"Even in the apartment?"
He frowns.
"Please don’t hold back, Saint."
"There are cameras at the apartment," he finally concedes.
"You spied on me?"
"Not…always."
"But you did."
"On occasion…" He draws himself up to his full height, "I watched you bring yourself to orgasm every night, and wished I was there. It should have been my hands on you, my cock buried inside you, it should have been me wringing those moans from you instead of an inanimate object."
My cheeks burn, "Shit, you saw all that?" It should be creepy and awfully stalkerish, so why do I find it strangely reassuring that he’d had his eye on me all this time?
He tilts his head, "How else do you think I survived the last few weeks?"
I frown, "Yet you didn’t guess I was pregnant until Weston told you."
His chest rises and falls, straining against the shirt he wears. "I am a dick. What can I say? The mind recognizes what it wants to."
I chuckle, "Well, we make a fine pair, don’t we?" The hair on my forearms rises. "We’re so bloody wrong for each other."
"On the contrary, I can’t think of anything more right. You bring out the worst…and the best in me. You drive me insane, Gigi. You tie me up in knots, and every time I think I’ve figured you out, you throw me a surprise."
"Is that good or bad?"
"It’s good…and bad." He leans down and licks my lips, "And it’s definitely a bloody turn on. Thing is, there is no one for me but you."
"Even though I am pregnant with your child."
"Especially because you are pregnant with my child," his blue eyes deepen with some emotion I can’t quite place.
"I don’t want you to feel like you have to do the right thing by me."
"I only want to do all the wrong things to you," he smirks.
"You know that’s not what I mean."
He pulls away and the cold air swoops over me. Damn it, why do I miss his presence already?
"I swore never to bring any child into the world—to allow myself to become that vulnerable, to imagine what could happen if he or she was kidnapped and kept hostage..." His entire body tightens, "If any child of mine had to go through what I did, I swear, I’d kill anyone and everyone who’d harm a hair on their head."
I stiffen, sweep my gaze over his face, "Is that what you’re afraid of? Being vulnerable?"
"Not being able to protect my child from the world. That’s my worst nightmare."
"You protected me, didn’t you?"
"I allowed you to get kidnapped on my watch." He scowls.
"You found me didn't you?" I half smile. "I bet you watched me every hour of the day and night to ensure I was safe."
"And still, he managed to get his hands on you."
He doesn’t deny it then. I am not sure how that makes me feel. Cared for? Creeped out? Both? And turned on? To be the focus of someone’s attention to the exclusion of anything else… Is there any other feeling in the world that can equal that absolute single-minded intensity of his gaze?
"You saved me." I grab his hand and press it to my belly, "You saved both of us."
He squeezes his eyes shut, "Stop trying to make me into some kind of hero. I’m the kind of monster you should stay away from!"
"Oh?" I bite the inside of my cheek, "Who would you rather see me with, Saint?"
He growls.
"Who’s the man for me? Who do you think can protect me the way you can? Who’d watch over me like my own protective guardian angel, and ensure he was there each and every turn so nothing ever touched me?"
His nostrils flare.
"Tell me, Saint."
"Me," he growls, "Only I can do this. I trust myself for this job, no one else."
I chuckle.
He glowers, "Don’t think you’ve won this argument."
"No?" I tip up my chin.
He shakes his head, "We’re just getting started, Gigi."
He grabs up the cotton ball, then helps me out of my shirt and dabs antiseptic on the scratch on my arm. I hiss and he bends his head and blows on the wound.
Goosebumps rise on my skin.
"Cold?"
"No." I watch as he straightens, then tosses the cotton into the dustbin. He rips open a bandage, and sticks it over the wound. "It’s the best I can do, until I can get a doctor to come in and check you out."
"I’m fine."
He drops the sticky paper from the bandage into the waste basket then straightens, "Humor me."
"But-"
"If not me, for the baby."
Right. "Fine," I swallow, "but don’t think you can always use the baby as an excuse."
"If it gets you to do what I want..."
I frown, "Honestly, Saint, you could at least pretend you aren’t trying to get your own way."
"What fun would that be, huh?" he shrugs out of his shirt, then drapes it over my shoulder.
"What are you doing?" I frown.
"Wear this."
I glance at my shirt, which is ripped and dirty. Not that I want to wear it again. It reminds me too much of what had transpired—that feeling of helplessness, of sitting in the dark and waiting for the worst— No. I shake my head. Never again. I don’t want to be in that position ever again.
Saint snatches up my soiled shirt. "I’ll get rid of it."
I peer up at him, "Thanks." I pull on his shirt and his scent of dark masculinity instantly cocoons me. My heart skitters and my pussy clenches. Shit, not the time to think about sex. Not. I button up the shirt, then fold up the sleeves.
He drops the shirt into the bath tub, "I’ll get housekeeping on it."
I nod. Of course, he’d have servants at his beck and call. Where the hell do I fit in with all of this?
"Hey," he hooks his knuckles under my chin so I have no choice but to meet his gaze, "everything will be okay, I promise."
A slight pain catches at my lower belly. I rub at it.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod, then push off the
