Modern Romance October 2019 Books 5-8. Annie West
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You just have to trust that you will know what to do when our baby is born.’
‘And you have experience,’ she said, watching him carefully.
‘Yes.’ He nodded, curtly, placing his napkin on his side plate and sipping his wine. Then, he stood, fixing her with a level stare. ‘Marina will show you to your room when you are finished. In the morning, a stylist will arrive to take your clothes order, and then a jeweller will come to offer you some rings to choose from.’
She blinked up at him, his abrupt change of temperament giving her whiplash. He was obviously hesitant to discuss his first wife and son, but jeez!
‘Leonidas…’ Hannah frowned, not sure what she wanted to say, knowing only that she didn’t want him to walk away from her like this. ‘I can’t ignore the fact you had a family before this. I get that you don’t like talking about it, but I can’t tiptoe around it for ever. You had a son, and I’m pregnant with your daughter. Don’t you think it’s natural that we’ll talk about him, from time to time?’
‘No.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked out to sea, the expression on his face so completely heartbroken that something inside Hannah iced over, because it was clear to her, in that moment, how hung up he still was on the family he’d lost.
And why wouldn’t he be? They’d been wrenched from him by a cruel twist of fate, by the acts of a madman. Nothing about this—his situation—was by his choice.
Nor was it Hannah’s, she reminded herself. She knew more than her fair share about cruel twists of fate.
The sky was darkening with every second, but pinpricks of light danced obstinately through, sparkling like diamonds against black sand. She followed his gaze, her own appetite disappearing.
‘I don’t want to force you,’ she said gently, standing to move right in front of him. ‘It’s your grief, and your life. But I will say, as someone who’s spent a very long time bottling things up, that it’s not healthy.’ She lifted a hand, touching the side of his cheek. He flinched, his eyes jerking to hers, showing animosity and frustration.
Showing the depths of his brokenness.
It called to Hannah; she understood it.
‘You are an expert in grief, then?’ he pushed, anger in the words.
‘Sadly, yes,’ she agreed quietly.
‘Do not compare what we have experienced,’ he said. ‘To lose your parents is unbearable, I understand that, and I am sorry for you, what you went through. You were a child, robbed of the ability to be a child. But I caused my wife and son’s death. As sure as if I had murdered them myself, I am the reason they died. Do not presume to have any idea what that knowledge feels like.’
That Hannah slept fitfully was hardly surprising. Leonidas’s parting shot ran around and around her mind, the torment of his admission ripping her heart into pieces. To live with that guilt would have driven a lesser man crazy.
But it wasn’t only sadness for the man she’d hastily agreed to marry.
It was worry.
Fear.
Panic.
Stress.
And something far, far more perplexing, something that made her nipples pucker against the shirt he’d given her to sleep in, that made her arch her back in her dreams, and meant she felt warm and wet between her legs when she finally gave up on trying to sleep, before dawn, and stood, pacing to the window that overlooked the ocean.
Memories.
Memories of their one night together and fantasies of future nights were all weaving through Hannah’s being, bursting upon her soul and demanding attention.
The sun had just started to spread warmth over the beach. Darkness was reluctantly giving way to light, and the morning was fresh.
It was Hannah’s favourite time of day, when the air itself seemed to be full of magic and promise.
She had only the clothes she’d worn the day before, and the shirt she’d slept in, which was ridiculously big even when accommodating her pregnant belly. Still, it was comfortable and covered her body. Besides, it was a private island. Who was going to see her?
Pausing only to take a quick drink of water in the kitchen, Hannah unlocked the front door of the mansion and stepped out, breathing in the tangy salt air.
Excitement and a sense of anticipation rushed her out of nowhere, like when she was a small girl, around six or seven, and her parents had taken her away on their first family vacation. They’d gone to the glitzy beachside resort of Noosa, in tropical Queensland, and Hannah had woken early and looked out on the rolling waves crashing onto the beach, the moon still shimmering in the sky, and her stomach had rolled, just like this.
There’s something elemental and enlivening about the sea, and this island was surrounded by a particularly pristine shoreline and ocean.
Without having any real intention of going to the beach, she found herself moving that way quickly, her bare feet grateful when they connected with cool, fine sand, clumps of long grass spiking up between it every now and again. Dunes gave way to the flatness of the shore. She walked all the way to the water’s edge, standing flat-footed and staring out to the sea, her back to Leonidas’s mansion, her eyes on the horizon.
This was not the tropical water off the coast of Queensland. Here, there were no waves, only the gentle sighing of the sea as the tide receded. With each little pause, each undulation back towards the shore, the water danced over Hannah’s toes; the cool was delicious given the promise of the day’s heat.
She could have stood there, staring out at the mesmerising water, all day, were it not for the sudden and loud thumping from directly to her left. She turned just in time to see Leonidas, earphones in and head down, eyes trained on the shore, galumphing towards her. There was barely enough time to sidestep out of his way.
He startled as he ran past, jerking his head up at the intrusion he’d sensed, then swore, pulling his earphones out and letting them dangle loose around his neck.
She wished he hadn’t.
The simple act drew her eyes from his face to his body. There was nothing scandalous about what he was wearing. Shorts and a T-shirt—only the T-shirt was wet with perspiration and the firmness of his pecs was clearly visible.
She took a step backwards without realising it, not to put physical space between them but because she wanted to see him better. Her aunt would have told her to stop staring, but Hannah couldn’t. As much as the tide couldn’t cease its rhythmic motion, Hannah found it impossible to tear her eyes away.
She remembered everything about him and yet…seeing him again sparked a whole new range of wants and needs.
Thick, strong legs covered in dark, wiry hair looked capable of running marathons but she couldn’t look at him without imagining him straddling her, pushing her to the sand and bringing his body over hers, his hard arousal insistent between her legs. Without remembering the feeling of his weight on her body, his strength, power and skill in driving her to orgasm again and again.
Her throat was dry and the humming of the ocean was nothing to the furious pounding of her own blood in her ears.
She dragged her eyes up his body, over dark shorts that showed nothing of his manhood, even when she was suddenly desperate to see it—to see all of him again, in real life, not her very vivid dreams.
She prepared to meet his gaze, knowing he must surely be regarding her with mocking cynicism, only he wasn’t.
He wasn’t looking at her face, wasn’t looking at her eyes to see the way she’d been eating him alive. No, he was performing his own slow, sensual inspection and it was enough to make her blood burn.
His