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He has spent so long hiding behind responsibility, behind the Orlov rulebook that he wears like a coat of armor. But all the armor in the world can’t protect him from the truth beating in his own chest.
Or from the life in my womb.
“I’m hoping it will be enough,” he whispers, his fingers pressing against my belly.
It won’t be enough,I want to scream back at him.They need more.Ineed more.
I needyou.
But I don’t say any of that. His hand slips away and I feel the mattress shift under his weight. He’s leaving, and he’s taking my aching heart with him.
I’m trying to battle through my own fear and nerves, so I crack open one eye—and watch him walk into our bathroom instead.
The moment the door shuts, I jump out of bed, feeling wide awake. Adrenaline and excitement course through my body like drugs.
His words have filled me with the kind of reckless hope I haven’t dared to let myself have. The kind of hope that makes me want to do crazy things.
Like quickly slip into the silk lingerie I swore I’d never wear.
The water is still running in the bathroom, so I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. I try to see myself the way I want Misha to. The way Cyrille promised me he would. But all the adrenaline in the world can’t quite overcome my nerves.
Then I hear the water stop.
No time for being self-conscious now.
I rush back to bed and lie with my legs stretched out, trying to find a position that’s sexy without being obvious. As if I just yawned awake and slipped out of my robe.
Turns out that’s not so easy to do when you’re five months’ pregnant with twins.
I give up and stand just as the bathroom door opens.
Misha stops short when he sees me standing there. But surprise shifts to something much more heated when his eyes snake over the rest of me.
“You should be sleeping,” he says at last, his voice thick.
“Couldn’t sleep. I was a little hot in the robe.”
His eyes flicker down to my breasts, but he doesn’t let them linger. “That doesn’t look very comfortable.”
“It is, actually.” I spin around so that he can see my thong. “It’s so comfortable. Almost like I’m not wearing anything at all.”
His mouth tightens. “Almost.”
I’ve never seen him look quite so uncomfortable. It’s a delicious tension. “What do you think of it?”
“It’s… nice.”
“Nice?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Paige,” he says on a taut exhale, “it’s the middle of the night. You should be sleeping.”
“I spend most of my days resting. Right now, I have a lot of…energyI need to work out.”
I smooth my hands down my thighs, and he watches the movement with a singular kind of focus. “Then maybe I’ll leave you to work it out yourself.”
He’s going to leave me alone with this lingerie on.I know Misha is more than capable of that kind of torture. Which is why I kick things up a notch.
“Or you could stay.” I pinch the sleeve of his shirt between my fingertips, toying with the fabric. We both watch my fingers work. “You could help, even.”
