Page 44 of The Baby His Secretary Carries

She guided herself onto him, lowering and blinking away the rush of tears that had been prompted by the starkness of the moment. By the magnitude of it.

She loved him. She loved him with everything in her and, one way or another, she was going to lose him.

His wide hands slid up her thighs to bracket her hips beneath the skirt. He lifted his hips, urging her into moving on him.

She let her skirt spill around them and braced her hands on his shoulders while she rode the rhythm he set. The wool of his pants abraded her legs, but she embraced that discomfort in the greater frenzy of claiming him.

As the intensity of emotion and pleasure converged, she cried out what was in her heart. What couldn’t be contained or denied anymore.

“I love you, Gio! I love you!”

Ecstasy shot through her like golden light, but even though he threw back his head and bared his teeth, releasing a shout of pure exaltation, he didn’t say the words back to her.

Molly disappeared into the bathroom to put herself back together while Gio picked up the ringing phone.

“The car is waiting for us,” he called to her, still tucking himself back into his trousers, titillated by the smudge of lipstick she’d left on him.

He moved to ensure he wasn’t wearing that shade on his mouth. He was still perspiring and dull-witted from his powerful orgasm, but also off-kilter. Had she heard herself?

He wasn’t sure how to take her confession. Was it an agreement to marry him?

Women had claimed to love him in the past, of course, including his mother. For Fridrika, the wordlovewas a means of manipulation that had worked when he’d been young. She had used it to twist his feelings and impose a sense of obligation, which had made the words downright repulsive to him for a long time.

Not every woman was a sociopathic narcissist, however. Eventually, he had come to understand thatlovewas something some people believed they were experiencing when enthusiasm and accord ran high. Hell, when he’d watched Molly’s painted lips close around his aroused flesh with such erotic greed, he could have said he loved her and meant it. Context was everything.

Molly would have a definition of love that was deeper and more meaningful than his, though. She wouldn’t say it to impose obligations on him, but she wouldn’t say it superficially, either. She had said she wanted to marry for love, so...?

She joined him, makeup once again flawless, hair a tiny bit less polished than it had been, which was actually very sexy. The blush of orgasm still sat on her cheekbones, which was also sexy as hell. She sent a vague smile in his direction and hurried to put on the earrings that matched the pendant he’d given her.

Her hands were trembling, which distracted him from the thick tension coating the air. Was she waiting for an acknowledgement of what she’d said? Reciprocation?

“Shall we go?” Now she was looking into her clutch and moving to the door, making him realize she hadn’t once met his eyes.

He’d been waiting for her to look at him so he could better read her mood, but she was opening the door herself and walking through it.

They made their way down to the lobby in weighted silence.

As the car took them the short distance to the museum, he reached across to take her hand, starting to say “thank you for earlier,” but he stopped himself when he realized how ambiguous those words might sound.

Her fingers curled loosely around his, but she kept her focus out the window.

It wasn’t until they walked into the gala, where Rafael Zamos and his wife were holding court, and he felt her stiffen beside him, that he realized she might be suffering nerves. Gio took his acceptance in any group of people for granted, but she was still finding her feet in his social circles. Plus, the last time she’d met this couple, Alexandra Zamos had been very condescending toward her.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “They’ll be polite.” They had damn well better be.

Thinking back to that day, however, Gio recalled that it was the first time he’d had to admit to himself that he had a personal interest in Molly, one that went deeper than sneaking glances at her figure. When she had appeared on deck, he’d been preoccupied with his negotiations with Rafael, irritated that lunch had turned into a swim and drinks. Precious time had been wasted and Jacinda had been circling like a shark. Despite her very pretty breasts, he’d been dead from the waist down...until Molly appeared.

She had been a wild rose among manufactured silk blossoms. Her beauty originated in the way that nature had put her together, not from any false adornments. She smelled fresh and moved fluidly, and smiled with shy warmth.

When Alexandra had been so offended that Molly had dared to show herself above her station, Gio had genuinely questioned whether he should be doing business with her husband.

That rush of hostility and protective aggression had been so ferocious, he’d almost missed that Alexandra was trying to smooth things over with Molly. She’d been clumsy about it, but she had invited Molly for breakfast and had seemed genuinely embarrassed by her own behavior. He’d left Molly to decide for herself whether she wanted to give the woman an opportunity to make up for her discourtesy.

Now, however, as they made their way toward the couple, he could feel tension coming off Molly in radioactive waves. It ignited a prickling need to guard, but he couldn’t identify the threat.

Rafael spotted them and excused himself and his wife from their group. He glanced at Alexandra in a silent signal that she should accompany him as he began making his way toward them on a pair of crutches. Alexandra was frowning with tension. Her attention skimmed the room in a way that struck Gio as hunted.

Molly’s grip tightened in his. Was her palm clammy?

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