finality of that knowledge hit again, winding her like a medicine ball to the stomach. She stopped at the door, one hand on the doorjamb, the other on her midriff while tears filled her throat.
At her back, two hands cupped her shoulders as his hard frame pressed in.
“Carino, would it be so bad being married to me?”
She swallowed back emotion. “That’s not the question you should be asking.”
“Then what?”
Her throat thickened more. “You could very well be the father of that baby and you don’t know?”
His fingers clamped her shoulders more before his hands lowered.
“There’s more to this, isn’t there?” he asked, and she froze.
Did he know something about her past?
“I think I understand,” he ground out, “and I admit it might not be what you’d hoped for in a marriage…regularly caring for another woman’s child as if it were your own.”
Natalie blinked several times and slowly turned. Her voice was an incredulous whisper.
“You’d want me to help look after the baby?”
Engagements, marriage…she hadn’t thought ahead to visitation or shared custody if the baby was his. She shouldn’t now because what he proposed was impossible. She’d already inadvertently caused the death of one child. She shouldn’t be responsible for another baby, even part-time.
A palm against her sick stomach, she shook her head again. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
His eyes dimmed more. “You don’t like children?”
“I adore them.”
“You don’t think you could love a child that’s not yours?”
Oh Lord. “That’s not the problem.”
Finding her hands, he clasped them to his chest. “We’ll have our own children.”
Her throat ached so much, she could barely find her voice. “And that’s what you want, isn’t it Alexander?” What you need. A son. An heir.
“Do you know what I want?” His dark penetrating eyes searched hers. “I want you.”
She let go that breath.
He’d said want, not love, two totally different things.
But if she accepted this proposal, she would be a part-time mother of a child. Alexander Ramirez’s child. She’d given up all hope…
Her heart squeezed.
She shouldn’t even think such a thing. And just where would a marriage to Alex leave the unwed mother? Surely Bridget Davidson would want to marry the father of her child, particularly when the man concerned was Alexander.
And what of his suggestion that they have children of their own? Impossible.
Pressing the heel of her hand against her pulsing temple, she tried to think straight. There seemed a thousand ways this could go, but with only one likely outcome.
Someone would be hurt.
She shook her head, harder this time. “It won’t work.”
“Give me one good reason.”
Everything. “It’s all…too big of a gamble.”
“Life’s a gamble.”
She sighed.
How would he react if he knew he’d proposed to a woman who was considered trailer trash back home? Who’d fallen pregnant then had inadvertently caused a miscarriage. Lump on top of that the fact she was now barren and he’d hit the jackpot in women not to marry.
He wanted her?
He wanted only what she’d been willing to show of herself to the world.
He changed the subject.
“What’s your opinion on this house?” he asked, looking around.
Preoccupied by her thoughts, her reply was an automatic response. “I think it’s a stunning investment that will only increase in value.”
“You’d live here?”
“A sheikh would be happy living here.”
“Then contact the owners.”
Stunned, she stared at him. “That’s crazy.”
“You told me this is a good investment.”
“Haven’t you heard? Real estate agents aren’t known for their integrity,” she said pointedly.
His gaze intensified. “I shouldn’t trust you?”
A strange calm fell over her and she knew if she told him about her past now, everything would change in an instant. He could do way better. He just didn’t know it yet.
And the more sensible part of her—the part that adored him—didn’t want him to know.
“And if I said you shouldn’t trust me?” she asked.
“Then I’d have to go with gut instinct.”
She didn’t have time to think, to move. His strong arms were already around her, drawing her near, holding her against the pillar of the wholly masculine frame. The tips of their noses touching, he looked into her eyes, into her soul. She saw a fire flicker in their depths, then that familiar hunger and conviction leap and darken the irises more.
Time wound down as his mouth descended over hers. Her lips parted and then…
Then she was released. Or was that condemned? As he pressed closer, his tongue edging over and around hers, the kernel of desire low at her core condensed more, pulsing, burning, urging her to surrender reason and simply be.
When he gradually drew away, his eyelids were heavy, his breathing, too.
“I don’t regret my slip last night to that reporter,” he said, “because it crystallised in my mind what I want. I want a home, Natalie. It’s time I settle down. We’re good together. It can work.”
She had to push him away. Tell him now how blind and mulish he was. Instead her fingers kneaded his chest.
“Don’t do this.” He was making her head spin, working his charm until she barely knew which way was up.
His shoulders rolled back. “Wear my ring.”
Since the day they’d met, her life had seemed surreal. Men of Alexander Ramirez’s calibre didn’t
