The Italian's Pregnant Virgin. Maisey Yates

a different way from what it had been before. As though he were looking deeper. Beneath her clothes, the thought of which made her feel hot all over, down beneath her skin. As though he were trying to see exactly what her substance was.

      He looked over her entire body, and she felt herself begin to burn everywhere his gaze made contact. That strange, restless feeling was back between her thighs, an intense heaviness in her breasts.

      She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to combat the sting of tears that were beginning to burn there. She didn’t know why she wanted to cry. Except that this felt big, new and completely unfamiliar. Whatever this was.

      “Esther Abbott,” he said, his words sliding over her name like silk, “you are going to be my wife.”