Page 48 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

He’d started to look forward to their evenings together for a host of reasons and not just the sex. He loved hearing her eager observations about her new job—and was stupidly proud of what she had achieved in such a small space of time.

When he’d told his acquisitions team to find her a position which would utilise her language skills and had a competitive salary and benefits, he’d envisioned the job being busy work which would fulfil the promises he’d made to her in Portofino. But Beatrice had the work ethic of a Trojan and was a genuine polymath—according to her boss Jenna, who adored her—so she’d quickly made herself indispensable.

He appreciated her unique insights into his business initiatives too, in the conversations they shared about each other’s day over takeaway food, or their latest culinary disaster—because neither of them had any aptitude in the kitchen and he didn’t want to hire staff when he wanted to be alone with her. He’d even started to enjoy her snippets of information about the pregnancy, perhaps because he had become unbearably curious about the life inside her too. Even though he shouldn’t be.

He shrugged off his jacket and dumped it on the statement sofa—where he had brought her to a screaming orgasm last night after they’d watched one of the romcoms she loved. But he couldn’t seem to shrug off the troubling direction of his thoughts.

How had he become so dependent on spending time with her? And why, when he found it so easy to deflect any probing questions about his past and their future, was he finding it a lot less easy to justify those deflections?

Perhaps because he’d become so aware of the eager hope in Beatrice’s eyes—every night he turned up back here again.

She wanted more than he could give her, he already knew that.

He should start preparing her for the timeafterthe baby was born, when he wouldn’t be around so much, if at all. Fatherhood was something he would suck at. So why couldn’t he just tell her that?

‘Beatrice?’ he shouted, pushing the troubling thoughts to one side.

He still had three months to get round to that conversation. So what if he was enjoying spending time with her? He’d worked hard for years to get where he was today. And Beatrice had put in quite a shift herself since getting pregnant. The baby’s arrival would put an end date on this interlude once and for all. So why shouldn’t they enjoy it while they still could?

But when she didn’t answer, his neck muscles tensed. Was she in the study again, working late?

He had come close to calling her boss Jenna today and demanding she ease up on Beatrice’s workload, because he’d found her crouched over her computer yesterday evening. If Jenna had dumped a load more translations on her he wasn’t going to hold off any longer—to hell with his decision not to interfere in her career...

But when he swung open the study door, he found the room empty.

He rubbed the back of his neck, in a vain attempt to massage away his frustration—and the tiny ripple of panic. So where was she then?

Hopefully not in the guest room, where she was setting up the nursery he had insisted on paying for but had been avoiding.

He headed down the hall towards the main bedroom.

But as he opened the door, he heard the shower running in the en suite bathroom. And the tension in his neck shot straight into his groin.

He walked silently into the bathroom, propelled by the familiar kick of arousal.

Perhaps all he’d really needed was to get laid.Again.

She stood in the glass cubicle with her body in profile, her face tilted into the stream. The treated glass gave him a clear view, despite the plume of steam rising from the hot jets. The flare of her hips and the curve of her breasts—which were getting heavier by the day—only added to the allure of her generous belly and her flushed skin, covered in soap.

A loud groan escaped as the kick of need sank deep.

Her head swung round. And their gazes locked.

Her face relaxed into a seductive smile—as she turned towards him, so he could look his fill. He drank in the sight like a man about to die of thirst. The water cascaded down her back and ran in rivulets over her full breasts. She cupped the heavy orbs, lifted and squeezed them, as if offering them to him, then grazed her thumbs over the engorged nipples.

He began shedding the rest of his clothing in a frantic rush. But as his cognitive abilities made a speedy exodus from his head, a new panic surfaced.

Why couldn’t he stop wanting her? All the time. Seeing the changes his baby was making to her body was supposed to have weaned him off this addiction, but instead they only made him want her more.

But as he stripped off his shorts and walked to the cubicle, his mammoth erection leading the way—and watched her fingers trail down to her sex to torture him some more—he shoved the disturbing questions away.

Because he was way too desperate to touch her and taste her and torture her in return than to look for answers to any of them tonight.

The titanic orgasm cascaded through Bea with more force than the power shower pummelling them both. A guttural moan burst from her lips, her head dropping to rest against the shower tiles as she was catapulted onto the glittering cloud of afterglow.

Her hands slipped off Mason’s shoulders, her back wedged against the quartz as he leaned against her. She buried her face into his neck, dragging in the scent of her vanilla soap on his skin, and loved the feel of his forearms flexing under her bare bottom as he held her aloft.

He shuddered violently through the last of his climax, while somehow managing to keep them both upright.

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