Claiming His Love-Child (The O'Connells #3) by Sandra Marton

Author:Sandra Marton [Marton, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"¿Señora? ¿Se sucede qué? ¿Es el bebé?"

Marissa shook her head. “El bebé está muy bien. Acabo de sentirme mareado. La sangre... "

“Ah. Sí. La sangre.''

Cullen's head swiveled from one woman to the other. How come it hadn't occurred to him that these two might share a language?

And how come Marissa had more of a relationship with his housekeeper than with him?

Damn it to hell, how come he didn't know the first thing about his own wife?

"What?" he demanded. "What's she saying?"

"It was the sight of the blood. It made her feel faint."

Cullen looked at his hand. The bleeding had stopped but there were spots on the carpet and there was some on his jeans. Based on how his housekeeper was glaring at him, she probably figured he'd taken to using small children and bunny rabbits for pagan sacrifice.

"It's nothing," he told Marissa, "just a little cut. A cut," he repeated, for the housekeeper's benefit.

Concepcion nodded. "I will take care of it"

"That's okay. I'll do it."

"I will do it, señor."

"I said..." Hell. He sounded like a petulant ten year old. "Thank you, Concepcion. But for now, would you get us a cold compress?"

"I don't need one," Marissa said. She looked at him. "I'm fine. Really."

She didn't look fine, Cullen thought. She looked almost the way she had in Berkeley. Pale. Shadowed eyes. A mouth that trembled. Hadn't two weeks of rest and good nourishment done her any good?

"A cold compress will make you feel better."

She shook her head, sat up straight and carefully drew her hands from his. It didn't take a shrink to see that she was drawing back into herself.

She didn't want any help from anyone, especially him.

Concepcion clomped into the room with an ice pack, handed it to him and clomped out again to collect the fallen groceries. She disappeared into the kitchen and Marissa started to rise to her feet.

Cullen caught her hand and kept her beside him.

"Take it easy for a couple of minutes."

"I told you, I'm—"

“Fine. Right. Indulge me a little, okay? Let me put this ice pack on the back of your neck while you sit here."

He could tell that she was warring with herself. Should she leave to prove she didn't need to take his advice? A couple of seconds went by. Then she sighed, probably in resignation, and some of the rigidity ebbed from her posture.

"Give me the ice."

"I'll take care of it. You just lean forward. That's it."

She bent her head. Cullen swept her hair from the nape of her neck. The skin looked soft. Tender. He wondered what she'd do if he pressed his mouth to it instead of the ice.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" she said. "A grown woman passing out at the sight of blood?"

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