He gave her his very best scornful look and sat up to take the phone from her. Or rather, he tried to. Somehow during the night she must have gained superhuman strength, enough to keep him pinned to the bed.
“Unhand me,” he demanded, glaring at her hand on his chest.
“If you, with all those muscles and all that body mass, can’t remove my hand from your chest, then you’re too sick to leave the bed,” she told him in that maddeningly infuriating way she had.
He shifted his glare from her hand to her face. She kissed the tip of his nose. “You go too far, woman.”
“I know. It’s my fatal flaw. Do you still love me despite it?”
He opened his mouth to tell her that he did, but snapped his teeth shut, smiling at her instead. That never failed to annoy her.
“Gah!” she said, and handed him the phone, storming off to the bathroom.
“How do you feel?” Dmitri asked when she was gone.
“Like hell. Worse. Can you get the meeting pushed back a day or two?”
“It won’t be easy, but I think so. I’d better—I’d hate to think what Harry would do to me if she found I made you come to the office that sick.”
Iakovos grunted a nonreply and hung up, wondering if he was going to have to sweeten Harry’s mood, and how he could possibly do that when he just wanted to be put out of his misery.
He woke up a short while later to the bliss of a cold cloth on his face.
“Come on, bachelor number five, time for your medicine.” Harry slid an arm behind him as he struggled to sit up, and held a glass to his lips.
“What is it?” he asked, frowning at the bubbling liquid.
“Flu medicine. Your doctor sent it around. Drink up. It should help with the fever.”
He drank, then collapsed back onto the pillows, every bone in his body aching. “You don’t have to do that,” he said as she wiped his face and neck with a cold cloth.
She paused, a worried look in her eyes. “Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t worry about it. Just rest.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t need her to attend to him, that the few times in the past when he’d been ill, he’d preferred to be left alone rather than fussed over, but somehow, this was different. He dozed, woke periodically to find her trying to cool him down, or tempting him with cups of tea and soup, and gradually a sense of comfort settled next to the desire to end his miserable existence. If he had to live and suffer through the horrible illness that gripped him so mercilessly, at least Harry was there to take care of him.
Three days later he emerged from the shower, feeling a little weak, but for the most part pretty damned good. As he dressed he thought with gratitude about the woman who hadn’t left his side for one minute.
“If you ever want to give up writing, you could be a nurse,” he told her as he entered his bedroom, looping his tie around his neck.
She raised her head from the bed, shot him a scathing look that was suddenly arrested as her eyes grew large. He only just got out of the way as she bolted for the bathroom, the sound of violent retching bringing back all too painful recent memories.
“I did point out to you that if you insisted on taking care of me, there was the likelihood that you’d end up with the same thing,” he reminded her as he entered the bathroom. She was on the floor, her glorious long legs on either side of the toilet, her body hunched over the bowl. She pushed back the tangled mass of her hair, wiped her mouth, and he knew that if she had been given the means to do so, at that moment she probably would have killed him.
He loved her so much, it made his heart sing. “Eglantine.”
“Yacky,” she said tiredly, her cheek resting on the seat of the toilet, her expression one of utter misery.
“Marry me?”
Slowly her head rose, her eyes dark with fury. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you would marry me.”
Her jaw worked for a few seconds. “Now you ask me?”
“Yes.”
“Right now? You do see that I’m hugging the toilet, don’t you? You do know that I’ve been vomiting for the last three hours, right?”
“I can see very well. Will you marry me?”
Her jaw worked again. “I hate you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?” he said, wanting to sing and dance and quite possibly do a backflip or two.
She rested her cheek on the seat again, her eyes closing. “Go away. I never want to see you again. You are an evil, evil man.”
“But you’ll marry me.”
“Not if you were the last world’s most eligible bachelor,” she said with a soft moan of revulsion.
“I’ll get Dmitri working on the wedding, then. The nurse is here, by the way. I’m sorry I can’t take care of you the way you did me, but I’m told she’s very good.”
Harry told him, in exquisite detail, what he could do with himself. He left the apartment whistling a cheerful tune.
Six weeks to the day after Iakovos finally got around to asking her to marry him, Harry sat in a doctor’s office in Seattle, completely speechless.
“You’re sure?” she finally got out, her whole body in shock as she searched the face of the woman who stood in front of her.
“Quite sure. I take it this isn’t something you were expecting?”
She looked from the woman to the computer screen that showed the test results. A surge of pure emotion shot through her. “You’re really, really sure? There hasn’t been some sort of a mix-up in tests?”
“No, no mix-up.” Her doctor gave her a little pat on the shoulder. “Harry, I’ve known you for what, fifteen years? I know you said you were getting married, but is there a reason you don’t want to be pregnant right now?”
“No. Other than . . . well . . . I just wasn’t really thinking along those lines yet. Iakovos and I haven’t talked about kids. And, to be honest, I’m almost thirty-four, Bess. That’s kind of pushing it for babies, isn’t it?”
“Pah. You’re in good health, the babies are fine, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to present your handsome Greek with two beautiful children.”
Twins. She was going to have twins. She looked at the screen again, at the results of the blood test and scan that had been done when she’d come to Bess complaining of feeling punky. She left the doctor’s office walking a good foot off the ground, and barely made it back to her apartment before she sat down on one of the packing boxes holding her possessions and dialed his number.
His voice was clipped as he said his name.
“Hi. Am I bothering you?”
“We’re about to go into a meeting. Can I call you later?”
“Sure. It’s just . . . Iakovos . . . there’s something . . . important I have to tell you.”
“Are you coming to New York earlier than you thought?” he asked, his voice sending little warm skitters down her back. They’d been apart for ten days while she wrapped up her life in Seattle and he worked on the pressing business in his New York office. “No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know. Listen, call me as soon as you can. But, Iakovos?”
“Yes?”
“Make sure you’re alone when you call.”
“Phone sex is no substitution for the real thing,” he told her sternly before ringing off.
It seemed like an eternity before he called that night, and she had a hard time actually accomplishing anything but wandering around her half-empty apartment, taking a few calls from friends who knew she was moving to Greece; one from her publisher, who called to congratulate her on her upcoming marriage; and a visit from Tim with an invitation to come over for dinner to see the new baby.
Through it all she smiled and chatted, all the while secretly hugging herself with her news, hardly able to contain herself until she could share her excitement with the man whose life was now inexorably bound to hers.
“All right, my wild sea nymph, I am back at the hotel, and alone, as y
ou requested,” Iakovos said a few hours later, his voice warm and comforting in her ear. “You may now proceed to torment me with sexual talk, but be warned I will have my revenge when you come to New York. I plan on taking out all my frustrations on your delicious body.”
“You’re more than welcome to. But before we get to the smutty talk, I have something to tell you.”
“Oh?” He sounded politely interested.
She smiled at nothing, knowing she was about to knock his socks off. “I really wish I could tell you this in person, but since I won’t be in New York for another ten days, I’m just going to have to do it this way. I’m pregnant.”
Silence met her ears. A stunned, disbelieving sort of silence. A silence that Harry suddenly felt went on for far too long.
“Iakovos? Did you hear me?”
He was silent for a few more seconds, and when he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse, as if it were the voice of a stranger. “I heard.”
Her stomach dropped to her feet. “You’re not happy? I know we haven’t talked about kids, but . . . well, somehow, it happened. It must have been when I ran out of birth control pills before we went to Athens. I’m sorry that I couldn’t prepare you for the news better, but—”
“You can tell me just one thing,” he interrupted with cold calculation. “You can tell me who the father is.”
Harry stared at the floor with disbelief. “You didn’t just say that. No, you couldn’t just say that. You couldn’t in a million years say something as crass as that.”
“Crass it may be, but I want to know, Harry. Who is the father?”
She took a deep breath. Was she hallucinating? Was this a nightmare? It couldn’t be real, could it? “You are the father, you insensitive ass. How dare you think I would screw around on you? More to the point, why would you think that? Why wouldn’t you think the babies are yours?”
“Babies?”
“Twins, actually. Answer my question, please.”
He was silent for a good ten seconds, making Harry wonder if the cell connection had been lost. “I know because I’m unable to have children. I’m sterile, Harry.”
“I don’t know who told you that,” she said, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry. “But they were wrong, and I have the scans to prove it.”
Iakovos said nothing, but she could sense his fury. “We’ll talk tomorrow about this. It’s late. I’m tired.”
She hung up without saying another word, stared at the phone for a moment, then around at the apartment. It was real. It wasn’t a nightmare. He actually asked her who the father was. He wasn’t happy.
Sterile?
She shook her head, wanting to cry. Everything had been so wonderful up to now. She loved him, he loved her, they loved each other. . . . Where the hell had it suddenly gone wrong?
She sat in her silent, dark apartment for two hours, her mind going round and round. How could he say that to her?
Her books, her most precious possessions, were all packed up and ready for the shipping company to pick them up and send them to Greece. Her furniture was marked to be given away to friends and local charity shops. Her knickknacks and other everyday things were mostly boxed, some going to storage, more-cherished items also marked to go to Greece.
“I’m going to have twins,” she told the boxes. “And Iakovos doesn’t think he’s the father. He can be incredibly stupid sometimes.”
Her voice echoed hollowly in the room. She closed her eyes for a moment, swamped with the pain of his accusation, then leaped to her feet and pulled her laptop out of the suitcase that she had been slowly filling for her trip to New York City. If she was hurting this much when she knew the truth, how bad must he be feeling?
The next day she called him again. His voice was abrupt when he said hello.
“Do you have a pen? Good. Take this down.” She recited an address to him. “They’re expecting you sometime today. Please be there before nine p.m.”
“Be where?” he asked, the chill seeping off his voice, through the phone, and straight to her heart. “Your lawyer’s office?”
“No, a doctor’s office. They need your blood for the paternity test.”
“Harry—”
“Before nine.” She hung up, turning with a grim expression as a medically garbed technician gave her a little smile.
“Ready?” the tech asked.
“Not really. It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“I’m told it’s . . . uncomfortable,” the woman admitted, escorting Harry to a room in the medical office, located within a mile of Iakovos’ New York office.
“It’s going to hurt,” Harry said, thinking of him. She just hoped he appreciated what she was about to do for him.
His life really had become a hell, a nightmare that he couldn’t seem to escape from. The moment Harry had announced her pregnancy, he felt like someone had kicked him in the belly. She couldn’t be pregnant, at least not by him. But that meant she had to be sleeping with someone else, and he couldn’t believe that, either. Oh, there was a nasty five minutes when he did just that, called her every foul name he could as he envisioned how she was laughing behind his back for fooling him. But the moment he remembered how her eyes glowed when she looked at him, he knew it wasn’t true. She loved him, and when Harry loved, she loved with her whole heart.
He was going to tell her that when she called, her voice so thin and unhappy, and politely requested him to have a blood test. He wanted to tell her that he was wrong for doubting her, to explain the situation, but she had rung off, and he spent a hellish half hour trying to decide if he should do what she wanted, or if he should just fly out to Seattle and tell her in person that he was wrong.
In the end, the demands of his business made the decision for him. He wanted to take time off to spend on a honeymoon with Harry, and that meant he had to get through as much business as he could beforehand. He did the paternity test just to make her happy, even though he knew it wasn’t really needed.
She didn’t answer her phone that night, nor the following morning, either. He was trying to get through the most pressing business so he could fly to Seattle and see her when the storm broke in his office. He was in the boardroom, meeting with a West Coast rival developer whose business was going under and whose concerns Iakovos was trying to buy, when a commotion from outside the room made itself known.
He signaled to Dmitri to see what the problem was, but before his cousin could rise, the door to the boardroom was thrown open, and his own personal tempest stood in glorious fury, her hair as wild and untamed as her spirit.
“Hello,” she said, tearing her gaze from his to smile at the four other men in the room. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I really have to speak with Iakovos for about five minutes. Who needs a potty break?”
Iakovos rose as she marched over to him, taking him by the arm, still talking as she urged him toward the door. “I’ll have him back with you before you know it. Oh, hi, Dmitri. Long time no see.”
The door closed behind them. He stared down at her, annoyance at the interruption fading to concern about the faint purple shadows beneath her eyes, but most of all, it was joy that filled him as he beheld her fury.
“Here,” she said, shoving a piece of paper at him. “Read the bottom part. I highlighted the important bits.”
He glanced at the heading. “I don’t need to see the results of the test,” he told her.
“Yes, you do!” She looked like she was going to explode, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation, her hair wild around her head, her body language aggressive. Why wasn’t she in his arms kissing him? Why wasn’t she murmuring words of love to him, words of happiness at seeing him? Didn’t she feel the same sense of bliss that he felt when she was near?
A horrible thought occurred to him. What if he had killed her love for him? What if his temporary idiocy had ruined everything? How was he going to live without his beautiful wild goddess?
He took her by the arm and hustl
ed her down the hallway to his office.
“Iakovos, please, read it. I know you think the worst of me—” she started to say once he closed the door.
“I don’t need to read it. I know you’re telling the truth. I know I’m the father. I don’t know how I am, but I accept that if you’re pregnant, I’m the father.”
She stared at him with surprise all over her face, her shoulders slumping as she tossed her bag onto his desk. He paced over to the window, then suddenly exhausted, sat down in his chair. He was going to have to explain. He didn’t want to, but after causing her pain, he was going to have to. He just needed to say the words quickly. He opened his mouth to say them, but what came out wasn’t at all what he expected. “Do you still love me?”
“Do I still . . . You’re serious, aren’t you?”
He nodded, unwilling to speak. He needed to know he hadn’t screwed things up past fixing. He needed her.
She looked like she was going to say something very cutting, but then she slowly walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders as she sat on his lap facing him, her heels tucked alongside his legs. “Love doesn’t work that way, Yacky. I can’t turn my love for you on and off whenever I like. So, yes, I still love you. You drive me insane sometimes, but I love you despite that.”
He relaxed into his chair, his hands sliding up her waist to her hips, and higher to where her breasts were contained in a sea green mohair sweater. The color of the sea for his storm. “You drive me insane, too, sweetheart.”
“Yes, but you love that about me.” She kissed him, a sweet, slow kiss that she didn’t want to end, but there were people waiting for him. “Why do you believe you’re sterile?”
His face adopted a shuttered expression for a moment, but she wasn’t going to back away. This was important. “When I was seventeen, I was in a car accident. I lost . . . a piece of metal pierced my groin, and destroyed a testicle. It was too damaged to repair. The doctor told my father that although I could have children via artificial insemination, it was highly unlikely that I could impregnate a woman by natural methods.”