Page 207 of His Pretty Little Duet

He steps backward to rake his heated stare over my appearance, his eyes travelling over my flowy shirt and high-waisted jeans. There is a slither of skin between the denim and the shirt, and his eyes stop on it. “You look adorable.Young.You make me feel like a dirty old man, sweet girl.”

I smile, liking the way his eyes drag along my skin.

He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together, pressing his palm to mine so every part of his touches every part of mine. “Follow me, then I may take you outside.”

May take me? God, he’s bossy.

The heat between our bodies rises as we walk in the opposite direction to where Cassidy disappeared. My conditioned response to his intent stirs inside me, a ball of hot need swelling in my core, inducing wetness, igniting an animal instinct. Overly aroused, I try to ignore the pictures of sweet Cassidy dancing in her studio, ballet accolades, and a few of Max boxing that follow me down the corridor.

I am panting by the time we stop outside a closed door, my pulse having picked up pace, now a little trot in my throat. “Here? I’m not exactly quiet?—"

“You nearly fainted, little deer.”

Unreadable, he reaches for the door and opens it, ushering me inside a—I bump into the ceramic bowl—a toilet?

He shuts the door, pressing his back to it. I turn to look up at his serious expression as he reaches into his pocket and pullsout a small plastic wrapped straw-shaped package. “I need you to remove the cap, urinate on the end of this?—"

“Oh. My. God!” I exclaim, before spitting out, “That’s why you’re here! Dobber. Rat. Pain in my arse. I thought he worked for me now. I’m firing him.” I call out to the closed door, knowing HJ probably isn’t even inside the house, “Hear that? You’re fired, Henchman Jeeves?—”

Clay takes a firm hold of my jaw, my voice muffled and then silenced completely. “Quiet, sweet girl. Your bratty side will get you fucked.” The intensity in his fingers as they dip into my skin snatches my breath; he’s deadly serious right now. His eyes change—large ominous pupils expand like black dye until the clear-blue within is merely a thin ring. “I won’t wait a moment on this.” His voice deepens. “I need to know why you nearly fainted. Now. Sit. Do as I say.”

He lowers his mouth to my ear, blanketing me in hot breath, danger, possessiveness, a warning in his radiating heat. “Then I’ll tend to that weeping little pussy with my fingers before we go outside.”

Releasing his hold on my jaw, his fingertips tend to the divots they left, massaging my cheeks a few times before falling away.

He straightens and nods to the bowl. “I won’t leave you needy, sweet girl. Don’t leave me concerned.”

My pulse upgrades from a trot to a full-blown gallop in my throat as I take the small plastic package from him. I know what this is. I’ve done this once before.

And it was positive.

I slide my jeans and knickers down my thighs, sit on the toilet, and hold the tube between my thighs in the bowl. I should be embarrassed with having his eyes so intently glued to me, but being alone in any capacity feels infinitely more uncomfortable than being in his company. I don’t know when that happened.When my skin became more perfectly moulded, more contently warm, just in the mere proximity of this powerful man.

I look down at the stick. Holding my breath, I pee on the end. It’s a bit mechanical. A bit dutiful, but… something else, too, like—Significant.I think. Aurora has his ring, his name, but I— I’ll share his children…

It’s still not real yet.

Just a possibility.

Does he really want this?

Oh God, don’t start panicking.

Swallowing, I place the cylinder on the floor with shaky hands. I don’t pull my underwear up in case I have to pee on it again, or it needs more pee, or—I can’t think. Can’t move.

I glare at the tube as though, by damn will alone, I can make that second strip appear. A pretty, positive test, that will make mesignificant, and him… a dad.

Don’t panic.

My eyes widen in my contemplations. He leans down and picks it up, and I follow it. The column is wet, a tiny bit of my pee is on the plastic. He doesn’t care.

Clay doesn’t stare at the cylinder. Instead, his intense blue eyes spear me, the silence stretching under his attention.

I can hear my breathing but not his. Can hear my heart beating in my ears. Feel it a pounding drum in my neck and face. Why aren’t we talking? Why aren’t I talking?

Will he be disappointed if I’m not pregnant?

Disappointed in my body?

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