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“Yes.” Her lips trembled as she felt his hand move, lightly exploring. It was pure magic.
“How are there two in there, Cinnia? That’s unbelievable.”
As if they knew it was him and wanted to say hello, a tiny rolling sensation went through her abdomen. She choked on a little laugh.
“Did you feel that? Maybe it’s not strong enough—”
“Shh.” He seemed to hold his breath as they both held very still.
Pressure nudged where his hot hand rested. He let out a breath of wonder.
“Is that really them?” he whispered.
“You don’t have to whisper. They’re not sleeping.” She tilted her face to look at him again, unable to hold back her smile. He was too devoted to his siblings to withhold his love from his children. She’d always known that, deep down, but she was still relieved to see him react with the beginning of parental love. She was overjoyed. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”
“It is nothing like I imagined it could be.” He shifted so her head was pillowed on his shoulder.
She relaxed, comforted by his seeming desire to get to know his babies through the wall of her belly. But she had to ask—with more than a little trepidation. “You really don’t hate me for this? I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.”
A pause, then his voice was very grave, rumbling beneath her ear. “I know. And I could never hate you.”
Not “I love you.” Not even “I care.” Just “I don’t hate you.”
Fresh despondency closed her eyes, but she had to wonder if he was withholding his heart because he was afraid of being too attached. What if something happened? As he said, he had every reason to believe bad things could happen if he wasn’t vigilant.
Oddly, she found herself thinking of his young self, fifteen and worrying about his missing sister. Her arm went across his chest and she tucked her face into his neck, hugging him tight. Saying nothing, but offering belated comfort.
“Are you changing your mind, chérie?” he asked, snuggling her closer with hands that cruised in a familiar way. “Would you like to make love?”
She suspected if this silly belly wasn’t in the way, she would feel he was aroused. She was growing warm and boneless, feeling him against her like this.
“No,” she lied, shifting so her head was on the pillow, putting space between them. “No, I—” She sighed, confronted by how difficult it would be, living with him again, resisting not just him, but herself. “No.” Just no.
She wondered how long she’d be able to keep saying that.
They didn’t make it to Paris until late the next day.
Cinnia was subdued, making Henri think of those days leading up to their breakup. He’d churned through those moments of pale silence a few times since, always concluding she had been deciding whether she wanted to leave him.
He saw it differently now. She had known she was pregnant. Along with that weighty knowledge, her body had already been under a lot of demands. The Cinnia he thought of as quite tough and impervious had fallen apart in his arms last night, then crashed for almost three hours.
Her mother had cautioned him to let her sleep, implying Cinnia didn’t always take as much care of herself as she should in her condition, which didn’t surprise him. She was as driven by ambition as he was. But her tears and exhaustion had thrust an unpleasant sensation upon him. Humbleness.
She had been carrying more than his children. Guilt. Fear that he would hate her. He had been honest when he’d told her he could never hate her, but he couldn’t give her the love she sought, either.
To counter some of that disappointment for her, he had stood in the doorway of her sister’s bedroom, cutting a deal with Dorry.
“My preference is to make Spain our base,” he had said. “My mother will be there, but she will be Abuela. We’ll need an au pair. Since you were already planning to nanny for Cinnia, I’d like you to come with us, at least for the short term.”
“Really?” Dorry’s quizzical eyebrow had gone up behind the round rims of her glasses. “Wouldn’t you rather, like, have someone professional? Who knows karate?”
“The babies will have their own bodyguards, absolument, but the guards’ duties will be protection, not feeding and changing. And Cinnia may be homesick without family nearby. It would be nice to have you there.” Cinnia often talked about her mother and sisters in a tone of exasperation, but she loved them to pieces. “We both trust you, and you and I get along well.”
“Also, his brother won’t try to hook up with you,” Cinnia had called sleepily through the cracked door of the darkened room behind him.
Henri had shaken his head, secretly delighted to hear her rallying, but sometimes her remarks were in such poor taste.
Dorry hadn’t flinched or laughed. She’d given him her sister’s exact deadpan look and said, “Forget it then.”
“I take it back,” he’d told the girl. “Two sharp Whitley tongues under one roof is too many.”
He hadn’t meant it. They’d all convened in the dining room for a late dinner, Dorry contemplating a year in Spain. He had also negotiated with her mother to bring in staff to serve as security and run the family mansion as a B and B if she wanted to continue letting rooms, but he promised to find her a flat near them in Spain so she could come and go as it suited her, and see her grandchildren.
Those were the simple details. There were a million more complex ones still to work through, but he found himself unable to catch at any of them as they entered his penthouse, tired from a long day.
They had slept last night in the London flat, arriving very late and using separate rooms, then visited her doctor first thing this morning, ensuring she was safe to travel and transferring her file to a specialist here in Paris—whom they’d briefly met on arrival in the city.
He liked the London flat fine. He and Cinnia had made it a sort of base in the past and had been comfortable there, but family came and went from that residence.
This penthouse was his. With six bedrooms, his family each had a room here, but only stayed occasionally. His mother and sisters typically put themselves up in the secure flat atop the girls’ design house, Maison des Jumeaux, while his brother made do with hotels—so he could have a guest if he desired.
Henri preferred these spacious rooms with their modern decor and plethora of conveniences. It was his retreat, a space he had purchased for himself for the private terrace overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the Seine.
Cinnia let out a sigh as they entered, exactly expressing how he felt.
She had always been a pleasant companion, providing a side commentary that made cocktail parties or gala dinners that much easier to endure, but always as relieved as he was to close the door on the world.
She took off her coat and hung it herself like she’d arrived into her own home.
He watched with a twist in his gut, realizing how much he’d taken her place in his life for granted. He’d been impatient when she had sounded like she wasn’t satisfied with their arrangement. He had been. Eminently. You didn’t mess with perfection.
He’d been furious with her that morning. He’d not only resisted allowing her to stir things in a different direction, but he’d also let her go to prove to himself he would quickly get past any disappointment at her departure.
He hadn’t. Her absence had been eating a hole in him, not least of which because he had no interest in other women. It was the longest stretch in his life he’d been abstinent since discovering what the opposite sex had to offer.
She had her back to him, not even looking pregnant from this angle. She was his ever-alluring Cinnia with her wavy blond hair falling down her narrow back and her lovely round bottom creating an exquisitely feminine hourglass below her wide shoulders. Her supple backside flexed as she kicked off her shoes into the closet.
He wanted her. Craved her. Had for months.
Hell. When had he not hungered for her? From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d been captivated.
Now, finally alone with her, the talons of lust were taking a firm hold in him—destructive lust, since the press already knew something was up, forcing a lot of trying detours today. He needed to keep his head, his mind, focused.
He ought to keep his distance, but he moved to stand beside her and toed off his own shoes.
He could smell that familiar, elusive scent of hers. Subtle. She never wore anything overpowering. He always had to get in close to catch the faint hints of rain and roses in her hair, lavender and geranium on her skin.
Her profile was stark, shadows playing deep into the contours of her face, making her look pale and shell-shocked. She stared into the closet like she was searching for a passageway to another world.
“What’s wrong?” His arm went out in a reflexive need to catch and hold. He hooked it across the top of her chest, pivoting to draw her back into him.
“Nothing.” His action turned her and she lifted her gaze to where they were reflected in the mirror by the door. Her hands came up to hold on to his forearm, but she didn’t press him to remove his touch.
He looked at their reflection.
Her brow pleated with accusation before hurt clouded into her sky blue eyes. She lowered her lashes to hide it, but her mouth remained pouted with disappointment.
In him.
He tightened his arm on her.
“I didn’t think I had to ask why you wanted to leave, chérie. You told me why. You’re not allowed to hate me for letting you go when you said it’s what you wanted. I’m not a barbarian. I wasn’t going to keep you against your will.”
Laughter burst out of her. “Really? Where am I now? With how much choice?”
He folded his other arm across her, splaying a hand over the babies he would protect with his life. “You could have been honest. You decided to make this hard by not telling me.”
Her lips trembled and she tightened her mouth to steady them. “Two years is a long time to be a courtesan, Henri. I wanted to know I meant more to you than sex for hire.”
“You do.”
“Do I?” Her gaze flashed back to his in the mirror, filled with dejection as she nudged her bottom into his groin. Where he was hard. “That’s all you ever gave me. That and jewelry, and now a pair of babies. Never you.”
“This is me,” he said through gritted teeth, barely containing himself as a rush of excitement went through him at the press of her soft cheek. He chucked his chin at his reflection. “This man who is obsessed enough to risk bringing you into my home, where you can see the inner workings of my life. Do you honestly think our affair was something I took on lightly? No, damn you, it wasn’t. It’s a weakness. A dangerous indulgence. But I wanted you. I want you all the time. Do you really expect me to apologize for giving in to that? When you want me every bit as much?”
She tried to glare him down in the mirror, challenging his claim, but he dismissed her bravado with a scoffing breath of a laugh.
“You’re nipples are hard, chérie. Think I haven’t noticed?” He slid his hand to cup her breast, full enough now to make him splay his fingers to contain the abundant flesh.
She gasped and hunched away from his touch, bumping into him to escape the pressure.
He released her with a jolt of shock. “I hurt you?”
“They’re really tender.” Her eyes were shiny with tears.
He turned her to face him and asked, “Can you make love?” The doctor had said it was safe, but if it would be painful for her—
She threw back her head and he braced for another rejection.
But as he held her gaze, unable to disguise how ferociously he ached to make love with her, the glow of outrage dimmed in her eyes.
His pulse hammered in his throat, in his chest, in his groin. He might have tightened his hands on her arms, unconsciously urging her to match his need. He couldn’t be the only one affected this deeply. It was too much to bear.
Her blue irises began to swim with longing and her weight pressed into his hold. Her shoulders dropped in capitulation.
He swore, control snapping. He cupped her face and kissed her. He tried to be gentle, tried to hang on to a semblance of control, but damn it, it had been so long. He opened his mouth wider to take full possession of hers, finally tasting her again and feasting on what he’d been missing. He curled his fist into the silken tresses that had grazed every inch of his naked skin at one time or another, wrapped his other arm around her so his hand braced between her flexing shoulder blades, and he kissed her without restraint. He took.
Raided.
Owned.
And she gave.
She slid her fingers into his hair and pressed him to kiss her harder, opened her mouth beneath his and met his tongue with hers. She scraped her teeth against his lips and clung across his shoulders with a slender arm and let her knee crook up to his thigh.
She moaned in the way that begged him to take her to bed and find fulfillment with her. Within her.
His skin stung, feeling too tight for the heat of desire exploding in him. It was a monster that wanted to consume both of them. He scraped his teeth down her throat to where her neck joined her shoulder. That fantastic, exciting place that always made her gasp and shiver and soften her knees so she wilted in his embrace.
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