Claiming His Bought Bride. Rachel Bailey

pupils had dilated. Her breathing held an edge of raggedness.

      He didn’t release her. “You thinking along the same lines as me, sweetheart?”

      There was a certain satisfaction in being able to call her that again. It suited her so completely, as if the term had been created for her alone. And he was sure he saw a flash of approval in her features every time it passed his lips.

      She arched a brow. “I’m hoping against hope this is still the suite with two bedrooms. How’s that compare to your thoughts?” She pushed against his chest and moved away. “I rang ahead to check from the airport but I’ve learned to never assume anything with you.”

      He almost laughed, but caught himself in time. Smart girl. He’d changed the arrangements only as they waited outside the chapel, predicting she’d check the hotel number he gave her before then.

      He adopted an innocent air. “In a honeymoon suite?” He looked pointedly from white walls and Austrian blinds, across to a table of palest pink marble with two white lacquered chairs, to the complimentary champagne waiting in an ice bucket. “Can’t imagine how likely that option would be.”

      Her jaw dropped and her mouth formed a perfect little O. Then her fists clenched at her sides. “This is not a honeymoon. It’s a contractual agreement.”

      He grinned. “Language can be so confining. Let’s just wait and see exactly what we have here.”

      She shook her head as if words failed her. Then he watched, enjoying her profile as she bent to unzip her suitcase, left neatly beside his on matching luggage stands by hotel staff. Her sweet upturned nose, lush pink lips, just begging.

      “If you think I’m sharing a bed with you, then you haven’t remembered me properly.” She straightened, lemon silky robe and pajamas over one arm, the other planted firmly on her hip.

      Oh, he remembered all right. Remembered she liked to think she was in control. And sometimes he let her. Then, when she’d stopped fighting, he’d convince her of his point in other ways. Oh, yes, he remembered some very pleasant convincing.

      She rubbed a hand over her eyes and leaned a little unsteadily onto the wall beside her. “I need a long, hot shower. And when I come out I expect you’ll have arranged separate beds.” As she lowered her hand from her face, he was shocked to see her now-lackluster complexion.

      His stomach fell and all thoughts of passion evaporated. “Something’s wrong. Is it the baby?” Maybe he’d pushed her too fast in her condition? Despite getting the all clear from three doctors for the flights, had it been too much for her to fly while pregnant?

      He moved to her side and encircled her in his arms. The health of the tiny life she carried was the one thing they were in complete agreement on. He needed this baby—his plan B. But it was more than that. Something personal between him and the child that he couldn’t yet define. A connection, a link.

      She twisted to move from his embrace. “Nothing’s wrong with the baby. I’m just tired from the rush to pack and the flight.”

      This time he didn’t let her go. Instead, he guided her to the cream, overstuffed couch. “Sit down for a few minutes.”

      When she opened her mouth to disagree, he laid a finger across her lips. “Just this once, do something I suggest without arguing. Rest before getting in the shower. I don’t want you fainting in there.” He arched an eyebrow.

      Her eyes widened as she took his meaning—either sit with him for a moment or risk having him checking on her, naked and wet in the shower stall. A job so appealing his temperature nudged up a couple of degrees just thinking about it.

      With innate grace, she sank into the luxurious couch and rested the side of her face on the high headrest. He had to remember she was almost four months pregnant. Easy to forget when she showed so few signs, but he’d thought about the situation a lot since the night she’d sprung the news on him.

      And in a surprise to himself, he’d grown more fascinated by the idea she was carrying his child inside her. Moved, even. When he’d devised this plan after his uncle’s offer, he hadn’t stopped to think of the emotional bond he’d feel to the baby. After his disastrous childhood, he’d have been happy going through life never reproducing.

      And yet … even now, there was a tiny version of him under Lily’s hands as they rested on her belly. Where did the baby fit? Lily may be tall, but she was slim. In fact, she could use a bit more meat on her bones. He’d start working on that from today, too. This woman was carrying his child and he’d make damn sure both of them had everything they needed.

      “Tell me what you know about the baby.” He hadn’t finished forming the thought before it was out of his mouth.

      Her eyes opened slowly, lazily, and she smiled. “I don’t know much yet. No gender. But everything is progressing as it should be for this far along.”

      Damon grabbed on to the small morsel of information, yet still needing more. “Can you …” He cleared his throat. “Can you feel him move?”

      “Not yet. Sometime in the next couple of weeks, the experts say.”

      Sitting there on the couch, hands clasped over their child, lashes fluttering to rest on her cheeks, she was so damn beautiful, the epitome of what a mother should be—soft, protective, kind. Despite his threat in her kitchen about giving him sole custody, he’d never act on it. Having been deprived of a mother’s love for most of his childhood, he knew its value.

      His hand reached out, almost of its own volition, then retracted. It seemed an intimacy too far. Strange, when they were married and would be lovers again as soon as she stopped fighting it. And this was his baby.

      Yet something still kept him from forcing this intrusion on her without invitation. Something about her now, perhaps the glow radiating from her skin, which made her look like the Madonna portrait that had hung in his childhood schoolroom.

      She was high above him, he with his blackened heart. He was under no illusions about the darkness that consumed him inside, a consequence of being raised by an instrument of the devil. A man who had no boundaries on the methods he used—even on a child. Cruelty, humiliation, violence, thievery.

      Damon had always prided himself that no matter how low he sank, he never stooped as low as Travis. But now, looking down on Lily, untainted by darkness, he could see his own true colors.

      God knew, it was too late for him. The only way to save himself now was to have her purity beside him, part of him. She’d give him an heir, BlakeCorp and personal salvation.

      He needed to have her, now more than ever.

      Decision made beyond question, he smiled, using all his charm. “The color’s returned to your cheeks. You look well enough for that shower now. I’ll order up some food while you’re in there.”

      Her eyes drifted open, a cool green gaze landed on his for a moment, lingered, then she turned away and nodded.

      Unsettled but determined, he watched her go and made a vow to himself.

      He would have her. Tonight.