Passionate Pregnancies. Maya Banks

doubt the longing in his voice hit her right in the heart and softened it into mush.

      “Why do you think you’re ill-prepared to be a father?” she asked softly.

      He closed both hands around her foot and rubbed his thumbs up and down the bottom, pressing and massaging the sole, then moving up to her arch and on to the pads below her toes.

      “I work to the exclusion of all else. I never go anywhere that I don’t bring work with me. Most of my social events are work-related. There are times I sleep at my office. Just as many times I sleep on a plane en route to a meeting or to scope out a location for a new development. A child needs the attention of his parent. He needs their love and support. All I can really do is provide financially.”

      “I said this once already but you don’t have to stay the same person just because that’s who you’ve always been. Parents make changes for their children all the time. I’m not any more prepared for parenthood than you are. I always imagined I’d wait until I was older.”

      He arched a brow. “Just how old are you? You make it sound like you’re some teenager.”

      She laughed. “I’m twenty-five. Plenty old to have children but since until a few months ago I haven’t had a serious relationship, and by serious I mean thinking of marriage and commitment, et cetera. I knew that having children was still some years away.”

      “It would seem we’re both going to be handed parenthood before we thought we were ready.”

      “But would we really ever say we were ready? I mean who just announces one day, ‘Okay, I’m ready for children’? I think even people who plan their pregnancies still have to be a little unprepared for the changes that occur with the arrival of a child.”

      “You’re probably right. I think you’d make a great mother, though.”

      She cocked her head, flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “That means a lot that you’d say that, Rafael, but what makes you think so? I haven’t exactly shown a lot of responsibility to this point.”

      “You are a loving and affectionate woman. Warm, spontaneous. Loyal and generous. And you’re direct. You had no qualms about taking me on when you thought I’d wronged you. I can only imagine how fierce you would be in protection of our child.”

      “Do you know why I think you’d make a great father?”

      His hands stilled on her foot and he glanced up at her.

      “Because you admit your shortcomings,” she said gently. “You know your faults. You acknowledge them. You’re well aware of the areas where you’d need to change. Most people aren’t that self-aware. I have no doubt that you’d be sensitive to your child’s needs and make adjustments. There’s nothing you can say to convince me that you wouldn’t absolutely put your child first in your priorities.”

      He slid one hand up her leg to snag her fingers and then he squeezed. “Thank you for that.”

      “I still love you, Rafael.”

      The words slipped out. They were an ache in her heart that she had to let loose. Here in this moment, it was more than she could take, even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t make herself vulnerable again until they had resolved his memory loss and their relationship. She simply had to tell him how she felt.

      His eyes darkened. His hands were no longer gentle as he roughly pulled her up and toward him. She sprawled indelicately across his lap as he framed her face in his grasp. For a long moment, he stroked her cheek as he stared into her eyes.

      Then he leaned his forehead against hers in a surprisingly tender gesture as he gathered her hand in his, trapped it between their chests.

      “I had no idea how I’d feel when I asked you if you still love me yesterday. It was an idle curiosity. I had no idea the impact those words would make. I can’t even explain it. How can I?”

      “I had to tell you,” she whispered. “I’ve been honest. I don’t want to hold anything back. It’s hard for me. I’m unused to being reserved. You deserve to know the truth. You’re here. You’re making the effort. The least I can do is meet you halfway. It was my pride that held me back before. I didn’t want to humble myself or make myself vulnerable to you again, but holding back the words doesn’t change anything.”

      He lowered his head and kissed her, forgoing his earlier gentle and playful smooches. His lips moved heatedly over hers, dragging breath from her then returning it, demanding it.

      He tasted of the lemonade he’d served with the lunch he’d prepared. Tart and sweet and so hot. He licked over the seam of her mouth then plunged inward again as if determined to taste every part of her.

      Always before, his lovemaking had seemed practiced and deliberate. Smooth and seductive. Now there was a desperation to his every caress and kiss, like he couldn’t wait to touch her or to have her. Even as the differences plagued her, she gave herself over to this seemingly new man. It felt different. He was different.

      “I want to make love to you, Bryony, but I want it to be for the right reasons. I want you to know I want you for the right reasons. Right now I couldn’t care less about the past or what I do or don’t remember. What I know is that right here, right now, I want to touch you and kiss you more than I want anything else.”

      As gracefully as she could manage when her legs and hands were shaking, she got off his lap to stand before him. Then she reached down for his hand and slid her fingers through his.

      “I want you, too,” she said simply. “I’ve missed you so much, Rafe.”

      He rose unsteadily, his eyes dark and vibrant with desire. His usually calm composure seemed shaken and he raised a trembling hand to her cheek.

      “Be sure of this, Bryony. Whatever happens today, whatever has happened in the past, what I remember or don’t remember—it’s not going to matter if you give yourself to me again. Now. If we do this now, we’re starting over. New page. Fresh beginning.”

      She rubbed her cheek over his hand and closed her eyes. “I’d like that. No past. Just today. Here and now. You and me.”

      He wrapped an arm around her and urged her toward the door. They stumbled inside the cottage and she guided him toward her bedroom. Past the guest room where he’d slept the night before. Back to the place where they’d spent so many hours making love in the past.

      He closed the door and she stood in front of him, suddenly shy and unsure. Though she’d made love with him countless times before, it seemed new. He seemed different. Maybe she herself was even different.

      And then she laughed.

      Her laughter startled him. He looked up and cocked his head to the side. “What’s so funny?”

      She closed her eyes and shook her head ruefully. “I was standing here thinking that this felt like the first time and I’m so terribly nervous but then I thought how ridiculous that was when I’m pregnant with your child, a testament to the fact that it’s far from the first time for us.”

      His expression softened and he pulled her gently into his arms. “In a lot of ways this is our first time. I think we should treat it as such. I know I plan to reacquaint myself with your body. I want to touch and see every part of you. There’ll be no rushing. I want to savor every moment and draw it out until we’re both crazy.”

      She swayed toward him, feeling light-headed, as if she were a little drunk. He caught her to him and carefully walked her back until she met with the edge of the bed.

      Silently he began to unbutton her shirt, taking his time as he worked down her body. When he was done, he carefully parted the lapels and pushed back and over her shoulders so that the material fell away and she stood in her jeans and bra.

      “Pretty and delicate,” he said as he fingered the lace that cupped the swell of her breast. “A lot like you. It suits you. I like you in pink.”

      “You