Page 54 of Tempting Tessa

I let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well, my pregnant woman is on the bathroom floor, so that’s where I need to be.”

Her face crumples at the word ‘pregnant,’ fresh tears spilling over. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” I slide closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She resists for a second, then collapses against me like her strings have been cut. “You’re carrying my baby, Contessa. That’s not something I’m going to pretend isn’t happening.”

“This is insane,” she sobs, fists clenching in my shirt. “You can’t—this isn’t—I take my fucking pill every day! Every goddamn day, Matteo!”

I stroke her hair, letting her rant. Let her get it all out now. She’ll calm down eventually, and then I can explain how things are going to go.

She pulls back to look at me, her eyes wild with panic. “I can’t be pregnant. I’m not ready. I’m not—my company is just getting off the ground. My dad will fucking kill me.”

I tense at the mention of Conrad, but keep my face neutral. Her father’s reaction isn’t my primary concern right now.

“This changes everything,” she continues, words spilling out faster. “I have deadlines. I’m about to launch a whole line. How the fuck am I supposed to do all that with a baby?” She shakes her head, running her hands through her hair. “I never thought I’d be a single parent. I never wanted⁠—”

That’s fucking it.

I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. My grip isn’t gentle, but I’m careful not to hurt her. Just firm enough to make her freeze, to make those big eyes lock with mine.

“If you think for one second you’re single or going to be a single fucking parent, then clearly I haven’t been clear enough.” My voice is low and dangerous. “You’re not alone in this, Contessa. You’re mine. This baby is mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

Her pupils dilate, her breath catching. “Matteo⁠—”

“No. You listen to me.” I pull her fully into my lap, arranging her so she’s straddling me. “You think I’m going to let you do this alone? You think I’d put a baby in you and then walk away? What kind of man do you think I am?”

She’s trembling, but her body is melting against mine despite her protests. “I don’t know what kind of man you are,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”

I slide my hand to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there so she feels my presence, my control. “I’m the kind of man who takes responsibility. I’m the kind of man who protects what’s his. And make no mistake, Contessa—you are mine. This baby is mine. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes search my face, looking for lies, for weakness. She won’t find any. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

“I’m scared,” she admits, voice so small it makes my chest ache.

I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Fear keeps you alert. But you don’t need to be afraid of me, or of doing this alone. Because you’re not alone.”

She leans into my touch despite herself. “My dad⁠—”

“I’ll handle Conrad.” I cut her off before she can spiral again. “Your father and I have been friends for decades. He trusts me. He’ll understand.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “Understand? You think he’ll understand that his best friend knocked up his daughter? That you’ve been fucking me behind his back?”

“If he doesn’t like it, he can take it out on me. Never you.”

I reach up and wipe the tears from her cheeks, thumbs gentle against her soft skin. Her mascara’s smeared to hell, black streaks painting her face like paint. Even crying, she’s fucking gorgeous.

“Can we get off this floor now?” I ask, voice gentler than I usually allow.

She stares at me for a long moment, those big eyes still swimming with tears, then lets out this broken sound—half hiccup, half laugh.

“Fine,” she whispers, uncurling from my lap. Her legs wobble as she stands, and I steady her with a hand at her hip.

I’m about to push myself up when I realize I’m eye-level with her stomach. My child is in there—my seed growing inside her, making her mine in the most primal way possible. Something possessive and fierce surges through me, and before I can think, I lean forward and press my lips against her belly through the thin material of her top.

She goes rigid under my touch, breath hitching. I linger there a moment, breathing her in, imagining the changes her body will undergo in the coming months. When I finally rise to my full height, I try to catch her eye, to make her see what this means to me.

But she turns her head away, pretending she didn’t notice the gesture, like she can ignore the significance if she just refuses to acknowledge it.

That’s cute, too bad it’s not fucking happening.