Page 47 of The Prince's Pregnant Secretary

She blinked twice before her gaze darted off to the side, then back. A gesture so fast he would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching her.

His chest tightened. There was something.

“Clara, what is it? Is the baby okay? Are you all—”

She went up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Her hands slid up his chest to his neck, then farther into his hair, fingers tangling in the wet strands. His arms cradled her close, his body demanding that he enjoy every bit of what she was offering even as his mind fought him, demanding answers.

“I’m fine,” she whispered against his mouth between frantic kisses. “The baby is fine.” She leaned back for one fleeting moment, the sadness in her eyes so acute it stabbed him to his core. “Have you ever been so happy you think there’s no way it could possibly last?”

He stared at her. Had he voiced his own fears out loud? Or were they just so in tune, so much alike, that they were both terrified of accepting the happiness they’d found in this home by the water?

“Clara.” His fingers firmed on her back, pulling her against his body until not even a sliver of daylight could come between them. “We’ve both been hurt. A lot. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to lose what we’ve created here. We’re better people than the ones who hurt us, and we’re not going to hurt each other the way they did.”

This time her smile was more genuine, a small glimmer of her previous happiness creeping back in.

“You’re right.”

“I’m the prince. Of course I’m right.”

He caught her laugh in another kiss, her mirth quickly turning to desire as he caressed her breasts, his hands sliding down her slick skin to part her thighs as he knelt before her and worshipped her core with his lips and tongue. She tasted so sweet, her soft cries growing louder, hips pumping against his mouth as he caressed her folds with long, slow licks.

When she came apart in his arms, he stood, hooking his arms behind her knees and lifting her up, pinning her against the tiled wall as he slid inside her. She gasped, clinging to him as he held himself deep within her.

“Alaric!”

She wrapped her legs around him and he let go of his control, their bodies joining as water streamed over them, the shower drowning out their cries of pleasure as they came apart in each other’s arms.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ALARICWOKETOwhat had quickly become one of the most enjoyable parts of his day: the feeling of soft, warm skin pressed against his body. A quiet murmur brought a smile to his lips as Clara shifted, one arm draped across his chest, a leg firmly secured over his thigh. Silky strands of hair grazed his neck and sent a rush of heat to his groin.

He glanced down at his sleeping wife. They’d made love three times last night, including once in the middle of the night when they’d awoken pressed together in a frenzied passion of kissing that had ended with her astride his hips, hands pressed against his chest as she’d ridden him to the most pleasurable climax he’d ever experienced. As her own pleasure had taken hold and made her cry out, he’d reached up and placed one hand on her stomach. The intimacy of their lovemaking, the knowledge that she was carrying his child inside her, had intensified the pleasure coursing through his body. He’d come with a shout, pulling her down so that her naked body was pressed against his as he claimed her lips in a possessive kiss.

He had never experienced such sexual intimacy before. Any intimacy, really. After they’d spoken on the pier, it was as if a weight had been lifted from his heart he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying all these years. Spending time with Clara, touching her, listening to her voice, all of it thrilled him. With no expiration date on their relationship, with her unconditional acceptance of all of his fears, she’d set him free.

Now if he could only do the same for her. The sadness in her eyes, the fear that something would come along to wreck the happiness they’d found, made him grateful her horrific excuse for a husband was in his grave. A sentiment most would probably find cruel, but he didn’t care. The man had laid his hands on Clara, had used and abused her in her time of grief. That she had not only survived but become the woman she was today was a testament to her strength and resilience.

Now if she could only do what he himself was slowly learning how to do: let go of the past and embrace the gifts of the present.

She stirred once more before rolling over, taking a good portion of the thick blanket with her. Cool air prickled his skin. He leaned over, planted a soft kiss on her bare shoulder and rolled out of bed. Much as he wanted to wake her by sliding into her wet heat and seeing her eyes flutter open with desire as he moved inside her, she needed to rest.

He tugged on his robe and, with one last look at his future queen, closed the door behind him.

Perhaps, he thought as he walked into his suite, he could suggest she move into his bedroom. They’d slept together every night since they’d first made love as husband and wife. Another intimacy he had pictured himself engaging in, but one he had quickly become addicted to.

A fact that should bother him. He had been firm in his commitment to keep emotions out of their arrangement and reserve affection for their child. But the more happiness he found in the littlest of things, from her grateful smile when he made her a slice of toast to the satisfaction of once more working together, the more he found himself embracing the feelings developing. Affection, tenderness, warmth.

Briony and Cass had fallen in love, despite all odds. Yes, his mother had been destroyed by her love for his father. But Daxon was a different beast altogether. Clara was nothing like him. She was generous and honest and cared about the people of Linnaea.

And as she’d reminded him the few times he’d revisited and voiced his deepest fear, he wasn’t Daxon. He wouldn’t hurt Clara the way his father had hurt his mother.

In an odd way, Daxon’s prognosis had also been a balm to years of hurt and resentment. Admitting to Clara that part of him still yearned for a relationship with a man who had been so cruel and selfish, and having her offer him nothing but support and acceptance in return, had made him feel...normal. There would always be regret that he and Daxon would most likely never repair their relationship.

At least Daxon had given him one thing: the motivation to never repeat his father’s mistakes.

Linnaea’s future was brighter than it had ever been. His sister was happily married and expecting her own child. He was married, and to someone he enjoyed being with instead of being trapped in a loveless business arrangement. He was going to be a father. Perhaps it was time to let go of the past and move forward.

His phone rang. He glanced down, then frowned. The screen identified the call as being from the Los Angeles area. Only a select few had his direct line.

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