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“Of course you—”
“You,” he said thickly. “Your body. How your breasts look, how your belly looks as your body readies itself for my son.”
“Damian! I swear, I’ll scream—”
Slowly he drew the robe open. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. But she didn’t scream. No. Oh, no. She didn’t scream as he dropped his gaze and looked down at her.
She was wearing a cream-silk nightgown. Thin straps. Silk cups. Shirring over her midriff, then a long, slender fall of silk that ended just above her toes.
Damian’s gaze lifted. His eyes swept her face. Her lips were still parted, her eyes still wide…
“Don’t,” she whispered.
But he did.
Slowly he hooked his fingers under the thin silk straps, Drew them down her arms.
Bared her breasts. Her beautiful breasts. Small. Round. Tipped with pale pink nipples that were already beading. Praxiteles, who had sculpted Aphrodite’s beauty in marble, would have wept.
“Damian…”
“Shh,” he whispered and cupped her breasts. Thumbed the delicate nipples. Ivy swayed unsteadily as he bent his head and touched his mouth to her nipples. Licked them. Sucked them. Felt his erection strain against his jeans.
“Damian,” she said, the word a sigh. A moan.
A plea.
He lifted his head. Her lashes had drooped against her cheeks. Her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breath.
Her eyes opened, locked on his face as he pulled the gown down, down, down her torso. Her hips. Her legs. Those long, long legs.
The gown was a chrysalis at her feet.
And she—she was more than beautiful. She was Aphrodite rising from the sea. She was every dream a man could have, and more.
And yes, her body was readying for his child.
He could see the delicate swell of her belly. The exquisite rounding. The burgeoning fullness.
Slowly he cupped her belly.
Felt the smoothness of her skin. The heat of it. The perfect arc of it beneath his palms.
He stroked one hand lower. Lower still. Watched her face, heard her moan as he slipped it between her thighs and God, God, she was hot, wet, sweetly swollen with need…
“Don’t,” she sighed, but her hands were on his chest. On his shoulders. She was on her toes, lifting herself to him, her mouth a breath from his.
She wanted this. Wanted him.
It was all he could do to keep from taking her down to the floor, unzipping his jeans, parting her thighs and burying himself deep inside her warmth…
Except, Lucas was right. It was all an act.
Damian let go of her. Picked up her robe, wrapped it around her shoulders. Trembling, panting, she clutched it to her.
“Do you remember what I told you this afternoon?”
The tip of her tongue slid along the seam of her mouth.
