“She carries my child,” he said softly, and placed his hand over her rounded belly as if they were alone.
And that touch of his hand, not proprietary but tender, changed everything.
For the first time, Ivy let the picture she’d refused to envision fill her mind.
Damian, holding her in his arms. Undressing her. Carrying her to his bed, kissing her breasts, her belly. Parting her thighs, kneeling between them, his eyes dark with passion as he entered her and planted his seed in her womb.
“My child, glyka mou,” he whispered and this time, when he bent to her, Ivy rose on her toes, put her hand on the back of his head and brought his lips to hers.
The clerk in a tiny boutique on Voukourestiou Street said there was a little shop that specialized in maternity clothes only a few doors away.
Ivy said they didn’t need anything else. A dozen boxes and packages were already on their way by messenger to the limousine that waited on a quiet, shady street near the square.
To her amazement, Damian agreed.
“What we need is lunch.” He smiled, tilted her face up to his and gave her a light kiss. “My son must be hungry by now.”
Ivy laughed. “Using a baby as an excuse to fill your own belly is pathetic.”
“But effective,” he said, laughing with her.
They ate in a small café. The owner greeted Damian with a bear hug and the cook—his wife—hurried out from the kitchen, kissed Damian on both cheeks, kissed Ivy after introductions were made, then beamed and said something to Damian, who laughed and said neh, she was right.
“Right about what?” Ivy said, when they were alone.
Damian took her hand and brought it to his mouth. “She says you are carrying a strong, beautiful boy.”
Ivy blushed. “Do I look that pregnant?”
His eyes darkened. “You look happy,” he said softly. “Are you? Happy, today, with me?”
He had phrased the question care
fully. She could answer it the same way. Or she could just say that she was happy, that when she didn’t stop to think about why they were together, about how he’d come into her life, about what would happen next, she was incredibly happy. She was—she was—
“Lemonade,” the café’s owner said, setting two tall glasses in front of them. “For the proud papa—and the beautiful mama.”
Ivy grabbed the glass as if it were a life preserver.
After a moment, Damian did, too.
She should have known Damian wouldn’t leave without stopping at the maternity boutique.
They went there after lunch and found the jewel-like shop filled with exquisite, handmade clothes that could make even a woman whose belly was ballooning feel beautiful.
Desirable.
Ivy caught her breath. Damian heard her whisper of distress and brought her close against his side.
“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I have exhausted you.”
“No. I mean—I mean, I guess I am a little tired.”
He smiled into her eyes. Pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“What is your favorite color, glyka mou?”
“My favorite color?”