Martinez's Pregnant Wife

Now it was happening again. That same twist of pain and pleasure as he looked into her eyes, resisting the urge to pull her against him and kiss her until the pain stopped, until only pleasure existed.

Yet he couldn’t do that. Too much had happened in his life over the last week. First Raul, a brother he’d never known and the unexpected hand of friendship, then the baby. Both life-changing events and highly charged with the kind of emotions he avoided at all costs. It was as if fate was conspiring against him, forcing him to face, head-on, the one emotion he’d never wanted to feel again.

‘I’ve seen my own doctor as well as yours, Max. There is nothing to worry about—unless you don’t trust me to look after our baby.’ Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as if this was the first time she’d had such a thought.

He trusted her, a hell of a lot more than he trusted himself. ‘I’m not questioning that. I’m just worried for you—for our baby.’

‘I’ll be fine and so will the baby,’ she said as she walked up to the wooden front door of the cottage. ‘Now let’s get in out of the cold. I might even need warming up.’

She turned to look at him, mischief on her face, and he knew right there and then he wouldn’t be able to resist her. She’d cast a spell on him from the first day they’d met and it was as strong as ever. She made him believe he was alive, real, but, more than that, she made him feel.

* * *

Lisa’s eyes locked with Max’s as he shut the front door, enclosing them in the warmth of the cottage. The promise of passion blazed in his eyes and as he walked toward her she sucked in a deep and ragged breath. She loved him so very much. If only it were enough.

She pushed the thought aside. Until the clock struck twelve on New Year’s Eve she was going to enjoy what was happening between them, she was going to allow her love to pour from her, drench him and hope that he’d see just how much she loved him. After all, only true love hurt this much.

In an attempt to delay the moment he took her in his arms, to make it last longer she walked into the living room where the lights of the Christmas tree twinkled in a festive display of colour. She frowned and looked at the roaring log fire. ‘Someone has been in and seen to the fire.’

He’d followed her into the living room and now moved closer to her, the desire evident even as he smiled so very sexily at her. ‘All part of the deal for the cottage.’ His voice was deep and sexy even though he was talking mundane everyday things. She was suddenly and very acutely aware of every move he made. ‘I have very serious plans for that fire this evening.’

Part of her was annoyed. He could buy anything he wanted. From a cottage that was invisibly staffed to her designer dresses and diamonds. The other part of her was overcome with the desire to be just that, to be his, to live in the moment of isolation from reality.

‘And what might they be?’ the teased and moved away from him with a provocative smile to stand on the soft rug in front of the fire, allowing its heat to warm her after their walk home. Not that she really needed it. One passion-filled look from him was enough.

He took off his coat, slinging it carelessly on the chair behind him and, with purposeful intent in every move he made, came to her, taking her hands in his. ‘To take every piece of clothing from your sexy body and lay you down right here, with just the light of the fire, and make love to you.’

‘That sounds like the perfect end to the day,’ she breathed, her stomach flipping over and a shiver of pleasurable anticipation rushing through her. This was more intense, more wildly enticing than the night two months ago when they’d become lovers once again. She hadn’t been able to resist him, had thought then, like now, that she would enjoy the moment.

‘In that case we will start with these.’ He lowered himself to his knees and she looked down on him, wide-eyed as he unzipped one long black boot then lifted her foot, pulling the soft black leather slowly from her. He looked up at her as his hands smoothed upward from her ankle, to her knee. She had to steady herself by reaching out and holding the mantelpiece, but he stopped just at the hemline of her dress and a ragged breath tore from her.

She couldn’t speak. Every breath she took was slow and deep with expectation. She closed her eyes and he slid down the zip on the other boot, pulling it from her and then sliding his hands upward once more. This time he went higher, teasingly higher, and before she knew what he’d done he’d pulled down the thick tights she’d opted for that morning and discarded them with a mock look of disapproval.

‘These have to go.’