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He hadn’t paid any particular attention to her. She was pretty, answering all his questions in a low, nearly inaudible voice. She didn’t meet his gaze and was so self-effacing he’d almost forgotten she was there. He had tried to make conversation with her, but had eventually given up when all the conversational balls he’d lobbed in her direction were not lobbed back.
Matias had told him she was dull and it turned out he was right.
Except the woman sitting with her feet on the desk, sipping what looked like whisky and smoking a cigar, was the very antithesis of dull.
Her black hair was loose, a glossy, inky waterfall over her shoulders, and all she wore was a white nightgown that would have been virginal if the fabric hadn’t been so sheer he could see right through it. She was staring at him, her deep blue eyes gone very dark and very round, her luscious mouth in a perfect O of surprise. Her cheeks flooded with pink and for a second neither of them moved, both of them staring at each other in shock.
It hit him then, the sudden, hard kick of a desire he should never have felt.
But the feeling was so wrong that he crushed it before he’d even had the chance to feel it.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked curtly.
Her mouth closed and something shifted in her eyes, though he couldn’t tell what it was. Thick, silky sable lashes descended, veiling her gaze, and he thought she’d apologise, get to her feet, and move quietly out the door.
But she didn’t.
‘It’s my father’s study,’ she said instead. ‘I’m allowed to be here.’
He stilled. She sounded almost...challenging, which he hadn’t expected.
Her lashes rose then, an irresistible glow in her eyes. ‘Perhaps you’d like to join me for a drink, Your Excellency?’
He should never have gone in. Never have sat down in the armchair opposite her. Never have allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, wanting to know why she was in her father’s study, smoking cigars and drinking his whisky.
He should never have started that first conversation, that had led to all the others and eventually her in his bed as passion had exploded between them.
But he’d told himself it was only conversation, that he had to get to know his future sister-in-law, to make sure she really was as suitable for Matias as she appeared.
And she wasn’t suitable for Matias, it turned out. Not suitable at all.
But she’s perfect for you.
Rafael ignored that as a small figure appeared in the doorway, a small figure swamped by the far-too-big hoodie she wore.
Lia.
Her hair was damp and curling in waves down her back, the sleeves of the hoodie rolled up. She wore sweatpants and the hems of those, too, were rolled up nearly to her knees.
His clothes. But of course. He’d ordered Constanza to find her something to wear, yet he didn’t have any women’s clothes here. The only clothes available would be his.
The coiling possessiveness tightened once more, because he liked that. He liked thatverymuch. It appealed to the territorial male inside him that the woman pregnant with his child was safe in his house, wearing his clothes. Protected by him.
His.
Careful. She’s not yours.
No, but she would be. He’d decided. He’d make it happen.
She lifted her chin as their gazes met, as if daring him to comment.
He obliged. ‘I see Constanza found you some clothing.’
‘Yes. Yours, I assume?’
‘Mine,’ he agreed. ‘It suits you.’ And it did.
It wasn’t that spectacular wedding gown, but somehow the oversized clothing drew attention to her femininity in a way that made him want to pick her up and hold her close.
