A Night, A Consequence, A Vow

‘I’ve made an appointment for us to see a gynaecologist on Tuesday.’

Emily’s head rested on Ramon’s chest. She blinked drowsily. His deep voice had registered but she had trouble processing his words. Possibly something to do with the post-coital haze shrouding her brain, she thought with a bloom of lazy satisfaction.

A smile pushed its way onto her mouth. She’d always thought the notion of multiple orgasms was a fallacy, just as she’d always believed she would never be someone who enjoyed sex very much.

Now she knew better.

On both counts.

She thought about the brownie batter, abandoned on the kitchen counter, and smiled again. Who needed chocolate when you could have...?

Suddenly her limbs went from languid to rigid. ‘What did you say?’ She tried to sit up but his arms tightened, keeping her locked against his side. ‘Let me go,’ she demanded.

‘No.’

His abrupt refusal sent a pulse of anger through her. ‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re about to get upset.’

‘I’m already upset,’ she snapped.

‘All the more reason to stay here and calm down.’

Furious, she struggled against him, but he was too strong, his arms like bands of solid steel, his big, muscular thighs trapping one of her own. ‘Fine,’ she bit out after a moment of angry panting and mental cursing. ‘At least let me look at you properly.’

He loosened his hold, just a fraction—enough for her to twist around. The movement brought her breasts into full contact with his chest, and she ignored the puckering of her nipples, the strum of heat in her belly. They were both naked still, the sheets tangled around their feet, the air heavily scented with sex. She looked at him expectantly, and he blew out a breath.

‘You were taking too long to decide on a specialist,’ he said. ‘So I made the decision for us.’

‘Us?’

‘Yes, Emily. Us.’ He propped a hand behind his head, his biceps bunching impressively, and stared down the length of his nose at her. The strong, proud quality of that particular appendage reminded her that many generations of Spanish aristocracy ran through his blood. ‘It’s my baby too.’

His tone chided, and she felt uncomfortably as if she’d been slapped on the wrist. ‘But it’s my body,’ she countered. ‘I should get to choose who looks after it.’ The fact she hadn’t done so yet was beside the point. Damn it, she was pregnant. She was allowed to be indecisive.

‘And when were you planning to make your decision?’

‘Soon,’ she prevaricated.

‘Well, now you don’t need to. I’ve done you a favour.’

‘No, you haven’t. You’ve swooped in and taken control again as if—’ She stopped and drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

‘As if I’m the child’s father?’

A tense silence descended. She couldn’t argue with that simple truth. Then again, she wasn’t in a terribly rational mood. She set her jaw. ‘I’m not going.’

He scowled. ‘You will.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Now you’re being childish.’

‘What are you going to do?’ She gave him an arch look. ‘Spank me?’

He growled and moved so fast she was spread-eagled on her stomach before she’d taken her next breath. A large, heavy palm in the centre of her back kept her playfully pinioned to the mattress with her bottom helplessly bared.

She twisted her head to glare at him. ‘Don’t you dare!’