“I do, don’t I?” She did. She’d found the perfect pace, the perfect spot, and for this, right now, right here, the perfect man.
It was that thought, the sheer surprise of it, that had her widening her eyes and pausing. Damien reached between them and strummed his thumb over her clit.
“Damien!” She rolled her eyes back and skittered over into an orgasm. It was a smooth, drawn-out, wave after wave of ecstasy, her inner muscles clenching on to him still imbedded deep in her.
“Aah,” she whimpered, relaxing her hold on the bed, and tossing her hair out of her face.
Ready to slide off of him and collapse in a puddle of gratitude at his feet, Mandy’s head snapped back when Damien ground her hips down onto him.
“Just give me two minutes,” he said, thrusting with short, hard bursts that set off aftershocks in her body.
She tried totsk,but it came out a breathy sigh. “That’s what you said last time.”
“This time I mean it.”
And apparently he did, because after two more pounding thrusts, he pressed his lips together and paused. Then exploded in her, the condom inflating a little as he filled it.
“Oh, my,” she said, reaching up to push her damp hair back.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” he said with a sigh, collapsing his head back onto the bed.
Legs wobbly, Mandy lost her balance trying to untangle her curls and pitched forward onto his chest. Yes, Mother had wasted all those thousands of pounds on ballet.
Damien caught her before she could slam her nose into his, or break his teeth. “Hey, easy now. You’re baking a bun, remember? Got to be careful.”
He eased out of her and settled her gently on his chest, caressing along her spine, and Mandy had the stupid overwhelming urge to cry. This was so right, yet so wrong. Damien was her boss, a Caribbean fling, and yet he had more concern for her unborn child than the baby’s father.
And when he pressed a kiss on the top of her head as she snuggled into his hard chest, she did start to cry. Her child was never going to have a father, and when they got back to New York, this wonderful intimacy with Damien would be gone.
Embarrassed, she buried her face in his side and tried to suck the sobs back, hold her shoulders still so he wouldn’t know.
But of course he did. “Are you crying?” He sounded terrified.
“Hormones. It’s nothing.”
Making shushing sounds, he kissed her again, body tense beneath her. “Do you want a chocolate?”
That drew a startled laugh out of her, and she lifted her head to give him a wobbly smile. “No, thank you. I’m fine really, though you get points for a brilliant suggestion.”
He searched her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. “No regrets, right?”
“No. None.” Without thinking, her fingers trailed over his lips, and he kissed the tips. “A few months ago my roommate Jamie brought a psychic to our apartment. At the time, I might have been pregnant but didn’t know it, or was on the verge of conceiving. This man, who was a genuine fashionista, by the way, told me when he looked at me, he saw pastries. Sweet, sticky things.”
Damien’s eyebrows shot up.
“I thought it was ridiculous, but then I did get pregnant, and hearing you call the baby a bun, I just had the thought, that well, maybe this is the way things were supposed to happen.”
Lying a little on her side, she touched the swell of her stomach. “Maybe I was meant to have this baby just like this, and it’s not an accident at all. Maybe I was meant to give up the shop and come work for you.”
No matter her feelings on Ben, she wouldn’t go back and give up her relationship with him, because he had given her this child, unwittingly or not. A child she wanted more than anything, ever.
And she wouldn’t give up this night with Damien.
The lamplight set his face in the shadows. “I’m not sure I believe in fate or destiny, Mandy, but all I know is that I’m really damn glad you’re here with me.”
“So am I, Damien.” She laid her head back down on his chest and felt him relax one slow breath at a time.
Her thoughts emptied one by one, her body replete and satisfied, her skin sticky in the hot night air.
