Page 51 of The King's Secret Baby

“It’s fine.” I sigh. “I agreed to it. It’s not like I’m a prisoner here.”

“If you… if you want to revisit the terms…”

“What are you saying?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer. Is he admitting that he would be fine if I chose to leave the palace — and taking our child with me, of course?

Luca sighs. “I don’t want you to leave, of course, but if… if you felt you needed to…”

“I’d still be bound to our nondisclosure agreement,” I point out.

“Of course.”

“Do you want me to go?”

He searches my face. Really searches it, like it’s the first time he’s seen me and he’s trying to make sense of what’s unraveling in front of him.

“No,” he breathes. “Not one bit.”

My pulse picks up, and my skin warms. It’s unfair, how one moment he’ll push me away and then draw me in the next, always giving me just enough to keep me from running away completely.

He starts to say something, then hesitates. “Hailey, I was hoping… well, I know you have a prenatal checkup coming up soon. I wondered if you might allow me to accompany you? I’d like to be there, to support you however I can.”

Tears spring to my eyes at the unexpected request, my throat closing with emotion. “I… yes, of course. I would love to have you there,” I manage. “Thank you, Luca. Truly.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my cheek and sending a shiver through me. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. We’re in this together now.”

And there it is again, that sense of connection, of rightness. Slowly, almost unconsciously, we drift closer, the air between us growing heavy with unspoken longing. Luca’s eyes darken as they drop to my mouth, his hand lingering against my cheek. My breath catches, pulse quickening, as I tilt my face up to his.

“Hailey…” he murmurs, and I watch, mesmerized, as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to go, and I will.”

But I don’t want him to go. Not now, not ever. I want him here, with me, consequences be damned. “Stay,” I whisper, hardly recognizing my own voice, husky with need. “Please stay.”

His breath escapes in a shuddering sigh and then his mouth is on mine, soft and searingly hot all at once. I melt into the kiss, into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to anchor myself against the onslaught of sensation. He tastes of the lemonade we shared, sweet and addictive. I can’t get enough.

Luca deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to tangle with mine as his hands skim down my back to settle at my waist, where they tug me flush against the hard planes of his body. I moan into the kiss, arching closer, craving more of his touch, his taste.

I’m drowning in him, lost to everything but the heat of his mouth, the slide of his lips and tongue against mine, the secure weight of his hands spanning my back. In this moment, nothing exists but Luca and the exquisite pleasure unfurling within me. I want to crawl inside him, to brand myself on his very soul so that neither of us can ever forget this feeling, this moment.

Eventually, reluctantly, we break apart, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together as we struggle to calm our racing hearts. Luca raises a hand to cup my cheek, thumb tracing over my tingling, kiss-swollen lips.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he rasps, but there’s no censure in it, only wonder and longing and an echo of the desire still pulsing through my veins.

And as I gaze up into those brilliant blue eyes, dark with passion and something infinitely tender, I can’t find it in me to disagree. Because kissing Luca, being with him like this… it feels like flying.

And falling.

Like finding a piece of my soul I never knew was missing, and coming home.

He opens his mouth to speak again, and I brace myself, worried that he’s about to say this is wrong, that he needs to leave. But instead of uttering a word, he only closes his lips over mine again.

There’s a new, desperate tinge to this kiss, and he sweeps his arms around my back and under my butt. He’s lifting me up, pressing me against him as he carries me to my bed.

Still kissing, he rests me on the mattress and crawls on top of me. Our hands are just as frenzied as our lips, fingers tearing at clothing. There’s the sound of something ripping, but I don’t pause to see if it was my shirt or his pants. It doesn’t even matter. This moment, as passionate as it is, is always fragile. If I don’t throw myself fully into it, it could crack. It could break and be gone from me forever.

“Hailey,” he murmurs into my mouth as the naked planes of his muscular chest press against me.

I can’t respond. I’m too busy drinking him in, gripping the roots of his hair as he slides my panties down my hips.

His thumb brushes across the space between my thighs, and I gasp with pleasure. It’s an electric shock of the highest ecstasy, a barely-there touch that somehow still makes me feel like I’m losing my mind.

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