His Heir, Her Honor (Rich, Rugged And Royal #3)(33)
Author: Catherine Mann

Two brandy snifters filled with milk sat on a silver platter beside the marble tub. He’d insisted that if she couldn’t drink alcohol, then he would abstain as well. The silly gesture touched her as fully as his hands.

He’d made such intense love to her in the music room, and again in her bed before they’d migrated to the spacious bath. Her wary heart wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could trust what they shared. Hopefully he’d resolved whatever freaked him out that first night they’d been together. Without question, Carlos carried heavy baggage from his past. That had to have left some emotional marks.

But as long as they kept open lines of communication, maybe they really had a shot at working this out. Counting on that honesty between them calmed her own fears of ending up like her parents. It had to. Because heaven help her, if Carlos asked her to marry her again, she wouldn’t be able to say no.

He swept his foot under the brass faucet, activating the electronic fixture. Warm water flowed into their cooling bath.

What would she have done if he’d proposed right after she told him about the baby? Her hand tightened on his knee. She liked to think she would have told him to take his dutiful proposal and shove it after the way he’d acted. She needed—and deserved—confirmation that he held deep feelings for her, not just because she carried his baby.

Nestled against his chest, she wanted to roll out her thoughts, test their newfound truce, but concerns for his father had to take precedence. No wonder he’d been pouring his heart out through his music.

She stroked up his leg and reached through the rose-covered surface of the water, folding her hand over his cupping the snifter. “The way you played—” her fingers caressed the rougher texture of his “—your hands on the keyboard, it was magical. You’re quite accomplished.”

“There wasn’t much else for me to do during my teenage years. Between surgeries…” His voice rumbled his chest against her back, his low words mingling with the sound of water shooshing from the faucet. “My father had the music room built to be airy, open and bright, like being outside.”

“Apparently you spent a lot of time practicing.” Pouring out his pain, his loss, his frustration onto the keyboard? What a heart-wrenching image.

“More than average.” He brought the goblet of milk to her mouth for a sip. “One especially hot July day, my brothers surprised me by showing up with wheelchairs they’d lifted from the island clinic. They nailed a basketball goal right in the middle of one of our father’s murals and gave ‘ballroom’ a whole new meaning.”

She tried to laugh with him, but her mind hitched on one telling word. “Wheelchairs? You were in a wheelchair?”

With careful deliberation, he swept his foot under the electronic sensor again and shut off the water. “For a while, the doctors weren’t sure whether or not I would walk again.”

“How long is awhile?” she pressed gently.

“Three years before I was on my feet again. Seven more years of surgeries after that.” He reached for his milk abruptly and drained the glass.

“Carlos…” she gasped, at a loss, overwhelmed by what he must have gone through. “I had no idea.” She tried to turn, to face him, to comfort him, but he locked her in place with one arm around her.

He set aside his snifter and slid his hand over her stomach. “Let’s talk about something else instead. You’re learning a lot of my crummy past. How about you share up some things about yourself?”

“Strip for Secrets doesn’t work when we’re already naked.”

“I have plenty of other enticements to offer.” His hand dipped below the water, between her legs for a languorous caress.

His obvious attempt to change the subject didn’t escape her notice—even though it was growing difficult to think of anything but the talented tease of his fingers.

She angled back to kiss his jaw. “What do you want to know?”

Laughing softly, he moved his hand to her stomach again. “Are you hoping for a boy or girl?”

And, wow, he’d chosen his distracting topic well, because finally they were talking about their child in a way she’d barely dared dream.

“I haven’t thought about that one way or the other.” She held his hand over her stomach just as she’d done earlier around the goblet of milk. “The baby already is what he or she is.”

His fingers circled lightly along her skin. “Are you planning to find out during the ultrasound?”

“It doesn’t matter to me either way.” She forced herself to relax, to grow comfortable with his hand curving over her stomach as if it belonged there. “Are you hoping for a boy?”

Just yesterday he’d said he wanted the baby to be his. Was he finally settling into the reality of being a father after all? She could see how he would have grown leery of hope after such traumatic teenage years. At the hospital, she’d witnessed more than one patient become cynical to the point of losing reasonable perspective.

If only she’d known more about Carlos’s past from the start.

His deep inhale pressed against her back before he finally answered, “I don’t have any preferences other than that the child be healthy.”

“We’re in agreement on that.” She swirled her fingers through the water, swirling red petals before her hand fell to rest on top of his again. “Well then, do you have name preferences?”

“The Medinas typically pull from the family tree.”

Everything she’d learned since coming to the island had shed such light, helping her understand this enigmatic man. Did she dare push further? Yet, how could she not when this could be her only window of time? “Your mother’s name was Beatriz, right?”

“She didn’t care much for her name. She said it sounded too old-fashioned.”

“And what about boy names?”

“My family tree is filled with relatives. We have plenty to choose from.”

We? Her heart raced against her ribs. “We’ll have to make a list.”

“What about your family?” He skimmed a kiss across her temple, brushing aside a stray curl that had fallen from the loose bundle on her head. “Any names you wish to use?”

The water went chilly again. “Not really.” She toed the drain to release some water and activated the brass faucet again, grateful for what had to be the world’s largest hot water tank. “We aren’t estranged or anything. My brothers and I keep in touch, but we’re not what I would call close. We exchange emails, speak a couple of times a year. I try to make it for special occasions in my nieces’ and nephews’ lives. But we’re not all taking family vacations together by any stretch.”