Page 115 of The Billionaire's Demand

‘God, Raul,’ she groaned into his mouth. ‘I want you.’ His hand pushed into her hair, fingers tangling in its length as he held her head where it was, against his mouth, his tongue duelling with hers, and Libby said, over and over, ‘Yes, yes,’ until she was incandescent, her body pressing against his, her hands clasped behind his back, holding him to her. She was exploding with feelings, too many feelings to understand, but they were oh, so powerful and saturating.

In the back of her mind there was a warning bell, but she couldn’t hear it, let alone heed it, or perhaps it was just that she didn’t want to. After a month of walking on eggshells, being utterly ignored, it felt so good to stand face to face with their desire once more, to know that the heat responsible for initially bringing them together was still a force neither could fully resist.

It was the only thing about their marriage that made any kind of sense.

Until it didn’t.

Suddenly Raul was very still, and then he was pulling back, lifting his head and staring at Libby with dazed surprise, dropping his hands from her head, her body, as though she were a scorching-hot potato, staring at his fingers like he didn’t recognise them.

‘That shouldn’t have happened,’ he said with self-directed anger.

Libby’s stomach rolled and dropped to her toes. She didn’t trust herself to speak at first.

‘It was feeling the baby move,’ he explained stiltedly, then took a step backwards. ‘I wasn’t prepared.’ A frown furrowed his brow. ‘I’ll finish the furniture tonight, once you are in bed. Don’t trouble yourself with it further, Libby.’ He moved to the door and then, in a last insult, nodded his head in a businesslike fashion before departing.

Libby stared at the space he’d just occupied, her lips still heavy from the pressure of his, and then she closed her eyes on a wave of desperation.

The emotions inside of her were still hard to understand, but more and more she was starting to fear one of them in particular—an emotion it would be truly awful to feel for her husband. Was it possible that, despite everything, she’d actually been stupid enough to fall in love with him?

Raul couldn’t outrun it, not this time. He went faster, harder, the treadmill of his home gym no substitute for the open streets, but at least here he was around should Libby need him.

I need you.

Not that kind of need.

But even remembering the soft, desperate way she’d called to him did something strange to his gut, so he had to work hard to stay focused on the rhythm of his steps, one foot after the other. He increased the incline, wanting to sweat, to hurt—to hurt so much he could no longer think, feel, remember.

Flashes sliced through him—other memories, those he tried hardest of all to blank. They were a talisman now, a reminder of why he was the way he was, the self-protective instincts that had served him well since boyhood.

Rejection after rejection. Hurt after hurt—some physical, like being smacked repeatedly by one of his foster parents for coming home with a torn school shirt. Some emotional, like being told he was a waste of skin, that he’d never amount to anything. Being told that no one would ever want him. The last one had been easiest of all to believe.

He ground his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment, hating the memories, hating the experiences most of all, but grateful he’d learned to be truly independent from a young age. By the time he was thirteen, no one had held the power to hurt him. He simply didn’t let anyone in.

The closest he’d come was Maria and Pedro and, even then, it had been about making them proud, not letting them love him. Certainly not loving them back.

I need you.

He didn’t want to be needed, but it was marginally better than his needing anyone else. Raul was determined never to weaken in that regard. He was forged from steel—from rejection, hurt, wounds that had cut him so deeply he’d sworn he’d never allow anyone to cut him again. He was strong now. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Libby was simply another person in his universe, but she would never have the power to hurt him. He refused to give it to her.

Libby woke early and dressed silently, creeping from her room in what she only acknowledged was an attempt to evade Raul when she reached the front door and slipped her feet into her boots.

He’d been her shadow for a long time, and she’d tolerated it. But yesterday, in the nursery, something inside of her had snapped. Kissing him as though her life depended on it and having Raul back away had been a death knell to her ability to pretend any longer.

He wasn’t just the father of her baby. He wasn’t simply a man she’d married because of the pregnancy.

He was Raul Ortega and somewhere, somehow, everything had got muddled. Libby wanted more from him. More than a marriage of convenience, more than a businesslike partnership. More than friendship.

Deep down, she was still that little girl who believed in fairy tales and soulmates, and suddenly it seemed possible, if not likely, that everything they’d experienced had been for exactly that simple reason—destiny.

What if they were destined to find one another?

Two people who’d been broken in different ways by their broken childhoods. Who’d known hurt, loss, pain, rejection and fear as kids, who’d fought hard to find their feet as adults, who were now determined to give their own child the best of everything, because they’d never known it.

What if Libby possessed, within herself, everything she needed to heal Raul, and the same was true in reverse? What if they could just be open to that possibility?

Her breath snagged in her throat as she pressed the button for the lift, waiting for it to appear with her fingers crossed, because she didn’t want to see Raul yet. She wasn’t ready. She needed to think, and for that she required space. She needed to process and understand her feelings, to comprehend the sensations that were expanding inside of her.

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