His Heir, Her Honor (Rich, Rugged And Royal #3)(20)
Author: Catherine Mann

“Touché.” He saluted her lightly. “I apologize for the sexist sound to my question. To show my contrition, I’ll answer first. I decided a long time ago to stay a bachelor.”

“Because…?” she asked, suddenly curious to the roots of her hair.

“Standard eternal bachelor reasons,” he answered with a wry grin. “I’m a workaholic. I didn’t want to subject any woman to the Medina madness.”

The last reason was far from standard. “There have been women lining up outside your office ready to volunteer for that mayhem. In fact, Nancy seems ready to hustle to the front of the queue.”

His smile flattened to a humorless scowl. “I haven’t asked for or encouraged any of them.”

“Yet still they flock to your side.” The second the words left her mouth, she winced at sounding jealous. But she was carrying the man’s child after all. Any of those women would be a part of her child’s life through him.

Great. Now she was jealous and concerned.

Carlos massaged his knee absently. “They’re flocking to the title and the money that comes with it. They wouldn’t care if I was a troll with an extra eye in the middle of my forehead.”

Laughter burst free and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

He cocked an eyebrow. “I wasn’t joking.”

“I know, but still, the image you painted…” She couldn’t stop laughing. She knew the giggles had more to do with releasing tension than anything else. Her body was wound so tight from the events of the past two days she needed the outlet, a release for her swelling emotions.

And her emotions weren’t the only thing that would be swelling soon. Her hand slid to her stomach.

Just the thought of that jolted a fresh burst of laughter until she clapped a hand over her mouth again. Carlos stared at her as if she was half-crazy, and maybe right now… Who knew? She hiccupped and a tear fell free. Then another. More. Until she couldn’t stop the flood of an altogether different emotion as a sob tore its way through her heart and up her throat.

Seven

Carlos had seen patients cry more times than he cared to remember. Although he didn’t like to think he’d become jaded, he couldn’t afford to let tears sway him or he wouldn’t be able to treat his patients.

But seeing Lilah so upset sliced through what little restraint he had left.

Unable to keep his distance, he swung his feet from the sofa and knelt beside her before she finished scrubbing her wrist across her cheeks. Only once had he known Lilah to lose it, about three years after he’d begun working for the Tacoma facility. She had gone to the mat with the insurance company for a patient of his, a child whose spine had been fractured in an amusement park ride accident—at the C7 vertebrae. The parents were supposed to be grateful their child could use his thumb to work the electric wheelchair.

Lilah had crushed opponents standing in the way of getting that boy everything he needed.

Late on the night of the boy’s surgery, Carlos had been making rounds and found Lilah sitting by the kid’s bed, a tear-soaked tissue in her hand. To this day he could envision her face in silhouette, a single tear clinging to her chin, as if that drop of water was every bit as stubborn as the woman, refusing to surrender. He’d never known why that case hit her harder than others, or if he’d just never before caught her during the emotional fallout. But something had shifted inside him then, releasing a gnawing need that dogged him until he gave in to temptation the night of the Christmas party.

A log dropped and popped as he knelt in front of her.

He knuckled a fresh tear from her cheek. “Are you all right?”

“Yes and no and I don’t know.” Her words jumbled on top of each other. “I almost wish I could blame it on hormones.”

“The past couple of days have been overwhelming.” For him, too.

“An understatement.” She nodded tightly, her last bit of control obviously brittle.

Hooking his arm around her shoulders, he slid up beside her on the couch and drew her to his chest. Her shoulders trembled as she choked back sobs, then finally let go, crying into his sweater. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her shampoo, lightly floral and so different from the antiseptic world they usually inhabited together. His hands skimmed up and down her spine, the soft cashmere reminding him of the massage he’d given her on the plane. Right now, though, her zipper would stay firmly in place. She needed something different from him and, by God, he would deliver.

He stroked her back, made what he hoped were soothing noises and held her until her tears slowed. Each gentle breath pressed her br**sts to him. He gritted his teeth against the temptation to pull her closer and savor the lush curves of her. Nearly three months of no sex—of no Lilah—sent desire grating through him.

He felt like a bastard for being turned on while she was so blatantly upset. Protectiveness and passion got tangled up inside him. All the barriers he’d worked to resurrect around her crumbled.

Sniffling, she finally eased away, swiping her hair from her face and straightening her dress. She braced her shoulders and faced him, chin jutting with determination.

“Okay,” she said simply.

Huh? “Okay what?”

“Let’s make the most of this time away and have sex 24/7.” She reached behind her neck to tug down the zipper on her cashmere dress. “Starting now.”

Shock stunned him still until the rasp of her zipper brought him out of his stupor. Yes, he’d wanted her naked, but not this way, not when she wasn’t thinking clearly.

Not when his own mind was such a mess.

“Whoa.” He gripped her shoulders to keep the top in place, confused as to what brought her abrupt about-face and concerned about what had upset her. “Hold on there a second, Gypsy Rose Lee.”

Her forehead pleated in frustration. “You’re telling me to stop?”

“As much as it pains me to say this…” He took in the generous swell of her br**sts so close, only an inch away from where he clasped her wrists. But he had to hold strong. “We need to talk this through.”

Confusion faded from her face, replaced by increasing anger snapping from her as tangibly as the crackles in the stone hearth. “I’m not sure what kind of head game you’re playing here, but I do not appreciate it. I could have sworn back in the plane today that you were totally turned on.”

“Believe me, I was.” He winced. “I am.”