He jerked away and took a step back, running his hand through his hair in agitation. “Goddamn it, Sophie. What you do to me.”
Her lips pursed and she stared at him, hoping he’d shrivel under the force of her glare.
“I didn’t make you kiss me. You wanted me every bit as much as I wanted you. Don’t make excuses. Shut up and take responsibility.”
He lifted one eyebrow and then his gaze smoldered. He took a step forward, and she instinctively backed away.
His hands smoothed up her shoulders, carefully skimming over her bandaged arm, until he cupped her face in his palms.
“You’re absolutely right,” he murmured. “I’ll own up to the fact that right now I want to make love to you more than I want anything else. It’s stupid. Insane, even, but there you have it. For now I’ll take responsibility for the fact that I’m going to kiss you again.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat just as his lips descended again. She melted into his arms, giving herself fully to his embrace.
A low moan rose from her throat, swelling painfully before it rushed into his mouth. She wanted to touch him, to hold him against her, to know that nothing bad would ever happen to her while she was in his arms.
“Tell me we can’t make love, Soph,” he murmured against her lips. The pet name he’d used so many times when he was on top of her, inside her, beside her or wrapped around her, sounded so sweet to her ears. She was starved for him. “There’s too much unresolved between us. We shouldn’t—we can’t—make love.”
She sighed unhappily and stared up at him as his thumbs caressed the corners of her mouth. Her face was still tenderly cupped in his hands, and she didn’t want to break that connection for any reason.
“Why can’t we?” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so much, Sam. I’ve stayed awake so many nights aching for you to hold me again, to kiss me and make love to me like you did before.”
He closed his eyes and leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. “You’re hurt. This is crazy.”
She tilted back just enough that she could brush her lips over his. “I’m okay, Sam. I need you. Please say you’ve thought about me even just once.”
“Shit, Sophie.”
He sounded angry. He pulled away, his expression grim. “I’ve thought about you. I’ve thought about you a hell of a lot more than once. I wish I hadn’t. But goddamn it, you disappeared. I came back for you and you were gone.”
Pain—worse than the knife—sliced through her chest. Would things have been different if she had been there when he came back? Not that it had even been possible. She’d made choices—not difficult choices—but she’d made them, and now she had to live with the consequences.
“I’ve thought about you too,” she whispered. “All the time.”
She turned away and closed her eyes as helplessness fell over her. Regret knotted her throat into a tight channel. She squeezed air painfully past it until pain was all she could assimilate.
A knock sounded at the hotel door. Sam touched her shoulder then leaned down to retrieve her fallen clothes.
“Go into the bathroom and get dressed. I’ll get the food.”
She reached for the clothes without looking at him. Then she retreated into the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned against the old wood, hating herself for the silent tears streaking down her cheeks.
She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t if she could. What was done was done, and the price she’d paid was high. Maybe too high.
Wiping at her face with the back of her arm, she dropped the towel and sorted through the bundle of stuff Sam had given her. There were panties and a bra in the correct size. This time she snapped the clips on the bra and just pulled it over her head the best she could.
A few minutes later, clean and attired in better fitting clothes, she took a deep breath and went back into the room.
The smell of food wafted through her nostrils and her mouth watered. There was an array of food spread out over the bed. A steaming pizza, two salads, a tray of cold cuts and cartons of Chinese takeout.
She stood at the side of the bed, not knowing where to start first.
“Dig in,” Sam said.
He took a seat on the edge of the bed and picked up a slice of the pepperoni pizza.
“I get half that,” she said in a rush, pointing to the pizza.
He chuckled and picked up a paper plate to hand to her. “Tell you what. You get what you want. I’ll take cleanup duty.”
She took the plate and quickly went down the row piling food onto it. When she had no more room, she hesitated, studying to find what she could put back.
Sam laughed again and handed her another plate. “It’s not going anywhere, Sophie. Sit down and eat.”
Feeling like a moron, she edged onto the bed and shoved aside the tray of minisandwiches.
She attacked the pizza first because it was piping hot, and while lukewarm pizza was good, it was better when the cheese was all melty.
“God, this is good,” she said on a moan.
He looked curiously at her. “How long has it been since you ate decently?”
Her cheeks flamed. “A few days. I didn’t dare stop to eat. I was too busy trying to stay ahead of the people chasing me. But I’d be starving anyway. I’m not one of these dainty, delicate pregnant types. I think I could eat my weight at every meal. I’ll be a walrus by the time I deliver.”
His gaze slipped over her body, and she found herself blushing.
“You could certainly stand to gain a few pounds. Your belly pooches out like a volleyball. There’s nothing else to you.”
“Boobs,” she mumbled around a second slice of pizza. “Boobs are huge now. I hate it. I feel like I’m incubating aliens and they’re ready to hatch.”
He stared at her in astonishment for a moment before throwing his head back to laugh.
“I think the aliens are perfect.”
“You would,” she muttered.
She ate until she feared she was going to bust her gut. Her belly felt so tight that it was all she could do to move. She flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes, letting contentment wash over her.
Then she had to laugh because as contentment went, this wasn’t exactly ideal. She was stuck on the run in a motel, with a man she lusted over with every girly hormone in her pregnant body. A man whose child she was carrying. A man who didn’t trust her and seemed to fight with himself over whether he liked her or didn’t like her.
Then there was the fact that her uncle’s men were breathing down her neck, she’d killed her father, and she’d stolen access to his entire fortune.
When she fucked up, she went whole hog.
“What are we doing, Sam?” she asked softly. “Where are we going?”
“I told you. A KGI safe house.”
She made a sound of frustration. “And what happens then? You can’t tell me you don’t have a plan. Where do I fit in?”
“I told you I’d protect you and our child,” he said in an even tone. A tone that could have been used with anyone. A tone that told her he wasn’t giving anything away.
She rolled away and got awkwardly from the bed. She went to the window because there was nowhere else to go. Her fingers curled and uncurled, denting her palm when her nails dug into her skin.
“Why won’t you tell me anything?”
She hated the pleading sound of her own voice. It sounded needy and pathetic. Where was the woman who’d coldly planned her father’s murder and her escape?
She dropped her head down, regretting that she’d conjured the image of her father slipping to the floor, his blood running over the polished floor.
She may have hated the bastard, but the idea that she’d so easily pulled the trigger frightened her. Was she more like him than she thought?
“Come to bed, Soph.”
Sam’s low voice fluttered across her neck, so soft and entreating. She shivered and clutched her arms protectively over her chest.
His hands slid over her shoulders and he pulled her back against him. Then his lips whispered just below her ear. A simple, delicate kiss that conveyed more than words the heavy regret between them.
“Come to bed,” he said again.
She let him lead her away from the window. The food was gone and the covers were pulled back. He kept his gaze down, but he carefully eased her down onto the mattress before tucking her in as he would a child.
Without undressing, he walked around the foot of the bed and to the other side, where he slid in next to her. His warmth enveloped her even before he pushed up against her.
For a moment she resisted and lay stiffly as he tucked her against his body, but then, unable to resist, she relaxed and snuggled readily into his embrace.
Right now she didn’t care what he thought of her. For the moment she was safe, even if it was just an illusion. Their child rolled and bumped between them, and her throat tightened at the fantasy of how it could have been if she wasn’t who she was and he wasn’t who he was.
They could be regular people celebrating the life of a child and their first foray into parenting. He could read pregnancy books and worry endlessly over whether she was eating properly.
He’d be there for each kick and wiggle, and they’d stay up late at night talking about names and make wishes for the future.
“Sam?”
His name spilled from her lips. She had so much to explain. She didn’t even know where to start, but she could take the tension between them no longer.
“Shhh. Not now, Soph,” he said in a quiet voice. “Just let it be. Sleep now. Our child needs your strength.”
With a resigned sigh, she closed her eyes.
CHAPTER 16
SOPHIE woke to warm, sensual lips sliding up the side of her neck. She shivered as Sam’s tongue traced the shell of her ear and lingered at the lobe long enough for him to nip it with his teeth.
The covers had been thrown aside, and his palm skimmed up her leg, pushing the oversized shirt over her hip to gather at her waist.
She sucked in her breath. Had she taken off her pants during the course of the night? She was lying there in only her panties and a shirt, and Sam’s hands were fast making work of the shirt.
Or maybe he was just that good.
In past times, he would already have been over her, inside her, waking her to the feel of his cock stretching her and setting fire to her nerve endings. But this morning he was tentative. Seeking . . . permission? Her acquiescence?
Her body throbbed. A pulse thrummed in her groin, and already she was swollen and wet for him. She loved his touch. Even at his gentlest, he was strong and masterful. She’d been drawn to his strength when she had cause to fear everything else in the world.
He made her feel protected and cherished.
But now?
Her brain hurt trying to decipher where they stood. If they stood anywhere at all. She couldn’t even look back at what they’d had because what they’d had wasn’t real. It was built on lies and half-truths.
His hand slid over her belly and cupped their child as if bringing home the one thing they did have. They’d created a very precious life. She was very real.
He kissed her again, just one touch against the pulse at her neck. His body pressed into the curve of her behind. His erection was hot and turgid, pulsing against her skin. Chill bumps dotted her hip and spread rapidly down her legs.
“You said we couldn’t,” she said without conviction.
He moved his hand up to cup her breast, and he kneaded gently, working the nipple between his fingers.
“Are you more sensitive here now?” he whispered.
She nodded, unable to speak around the tightening of her throat.
“Then I’ll be extra careful.”
He touched and stroked, alternating until her nipples were stiff peaks, erect and so hard that they hurt. The simplest brush across the points sent a current of desire streaking through her abdomen.
“I’m going to take your shirt off. Just lie still. Let me do the work. I don’t want you to hurt your arm.”
She shivered at the raw sensuality in his voice. Lowtimbred, husky, with just a bit of a rasp. It always got low and gravelly when they made love.
Oh God, they were going to make love.
He eased the shirt farther up, until it gathered around her neck. He stretched the armhole until he could slip it around her elbow. There was only a twinge as he pulled it the rest of the way up and over her arm.
“Lift your head for just a second, honey.”
A moment later, she was free of the material, and she was down to her underwear.
He rose up on his elbow, and she turned her head so she could see him. He simply watched her, his gaze drifting up and down her body with lazy strokes.
“You’re so unbelievably beautiful,” he said hoarsely.
She swallowed. She didn’t want to ruin the moment, but she had to know what had changed. Why was he willing to make love to her now?
“You said we couldn’t,” she repeated.
“I did,” he agreed. “But right now I can’t think of a single reason why we can’t. I want you, Sophie. I missed you. I can’t lie here without touching you. I want what’s mine again. I want to give you what’s yours.”
