One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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treated you badly. Us badly.” He knelt at her side and laid a hand over her stomach, trembling as heat shot from her into him, feeling their bond clear to his soul. “What must I do to convince you that I want you as my wife, as the mother of my child? That I wish to grow old with you?”
Her gaze softened, her lips trembling into a smile as she reached out and cupped his jaw in her hands, her touch seeping into his skin, his blood, his heart. “I want to believe you, but blood is telling, André. I have to be sure you will not resent me because I am a Bellamy, because our baby has the same blood.”
“Our child is Gauthier,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her once, twice. How had he lived without kissing her the past month?
“And part Bellamy,” she said, pulling back.
He sighed, hating the caution still banked in her expressive eyes, hating that he was responsible for putting it there, dreading how she’d accept his last confession. “Maybe yes, maybe no. I had my investigator attempt to prove you are Bellamy’s daughter, but without Edouard’s DNA it’s impossible to determine.”
“We’ll never know, then,” she said. “There will always be that doubt.”
“Only if you let uncertainty torment you.” He cupped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes, his own shining with a warmth and affection that she’d only seen in her dreams. “Ma chérie, everything you know and believe about yourself is the same.”
“I’m afraid to hope.”
“So was I. Which is why I had to look in here for the answer.” He thumped a fist on his heart. “I realized that I’d fallen in love with you even when I thought you were Edouard Bellamy’s puppet, and I continued to long for you even when I was sure you were Peter’s mistress. When I thought you’d conspired to ruin me I still loved you. It nearly drove me mad to admit that despite what I believed of you I wanted you as my lover, my wife.”
“Oh, André, you love me?”
“Eternally. You are in my blood, my skin,” he said. “My heart pounds for you. Marry me, mon coeur. Be mine forever.”
“Yes,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back.
André pulled her against him, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss, his hands roaming her back, her slightly thicker waist, her small belly where their child thrived. “We will marry next week.”
“Why the rush?”
“Need you ask?”
He caressed her belly, pleased by the mound there now. His throat felt thick, his heart was thudding too loud.
His woman. His child. He’d considered them his before, but the depth of what that meant hadn’t hit him until he’d nearly lost her.
“I don’t want a big wedding,” she said. “Something quiet.”
“Oui, intimate. We can marry here.”
“I’d love that.” She kissed his cheek and sighed, a contented sound that rumbled in him as well. “I love you.”
“Mon amour.” He trailed kisses up her neck, addicted to the taste of her skin, her scent, her love. “Mon coeur.”
“I need to learn French,” she said.
“We will start now. Repeat after me. Je t’aime, avec tout mon coeur.”
She did, saying each word slowly, carefully. “What did I just say to you?”
“I love you,” he said, “with all my heart.”
She smiled, blinking rapidly, her love for him shining in her eyes. “It’s true.”
He kissed her, a soft lingering kiss that dragged a sigh from her. “I love you, Kira Montgomery. That’s all that matters. You are mine and I am yours and we have created our own family.”
She smiled and felt her heart melt, felt a sense of home and harmony envelop her. For he was right. She’d found her family in his arms, her future in his heart.
As long as they had each other, nothing else mattered.
After five months of having a protective husband indulge her with his attention and his passion—until the latter had proved too great a risk—and after enduring a killing backache for the past few days, Kira made a speedy trip back to the hospital on Martinique.
As before, André insisted on holding her as the captain drove the Sans Doute at breakneck speed. This time she was able to see the love and worry in her husband’s eyes, and her heart melted all over again.
This time, instead of nearly losing her baby, she gave birth to Antoine Louis Gauthier. The nearly nine-pound boy had his father’s piercing dark eyes and beautifully sculpted mouth, but he had inherited her broader nose and auburn hair.
Her heart overflowed with love as she trailed a finger along her son’s plump cheek, hardly able to believe that their small family circle had been completed.
Family. She could scarce believe her new life was real.
She had prayed she’d one day have a family all her life, but she’d never dreamed that she’d have a husband who openly adored her. That she’d deliver a healthy child to complete that circle of love.
Family. Never again would she live on the fringe of her relatives, the unwanted child nobody spoke of.
For her husband wanted her. And now she and André had a son. She was certain Antoine would be spoiled rotten by his adoring parents.
He’d never doubt he was loved. Wanted. Cherished.
André sat on the bed, his eyes glittering with adoration. “My son has a healthy appetite,” he said, as she nursed Antoine for the first time.
“He’s his father’s son.”
“Oui, he is.”
A proud smile curved André’s sensual mouth. Her husband no longer guarded his emotions around her, a fact that had allowed them to draw closer.
“He’s beautiful,” André said. “Thank you, mon coeur.”
She smiled, thankful, and so happy that she couldn’t stop tears of joy from spilling from her eyes. This was contentment. This was love.
He shifted closer to her and their son. “It has been too long since I was part of a family.”
“Having a family is a whole new world to me, but then so is marriage and being a wife and a mother. It takes getting used to.”
“Regrets?” he asked.
“None.” She smiled, understanding this complex man who guarded his heart so well, loving him, wanting him. “It’s been too long since you kissed me.”
“Then I must remedy that, mon coeur,” he said, his eyes glistening with love as his head dipped to hers.
Michelle Conder
With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent (but exquisite) children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets, and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at www.michelleconder.com.
For Pam Austin, who planned the most wonderful