Page 16 of The Venetian One-Night Baby

As soon as the door closed behind Gillian Firbank, Sabrina swung her gaze to Max. ‘Do you think she suspects anything?’

‘I don’t think so. But we have to keep our relationship quiet until you get through the first trimester. Then we can tell everyone we’re marrying.’

She stared at him, still not sure how to handle this change in him. So much for the one night and one night only stance he’d taken before. Now he was insisting on marrying her and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She blew out a breath, whirled away and crossed her arms over her middle. ‘You’re being ridiculous, Max. We can’t do this. We can’t get married just because I’m pregnant. We’d end up hating each other even more than we do now.’

‘When have I ever said I hated you?’ Max’s jaw looked like it was set in stone. A muscle moved in and out next to his flattened mouth as if he was mentally counting to ten. And his smoky blue eyes smouldered, making something fizz at the back of her knees like sherbet.

‘You don’t have to say it. It’s in your actions. You can barely speak to me without criticising something about me.’

He came to her and before she could move away he took her by the upper arms in a gentle but firm hold. Deep down, Sabrina knew she’d had plenty of time to escape those warm strong fingers, but right then her body was craving his touch. Six long weeks had passed since their stolen night of passion and now she was alone with him, her senses were firing, her needs clamouring, her resolve to resist him faltering. ‘I don’t hate you, Sabrina.’

But you don’t love me either.

She didn’t say the words out loud but the silence seemed to ring with their echo. ‘We’d better get back to the party otherwise people will start talking.’

His hands tightened. ‘Not yet.’ His voice was low and deep and husky, his eyes flicking to her mouth as if drawn by a force he couldn’t counteract.

Sabrina breathed in the clean male scent of him, the hint of musk, the base note of bergamot and a top note of lemon. She leaned towards him, pushed by the need to feel him close against her, to feel his body respond to hers. He stirred against her, the tempting hardness of his body reminding hers of everything that had passed between them six weeks ago. ‘Max... I can’t think straight when you touch me.’

‘Then don’t think.’

She stepped out of his hold with a willpower she hadn’t known she possessed. ‘I need a couple of weeks to get my head around this...situation. It’s been such a shock and I don’t want to rush into anything I might later regret.’

She didn’t want to think about all the madly-in-love brides who came to her for their wedding dresses. She didn’t want to think about Max’s offer, which had come out of a sense of duty instead of love. But she didn’t want to think about bringing up a baby on her own either. She walked to the library door, knowing that if she stayed a minute longer she would end up in his arms.

‘Where are you going?’ Max asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘The party, remember?’

He dragged a hand over his face and scowled. ‘I hate parties.’

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE TIME Max dragged himself out of the library to re-join the party there was no sign of Sabrina. He moved through the house, pretending an interest in the other guests he was nowhere near feeling, surreptitiously sweeping his gaze through the crowd to catch a glimpse of her. He didn’t want to make it too obvious he was looking for her, but he didn’t want her to leave his parents’ house until he was sure she was okay.

He was having enough trouble dealing with the shock news of her pregnancy, so he could only imagine how it was impacting on her. Even though he knew she had always wanted children, she wanted them at the right time with the right guy. He wasn’t that guy. But it was too late to turn back the clock. He was the father of her child and there was no way he was going to abandon her, even if he had to drag her kicking, screaming and swearing to the altar.

Max wandered out into the garden where large scented candles were burning in stands next to the formal garden beds. There was no silky honey-brown head in the crowd gathered outside. The sting of disappointment soured his mood even further. The only way to survive one of his parents’ parties was to spar with Sabrina. He hadn’t realised until then how much he looked forward to it. Was he weird or what? Looking forward to their unfriendly fire was not healthy. It was sick.

And so too was wanting to make love to a woman you got pregnant six weeks ago. But he couldn’t deny the longing that was pounding through him. He’d wanted to kiss her so badly back in the library. Kiss her and hold her and remind her of the chemistry they shared. Hadn’t it always been there? The tension that vibrated between them whenever their gazes locked. How the slightest touch of her hand sent a rocket charge through his flesh. That first kiss all those weeks ago had set in motion a ferocious longing that refused to be suppressed.

But it had to be suppressed. It must be suppressed. He was no expert on pregnancy, having avoided the topic for most of his adult life, but wasn’t sex between the parents dangerous to the baby under some circumstances? Particularly if the pregnancy was a high-risk one? How could he live with himself if he harmed the baby before it even got a chance to be born? Besides, he didn’t want their families to get too excited about him and Sabrina seeing each other. He could only imagine his mother’s disappointment if she thought she was going to be a grandmother only to have it snatched away from her if Sabrina’s pregnancy failed.

No. He would do the noble thing. He would resist the temptation and get her safely through to the twelve-week mark. Even if it damn near killed him.

Max’s mother came towards him with half a glass of champagne in her hand. ‘Are you looking for Sabrina?’

‘No.’ Shoot. He’d delivered his flat denial far too quickly.

‘Well, if you are, then you’re wasting your time. She went home half an hour ago. Said she wasn’t feeling well. I hope it wasn’t your fault?’ The accusatory note in his mother’s voice grated along his already frayed nerves.

Yep, it was definitely his fault.

Big time.

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