Page 47 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

‘Hey... It’s not a big deal,’ he said, taking the glass out of her hand and placing it on the breakfast bar. ‘It’s just easier if I don’t live here.’ Leaning against the marble bar, he took her hips in his hands and tugged her towards him. She braced her palms against his chest and felt his pectoral muscles flex and quiver—which sent sensation shooting into her panties. ‘I don’t want to keep you up at night waiting around for me... Unless I’ve got plans for you that don’t involve sleeping.’

The suggestive gleam in his eyes had her choking out a laugh. And dispelled the moment of melancholy, which she was sure was his intention. But she let it go. She had time, lots of time, to find out more about his past and to quiz him about his plans for the future.

‘Is everything always about sex with you?’ she asked with mock outrage, as she threaded her fingers into his hair and tugged his lips closer.

‘Pretty much,’ he said, not sounding remotely apologetic as his devilish lips found the pulse point in her neck.

Before she could protest about his distraction techniques, or question him further, he boosted her into his arms.

‘Come on, Princess,’ he said, the old endearment making the throb in her abdomen rise to wrap around her heart.

‘Practicalities later,’ he declared. ‘Naked fun now.’

As he marched down the hallway, she couldn’t find the will to resist him.

Surely sex was a good way to increase the intimacy between them—and help them both relax and enjoy this new phase of their relationship, she reasoned.

And as his devious hands cupped her bottom, then sank into her panties, her anticipation peaked, and she concluded that sex certainly couldn’t hurt.

Much,muchlater, she lay in a boneless heap, her body giddy with afterglow, on the bed where they had once made a baby, what felt like a lifetime ago, as he levered himself off the mattress.

She watched him dress, his muscular frame—and those fascinating scars and tattoos—gilded by the evening sunshine, while she resisted the pull of exhaustion and ignored the pang of dismay and regret.

Once he was fully clothed, he tucked her under the duvet, kissed her forehead and murmured, ‘Later.’

But as the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hallway and lulled her into a dreamless sleep, a thought drifted through her semi-consciousness...

They’d had lots of naked fun, but they hadn’t sorted out any practicalities—except that his mouth was as versatile and inventive as the rest of him when it came to giving her multiple orgasms.

CHAPTER TWELVE

One month later

‘MASON,WE’VEGOTa table for you and Ms Medford for the Phoenix fundraiser tonight—just wanted to know if you’re likely to attend,’ asked John Taverner, Foxx’s far too eager publicity manager. ‘Joe told me to confirm directly with you.’

That was because his PA knew his social schedule was mostly blank now, Mason mused, taking in the view of Tower Bridge as the lift climbed to the top floor. Because he preferred to keep his evenings free—for booty calls with Beatrice.

He frowned. Booty calls, and too much more.

‘We won’t be there,’ Mason murmured into his phone as the lift reached the penthouse. ‘Give our apologies and add an extra hundred grand to the donation,’ he finished, then cut off the call and shoved the phone into his pocket.

He’d escorted Beatrice to several events the first few weeks they’d been back in London. He’d enjoyed showing her off, plus he’d been convinced her presence on his arm—as the mother of his child—would enhance the Foxx brand. But he’d grown bored with that charade quickly, especially after he’d become aware how tired she got in the evenings.

At six months, her pregnancy was starting to take a toll on her energy levels, so it made sense not to parade her around tonight—and the press intrusion was always intense, so why encourage it?

He tore off his tie as the lift’s doors opened. But as he dumped his briefcase on the hall table, unease skittered up his spine.

When exactly had he become such a homebody, more eager to spend time with her than promote his business?

He tried to shake off the uncomfortable thought, but as he stepped into the living area of the penthouse, his frown deepened and the muscles in his neck tightened.

He’d ensconced Beatrice here four weeks ago—specifically so he could keep his life separate from hers—but had spent pretty much every night since rushing back here to join her for dinner and sex after they both finished work.

He had always loved going to work, but the struggle to leave Beatrice at dawn every morning—so he had time to return to his suite at Foxx Belgravia and prepare for the day—was real. And what the hell had happened to his work ethic these days?

He’d barely been able to concentrate on the string of meetings he’d had today about the new Foxx Motel chain they were building in the Hamptons, had even delegated the site visit to his New York executive team because he didn’t want to spend time away from her. The whole project had begun to feel like a chore because his mind was always elsewhere. Such as this morning, when he had been fixated on the memory of Beatrice’s breasts peeking over the duvet as she lay virtually comatose when he’d left.

Why couldn’t he control the constant desire to be with her?

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