Page 19 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

She guessed that was what losing your virginity, having two titanic orgasms when you thought you were frigid, then discovering you could be accidentally pregnant could do to you...

‘We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay? I swear,’ he said, his voice forceful and so reassuring it made her heart hurt.

Of course, they had options. Lots of options. This didn’t have to be a catastrophe.

She nodded against his chest. She shouldn’t rely on him too much. But, just for tonight, would it be so wrong to bow to his pragmatism? To let him take charge?

‘Now, go to sleep, you’re exhausted,’ he added.

‘I know...’ she said, cracking a huge yawn. ‘You exhausted me.’

She closed her eyes, feeling at least a little bit kickass again when his rough chuckle lured her to sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

MASONSPRINTEDUPthe building’s back staircase in his running gear, his headphones blaring out a favourite R&B classic and the fresh pastries he’d bought at the bakery round the corner slung under his arm.

But despite the three-mile run he’d taken all the way to the London Eye and back along the Embarkment, endorphins were still rioting through his system. Because one of the most captivating women he’d ever met was lying in his bed, waiting for him—after a night of insanely good sex.

Insanely good, even though she had been a virgin. He slowed to a jog as he reached the top floor, then shoved open the fire door with his shoulder—still not one hundred percent sure how he felt about that.

When he’d first figured out the truth in the bathroom, while also discovering the condom he’d used wasn’t fit for purpose, he’d been stunned.

Why would a woman like Beatrice—classy, beautiful and more sensitive than he’d first realised—choose a man like him? He was hardly known for his sensitivity. Nor did he have a great track record when it came to relationships.

He wasn’t a guy who had ever worn his heart on his sleeve. If he even had a heart any more...

He’d jettisoned the need for love a long time ago—and he didn’t regret it. Because it had made him tougher and more resilient. His emotional self-sufficiency, the ability to trust in his own judgement, had helped him to build a multi-billion-pound global hospitality brand in the space of a decade.

But when she’d blurted out the truth, confirming his suspicions about her lack of experience, instead of being annoyed, or wary, or freaked out, what had surged up his torso had felt a lot like pride. It was the same feeling of validation he remembered from the day he’d signed the lease on his first property—a crumbling bedsit in Hoxton which he’d rehabbed himself over one long hot summer and turned into his first boutique hotel—at the age of twenty-one.

He’d never quite managed to replicate that spurt of fierce joy and pride in his accomplishments—until he’d woken up this morning, with Beatrice curled around him, fast asleep, wearing one of his old T-shirts. Her breath had feathered his collarbone, her scent—vanilla and female arousal—had filled his lungs and his body had been raring to go again in seconds.

Hence the need for a three-mile run.

He didn’t know why she’d trusted him with something so precious, but he was glad she had. It had stunned him, but it had also humbled him...in a way he hadn’t been humbled in a long time. And while he was still grappling with the fallout from her decision—and why it had affected him so deeply—one thing he was sure of. He didn’t want to let her go. Not yet.

He took a deep breath and ignored the constriction in his chest.

Okay, Foxx, get real. This is just about the insanely good sex—and your gargantuan ego.

If he didn’t do love, he sure as hell didn’t do love after one night.

He walked into the apartment’s open-plan living space and took a moment to admire the way the spring sunshine gleamed off the expensive furniture a world-class interior designer had spent a fortune selecting for him and sparkled on the water outside.

As the mighty Thames snaked through the magnificent view, the light feeling in his chest refused to subside.

He had a good life. A great life. A life he’d spent seventeen years working like a dog to create for himself. But until last night, when Beatrice had fallen asleep in his arms and that odd feeling of possessiveness had settled into his gut, it had never even occurred to him there could be more. That maybe he’d spent so much of his life striving to achieve the next milestone on his journey to world domination of the hospitality industry, he’d never taken the time to create something which couldn’t be bought and paid for.

Until last night, he had never valued anything he couldn’t put a price on. But her trust in him meant something. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what.

He placed the fresh pastries on a plate and walked to the main bedroom to check on her. Her slight shape lay curled under the duvet on the far side of his bed—had she even moved? Boy, he really had exhausted her last night.

His ribs tightened again, even as his heartbeat plunged into his shorts.

He headed to the guest bedroom to shower and change so he wouldn’t wake her. After washing away the sweat from his run, he switched the dial to frigid to get himself under control.

She was going to be sore this morning. Which meant there was going to be no repeat performance, however much he might want one. But his disappointment—at the thought he was going to have to wait to make love to her again—faded at the thought of getting the chance to talk to her.

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