Page 119 of Captive Heart

“I won’t go to the authorities, lass.” He shrugs almost off-handedly. “Nothing in my life happens within the bounds of law enforcement. This shouldn’t be any different.”

Pursuing my lips, I press my hands to my belly. “It’s not your choice to make.”

Stalking over to me, he stares down at me until my heart rate beats double time.

“Ye are in so deep; ye don’t even realize exactly how much trouble ye’re in!” he thunders.

It’s a struggle for me to push to my feet. I can feel the baby stirring inside my body, as if turning away from his shouted voice. Raising a finger to my lips, I point at my stomach.

“Shhh. It doesn’t like people yelling.”

That causes him to pale slightly, stepping back. He looks down at my belly, frowning.

“How can ye know that?”

“Because it kicks and moves around the most when there are raised voices. I think it knows the sound of my voice… and it can feel my heart rate rising, too.”

He glowers down at my stomach. “That’s it. I’m calling a fucking doctor. I can’t just wait around, not knowing whether ye’re carrying my child or not.”

“First off, when you call someone, make it clear that you want an obstetrician. And second off… I already told you. It is yours. You’re the only one I’ve been with for years. And we didn’t do anything to prevent it so…” I wave a hand over my belly. “Here is the consequence of those reckless decisions.”

“I don’t need ye to explain how the birds and the bees work, lass.” He shoots me a fiery glance.

“No?”

He stares me down for a long moment. “I’ve spent months searching for ye, turning the entire world upside down. I thought I had lost ye. I thought I was doomed to… to a life of renewed solitude. Then I find ye, but within an hour I want to throttle ye.”

Pushing out a breath, I spread my hands over my belly. “I don’t want to argue, Hades. Call the doctor. Do your tests, as long as they don’t hurt the baby. Then we will be able to talk without this sword of Damocles hanging over us.”

He doesn’t like taking orders. I can tell that he wants to say that as his gaze narrows on me. But he just fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts sending text messages.

I spend the rest of the day being poked and prodded by a grumpy obstetrician, taking a long bath, and then lying down for a brief nap that turned into a multi-hour affair.

When I wake up, I wrap myself in the fluffy white bathrobe provided by the hotel. My stomach rumbles and I head out into the living room, unsure what I should do for food.

I find Hades slumped on a couch in the living room, staring off into space. A torn-open letter lays on the couch beside him. His mood is somber. He seems absorbed in thought even as I approach.

“I’m hungry,” I say softly. I sit down on the end of the sofa, trying to read his expression.

“It’s my child,” he says, seeming utterly lost. “How is that possible?”

In all the time I have known him, I haven’t seen Hades this lost. It makes him seem like a gigantic child who has misplaced a favorite toy.

“I thought you didn’t want me to tell you how babies are made.”

He raises his eyes to meet mine, a hint of humor there.

“I don’t. I just…” He pauses. “I guess that I am grappling with the idea of bringing a child into this world. This place that I have made so inhospitable for so long. For crissake, I sell bloody nuclear arms to terrorists. I am hated, or feared, or at the very least hunted in almost every nation. How can I… how can I raise someone else to be dependent on me?”

“I can’t answer that question.” I clear my throat. “The doctor did tell me the sex of the baby, though. If you would like to know, I can tell you.”

“No.” Hades shakes his head and looks at me, paling. “I can’t handle any more today.”

I move the letter to the side, scooting over on the couch until my thigh touches his. Lifting my head, I carefully pull his face down to mine, brushing my lips with his. His arms encircle me, his mouth working against mine, his hands threading in my hair.

“Oh lass…” he whispers between kisses. “Fuck, I missed ye.”

His kisses are heady, exciting, almost drugging. Just as he says he missed me, I’ve missed him. My body has needed him.

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