Baby By Accident(50)
Her sleep. A nap every day was required, he stated. Every respectable Parisian took a nap if it was August. His silly declaration should have stirred her rebellion, but she’d found it fit right into what her body wanted.
Her appetite. Once he’d figured out the nausea was gone, he’d been ruthless in pushing food in her mouth every moment of the day. Morning, noon and night she ate. Anything and everything.
His coddling irritated her and scared her. This was so contrary to everything she knew about this man and his conduct toward her. The one-eighty was enigmatic and enchanting. Added to the powerful lust she was keeping on a short, tight leash, the situation…he was…
The wall was crumbling down inside of her.
Lise took a sip of the lemonade and attempted to pile the stones of her hate back on top of each other. Each day, romantic Paris and this man pulled another stone down and each night, each stolen minute, she tugged the stones back up.
“Did you want dessert, mia dolce?” he said to her with a knowing grin.
My sweet. He’d begun calling her the nickname when she hadn’t managed to go past any pastry shop without slowing down for a look. And since Paris was littered with pastry shops, she’d been walking slowly for weeks. Strawberry fruit tarts glossy with melted sugar. Cream-filled macarons. Fluffy pain au chocolat. Almost without exception, and over her objections, he’d walked into every shop, charmed the clerk into a giggling mess, and exited with a bag of samples. Whether or not she declined, somehow the pirate got her to try each and every one.
She’d objected about this new nickname too. Without success.
At least it didn’t bite into her skin and spirit like Princesse had.
“Not this time,” she responded to his tempting offer.
He was having none of it. The waiter was given instructions and before she could snap her fingers, a plate of Petits fours glacés and a steaming cup of decaf tea sat before her.
“I said no.” But the words were hollow. She knew it and he knew it.
His only response was a wink.
His attitude, as always, irked her. He thought he needed to take care of her, when she’d been taking care of herself, her mother, her company for years without his help. The arrogance of the man. Just because she was pregnant didn’t mean she needed a man to take care of her.
The morning look in the mirror told her what her brain refused to acknowledge. His pampering had produced amazing results during the last two weeks. Her skin glowed, her curves had returned, her eyes were clear and happy.
Happy.
The clatter of her teacup hit the china saucer.
She was happy with Vico Mattare.
“What is it?” His hazel eyes were piercing and worried.
Worried?
“Nothing.”
He grunted male disgust at her feminine rebuff, but didn’t respond with a rebuff of his own.
His gaze, however, said quite a lot.
You are healthy and happy with me.
No, her brain yelled. Not a chance, her pride screamed. Never, her conscience spat.
Yet what was a girl to do? What was she to do when she felt healthy for the first time in months? Relaxed and rested and cared for by a man whose beauty took her breath away every time he walked into her view.
What was a girl to do?
“Vico.” A low male voice interrupted her thoughts. “What a surprise to find you in Paris.”
Her husband jumped from his chair, a look of pleasure crossing his face. “Alexander Stravoudas. What the hell are you doing here?”
She glanced into the sun and could only make out that the man was tall and lean and blond. There was presence here, though, she felt his power like a solid wall of dynamism.
“I have a family home here. My mother’s family.” The man moved to take her husband’s outreached hand. “Surely I’ve mentioned that before.”
“Never.” The sun didn’t obscure the handshake going on before her. She’d always thought Vico’s hands were quintessentially male—tough and strong. But this man’s grasp engulfed her husband’s in a rough hand that appeared as if it belonged to a sailor or a carpenter.
Who was this guy? Her curiosity reared to attention.
“Lise, this is the premier architect of New York City and one of the best in the world.”
“Hello.” She tentatively stuck out her hand into the sunlight, not quite believing this man was an artist. “Nice to meet you.”
“And Alex, this is my wife.”
Her hand disappeared, but the man’s touch was elegant and quiet and unassuming. She suspected that was a façade because the energy emanating from the man only grew as he stood there.
“Wife?” The low voice rose. “When did this happen?”
“Join us.” Vico pulled out a chair with another smile. “This is wonderful timing.”