Martinez's Pregnant Wife by Rachael Thomas

Author:Rachael Thomas [Thomas, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarlequinUKLtd
Published: 2017-12-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

LISA OPENED HER eyes and looked around the dimly lit room, acutely aware of Max’s body wrapped around hers as she lay with her back to him. She knew without a doubt that she still loved him. There had been a moment last night when she had briefly thought he was fighting it too, trying not to admit he felt the same way, but those hard words after the first time they’d made love had chilled that notion. Yet still she hadn’t been able to resist him. How could she when he was the father of her child and the man she would always love, no matter what?

She stirred against the warmth of his body and hers leapt to life once more. The hungry longing within her for him was far from sated. Last night’s lovemaking had only intensified it. As the lateness of Christmas Eve had slipped into the early hours of Christmas Day they had alternated between making love and sleeping. Now the grey light of a winter’s morning seeped around the edges of the thick curtains Max had drawn across the small window of the cottage late last night.

It was Christmas morning and she’d never expected to be waking up in Max’s arms or in such a wonderfully festive cottage. Suddenly her excitement couldn’t be contained any longer. Fate had brought them together and he’d given her the kind of Christmas she’d always longed for and she wasn’t going to ruin it now by dwelling on what was or wasn’t between them, trying to give it a name. She turned and faced Max in the bed, the covers sliding from her as she did so.

‘Happy Christmas.’ His eyes opened as she whispered the words.

‘Now I know what would have been missing from my Christmas morning.’ His dark eyes held the promise of more passion as he pulled her closer to his naked body. ‘You.’

‘But you don’t like Christmas,’ she whispered as memories ofhow this time last year, he had suggested they delay their honeymoon several weeks to avoid the festivities, convincing her that he wanted only to be with her. Instantly she regretted saying anything as the shutters of steel came down over his eyes, suffocating the passion she’d seen brewing there again.

‘I was simply referring to the fact that Christmas morning isn’t the same in Spain. We traditionally give gifts, but on Fiesta de Los Tres Reyes early in January. Twelfth Night here.’ She knew he was hiding something, holding back on her as he’d always done. Everything he’d just said was a cover for what he was really feeling—or not.

‘So why have you done all this?’ She looked around the room, at the subtle decorations that left her in no doubt she was in a cottage decked out for Christmas. She’d thought he’d done it to bring them together—and it had achieved that in the most spectacularly passionate way—but not in the way she really wanted. Perhaps she should do as she’d thought last

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