Page 26 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

He really was the most beautiful man alive, from the top of his cropped dark hair to the tips of his long toes. There was not a part of her that didn’t long for him, and not just a longing to punch him.

God help her, how was she supposed to share a bed with him without losing her mind?

Her shell shock from his grenades had slowly worn off, leaving her dazed at how easily he was able to turn any situation to his advantage. It would be impressive if she weren’t the one in the firing line of his sharp brain.

Gripping tightly on the glass balustrade, she remembered begging him to slow down when he first demanded she marry him. By that point he’d probably mapped out their whole future in his head.

When Ramos made up his mind to do something, he wanted it done yesterday. She could hardly believe he’d waited five whole months to make her share the marital bedroom, not if his intention really had been to move her into it from the start.

One minute they’d been arguing about his irrational jealousy over Mateo—though why he’d accused her of suffering from irrational jealousy too, she didn’t know, the idea was ridiculous—the next her whole idea about their marriage was being upended and decided on.

Emotionally, her recoveryhadtaken a long time. She’d given birth to the most precious child in the world and had felt the loss of her mother, who would never meet her grandson, as keenly as when she’d first died. Ramos had sensed this, she realised. Impulsive and vengeful he might be, but he was also capable of empathy and that only made her heart swell even more for him. Only added to the danger she was in.

Flora wasn’t like his other lovers. She could never be like them. She just wasn’t made that way. As an adolescent, she’d hated the way Ramos and her brother treated women, feeling it too much like the way her father treated them. Gradually though, she’d learned the women they went with were of the same mindset. They were women who didn’t care for commitment either.

Now she was even less like those other women. She’d had a child. Her body bore the evidence of it and would for the rest of her life.

Her father had cheated on her mother in the aftermath of both her pregnancies with younger women whose bodies were lithe and perfect. And her father had supposedly loved her mother! How could Flora’s body not repulse Ramos?

She couldn’t allow there to be intimacy between them. She just couldn’t.

She didn’t dare.

As if sensing her gaze on him, he raised his stare to her and the swelling of her heart almost choked her.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, hooded eyes drifting over her, taking everything in.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said simply.

Blushing furiously at the compliment, she shrugged and strove for lightness. ‘It took me long enough.’

Tonight, she’d chosen a black dress with red polka dots that had a kimono-style neck and short sleeves, and a puffed-out skirt that disguised her bum and hips. She’d held her breath when Madeline did the zip up for her, certain it would get stuck halfway up her back, but it had fastened easily. For her feet she’d selected a pair of elegant black pointed shoes with only a small heel, and twisted her chestnut hair into a loose chignon.

He chuckled. ‘It has been a long time since you last went out?’

‘My last date was with a midwife, so yes.’

‘Then I hope you find this evening makes up for all you have missed out on.’

‘Where are we going?’ When she’d sought him out earlier to ask him, he’d refused to tell her, saying only that she should dress up.

His mouth widened into that devastating smile. ‘For dinner and then the ballet.’

Flora turned her head for one last glimpse of the villa as the driver left Ramos’s grounds.

‘He will be fine,’ Ramos said, reading her mind. ‘Madeline has three children of her own and eight grandchildren.’

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘It’s just that I’ve never left him before.’

‘He won’t even know we have gone,’ he promised. ‘And we’ll only be a fifteen-minute drive away. Now tell me, have you seenGisellebefore?’

‘Yes.’

He grinned. ‘How many times?’

‘Only three. What about you?’

‘I’ve never been to the ballet in my life.’

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