mouth dropped open and she was certain she was doing a fair impression of a shocked guppy. He honestly believed that he had some kind of dominion over her, over her body, because he happened to be the accidental father of her baby!
The fine, gossamer strand that she had felt connecting them earlier snapped.
“That is the most primitive thing I have ever heard. You don’t have any rights over me!”
“I want to keep you safe. You and the baby. What’s primitive about that?”
“Other than the fact that it’s controlling beyond belief?”
“Che cavolo! How is it controlling to want to protect you? You are pregnant with my baby and that makes you my woman.” He looked completely exasperated, as though she were slow in comprehending something that should be completely obvious.
“Your woman?” She ignored the sensual thrill that shot through her. It wasn’t something to be excited about. It was insulting. Ridiculous. “I’m not anyone’s woman. Even if we had …” She swallowed and tried to fight the involuntary urge to blush as she spoke her next words, “Even if we had made this baby the traditional way I wouldn’t be your woman. I am more than capable of running my own life.”
“Yes. You certainly are,” he said drily. “How is that going, by the way?”
“About as well as your life is going I would imagine.”
He ignored her tart statement. “What’s the point of fighting me on this, Alison? I want you here for your safety and the safety of the baby. If the press figure out who you are and you stay here without my protection they will hound you constantly. And what would happen if you get chased by the paparazzi? You have no idea how ruthless and single-minded they can be.” His dark eyes were bleak, black holes of bottomless, intense emotion that stunned her momentarily. And just like that, all of the depth was gone, his expression composed again.
“Is that a … is it a possibility?”
“You saw the press at the airport in Washington. Here in Turan it can be much worse than that.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t really taken that into consideration. Hadn’t believed that she might be a point of interest to the media. She’d seen how they’d gravitated to Maximo at the airport, but he was … well, he was worthy of press. And they had loved his wife, but she had been gorgeous and talented. Alison truly hadn’t thought that they might want pictures of her.
“Yes, ‘oh.’ I will not take that kind of chance with our baby’s safety.”
“I won’t, either,” she said softly, hating that he was right.
“I’ll show you to your room.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her gently from his office out into one of the main corridors of the palace. The casual touch ignited a flash fire of sensation that scorched a path from the point of contact all the way to her toes and up to her fingertips, hitting all kinds of interesting points in between. A pulse beat, hard and heavy at the apex of her thighs, and she squirmed slightly, in an effort to gain some distance and to quell the insistent ache that was making itself known.
She tried to focus on something other than his touch. A touch that meant nothing to him, and shouldn’t mean anything to her. She looked around, taking in her surroundings and gritting her teeth against the onslaught of sensation that was rioting through her. The wing of the palace they had entered was his own personal quarters, and rather than resembling the interior of a Gothic castle it had a light, modern aesthetic that was similar in appearance to his home in Washington.
The walls had been textured and were painted a bright white that contrasted with bold pieces of artwork and sleek, dark furniture. Whoever Maximo had hired to decorate had excellent taste. Maybe his wife had done it. The thought made her chest tighten.
He led her to a curved staircase, winding his arm around her waist and placing a hand over her stomach as they walked up to the second floor. She found the proprietary nature of the gesture oddly comforting rather than offensive, and that scared her. When they reached the landing she moved away from him, not wanting to draw any kind of comfort from his touch. That was not a road she was willing to go down.
He pulled her to him again, placing his hand back over her flat stomach, slowly pushing the hem of her shirt up, his dark eyes intent on hers. He stroked his fingers slowly over the bare skin of her belly, as though he had every right to. It wasn’t a gesture of ownership, but an acknowledgment of the fact that they shared something infinitely special.
Tears stung her eyes. It was his baby that she carried and she couldn’t deny the connection that he felt with their unborn child, or the connection it made her feel with him. His touch felt right, so right that the steadily growing anxiety that had been gnawing at her since her phone call about the lab mix-up was momentarily masked by the comfort the simple contact gave her.
She looked down at the place where his hand rested on her, his golden skin contrasting with her pale flesh. It fascinated her, held her attention, made her stomach tighten with a deep kind of longing that went way past the desire for something simply physical. But that was there, too. Part of her wished that he would continue moving his hand upward, palm her breast, squeeze her aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
She looked up, trying to break the spell that he had somehow woven around them. His face was inches from hers and she was awestruck by the perfection of his striking features. Even close up she couldn’t find a single flaw with his sensual mouth, his strong nose and jaw, his dark, compelling eyes. She found herself moving closer to him, leaning in, drawn by an instinct she couldn’t understand or control.
When his mouth brushed hers she held her lips still for a second. Then he moved, pressed his hand to the small of her back, closed the gap between them and brought her up against his hard body. She parted her lips, allowing the tip of his tongue to delve between them, to lightly tease her. It wasn’t a demanding kiss. It was a slow seduction of her body, her mind, her senses. She’d never been kissed like this, with this level of skill and sensuality.
She’d kissed men before. Mostly back in college when she’d bothered with the pretense of casual dating. But never had a kiss made her feel so hollow, so desirous for more, as if she was in need of something only this man possessed.
Always, the kiss itself had been the main event for her. Other kisses had either been nice, or not so nice, but never had they made her want to lean in, to press her body more firmly against a man, to rock her hips against his hard length to bring herself at least some small measure of satisfaction.
His tongue slid over hers and she felt it all the way in the core of her body. Muscles she’d never been aware of before clenched in anticipation of something much more intimate.
When Maximo pulled away she swayed slightly, her brain totally scrambled by the drugging power of his lips covering hers.
“Max,” she whispered, touching her lips, feeling for herself that they really were swollen and hot from the press of his mouth against them.
His mouth curved into a slow smile. “Max. I like that.”
The fog of desire was starting to clear and awareness was creeping into the fuzzy edges of her mind, shame mingling with her slowly ebbing arousal.
He placed his hand over her stomach again,
