Page 17 of Claimed By the Boss

“He should recover, but he needs nutrients,” a voice murmurs, drawing me up from unconsciousness. “He’s extremely malnourished. If he’s pregnant, he needs to take better care of himself, or he won’t be healthy enough to carry to term.”

Nolan’s voice joins the other one. “When will we know for sure?”

“The earliest is ten days after the end of his last Heat.” A metallic snap fills the room. “I can return at the end of next week. Until then, make sure he eats.”

“I will.” Footsteps sound, and Nolan’s voice grows distant. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Dr. Wallace.”

“Of course. The Rockford family has done a lot for my organization. We’re in your debt.”

A door closes, followed by the return of only one set of feet. A moment later, the bed I lie on dips, and a callused hand smooths back my hair. “Leo, are you awake?”

I groan and crack open my lids. My eyes feel gritty and swollen from crying, and it takes a second for the room to swim into view. When it does, it’s not the modern bedroom I woke up in this morning. Instead, antique, dark-wood furniture fills the space, with a built-in wardrobe directly across from me and an archway that leads to what looks like a sitting room.

Confused, I search the room for a hint of familiarity. “Where am I?”

One corner of his lips quirks up. “Since you found my townhouse so objectionable that you crawled out a window to escape, I brought you to my family home instead. You’ll find that the buses don’t come to this neighborhood.”

My gaze jerks up to meet his. “I’m so sorry, I?—”

He presses a finger over my lips. “Hold that thought.”

Rising from the bed, he strides into the sitting room and returns with a tray. He carries it to the bed and sets it on the nightstand.

The smell of savory food drifts out from under a silver dome, and my stomach lets out a hungry rumble.

“Here, let me help you sit up.” Nolan turns to me and peels back the covers before I can protest.

I stare down in confusion at the large nightshirt I wear as he helps me into an upright position. He stacks pillows between my back and the large, wooden headboard before draping the comforter over my legs.

Once I’m settled, he grabs the tray and places it on my lap, lifting away the lid. “I wasn’t sure of your preferences, so if you don’t like this, I can order you something else from the kitchen.”

A large sweet potato takes up half the plate, the center swimming with brown sugar, butter, and pecans. Next to it, a delicate filet of salmon with pinwheels of lemon and dill garnishes rests next to vibrant green broccoli.

I stare down at the plate. There’s not a speck of mold or any sign that the food is near its expiration. No stale bread or canned beans. My mind yells that this is too good for me, that I don’t deserve it, and tears burn my eyes.

“Do you hate salmon?” Nolan sits on the edge of the bed. “Or do you prefer mashed potatoes?”

I lift my eyes from the treasure trove of food in front of me, and the tears spill over. “Mr. Rockford, this is too much.”

He lifts a cloth napkin from my tray and dabs my cheeks. “What happened to calling me Nolan?”

My mouth works, but words escape me as the memory of all the times I said his name ring in my ears. Me crying out in pleasure. Me begging for him to put a baby in my belly. Me clinging to him.

It’s all too humiliating.

He picks up the fork and presses it into my fingers. “Eat. You need your strength.”

The words trigger more memories of when I was drugged, my thoughts hazy, but one word sticks out. Baby. I may be carrying a baby.

Nolan’s baby.

We hadn’t used protection during my Heat, and I hadn’t even considered the consequences of that when I agreed to become one of Tony’s whores. I took drugs, for god’s sake.

What if I hurt the small life growing inside me? I don’t deserve this kindness from Nolan. Trash like me should never have touched him, let alone been allowed inside his family home.

My hand shakes, and the fork clatters against the plate.

“Here.” Nolan takes the utensil, scoops up some of the soft sweet potato, and holds it to my lips. “Open for me.”

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