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She retched again and, as she tried to scrape her hair away from her face, felt a warm, firm hand touch her back.
Ramon didn’t say a word. He just knelt behind her, relieved her hands of her hair and waited for her to finish.
‘I’m done,’ she croaked a long, humiliating minute later, and he helped her to her feet and gave her space to clean herself up at the basin.
When he scooped her up she acquiesced with a shameful lack of protest and, despite her mental exhaustion, she was acutely conscious of everything as he carried her back to her room. His strong, muscular arms. His clean, soapy scent. His hard, tee-shirt-covered chest under one of her hands.
She shouldn’t have liked any of it.
She liked all of it.
He sat her on the edge of her bed and pressed a glass of water into her hand. ‘Drink.’
‘You’re very bossy,’ she muttered.
He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘And you’re very mouthy for someone who’s just been hugging the toilet bowl.’
It was difficult to find a dignified response to that, so she sipped her water instead. Her throat hurt. And so did her head. Although she figured that wasn’t from throwing up so much as it was a side-effect of the relentless racing of her mind over the past forty-eight hours.
She put the glass on the nightstand. Her hand trembled, but it was nothing compared to the uncontrollable shaking inside her. ‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ she said, fear and uncertainty crashing in like a fast-moving tidal wave she couldn’t outrun.
He dropped to his haunches. ‘Do what?’
‘Have a baby,’ she whispered.
His shoulders tensed, a stark expression descending over his features, and her heart clenched as she realised he’d misinterpreted her words. ‘No,’ she said hurriedly, cursing herself silently. ‘I don’t mean that. I don’t want to get rid of this baby, Ramon.’
How could she have forgotten what he’d told her? That he had lost a child? The revelation not only shocked her but cast him in a different light. It was easy to look at Ramon and see only the confidence and charm. But he had suffered something devastating. That kind of loss had to leave a scar. She inhaled a deep breath. ‘I mean... I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I feel...’
‘What?’
She shrugged, reluctant to articulate such a weak emotion. ‘Scared,’ she admitted, and glanced away.
Slipping a finger under her chin, he returned her gaze to his. ‘I think you can do anything you set your mind to, Emily Royce.’
His tone was firm, his vote of confidence unexpected, and a burst of warmth blossomed in her chest.
But was he right?
She knew nothing about motherhood. Nothing about the bond between mother and child. She’d never had her own mother to bond with. No aunts or grandmothers or female role models. Just her strict teachers at boarding school and her grandfather’s housekeeper, the humourless Mrs Thorne. Emily didn’t doubt she would love her child—and she would do so fiercely—but would her child love her?
As a daughter she was hardly worth loving; her father had demonstrated that time and again through his rejection of any close bond with her. Who was to say she’d prove any more lovable as a parent?
And then, as if her insecurities weren’t enough to unsettle her, there was her mother’s death to consider. The frightening reminder of life’s utter fragility.
What if childbirth put Emily at a similar risk?
She felt the prick of tears and mentally rolled her eyes. Great. Another symptom of pregnancy. She wondered if she could also blame her newly discovered condition for the heavy, achy sensation in her breasts or, like the hot flush, did that have more to do with the man hunkered beside the bed and the desire that flooded her body every time she looked at him?
‘I’m tired,’ she said, lowering her gaze before her eyes betrayed her. The man had just held her hair as she hurled up the last contents of her stomach. He was unlikely to find her attractive right now. ‘Thanks for checking on me.’ She curled onto her side and pulled the duvet up to her chin. ‘I’m going to try to get some more sleep.’
Ramon stood up and she closed her eyes, listening for the tell-tale sounds of him leaving her room and going back to his. But the absolute silence told her he hadn’t moved. Her heart thudded in her ears, and then she felt his hand brush gently over her hair. Felt his lips press a soft, feather-light kiss on her temple. ‘We’ll do this together, Emily,’ he said, his breath fanning warmth across her cheek. ‘You’re not alone now.’ And then he padded out of the room.
As the door closed Emily
’s chin wobbled dangerously and she tucked her face into the pillow. Yesterday, walking into her empty flat after visiting her doctor, she’d felt very alone but had told herself it didn’t matter.
She was used to being alone.
