She could hear his footsteps behind her. She ran faster, dimly aware that people-performers and tourists-were staring at her as she bolted past.

They’d reached the exit doors. Gemma plunged through them, into the salty windy air. She veered away, heading for the pathway to the village.

He caught her arm. “Slow down.”

“Let me go.”

He ignored her. Pulling her around to face him, he said, “You wanted to see me, now you’ve nothing to say?”

“Exactly.”

“We need to talk.”

She stuck her jaw out. “We don’t.”

“Okay, I’ll talk, you can listen. But I suggest we do this in the privacy of my suite-unless of course you like the idea of public scrutiny.”

Gemma looked around. A group of gardeners was staring at them, talking. One laughed and Gemma flushed.

“No, not a good look for the boss to be arguing with his former mistress in public.”

Her chest constricted.

“I don’t care what people say about me, but I thought it might worry you.”

She glanced up. His eyes were hard, his jaw set. Her breath caught. He was so utterly gorgeous. And she loved him desperately…was carrying his baby. She gave in. “Okay, we’ll talk.”

Except for the addition of a Christmas tree decorated with gold and red balls, his suite was unchanged from the night weeks ago when she’d carried out a vigil waiting for him to return to her. Gemma wasn’t sure why she’d expected it to look different. Probably because, for her, everything had changed that night.

And now she carried Angelo’s baby.

“Have a seat.”

She took her cardigan off, dropped it on the floor beside the sofa and sat. Then gulped when he moved to stand in front of her. “So, tell me why did you come back? What was so important to come all the way across the world?” His eyes were guarded, but she got a sense that his body was wound tight.

She bit her lip. How was he going to react? Would he be angry? See it as an obstruction to his relationship with Stella?

“I’m waiting.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Whatever he’d expected, clearly, that wasn’t it. His head went back, his eyes flaring with shock…and something else.

“Run that by me again?” he said very, very softly.

“I’m pregnant.” Tremors of tension shimmered through Gemma as she waited for his reaction.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re pregnant. Did you do it deliberately?”

Twelve

“What?” Gemma didn’t try to hide her shock.

Angelo’s handsome features could have been carved out of marble. “Is this your idea of revenge? Your way of punishing me for your belief that I’d caused your sister’s death? Did you plan all along to fall into my bed, to get pregnant?”

“No.”

His tension uncoiled infinitesimally. “So why did you let me make love to you, knowing I thought you were Mandy?”

Oh, dear God, this was the one question she could not answer. Not without giving herself away. Irretrievably.

So she said with a touch of mockery, “Because you turn me on. More than any man I’ve ever met.”

His voice held an edge. “Oh, that’s the only reason?”

She shrugged. “Well, yes. What more could there be?”

“What more could there be?” he repeated savagely. Then he landed on the arm of the sofa and slid in behind her. “What more could there be?” A feather light kiss landed on her cheek. “This…” He pulled her across his lap, angled his head and his tongue stroked across her bottom lip, igniting a well of longing within her. “Someone who turned you on. That’s all I was?” There was affront beneath the annoyance.

“Well, that’s pretty much why you slept with me, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe I thought I’d found my dream woman.” His voice was ironic. Before Gemma could respond, his hand slid under her T-shirt, found the bud of her breast. “I was wrong. But we still have this, don’t we?”

Gemma shoved his hand away. She felt a tearing ache of loss. He didn’t love her. He could never love her. “I just wanted to tell you that the baby existed. You have a right to know. I won’t even put your name on the birth certificate.”

“Why not?”

“You want to be listed as the father?” She’d never expected that.

“Of course. No child of mine will grow up with the slur of father unknown.”

She took a deep breath. “What will you tell people? What about Stella?”

“Stella?” He frowned, bewilderment clouding his features. “Why are you asking about Stella?”

“I saw you. I saw you kissing her.”

The frown deepened and his eyes grew cool. “You saw Stella kissing me.”

She folded her arms across her breasts. “And I saw you having an intimate little conversation in the coffee shop,” she plunged on.

He shrugged. “Stella wanted something.”

Stella wanted something. That was for sure. Stella wanted Angelo Apollonides. “Are you trying to tell me that there is nothing between you and her?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“That you haven’t slept with her since I left?”

“I shouldn’t need to answer that. Especially since your only reason for sleeping with me was because I was a warm body.” The savagery was back, and his lip curled into a snarl.

Doubts swirled through Gemma. What did Angelo want of her? Did he mean that he hadn’t had another woman since she left? And given his reputation, could she believe that?

He was moving away. “And you won’t need to worry about other women-because we’re getting married.”

Gemma froze. “Why should I marry you?”

His eyes grew wary. “I would never knowingly allow a child of mine to be raised with the slur of illegitimacy.”

She didn’t want Angelo marrying her only for the sake of the baby. “But lots of couples have children without the blessing of marriage.”

“Not me.” Angelo was unequivocal. “I grew up in a time when the world was more harshly critical. I lived with the sharp edge of the slurs. Even if the world has changed, I don’t want that for my child.”

Any romantic hopes Gemma may have harboured about his proposal died. He didn’t love her, this was all about making sure his child had parents who were married.

Gemma was still trying to fathom how to react to Angelo’s bombshell when they made their way to the Apollodrome for the Christmas Eve show the following evening.

Angelo had insisted Gemma stay in the penthouse, in the spare bedroom. And, with nothing suitable in her luggage, she’d been grateful to Angelo when a box emblazoned with the fancy logo of one of the exclusive boutiques in the lobby arrived at the door.

Opening the box, she glimpsed a fabric that glowed like crystal between layers of tissue paper. The dress was soft and clingy and fitted as though it had been made for her. The fabric changed colour from snowy white through to sparkling silver. A pair of silver heels and a tiny silver bag completed the outfit.

Now, as she glided backstage beside Angelo, Gemma felt anything but pregnant and ungainly.

Until she looked into a pair of enraged jet-black eyes and read the malevolence there.

“Angelo,” Stella croaked, “my throat is in agony.”

Mark rushed up and paled with dismay. “My God, Stella, you should’ve told us earlier. The show is sold out, ready to go.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” Stella lowered her eyelashes. “I thought it would pass.”

Gemma gave the woman a hard stare. She looked stunning, her black sheath made the most of her curves and her makeup hid any pallor that might reveal that she was unwell. But with a throat infection, she would not be able to sing.

“Angelo, maybe if I sit down a little while, it might ease.” Stella’s hands fluttered at Angelo’s sleeve, but he was already turning away.

“Mark, where’s the program?”

It materialized with a flourish. Angelo pulled out a pen. “We’ll cancel the solo that Stella was going to do, replace it with an item by Lucie LaVie-I’m sure she’ll have a hilarious Santa story to share.”

“But-” Stella’s eyes widened with horror.

“And Aletha-” Mark named one of the other singers “-has been working as understudy. She can sing ‘Oh, Christmas Tree’ and ‘Kalanda, Kalanda’-” he named the Greek version of “Jingle Bells” “-but that still leaves a hole where Stella was going to sing an encore all by herself, we’ll just have to scrap that.”

“But I can-” Stella interrupted frantically.

“Gemma,” Angelo touched her arm. “Would you very much mind singing ‘O Holy Night’ as the encore? Please? I know you’re not booked for this, that you were expecting to enjoy the performance as a guest. But would you do it? For me?”

She’d do just about anything for him. Singing her favourite carol was a cinch.

“Of course.” She didn’t dare look in Stella’s direction.

“Brilliant idea,” Mark said. “Gemma stood in for Stella in several of the early rehearsals.”

“Gemma doesn’t need to-”

“Stella, don’t worry yourself about it. You’re ill. I know that you would not have jeopardized such a show unless you were very sick.”

Gemma whipped around to stare at Angelo in astonishment. He knew. He knew that Stella had been after the limelight and he’d dealt with her ruthlessly. She shivered, suddenly feeling sorry for the other woman.

“Now, go.” It was an order. “You need to be in bed, taking care of that throat so that you’re well enough to perform for your next obligation.” Even Stella caught the not-very-subtle warning and she slunk away without a word.

“Gemma, you’ll need stage makeup.” Mark was shepherding her to the dressing room. “Sorry to spoil your evening, you’re a sport to help out when you must have been looking forward to watching the show from the front row.”

“But what’s everyone going to say when they find out they’re not seeing Stella? She’s a well-known singer. She’ll have fans that came to see her.”

Mark shrugged. “Too late to worry about that. At least they get to see a spectacular show, better than a cancellation.”

In the wings Gemma waited. She’d also be singing a duet with Denny. She watched as a fire-eater gave a spectacular performance juggling torches and a whole lot of stunts that had the crowd gasping, then she and Denny were on.

The next ten minutes passed in a rush, she could barely remember what had happened. On the way off the stage, she passed a group of Christmas elves going on, a Russian troupe of acrobats that had the audience “oohing” and “aahing.”

The carols sounded wonderful. Gemma started to relax. The finale came, everyone was on stage and the chorus voices were rising. Gemma felt the performers’ excitement mirrored back by the audience.

Her hand brushed her stomach. Hear that, baby? Next year you’ll see the show, too. So hard to believe.

The choir sashayed off, the dancers did a last sequence and with a wave they were gone. The curtains fell and applause followed.

Then Gemma was on the stage all alone. The audience lay like a vast sea of darkness ahead of her as a single spotlight lit her.

She searched the front row. And found Angelo through the bright beam of the spotlight.

She launched into “O Holy Night.” She sang it for him…as he’d requested. No one else existed.

Only Angelo.

Afterwards she felt drained, but curiously exhilarated as clapping swept the showroom. She waved her hands in thanks, smiled and bowed. When she looked for Angelo again, he was gone and her heart sank.

An expectant hush fell over the crowd. Gemma started to walk to the wings, still facing the audience, waving, smiling until her cheeks hurt. The crowd started to buzz.

She turned to see what had caught their attention.

Angelo was on stage, coming towards her, his arms filled with a huge bouquet of red roses.

Joy twisted through her.

And then she remembered. This tribute was meant for Stella. Not her.

Stella’s red roses.

Meaningless. Nothing to do with love. Nothing more than a goodwill gesture of appreciation.

Angelo reached her. He held a microphone in one hand. “That was a marvellous performance.” The audience erupted into a burst of clapping. “Yesterday, I asked Gemma Allen to be my wife. Now, I’d like you all to celebrate her answer with me.”

He held the microphone towards her.

The silence was absolute. The audience waited. Angelo, waited, his body taut.

Gemma gave him a despairing glance. What was she to say? How could she marry a man who took mistresses rather than a wife? A man who didn’t-would never-love her?

Then a woman in the front row jumped up. “Say yes, Gemma.”

Startled Gemma squinted into the lights. The woman was unfamiliar, blonde. She smiled, gave her a little wave.

“Ignore my mother,” Angelo murmured.

“Your mother?”

Her voice boomed out over the microphone. Gemma blushed as the audience tittered. Out of the darkness came an indecipherable bit of advice.