Rising Stars. Maisey Yates

She closed her eyes as her lips parted in a soundless cry.

      Then it was no longer silent, and she screamed, clutching his shoulders as she exploded.

      A low, answering cry came from his lips. His hard, handsome face was pale, as if he’d held himself back by only the slenderest thread. But as she shook and tightened around him in ecstasy, he surrendered. He thrust inside her one last time, impaling her so hard and deep she felt split in two, and he filled her with a hoarse shout, his eyes closed, his face euphoric. Almost reverent.

      Collapsing over her sweaty, exhausted body, he held her against his chest. “You will belong to me,” he whispered. “You’ll soon surrender.”

      Turning toward him, Callie pressed her cheek against his bare chest. Her own heartbeat roared in her ears. As she drowsed in his powerful arms, exhausted and protected by the warmth and strength of his naked body, she knew it was already true. It had always been true.

      Her heart had surrendered long ago.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CALLIE woke up with a start. What time was it? Was that her baby crying?

      She rose blearily from bed before she was even quite awake. The moonlight had moved across her bedroom, so she must have slept. With a gasp, she remembered how her husband had just made love to her. She glanced back at the bed with her heart in her throat and a smile on her lips.

      The bed was empty. Eduardo was gone.

      She glanced at the clock over the mantel on the bedroom’s fireplace. Three in the morning. Where could he be? Why would he leave her in the middle of the night, after he’d so thoroughly reclaimed his bed?

      Her cheeks grew hot at the memory of last night. He’d claimed her in a way she’d never forget.

      Then her baby wailed again from the nursery, louder this time. She hurried through the adjacent door, turning on a little lamp shaped like a giraffe that gave a soft, golden light. She picked up her baby. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “Mommy’s here. I’m here.” Cradling her chubby three-month-old baby in her arms, Callie carried her to the gliding chair near the window. As she nursed her child, the baby’s complaints faded. Looking down at her, Callie was lost in wonder at her baby’s beauty, at the long black eyelashes she’d gotten from Eduardo brushing against her plump cheeks. One of her baby’s tiny hands gripped her finger.

      We have eight bedrooms. I want to fill them.

      What would it be like, Callie thought, to have a whole houseful of babies like this? To have a large family? An adoring husband?

      Slowly her eyes looked around the cheerful nursery. It was warm and luxurious, but she would have liked to create her baby’s nursery herself, even with just a bucket of paint, a sewing machine and her own two hands—not paying someone else to do it, but doing it herself as a labor of love. Next time, she promised herself. Then stopped.

      Next time.

      Could she really stay married to Eduardo, knowing he would never love her? He knew how to make love … oh, yes. She shivered, closing her eyes as she remembered how he’d caressed her last night. Remembered the feel of his body against hers. The husky sound of his voice as he’d said, You belong to me.

      He knew how to make love.

      But she’d never seen him truly care for anyone. Except their baby.

      Was their lust, and mutual care for their child, enough to sustain a marriage when their values were so different?

      After her baby nursed back to sleep, Callie left her on her back in the oval-shaped crib, careful not to wake her. She’d likely sleep another four hours now, or maybe more. Every night, she slept a little longer. Her baby had become an excellent sleeper.

      And maybe she would be now, too. Closing the nursery door softly behind her, Callie smiled. The last few hours, after falling asleep in Eduardo’s arms, had been the best sleep she’d had all year.

      He wanted her to be his wife forever. He wanted them to be a family. And she’d loved him for years. Even when she’d hated him, it had been the hurt of a woman who’d been rejected from the person she loved most.

      Maybe it could work. Maybe it could be enough.

      Or maybe, somehow, he would grow to love her, as she loved him. She closed her eyes, hugging herself at the thought. If there was even the slightest chance of him loving her someday, she would have married him at once. Remembering, she bleakly opened her eyes. No wonder Eduardo had called her naive and ridiculously sentimental.

      Where was he, anyway? She looked around her dark, empty bedroom. Where could he be at this time of the night?

      Maybe he’d gone to the kitchen for a snack.

      Pulling on a soft blue chenille robe, she went downstairs, but the kitchen was dark and empty. Walking past the wall of windows with its magnificent view of the city, she went down the hall to his home office, then to the theater room, then even past Mrs. McAuliffe’s suite. She could hear the older woman’s soft snoring muffled through the door. Puzzled, Callie finally went back upstairs.

      Glancing in the empty guest rooms, she had just decided to phone their bodyguard in his separate apartment downstairs when she heard Eduardo’s voice in the guest room.

      “Nothing has changed.” His voice was the smooth, arrogant tone she remembered. “Nothing.”

      With an intake of breath, she pulled back from the doorway, leaning against the wall of the dark hallway with one hand over her mouth and the other over her heart.

      “Don’t call here again,” he growled, and hung up.

      A little squeak escaped her lips. Who was Eduardo talking to? An old lover? Was that why he’d snuck out of bed to talk to someone in private, so his wife couldn’t hear? Even as Callie tried to tell herself that she was overreacting, that he could be talking to anyone, her heart was gripped with fear.

      There has been no other woman since the night you were in my bed. Do you understand what I am telling you? No other woman.

      She exhaled as the vise grip on her heart loosened. Eduardo was not a liar. If anything, he was cruelly honest. As his secretary, she’d seen him callously dispose of one lover after another, plainly telling them to their faces that he was bored with them, or that he had absolutely no intention of being faithful. He was not a liar.

      But then, he’d never had to lie. He’d never been married before.

      “What are you doing awake?”

      With an intake of breath, she saw him in the doorway, looking down at her with dark eyes. “Um …” Her fingers fidgeted with the belt of her blue chenille robe. “I got up to feed Marisol and you were gone.”

      “I didn’t want to wake you.” His handsome face was impassive. “I couldn’t sleep.”

      “Oh. I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, feeling guilty that she’d slept so well. “Is something wrong? Was I snoring, or …”

      He gave a low laugh then shook his head soberly. “I just don’t sleep well with other people in my bed. I have never managed it.”

      She frowned. “Never?”

      “Have you ever heard of me letting a woman sleep over?”

      Callie stared at him, remembering when he’d been her boss, the most heartless playboy in the city. “N-no,” she said hesitantly. She gave him an awkward smile. “You were kind of famous for your one-hour stands, actually.”

      He leaned against the door frame, looking down at the floor. “It’s hard to let down my guard.”

      “Even with me?”

      He looked up. “Especially with you,” he whispered.

      The low lights of the hallway caused hard shadows across