Midnight at the Oasis: His Majesty's Mistake. Jane Porter

glanced at her father, who, so far, hadn’t said a word. True to form he sat silent and grim, letting her mother do all the talking. “I … I’m…” She drew a deep breath. “…nearly eight weeks pregnant.”

      “Please tell me I heard you wrong.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper.

      “I wish I could.” Emmeline’s voice sounded faint to her own ears.

      “And of course it’s not Zale Patek’s.”

      “No.”

       “Slut.”

      Emmeline heard Makin hiss a breath, but she didn’t even flinch. She’d expected this. Had known it wouldn’t be pleasant. And it wasn’t.

      “How dare you?” Claire choked on the words. “You ungrateful girl! How dare you throw every good thing we have done for you back in our faces?”

      Emmeline felt rather than heard Makin move to her side. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

      “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself? You ruin your chances, you ruin us, and you’re sorry?”

      Emmeline lifted her chin, determined to stay calm, determined to remain strong. Tears would serve no purpose, just make her look weak and emotional. Instead she’d accept the consequences, no matter how painful. It’d been her decision to sleep with Alejandro. Now she had to deal with the repercussions. “Yes. And while this is the last thing I wanted to happen, it has, and I’m going to take responsibility.”

      “And may I ask who the father is? Or is that secret knowledge?”

      Emmeline’s lips parted but Makin spoke first.

      “I am,” he said clearly, his deep voice firm.

      Emmeline turned to face him, jaw dropping in shock, but he didn’t even look at her. He was staring straight at her mother, a snarl twisting his lips. “I am,” he repeated fiercely, “and I would like a little bit of respect, please.”

      Emmeline’s legs turned to jelly, even as her head spun. She reached for Makin. “What are you doing?” she choked, as his fingers curled around hers.

      “Making this right,” he growled.

      She shook her head frantically. “It won’t… it won’t, trust me.”

      “No. It’s time you trusted me.” And then with a small, hard smile in her parents’ direction, he walked Emmeline out and closed the doors behind him.

      In the hall Emmeline’s legs threatened to give out. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” she said, holding his arm tightly.

      “Yes.” He frowned at her. “You’re feeling faint, aren’t you?”

      “A little.”

      He swore beneath his breath and swung her into his arms. “I should not have brought you back!”

      “But you did. Now, put me down. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

      He ignored her, exiting the hall for the grand foyer with the blue-painted dome, and began to climb the stairs two at a time.

      “Makin, please. I can walk.”

      “Not going to have you faint and risk having you, or the baby, hurt,” he answered, continuing up the marble steps with single-minded focus. “Isn’t your room up here somewhere?”

      “On the second floor, yes. But I won’t faint—”

      “Good.” He shifted her weight in his arms as he reached the top stair. “Right or left?”

      She peeked over his shoulder, saw the familiar hall with ivory-painted woodwork, gleaming chandeliers overhead and the pale gold-and-ivory carpet runner underfoot. “Right. But I can walk—”

      “Fantastic. Which room?”

      “That one,” she said, nodding at a closed door. “And you didn’t need to claim the baby. I was going to tell them the truth.”

      “The truth?” he repeated, leaning down to turn the knob and push the door open, giving her a whiff of his subtle spicy cologne, the scent that always made her insides curl.

      “Yes,” she answered breathlessly, growing warm and warmer. “It’s what you told me to do.”

      “Until I saw your mother in action and thought she was the devil.”

      “Makin.”

      “I did. I still do.” He crossed the bedroom floor with the same long strides that had eaten up the stairs and hall. “No wonder Alejandro seemed like an attractive option. Your mother is terrifying!”

      “She didn’t terrify you.”

      His arms tightened around her. “No. But she did make me angry.”

      Emmeline inhaled sharply as he held her even closer to his chest. His body was muscular and hard. His spicy fragrance teased her senses and she could feel his heart thudding beneath her ear. Alejandro had been cold in bed. She didn’t think Makin would be cold. She didn’t think he’d be detached or indifferent, either.

      The thought of Makin in bed with her, naked next to her, was both thrilling and terrifying. He was beyond gorgeous, but too big … too strong … too overwhelming in every way.

      She was glad when he placed her on the bed and she scooted to the middle to try to clear her head.

      He gazed down at her, his arms crossing over his chest, emphasizing the width of his rib cage. “You’re an adult, Emmeline. You don’t owe them your soul.”

      “My mother thinks I do.”

      “I noticed.” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s why I spoke up. She wanted a name, so I gave her one.”

      “But that’s just going to make things worse, Makin. She’s going to expect you to provide for the baby—”

      “I will.”

      “No, you won’t. It’s my baby and I’m responsible. Not you.”

      His strong jaw firmed in protest, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked quite so powerful and primitive and male.

      “And so what do you want me to do, Emmeline? Just leave you here with them? Allow your parents to ride roughshod over you?”

      “I can manage them.”

      “Just like you did in the salon?”

      Heat rushed to her cheeks and she jerked her chin up. “It wasn’t that bad.”

      “Have you lost your mind? That was horrendous. A bloodbath. If it had been your father speaking I probably would have punched him.”

      “Makin!”

      “I’m serious.”

      “I appreciate your support, I do, but telling them you’re the baby’s father isn’t the way. We have to go tell them the truth before it’s too late.” Her voice broke and a tendril of pale hair slipped from her chignon to tumble against her cheek. “And please understand that while I appreciate you speaking up for me, it’s time I stood on my own two feet—”

      “So what do you want me to do?” he interrupted. “Stand by and do nothing? Allow your mother to attack you? Destroy you?”

      Her heart suddenly ached. Hot tears filled her eyes. “Sticks and stones, Makin, remember?”

      He held her gaze for an endless span of time. “But the rhyme has it wrong. Words can hurt. They were crushing you.”

      For a second she couldn’t breathe: her chest on fire, her heart in pain. “She doesn’t really mean it,” she whispered. “It sounds worse than it is. Mother just has a temper.”

      “She