Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“Actually, I hadn’t thought about that. No, I want you to forgive me because I’m sorry I hurt you. I promise to try to keep my godawful temper leashed in the future.”

“You should only make promises, Alex, you have a modicum of chance of keeping.”

“All right. I promise to apologize every time I lose my temper. Now do you forgive me?”

She stared into his dark eyes. “Does it really matter to you, Alex?”

“Of course it does, Giana,” he said, gently kissing her. “You see, you stubborn little hellion, I love you.” He felt her stiffen, but continued in a soft voice, “When I came home, somewhat the worse for wear from brandy, and found you gone, I wanted to beat the hell out of you and slash my wrists for being such a maniac.”

She stared up at him, as if dazed. “But you can’t love me. You never said so. It was a business deal you proposed in the first place.”

“That was before many things.” He felt her wariness, her uncertainty, and said, “Don’t leave, Giana. Come home with me.”

The stark emptiness vanished without a trace. “Yes,” she said, smiling up at him. “I will come home with you, but I shall never understand you.” She turned her face against his throat and breathed in the male scent of him, so familiar to her now.

“Do you understand yourself?”

“No, well, sometimes.”

“Did you want to leave me?”

She sighed. “I didn’t see any choice. It was you who wanted me to go.”

He kissed her again, then said slowly, “I would rather hear you say you trust me than you love me.”

She was held speechless for a long moment. He knew, damn him, he knew. “But we are always arguing,” she said, knowing as well as he did that it was an evasion.

He pulled away from her and rose.

“Where are you going?”

“It is time for our dinner,” he said.

She was sipping her second glass of champagne when he said abruptly, “What were you doing in the shipyard?”

“I had some very exciting news for you, and if you had but taken the time to listen to me, you would not now have to ask me.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“Alex, the first thirty reapers are on their way to New York this very minute.” She lowered her eyes to her plate. “That was why I came to the shipyard. I was so anxious to tell you that I forgot you didn’t want me to be there. I didn’t think, I suppose.”

Alex sat back in his chair, his long fingers fiddling with the stem of his champagne glass. “My wife a successful businesswoman.”

“With good business judgment,” she said.

“Yes, that too, it would appear. Would you like to get drunk? To celebrate your success?”

Her tongue caressed her lower lip, an exquisitely sensual gesture that made his body hard. “Can it not be our success, Alex?”

He smiled widely. “Yes,” he said, “I should like that. Are we to have a drunken celebration?”

She looked at him uncertainly. He was so damned slippery sometimes. He had told her that he loved her, yet now he seemed to be playing a game with her. “Yes,” she said, disappointment clear in her voice, “if that is what you would like.”

Her eyes were on his mouth, and he laughed softly. Her passion for him never ceased to amaze and delight him. He rose from his chair, stretched, and slowly undressed, folding each article of clothing neatly over the back of a chair. When he was naked, he pushed back the chair and smiled down at her from a most immodest pose.

“There is a bruise on your ribs,” she said.

“I’ll tell you about it later.”