Page 51 of The Heir Affair

Just as she thought her heart would burst, watching him talk to his child for the first time, he kissed her bump, then proceed to drag off her sweater and T-shirt.

‘Now go back to sleep,’ he said, still caressing her belly, before he unclipped her bra. ‘I have important business with your mother,’ he added, his face fierce with longing.

And the hunger she loved.

EPILOGUE

A week before Christmas

‘You have abeautiful baby girl, Mr Caras.’ The nurse beamed at Xander as she handed him the precious bundle, the mewling cries coming from it full of indignation.

His arms trembled as he held the tiny, squirming baby. The woman left the room, leaving him alone with his family at last. His daughter’s red face screwed up into a ball of anger as she yelled out her frustration at having been thrust into the world a week ahead of schedule. Her dark hair was plastered to her head and her tiny little fingers were clenched into fists so small they were barely the size of his thumb.

He had never seen anything more incredible in his entire life.

Tears stung the backs of his eyes, and the rush of love was so intense it felt as if someone had reached inside his chest and ripped out his heart.

She was his now…just like her mother.

‘What do you think, Daddy?’

His head rose, speech deserting him as he gazed at the woman he loved more than life itself. Her sweaty hair clung to her cheeks, her tired eyes were sheened with emotion and exhaustion, the new nightgown the nurse had helped her into drooped where the monitor was still stuck to her chest.

She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying to find the words to tell her how he felt. They had made a promise to each other in that cold damp cottage in Kent, that they would always try to be honest about their feelings. A promise he had not been sure at the time he would ever be able to keep. But, astonishingly, she had made it easy for him to discuss his emotions over the days and weeks that followed, while they settled into their future together. Because there was no judgment, no demand, only acceptance and love.

They still argued, quite frequently, because neither of them had a lot of experience with the fine art of compromise, but they had managed to make a life for themselves. In Athens and Kent—where he had bought a house close to her mother’s cottage—and also here on Parádeisos, where they had settled for the last month to await the baby’s birth.

Of course, they still had to fully discuss the issue of Poppy’s future employment. But luckily, he’d had a reprieve on that decision after she’d finally agreed to marry him and had been busy dealing with the challenges of preparing for the baby’s arrival and hosting their wedding on Parádeisos.

But right now, with his child in his arms for the first time, he was lost for words again.

Poppy had been so brave, so strong, so dogged and determined, while he had been scared to death, watching her labour through eight hours of agony to bring their daughter into the world. It humbled him. He had always considered himself tough. How wrong could he be?

‘She is perfect…’ he managed at last, his voice as rough as the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

How did other men stand it? Watching the woman they loved go through such pain?

He stared down at his daughter, who had stopped squirming and crying after having discovered one of her fists and thrustingit into her mouth. ‘But so tiny…’ he added, the awe choking him again.

‘Easy for you to say.’ Poppy laughed, the musical sound he adored helping to calm his own rampaging heartbeat. Just a little.

His daughter began to cry again, having dislodged her fist.

Pushing up in the bed, Poppy lifted tired arms. ‘Here, I should try to feed her again. The obstetrician said she would be hungry and it’ll probably take several attempts.’

He watched as his wife bared her breast, and tamped down on the familiar spike of arousal. It wasn’t hard to control it, when he recalled the dark hours before dawn, as he had stroked Poppy’s forehead and she had panted through the waves of agony.

He shifted his daughter, holding the baby’s head the way the nurse had shown him, then placed her gently in his wife’s arms.

Pinching the plump nipple, Poppy pressed it against the baby’s open mouth. The mewling cries stopped instantly, as his daughter’s head swung round and her lips clamped the rouged flesh.

‘Ouch!’ Poppy flinched as the baby latched on, sucking ferociously. No wonder—his daughter was tugging on her mother’s nipple as if she were starving to death.

‘Does it hurt?’ he asked, concerned.

She shook her head. ‘Not compared to everything else.’