The Consequence He Must Claim (The Montero Baby Scandals 1)

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Do you want to do something?” he asked, arms folded, rocking back on his heels. He sounded convinced that she didn’t.

“I don’t know,” she grumbled, crossing her own arms.

She wasn’t a prude, but she wasn’t terribly experienced. With her mother’s reputation hanging over them, then her sister’s teen pregnancy, the rest of them had tried to keep a low profile. The workplace hadn’t been much better. If Sorcha had wanted to be taken seriously, she had had to avoid flirting or dating coworkers. She’d had a couple of longer relationships, but her focus had always been on developing her career, not her bedroom skills.

She’d been starkly aware of the differences in their confidence levels that day in Valencia, but had thought Cesar had enjoyed himself as much as she had. Then she’d woken alone. Everything that had followed hadn’t exactly reassured her that he’d been fully satisfied by her efforts.

“She asked me if she should include a nightgown. I said yes.” He dismissed the conversation with a hitch of his shoulder. “It wasn’t meant as a demand to be serviced.” Insult underpinned his tone.

She scowled. “Don’t make me feel callow.”

“Callow?” he repeated.

“Green. Inexperienced. Virginal,” she explained.

“Do not tell me you were a virgin that day.” He froze, his gaze piercing hers.

“No. Of course not. I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted with a sweep of his hand.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to hear how many lovers you’ve had. This conversation ends here.”

She blinked at him. “You,” she said, “don’t want to know how many lovers I have had. When you’ve had—”

“Not talking about it,” he said, flat and decisive. “We’re married now and exclusive to each other.”

“Really,” she said, heart fluttering with hope. “Mr. Variety Pack is willing to be abstinent for six weeks then restrict himself to me for the rest of his life.”

He looked about to say something then changed his mind, saying after a pause, “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” she said, but her voice wavered. In theory it was exactly what she wanted. In reality, she doubted it would happen.

He narrowed his eyes. “That didn’t sound very convincing. Do you have a problem with limiting yourself to me, Sorcha?”

That was his what-do-you-mean-it-didn’t-arrive-and-we’re-on-the-hook-for-millions-if-we-miss-this-deadline? voice.

She set her jaw, found her spine and looked him right in the eye. “What makes you think I’ll hold your interest forever?”

“What makes you think you won’t?” he growled.

“You left.”

The aggression that had been bunching his muscles eased back a notch and his scowl went from challenge to caution. “What do you mean?”

“After we made love that day. You left.” She flung a hand in the air, trying not to grow strident, but she was hurt, damn it. Scorned. “You didn’t wake me. You texted me that you were seeing the woman you were supposed to marry. According to her, you said you were ashamed that you’d touched me. I can’t assume you enjoyed yourself, can I? More like you couldn’t wait to get away.”

And now her eyes were growing damp. Damn it.

She looked to the curtained window. Swallowed hard. “Forget it. You’re right. Let’s not talk about this.”

“Sorcha, I don’t remember—”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you did it,” she said, managing to make it a steady, firm statement, but her fist knocked into the side of her thigh. “So go ahead and hate me for hiding your son, but you made me feel—”