The Prince's Pregnant Mistress by Maisey Yates

Author:Maisey Yates [Yates, Maisey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarlequinUKLtd
Published: 2016-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

BAILEY SEARCHED HIS face, looking for a hint of calculation. Searching for an indication that this was part of his plan.

But there was nothing. That cool sophistication was gone. Burned away. He wasn’t the man she’d met in the diner back in the States, and he wasn’t the prince.

He was something else entirely. Something foreign and familiar all at once.

He advanced on her, his eyes a broad spectrum of flame, burning with every dark emotion. Rage. Need.

Fear.

Of himself or her she didn’t know.

It didn’t really matter, either, because an answer to that wouldn’t change his course. Wouldn’t change what was about to happen here. She backed against the wall, letting him advance on her.

He reached out, grabbing hold of the delicate neckline of her wedding gown and tugging hard. The whisper-thin layers of fabric tore, the bodice separating at the seams, exposing the strapless, lacy bra she wore underneath.

She gasped, pressing herself more firmly against the wall.

“Is that how you look at me now?” he asked. “As though I am your enemy?” He cupped her cheek, sliding his thumb across her delicate skin. “As though you don’t know me? As though I have not known your body in nearly every way possible?”

“That was different,” she said, her tone stiff. “It is different. I don’t know you. Not anymore. I never did. The man that I met, the man that I thought you were, doesn’t exist. And I’m not going to have sex with a stranger.”

“A stranger?” He chuckled, a humorless sound. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her neck, his lips hot and enticing against her skin. “Would a stranger know that if he were to touch you here,” he said, sliding his hand down to cup her breast, his thumb resting beneath the lower curve, “that you will start trembling?”

Her traitorous body did exactly that. Shaking beneath his touch, a quivering, needy thing. She was every inch his creature, and he knew it. The bastard knew it.

“Would a stranger know,” he said, “that if he were to taste you like this—” he slid his tongue down the side of her neck “—that you will go up in flames?”

She did. Just like that, she did.

“Trust isn’t the same thing,” she said, panting. She was ashamed that she was so transparent, but she didn’t know if there was anything for it.

“I don’t care about your trust, amore mia. I care about this.” He kissed the edge of her mouth, and a lightning bolt shot through her.

She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes tight. “No,” she said.

He growled, gripping her arms and looking into her eyes. “What will it take? What do I have to do? I have already lowered myself to admit to you that you make me burn. That I have not been the same since the moment that I saw you in that diner. I have confessed these things to you, and it is not enough. What will it take?” he ground out.

“N-nothing,” she said, the lie tasting bitter on her lips.

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