“I love you. I’m a stupid bastard, but I love you. I’ll do anything to have you back, to have another chance. You have to marry me, Cat,” he said.
“No,” I pushed back and he released me. I shook my head adamantly.
“No?” he said, crestfallen.
“No. I can’t marry you. I—I’m pregnant. So I can’t do that,” I said, a catch in my voice. I braced myself for his anger, his fury. His rejection now that he knew I was pregnant, possibly on purpose to steal his money and reputation.
I took a step back, astonished as Brent Waltham, a two-time cover model for Forbes and renowned billionaire, dropped to his knees in front of me and caressed the curve of my belly.
“Are you really?” he said with wonder, cradling my hips in his hands.
I nodded, feeling choked up, afraid to believe he was glad. He kissed my stomach and wrapped his arms around me, laying his cheek against the barely-there swell of my stomach. I stroked his hair fondly, hoping the moment didn’t break, hoping this fragile joy continued.
Brent surged to his feet and took me in his arms, kissing and kissing me, “My love,” he said, and I could have sworn I felt tears on his face when I touched his cheek. Or perhaps they were my tears. It didn’t matter.
Everything swelled into beautiful light and happiness. He wanted me. Wanted our baby. I didn’t have to keep it a secret. I could share this with him, with the only man I had ever loved. I held on to him for dear life, kissing him back with all the passion I’d tried to hold inside.
He had come back for me, wanted me, before he knew about the baby. I cherished that, and took his tongue deeper in my mouth, giving as good as I took. His hands on my back moved lower, squeezing, rubbing sensuously until I drew back.
“You’re new in town. Would you like to see my bedroom, Mr. Waltham?” I said.
“If you don’t have an elevator, I guess a bedroom will have to do. Until I can get you home where you belong. God, I’m so sorry, Cat. I’d give anything to take it back. You’re right. I was a coward.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said with all my heart, “you’re here now.”
“And I’m never leaving. Not without you.”
It thrilled me to hear him say it. I showed him the way to my little bedroom with the sloping ceiling and dormer window looking out on a pretty street behind the building. I tried to point out the view, but he stood behind me and cupped my breasts, stroked my stomach and let me feel what his intentions were. I turned in his arms and tipped my face up to be kissed.
Brent kissed me so tenderly, with so much love that I thought my heart would burst from the joy of it. He lowered me onto the bed and stripped off my nightgown. He traced my sensitive, swollen breasts, licking and sucking them, and explored the soft curve of my belly, my full hips, my thighs. I was throbbing and wet for him, so responsive as if there was a surge of arousal in my blood from seeing the father of my child, as if my body responded to him even more lavishly because of the life growing inside me.
At once, he was stroking between my legs. It felt so good that I gritted my teeth to fight against it, wanting more, wanting it to last longer. In what seemed like only seconds, I was clenching around his fingers and writhing, riding his hand to a hard orgasm. Left shaking I clung to him, face to face. He stroked my cheek and kissed me again and again. Then he shucked off his clothing and rolled me beneath him, “Next time you can be on top, I promise,” he said, “but I’ve had nothing but thoughts of you beneath me since Christmas. I need this. I need you.”
I had never heard sweeter words, and his kisses, his lovemaking gave proof of his passion. He petted and stroked me, stoking my arousal deftly and patiently. I could have taken all of him at once, but he indulged me, teased me until I was biting my lips to keep from begging him for it. With a sly smile, Brent finally, at last slid home with one beautiful thrust of his cock inside me. I watched his face transform with acceptance and awe and complete love. As he started to move within me, I felt another orgasm flare to life. I rolled my hips up to meet his thrusts, and before it seemed possible, we both spiraled into a blinding climax together, crying out and kissing and clinging to each other for dear life.
Epilogue
Cat - One Year Later
We hadn’t been back to London since our wedding on Valentine’s Day of last year. Brent had no trouble getting a special license that day, and I had plenty of roses for a bouquet. It was a beautiful memory, but this one would top them all.
We had returned for our daughter’s christening. Isabel Valentine Waltham, four months old with blue eyes and her daddy’s smile. She gave a noisy cry in the church when they had the audacity to dribble water on her sleeping forehead. We had laughed, and I had stood with my husband’s arm around me, so perfectly happy. Our precious child, making her first trip abroad and shouting in church. It seemed like a herald of things to come. She had a big personality already and seemed likely to wrap all the world around her finger with her charm just like Brent. He doted on her. No father could have been more enraptured with his infant. Although Malcolm teased that she should have been called Isabel Malcolm Waltham to return the favor from my husband’s godchild being named in his honor. Already they joked about River and Issy getting married someday.
After we posed for portraits on the day, I let Alma, Issy’s nanny take her back to the flat. It was, after all, our anniversary. Brent and I had plans to explore London together. We wanted to celebrate everything we had—everything we nearly lost because of pride so we got in the car and rode to our first stop. The London Eye. I had been too queasy to ride it the year before, so we had plans to kiss at the top of the city before going out for a romantic private dinner at sunset.
My husband—I never grew tired of calling Brent that—led me to a glass pod and I slipped in beside him on the bench. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me as we ascended slowly.
“I know how much you like elevators, so I thought this would please you,” he teased.
“You please me,” I said, “Every night.”
“I’m glad, but I was wondering what you thought of a trip, just the two of us. Maybe when Issy is six months old?”
“I’d love it, but I’m not sure I can stand to leave her,” I said.
“What if we started with just a weekend away? And then stayed away longer when you feel ready. I want to get you alone, you see.”
“Oh, what for?”
“For a son, I think. Or another daughter,” he said slyly.
“Oh, you want more babies now? The man who never wanted a family?” I said.
“I never knew what was good for me until you came along and made everything else seem pointless. This is what I’ve needed all my life. You in my arms. Issy. And baby makes four. Or five. I wouldn’t mind twins.”
“Twins is it?” I laughed, “are you sure you have it in you? That might take a lot of practice. You’ll need stamina.”
“I work with a trainer. And don’t forget, I’ve been on Forbes’ cover twice. I hear I’m notoriously sexy.”
“Potent even,” I giggled.
“I’ll show you potent. After dinner we have a suite at the Savoy, Mrs. Waltham.”