"Yes, sir."
I hung up and looked down at the bed.
Natalie's breathing had steadied, but her brow stayed furrowed, like she fought something even in her sleep.
I stood, moved to her side. My fingers hovered near her forehead, then tucked the slipped blanket edge instead.
I couldn't figure why she'd rejected my terms that day.
As Mrs. Winston, she'd get her own record label, dodge all this crap today.
I had the money, the power, the pull to give her the world. Why the hell wouldn't she want it?
Natalie woke hours later.
Her lashes fluttered, eyes opening slowly.
Those blue eyes fogged with sleep, dazed as they met mine. "Richard? Where am I?"
She tried sitting up, body going limp. I caught her back, steadying her. The second my fingers hit her smooth skin, that familiar heat shot through me, tightening my gut.
"You're in the hospital. You and the baby are fine. Nurse said it's stress-induced contractions from pregnancy. Just observation for a few days." I spoke while guiding warm water to her lips.
She instinctively turned away, but drank from my hand anyway, the move unconsciously submissive. That tiny reliance pleased me.
We were alone in the private room. City lights outside dotted the cold night. Natalie leaned against the headboard, unusually quiet, fingers tracing aimless patterns on the flat blanket.
"What're you thinking?" I broke the silence.
"Thinking... everything feels unreal." She stared down, voice soft. "Like a nightmare."
"The nightmare's over." I stood, loomed over her bed, shadow falling. "But you need to relax. Tension's bad for you and the baby." My hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin.
She stiffened for a beat, blue eyes lifting to mine, emotions swirling. She said nothing, didn't push me away.
I hadn't seen her this vulnerable in ages. I got hard. Every inch of me screamed to take her right there. But not now—she was a patient, and I wasn't that much of a beast.
Still, with her looking at me like that, I had to do something, or my pants would burst.
So I leaned in and kissed her hard. Natalie's lips were soft, carrying her faint sweet scent. I knew this taste, her quickening breaths, how her body softened and heated under my hands.
I knew Natalie inside out—every sensitive spot, every reaction. Soon she melted in my arms, small hands clutching my shirt, letting out those tiny, tempting gasps. Her surrender lay bare before me.
I released her lips, kissed her flushed ear tip, voice low and rough. "Your body's more honest than you."
"You still love me." I stared her down, tone leaving no room for argument. "Natalie, you know it better than anyone."
She turned her face, long lashes dropping, hiding everything. Silent.
I didn't care about her silence.
Her resistance, her stubborn mouth—it all looked like playing hard to get to me.
I had patience. And the means to wait until she came back willingly.
The day Natalie got discharged,rare rain fell on Las Vegas.
I drove her back to the apartment.
