Bound By Their Nine-Month Scandal (The Montero Baby Scandals 3)

“Would you like to see it?”

It was dark and the wind off the water chilly. She hugged herself, mouth dry as she considered what had happened on the last rooftop. What was wrong with her that she wanted to do that again? She didn’t know him much better at all.

At her silence, he let a slow smile form on his face until he was so wickedly beautiful, her stomach wobbled. He took her hand and she didn’t balk as he led her through the house.

When they reached the top of the stairs, he motioned at an open door to a spare bedroom. “What do you need for your research lab? Concrete walls or just an office space?”

“I—” She was so surprised, her tongue tangled. One way or another, pursuing science had always been an uphill battle. Her father set high standards; her mother thought it a distraction. Sexism was rampant and her studies often took her to remote places that were a challenge in themselves.

She didn’t know how to compute that Angelo would simply take her at her word that she wanted to continue to work and try to facilitate that for her. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Let me know,” he said, and led her into the stadium that was the master bedroom—which further disconcerted her.

She tugged to free her hand.

“The lady knows what she wants.” He spun to face her.

“I really don’t.” She folded her arms, taking in the cool blues of the bedding in the soft light cast by the two lamps on the nightstands.

“The access to the rooftop patio is off this balcony.” The humor in his eyes told her he was teasing her. “Stay here or go up, either way we’re in trouble.” He held out his hand.

She didn’t move, only glanced toward an archway into what looked to be a master bath of epic proportions. There was a cozy conversation area in the nook and a desk near the door to the balcony. Her laptop bag had been left on the rolling chair.

“Do you really expect me to sleep with you here tonight?” she asked with disbelief. “We’ve known each other two days.”

He sent a pointed glance to the clock that read twelve-oh-seven.

“Technically three.” He pushed his hands in his pockets, seeming all the more imposing in the intimate golden light. He angled his head to regard her. “I don’t ‘expect’ sex. I anticipate it.”

How did he send all these swirls and eddies into her middle with just a few words and a sexy smile?

“It doesn’t have to be tonight.” He stepped closer and slowly swept his fingers down her hair, the caress so startling and so powerful that she caught her breath. He left his fist resting on her shoulder clutching a swathe. His thumb grazed the edge of her jaw. “Why so nervous? We’ve done it before.”

“Not with the lights on.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “We’ll start with only one.” He nodded at the night table. “Work up to it.”

She hated that he mocked her, made her feel so inept. She knew she wasn’t the best at interpersonal relationships. Her upbringing had been a wasteland, her shyness crippling. In the last few years, while most people her age had been clubbing, she’d been immersed in school, partly as self-defense, partly for the sense of accomplishment before she devoted herself to motherhood.

The one time she had acted her age with an impulsive hookup, she’d blown her life to smithereens.

While he remained completely self-possessed.

“I don’t know who I was that night,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “I wasn’t me. I believed that you didn’t know who I was and that I would never have to face you again. I didn’t expect to reckon with the way I behaved. Now I’m forced to and it’s not comfortable.”

His hand shifted to gently pick up her chin and coax her to look into his sobered expression.

“There was nothing wrong with the way we behaved. Yes, we could have been more responsible, but sex is normal. Actually, our sex was exceptional in the best possible way,” he allowed. “I don’t feel embarrassed by it.”

She doubted he was ever embarrassed, he was so confident.

“You don’t understand,” she murmured. How could he? He hadn’t been raised to believe that corporeal yearnings were to be ignored and overcome in favor of rational decision-making.

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to make love to you. I do.” He set his hands on her hips, his touch heavy and possessive and stirring her without even trying. “If you don’t want to, I’ll survive.” His thumbs pressed with tension into her pelvic bones while his mouth curled into a wry smile. “But you’re right that we need to get to know one another. That won’t happen living in separate quarters of the house. I want to share a room and a bed, if not our bodies.”

What about talking? She didn’t have much skill or practice at expressing her feelings verbally, though. She had never been allowed to acknowledge them and work through them.

As for the physical... He had held her closer when they had danced tha