Maisey Yates - Luxury Escapes

“Why would you need a hotel?” he asked, flexing the arm that the doctor had taken blood from.

“I don’t want to sleep in a field somewhere. I’m not big on camping.”

“You do have a very smart mouth,” he said, his focus dipping to her lips. She darted her tongue out to moisten them, feeling very self-conscious of the action as she did it. But with him looking at her like that all she could think about was her mouth, and that made it feel dry. And tingly. His dark eyes conveyed an interest that made her stomach tighten. He was attracted to her, too. The realization made her feel light-headed. It had been one thing to experience the errant desire on her own, but to know he might feel even a fraction of it for her …

Just as suddenly as the interest had appeared in his eyes, it was gone, his expression flat and unreadable. She must have manufactured the moment. There was no other explanation. She wasn’t ugly by any stretch; she knew that. Men asked her on dates often enough. She wasn’t a beauty queen, though. Maximo’s first wife had even made Supermodel Doctor look average: her features exquisitely stunning, her sleek dark hair always styled so elegantly, her slim figure the perfect showcase for designer clothing.

She could remember his wife’s face clearly. She’d graced the covers of fashion magazines and had been a minor celebrity prior to her marriage to Maximo. An opera singer who had performed in the most prestigious venues around the world, she’d been talented, beautiful and cultured.

So, it wasn’t that Alison didn’t have her own brand of beauty. She just didn’t have that universal appeal, that unquestionable, unrivaled loveliness that Selena Rossi had possessed. There was no way Maximo could want her. She was average, and he was just as perfect as his wife had been. A demigod of masculine perfection.

And now she was dramatizing.

She licked her lips again and silently cursed herself.

“You will be staying here at the palace,” Maximo said, his tone so confident she knew that it absolutely didn’t occur to him that she might refuse. Or, if it did occur to him he was supremely confident that he could change her mind.

“I don’t need you to put me up. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own accommodations.”

“No doubt,” he said, flashing her a wry smile. “I imagine your extensive education has left you more than capable of booking your own room. But you’re pregnant with my child and I don’t want you staying at some hotel by yourself.”

“Seedy hotels in Turan, are there?”

“Not at all,” he said, dismissing her statement with a wave of his hand. “But that doesn’t mean I will allow you to—”

She cut him off, anger bubbling in her chest and spilling over. “ Allow me? You have no authority to allow or disallow me to do anything.”

“You are pregnant with my baby. I would say that gives me some rights over where you go and what you do.”

Her mouth dropped open and she was certain she was doing a fair impression of a shocked guppy. He honestly believed that he had some kind of dominion over her, over her body, because he happened to be the accidental father of her baby!

The fine, gossamer strand that she had felt connecting them earlier snapped.

“That is the most primitive thing I have ever heard. You don’t have any rights over me!”

“I want to keep you safe. You and the baby. What’s primitive about that?”

“Other than the fact that it’s controlling beyond belief?”

“ Che cavolo! How is it controlling to want to protect you? You are pregnant with my baby and that makes you my woman.” He looked completely exasperated, as though she were slow in comprehending something that should be completely obvious.

“Your woman?” She ignored the sensual thrill that shot through her. It wasn’t something to be excited about. It was insulting. Ridiculous. “I’m not anyone’s woman. Even if we had …” She swallowed and tried to fight the involuntary urge to blush as she spoke her next words, “Even if we had made this baby the traditional way I wouldn’t be your woman. I am more than capable of running my own life.”

“Yes. You certainly are,” he said drily. “How is that going, by the way?”

“About as well as your life is going I would imagine.”

He ignored her tart statement. “What’s the point of fighting me on this, Alison? I want you here for your safety and the safety of the baby. If the press figure out who you are and you stay here without my protection they will hound you constantly. And what would happen if you get chased by the paparazzi? You have no idea how ruthless and single-minded they can be.” His dark eyes were bleak, black holes of bottomless, intense emotion that stunned her momentarily. And just like that, all of the depth was gone, his expression composed again.

“Is that a … is it a possibility?”

“You saw the press at the airport in Washington. Here in Turan it can be much worse than that.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t really taken that into consideration. Hadn’t believed that she might be a point of interest to the media. She’d seen how they’d gravitated to Maximo at the airport, but he was … well, he was worthy of press. And they had loved his wife, but she had been gorgeous and talented. Alison truly hadn’t thought that they might want pictures of her.

“Yes, ‘oh.’ I will not take that kind of chance with our baby’s safety.”

“I won’t, either,” she said softly, hating that he was right.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her gently from his office out into one of the main corridors of the palace. The casual touch ignited a flash fire of sensation that scorched a path from the point of contact all the way to her toes and up to her fingertips, hitting all kinds of interesting points in between. A pulse beat, hard and heavy at the apex of her thighs, and she squirmed slightly, in an effort to gain some distance and to quell the insistent ache that was making itself known.

She tried to focus on something other than his touch. A touch that meant nothing to him, and shouldn’t mean anything to her. She looked around, taking in her surroundings and gritting her teeth against the onslaught of sensation that was rioting through her. The wing of the palace they had entered was his own personal quarters, and rather than resembling the interior of a Gothic castle it had a light, modern aesthetic that was similar in appearance to his home in Washington.

The walls had been textured and were painted a bright white that contrasted with bold pieces of artwork and sleek, dark furniture. Whoever Maximo had hired to decorate had excellent taste. Maybe his wife had done it. The thought made her chest tighten.

He led her to a curved staircase, winding his arm around her waist and placing a hand over her stomach as they walked up to the second floor. She found the proprietary nature of the gesture oddly comforting rather than offensive, and that scared her. When they reached the landing she moved away from him, not wanting to draw any kind of comfort from his touch. That was not a road she was willing to go down.

He pulled her to him again, placing his hand back over her flat stomach, slowly pushing the hem of her shirt up, his dark eyes intent on hers. He stroked his fingers slowly over the bare skin of her belly, as though he had every right to. It wasn’t a gesture of ownership, but an acknowledgment of the fact that they shared something infinitely special.

Tears stung her eyes. It was his baby that she carried and she couldn’t deny the connection that he felt with their unborn child, or the connection it made her feel with him. His touch felt right, so right that the steadily growing anxiety that had been gnawing at her since her phone call about the lab mix-up was momentarily masked by the comfort the simple contact gave her.