. Wealth and power and confidence wrapped into one extremely tall, muscled body. Heat radiates off his skin. A rich yet woodsy scent drifts toward me, teasing me as it tries to pull me back into the past. Not just our night together, but the shock I’d barely managed to concealwhen he’d walked into my office over two months ago and I’d realized that Michail Drakos and Sullivan were one and the same.

Reluctantly, I tilt my head back to look up into a glowering, handsome face. His square jaw is visibly tense beneath his dark beard. Full lips that curved into a sexy smirk the first time I saw him are now flat. And his eyes…pale blue, like his father’s, his brothers. I didn’t make the connection in the dim lighting of the bar, the darkness of Santorini’s winding streets, the moonlit villa where I let down my guard to a stranger who, for one night, made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this world.

But now, as suspicion and anger glimmer in the depths, I know I’m a fool. For so many things. As soon as he’d walked into my office and I’d seen him next to Rafe and Gavriil, the family resemblance had been obvious.

“I see patience is still not a virtue of yours, Mr. Sullivan.”

His eyes narrow. “Thought you might have changed your mind and left. As usual.”

My spine stiffens. I don’t owe him an explanation for why I left his bed at dawn. Not when he had made it abundantly clear the night before that our affair would go no further than one night. No questions, no commitments, just sex.

And as for the last time we saw each other at his brother Gavriil’s wedding, I left because the man had been a coldhearted, vicious bastard. I deserved far better than cruel accusations and ridiculous conspiracies.

I step back and gesture for him to walk in. His gaze darts back and forth, as if he’s waiting to see if I came up with a trap in the three minutes since I agreed to let him up to my office.

“I’m not going to murder you.”

His glance flicks to me, his eyes hard and suspicious.

“Tempting though it may be,” I add with a sweet smile.