Page 51 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he demanded.

‘You never want to talk to me...’

‘I talk to you all the time,’ he interrupted her, but she recognised the tactic, although it wasn’t one he’d used before—belligerence and indignation to avoid the truth. ‘I’m here pretty much every night,allnight, and I’ve let my other commitments slide. But I can’t keep doing that.’

‘You never want to talk to me about the baby, about us,’ she said slowly, carefully, determined to pierce the bubble of outrage, knowing she couldn’t let him derail her or distract her again.

She had to find her courage now. The courage she’d taken for granted, but which she needed more than ever.

‘About how you feel about fatherhood,’ she continued. She cupped her stomach, the little flutter there reassuring her and bolstering her determination. ‘And what you envisage your role being in this baby’s life. Inmylife, after it’s born.’

‘Why do we need to talk about that right now? We’ve got months yet before it’s even born,’ he snapped, but she could hear the fear now too.

‘Because I want you to be a part of my life,’ she said. ‘So much.’ She took a deep breath.

She had to tell him the truth too, however exposed it made her feel. Which was a lot.

‘Because I’ve fallen in love with you, Mason. And I want us to be a family.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘YOUDON’TLOVEME,PRINCESS,’ Mason said, trying for flippant, even as everything inside him felt raw and exposed. Feeling those little kicks inside her had shocked him and excited him, but then they had crucified him.

He should have seen this coming, should have realised that someone like Beatrice would make the mistake of thinking he was a good guy. Because he’d been too scared to tell her the truth.

‘Don’t tell me how I feel,’ she said.

‘Then don’t say stupid things. How can you love me when you don’t even know me?’ Mason replied as the panic clawed at his throat.

She’d never looked more beautiful than in that moment, he realised, standing in nothing but a towel, her damp curls flattened against her head, her gaze open and generous and direct. And full of an innocence he had always lacked.

But she’d also never looked more vulnerable, her stunning bone structure so fragile, her eyes—those huge blue orbs—so innocent. And so full of hope.

He hadn’t wanted to tell her about himself, about his past, about all the things he’d done to survive. The stuff he’d covered up and ignored and never had a problem with until she’d come into his life.

But as he watched her cradle the mound of her belly where their baby grew, he figured he was all out of options now.

Did she even know she was doing that? Instinctively protecting their child from the likes of him.

She blinked slowly, her eyes blank with shock, but then they filled with the shimmer of compassion which only made the guilty hole in his gut swell. And twist.

‘What don’t I know about you, Mason?’ she said with a confidence he knew she’d worked so hard to earn. ‘If it’s so terrible, don’t you think it’s about time you told me?’

He would have done anything not to burst the bubble, not to destroy her hope. Because in his own way he knew he had deep feelings for her too. And the baby. Feelings he’d tried hard not to admit. To himself as well as her. To protect them both.

‘You really want to know?’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you, but I suggest we both get dressed first,’ he finished, before stalking out of the bathroom.

He took his time getting his clothes back on, his whole body shaking, pathetically grateful when she didn’t follow him out immediately. He couldn’t do this while they were both naked because it already felt like trying to tear off his own skin.

He was slipping on his shoes when she appeared, wearing a bathrobe, her hair brushed, her face still flushed from her shower and their lovemaking. The thought of never being able to touch her again, to hold her, to make her shudder and moan, to watch her going over with that stunned pleasure on her face felt unbearable. But somehow much worse was the thought of never having her look at him again with that tenderness in her eyes.

He’d always considered himself a selfish man, only interested in dating for the physical pleasure he could get out of it. So why did that thought hurt most of all?

He sat down on the bed. Rested his forearms on his knees. Suddenly exhausted, as all the convenient lies, the easy deflections, the endless avoidance tactics had finally deserted him.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it.

‘Why do you love me?’ The question burst out before he could think it through.

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