I wiped my nose and leaned back to collect myself. “Salem and I spoke last night. He doesn’t believe this is a real courtship; he thinks I want you for your money and security. I don’t have a penny to my name. Is that something you’ve wondered about? Whether I’m only interested because of your status?”
“I have no interest in what another man thinks. Do you?” His black eyes lowered to our joined hands. “Put it out of your head.”
“Thank you for the gifts. They were so thoughtful.”
“You’re my girl.”
I felt butterflies in my tummy.
Atticus traced the scar on my forehead with a featherlight touch of his finger. It traveled at an angle from my hairline to my right eyebrow. “How did you get this?”
“It happened several years ago. I was dating a jealous man and I’d had enough of his ridiculous behavior. He forced himself into my hotel room when I answered the door. Then he smashed a heavy vase against my head. It knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I was alone with a cord wrapped around my neck, and my hands were bound behind my back. At least a day had passed.”
Atticus steered his head away, but not before I glimpsed his fangs punching out.
“I never saw him again. He tied me up before leaving so I couldn’t shift and heal my cut. That was his petty revenge. Lucky for me we were in a hotel room, and someone heard me calling for help. That’s one reason I never bought a house. There’s comfort in having people close by. You never know when you might need someone.”
“What was his name?”
Knowing where this conversation might be going, I traced my finger along his jaw. “It’s irrelevant. He’s out of my life, and that’s where he’ll stay. When I leave the past behind, I leave it.” I leaned into the crook of his arm.
Atticus smelled wonderful. Though his cologne had faded over the course of the day, he had a clean scent.
“Wounded men can be cruel,” he finally said. “Not all men are beasts. I’m giving you the option to reject me. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t slay your enemies, because I will.”
“He was bitter about his life’s failures, but I didn’t see that until it was too late. Men only want a pretty girl on their arm, a glamorous life, bragging rights, money…”
“I only want your heart.”
I tilted my head up to look at him. “You’ve mentioned that, but do you even find me attractive in this condition?”
His black eyes hooded, and he gazed at me ardently. He leaned down and delivered a sensual kiss that lit me on fire. When his hand touched my thigh and squeezed, I yearned for a more intimate touch.
The smoldering kiss deepened, and I moaned against his lips.
“May I touch you?” he asked.
I leaned back.“Yes.”
A feather-soft stroke over my panties made me release a shuddering breath. His provocative gaze turned up, and I wet my lips.
In a swift movement, Atticus scooped me into his arms and carried me to the adjacent bedroom. A dim lamp set the mood, and the covers were still tucked in.
My feet touched the floor. Atticus stood behind me, his lips on my neck, his hand steadily roaming between my legs, his fingers pinching my nipple through the fabric.
“Should we be doing this?” I managed to ask. “I’m pregnant.”
“We don’t have to do anything. I can just touch you until you come.”
My legs trembled as he stroked me with dexterous fingers.
“You like this, don’t you?” he growled sexily, then walked me to the bed and sat me down on the red comforter. Atticus got on bended knee and removed one slipper at a time, his eyes never straying from mine. “Does this please my lady?” He raised my gown and kissed my inside thigh.
Any doubts I might have had about our chemistry incinerated. Each time we were alone, each time we touched, it felt as though we didn’t belong apart.
My body flushed with desire. When he moved to kiss my other thigh, I glimpsed his fangs.
“Can I touch them?”
