Page 86

For the health of her babies, she had to rest. Not complete bed rest, but she had to limit her activities. No lifting heavy objects. No standing upright for longer than twenty minutes. No walking longer than twenty minutes. And definitely no sex.
Now here she was, in this stranger’s apartment, expecting not one but two of his babies, and the health of those babies was dependent on a support system at home that she didn’t have.
She didn’t know what to do.
How was she supposed to return to Melbourne? She couldn’t work, that much was certain, and she’d need someone to look after her, and, given that she had no one to do that for her, there was only one solution.
Aristophanes and his demand that she live in one of his residences.
Before he’d made her lose her mind in his office, he’d suggested it, yet she’d been barely able to take it in, too blinded by her need for him. There had been a momentary spark of temper then...well. She hadn’t been able to think more about it.
Now, though, she was staring that demand full in the face.
She liked her job and her flat, and her life in Melbourne. After she’d left her aunt and uncle’s house at eighteen, she’d shifted cities from Perth where she’d grown up, to Melbourne across the country, wanting to get as far away from childhood as she could. She’d been determined to make a new life for herself, in a new city where no one knew her and she wasn’t bound by the limitations her aunt and uncle had put on her.
She’d always wanted to make a difference to people, to help them, and while she hadn’t been smart enough for med school or nursing, or social work, being a preschool teacher had fulfilled the nurturing, protective need in her.
No one had looked after her as a child. No one had cared after her parents had died. The kids she looked after obviously still had parents, but someone needed to watch over them during the day, and she’d be that someone.
She loved the work and didn’t want to give it up. Yet there didn’t seem to be a lot of choice, not if she wanted to put the health of her children first. That was if Aristophanes Katsaros’ offer was still open. She assumed it was, since she was still pregnant, and he’d been very clear the day before about what he wanted. Then again, who knew? He might have changed his mind since sex was off the table.
She lifted her gaze from the carpet to where he stood in the middle of the vast minimalist living area, all pale carpet, pale walls and black leather furniture. He was pacing back and forth, talking on his phone. She wasn’t sure what language he was speaking—it was too fast for her to guess—but it definitely wasn’t English.
He’d told her to sit and rest while he ‘organised’ some things, but she hated sitting still. She also wanted to know what he was organising. She wanted to know what he thought about the fact that they were having twins.
In the hospital, his face had been set in granite lines, his whole body radiating tension. Yet his long fingers around hers had been gentle and firm, holding her with intent. He clearly hadn’t been about to let her go and she’d liked that. His grip had felt like an anchor, holding her steady against a powerful current.
She’d seen fear in his eyes, though, and for some reason it had been comforting that he’d been scared for their baby too. But then had come the revelation of the twins and his eyes had gone dark with shock.
Did he want them? She didn’t know. They hadn’t talked about it. They hadn’t talked about anything, and, despite her spending all of the previous night with him, she still knew nothing about him.
Today he was in another grey suit with a white shirt. His jacket had been thrown carelessly over one of the chairs, his shirtsleeves rolled up, exposing strong tanned forearms. Even now, after everything, her heart beat fast and her mouth dried as she looked at him move with careless, athletic grace.
What was going to happen? Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to like it, she just knew. Perhaps there was another option that didn’t involve throwing herself on his mercy, or upending her life, yet if one existed, she couldn’t think of what it might be.
It was times like these, bad times, that she wished desperately her parents hadn’t died, especially her mother. She wished she could talk to her about her pregnancy, about how she was going to be a mother too, but...that was impossible. She had only her aunt and her aunt hadn’t cared. Her aunt had four other children of her own and she’d never shown much interested in her husband’s brother’s little girl.
For a second Nell closed her eyes, trying to recall her mother’s face, but there was only a faint blur in her memory. It had been too long. All she had left now was the faint scent of her mother’s favourite perfume and the gentle warmth of her hugs.
Nell’s stomach hollowed, her throat feeling thick, but she forced away the rush of emotion. God, she didn’t have the energy to cry again.
In front of her Aristophanes stopped pacing and pocketed his phone. ‘It is arranged,’ he said, striding over to where she sat.
‘What’s arranged?’ she asked.
He came to a stop in front of her, folding his arms over his broad chest, his gaze the colour of steel. ‘You will not be returning to Melbourne. At least not until our children are born.’
A little shock went through her. She hadn’t known what to expect from him, but she hadn’t thought he’d take charge so immediately. There was no denying the authority in his voice though, the tone of a man used to giving commands and having them obeyed.
Deep down she was conscious of something tight and afraid relaxing, but her temper flickered. He hadn’t even asked her what she wanted; he’d simply decided all on his own. ‘Thank you for asking my opinion,’ she said acidly. ‘Always nice to have what I want completely disregarded.’
Storm clouds gathered in his eyes. ‘What you want is irrelevant. You are carrying two children—mychildren—and the best thing for their welfare and therefore yours is to be properly cared for by me.’
Her temper, already frayed by the day’s emotions, flickered higher. She was tired. So very tired. ‘They’re alsomychildren,’ she snapped. ‘And since when did their welfare suddenly become of the utmost importance to you?’
‘Since sleeping with you almost lost them,’ he snapped right back.
Her anger leapt, and she half rose from the couch. ‘So this is my—’