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Her expressive eyes shifted past him on the car lot, and she smiled. “That.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THEJUNEAFTERNOONhad grown hot and humid by the time they arrived at his gleaming Manhattan high-rise on the southern edge of Central Park. As Theo pulled the clunky vehicle to the curb, the doorman hurried forward, scowling.
“Hey, you can’t park that here—” The young man drew back, shocked. “Mr. Katrakis?”
Theo muttered something under his breath, his jaw tight. Emmie glanced at him with amusement as he put the three-year-old minivan into Park. He was scowling, but driving a minivan for the first time was a well-known test and trial for any red-blooded male. Her smile lifted.
“And—Miss Swenson!” The doorman blinked in surprised recognition as he slid open her door. His jaw dropped as he saw the shape of her pregnant belly beneath her sundress. He stammered, “Er—is it still Miss Swenson?”
“Um...yes.” Her cheeks got a little hot, even as she told herself she had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Not for long,” Theo said flatly as he yanked her small duffel from the minivan’s rear with one hand. “We’re going to be married.”
The doorman looked speechless, then overjoyed. “Congratulations to you both! Mazel tov! A baby—and married!” Blinking, he looked back at the minivan. “I guess that explains it.”
Theo’s scowl deepened.
“Just tell Bernard to find a place for it, Arthur,” he said and tossed him the key, which the young man caught midair.
“Will you keep it?” Emmie asked as she followed Theo inside the grand foyer of the high-rise.
He shrugged. “It served its purpose.” Glancing back through the window at the street, he gave a sudden impish grin. “Maybe Arthur would like it as his Christmas tip.”
As their footsteps echoed over the marble floor, she snorted a laugh. Trust Theo to think of something like that. His good deeds were impulsive, almost always by accident. “He’s a little young for a minivan, don’t you think?”
“So am I,” he said darkly as they entered the private elevator. The door slid closed, and he looked at her. “But it was what you wanted. Were you comfortable on the ride?”
“Yes,” she said honestly.
Reaching out, he smoothed back a tendril of her blond hair. “Then, I suppose we can keep it.”
Looking up into his black eyes, Emmie shivered, and it wasn’t just from the elevator’s blast of air-conditioning. She felt something suddenly tremble deep inside her. Was it from the way he’d put her needs over his own in choosing the car? His gentle touch as he smoothed her hair? Or maybe just his casual use of the wordwe?
Whatever it was, Emmie couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself be seduced by it. She turned away, stiffening her shoulders. When the elevator door slid open with a ding, she bolted out.
With its high-ceilinged rooms and three spacious terraces, his multi-million-dollar triplex penthouse sprawled across the entire fifty-second and fifty-third floors of the building, equal parts beautiful and cold.
Not just cold in temperature, either, she thought, glancing up at the jagged crystal chandelier of the foyer. Taking a deep breath, she hurried into the cavernous great room, notable for its lack of color and Spartan furniture. The penthouse’s design had been done by a famous interior decorator last year. Emmie had organized it herself at her boss’s demand, but to her, the result was chilly, a museum of modern art that might be impressive to outsiders andArchitectural Digestbut was utterly unsupportive of the vibrant chaos of actual human lives.
There was no comfort in Theo’s home. Nothing but hard sofas that hurt your back to sit in, framed splatters of gray and black on the walls, and cutting-edge technological interfaces running lights, shades, entertainment, security and the rest.
It was impersonal, too. No photographs of family or proof Theo had ever had one. No clutter. No scattered detritus of hobbies, like her brothers’ dusty guitars or her father’s pile of hardcover thrillers. No pets. No messes. No inconvenient feelings of any kind.
Just as Theo preferred.
And yet she’d just promised to marry him?
Emmie swallowed, trying to calm the sudden rapid beat of her heart. It would be just a partnership, she told herself. Like they’d had before. She’d never let herself love him again. Maybe she’d let herself care just a little, just the amount that was appropriate since he was her baby’s father. But no more than that. So what that he’d bought her a minivan? It meant nothing. Buying things was easy for Theo Katrakis. He threw his money around so that no one would ever notice he never put his heart into anything.
At least he hadn’t until he’d stormed her wedding that morning and demanded she marry him instead.
Emmie’s eyes fell on Theo’s muscular back in the snug-fitting black T-shirt as he walked ahead of her, hearing the echo of his motorcycle boots and slap of her own flip-flops on the concrete floor. As his secretary, she’d previously only visited his home in a professional capacity, wearing a skirt suit and three-inch pumps. She’d typed out his orders and instructions on her tablet, or written in shorthand on a yellow legal pad, working long hours to make Theo’s life easier, to make it frictionless, in conjunction with Wilson and with Mrs. Havers, the live-out staff.
Now Emmie was slouching through here in a sundress and flip-flops, coming for lunch, like a guest. No. More than that.
Pregnant with his baby. His future wife.
