Page 56 of Pregnant After One Forbidden Night

Sliding from the bed himself, he found one of his softest T-shirts for her and untangled her panties from the sheets. She muttered a dark thank-you, and he was tempted to smile. But only tempted.

By now he’d learned that his amusement would not be tolerated at the moment.

“Time for breakfast,” he said, holding a hand out once they were both dressed.

She took his hand and went with him willingly.

The habit—taking his hand and going with him—was one of his favorite things about her.

Holding back his smile, heedful of the inner knowledge that the morning bear version of Jenna had no interest in his amusement, he walked them back to the kitchen at the heart of the house.

Jenna didn’t want words. She wanted relief. And, as ever, he’d hunted the information down until he could provide it.

After tweaking and more research, he’d perfected his morning offering to her, food as remedy, and, like everything he did, he’d been extremely effective. It had become their morning ritual that he prepare it for her first thing once they got to the kitchen, before he even had coffee.

It was a small thing, the least, in fact, that he could do to show appreciation for the physical burden she took on for both of them. It was a way he could show that even though he couldn’t give her everything she asked for, he could give her what she needed. He could provide care.

She had shown him something that night in the library. It was not he who had been faulty or unworthy. It was something in his parents.

By so clearly seeing his childhood intentions, with no hint of castigation, she had vindicated and validated his instincts. He could see the right course of action, not merely the most expedient. Keeping her safe then, giving her the life that those same instincts had driven him to plan for them, was the least he could do.

He had not been wrong in that, and he was not wrong in this. She wanted their child to have what she had had. He did, too. And so they would, even if not exactly the same construction. They would have a place to grow.

With so much nurturing, it was no wonder Jenna had become the woman she was. In small ways, he’d tried to show her over the past month that he could not only match but surpass her upbringing in terms of attentiveness and care, if not tradition and structure.

She would be a wonderful mother and he would make sure she had every support she needed.

The thought warmed him as they walked—as it always did.

In the kitchen, he set the wilting Jenna at one of the stools tucked under the large kitchen island’s thick marble countertop and flicked the switch on the countertop kettle.

She lay her forehead on the marble—no doubt appreciating its smooth coolness in the face of her furnace-like metabolism—and he prepared her tea.

When the tea had finished steeping, he added a half teaspoon of honey to the hot liquid and laid six ginger cookies on a plate. No more, no less. This was the first course. They had a routine.

When three of the cookies were gone and her color steadier, Jenna aimed a much stronger smile at him. “I’m human again.”

Leaning in close, he kissed the space below her ear, where her jaw and neck met. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, savoring the shiver of her response.

The catch in her breath.

She drew in a long, slow inhale, her nostrils fanning slightly with its strength. She was smelling him, he realized, and her body sighed closer to his. The attraction between them was only enhanced, magnified by the side effects and superpowers of her pregnancy.

By the time she trembled out her exhale, he was hard as rock and ready to take her at the island.

Her mind was on more mundane subjects.

Voice steadying as she spoke, she said, “Every day, I’m surprised again at how well it works. The internet is full of old wives’ tales that only make things worse.”

He continued kissing her neck, murmuring, “I do my research and don’t leave things to luck.”

She chuckled softly, breath turning shallow. “No, I don’t suppose you would. I mean, except for contraception,” she teased.

Smiling against her skin, he made his words temptation against her neck. “How am I to know you didn’t sabotage and entrap me, Jenna, my sweet? It’s very bold of you to highlight my behavioral contradictions. There are leaders of nations who would hesitate to do so.”

Again, she shivered against his lips. “Spoken like an espionage mastermind.” He could hear the smile in her voice, knew it was there on her face without looking, but also knew the fact took her aback—that she realized that was what he truly was, saw it without illusion, but still chose to lean into him. Each time was a tiny stitch repairing the idea that there was something evil about his thorough nature.

His lips traced her skin, imbuing his words with his wicked intentions. “And yet, you’re still here. What does that say about you, Jenna?”

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