Expecting His Love-Child (2 of 2 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
Expecting His Love-Child by Carol Marinelli. Copyright 2007 by Carol Marinelli.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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CHAPTER ONE (CONT'D)

His date was gorgeous--possibly one of the most beautiful women Millie had seen--yet she dimmed beside him. The whole restaurant dimmed a touch, and she wanted to capture that, make him the sole focus--like endless Russian dolls, Millie mused, seeing the germ of the picture she would create in her mind's eye: him--the biggest most stunning, most exquisitely featured--and the rest--his date, the other clients, the staff, the street outside--ever diminishing objects, growing smaller and smaller till there was nothing left.

'You are a cold bastard.' His date hissed the words out, almost spat them across the table. But he didn't flinch and neither, Millie noted, did he attempt to dispute the fact.

'It must be hereditary.'

'So that's it? After all I've told you--you can just sit there?' Still he didn't answer--utterly bored, he had the audacity to yawn as she promptly burst into tears. 'You're not even going to think about it?'

Again he didn't answer, and even though Millie still hadn't managed to pin a label on her as, sobbing yet somehow elegant, the blonde stumbled out of the restaurant, it was clear that whatever her title had been a few minutes ago it had just been superseded. As of this moment she was an ex.

'She waits now for me to run after her... ' Those charcoal eyes stared up at her, his lashes so thick, his gaze so intense, that for a second Millie's world stopped.

I'd wait, Millie thought, stunned that he was talking to her, that he didn't seem remotely embarrassed that she'd witnessed this intensely personal moment.

'I will sit here for a while longer--hopefully she will get the message and go home.'

'Or she might ring you on your mobile,' Millie said, blushing furiously as she did so, because even if it seemed to be idle conversation, as a lowly waitress it was inappropriate to comment. Management's orders were very clear: she should merely smile politely and move on.

Only she didn't.

Instead she hovered on the giddy line of propriety. His eyes pinned her, and the impact of him close up, of actually conversing with him, was utterly, fabulously devastating--and he surely knew it. Knew it because instead of looking away, instead of dismissing her, he responded with a question.

'Would you wait?'

'Perhaps... ' Her voice when it came was breathy, her shirt suddenly impossibly tight as she struggled to drag air into her lungs, her skin on fire--and not because Ross, her manager, was looking on and frowning at the exchange. 'Once I'd calmed down, once I'd... ' She didn't get to finish as, almost on cue, his phone rang. And at that point she crossed the line. Instead of turning and discreetly walking away, instead of heading back to the bar to let him take his call, she stood there, watching transfixed as he picked up his phone with long, pale, slender fingers that had Millie wondering if he was also an artist--wondering if that might be the reason she was so drawn to him.

'Thank you for the warning,' he said, turning off the phone.

'You're welcome,' Millie croaked, her cheeks flaming as attraction fully hit, and she was, for the first time, privy to that unscrupulous face breaking into a smile.

'Another.' He gestured to his glass, and Millie was about to say no, that the bar had closed about ten minutes ago. But glancing over to her boss, and seeing him frantically nodding, Millie gave a smile and, slipping away, headed over to the bar.

'What was that all about?' Ross asked the second she was within earshot.

'What?'

'Come on, Millie, don't play games with me. What was that cosy little exchange you were having with Levander?'

'He was just talking.' Millie flushed, and not just at being caught flirting--even his name was sexy. 'You were the one who said that nothing should be too much trouble. It would have been rude to walk away.'

'You know how to handle things.' Ross shot her a warning look. 'Do you want me to take his drink over for you?'

'Of course not.' Millie shook her head, quickly changing the subject as Ross poured a generous dash of vodka into a glass. 'Should we get the port those businessmen wanted? They might get upset if they see us still serving him.'

'The bar's closed,' Ross said, placing the drink down for Millie to take over. 'At least to anyone who isn't a Kolovsky.'

'Kolovsky?' Mille frowned, trying to place the familiar name and hoping he'd elaborate, but Ross just grinned.

'It's Russian for money!'

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