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Her eyes lifted to his, her breasts moving with the force of her ragged breathing, her nipples taut, her skin so beautifully flawless. ‘We need to talk about it.’

‘The details, yes. For now, I’m looking for an in-principle agreement.’

‘I—’

He pressed himself to her sex, eyes holding hers, body desperate to take possession of hers once more.

‘Say it,’ he demanded, voice a deep, dark growl.

She closed her eyes, so her lashes were just dark fans against her creamy skin. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll marry you.’ The second part of her statement was barely audible over his groan of relief as he thrust into her, hard, fast, and more desperate than he could ever admit to himself, or anyone.

Whatever came next, he knew they’d just agreed to something vital, something that took a weight off his mind. Having Sarah and the baby here made sense, and, having secured her agreement, he knew everything else would fall into place, brick by brick. It had to.

* * *

At first, the euphoria was too dense to permit any kind of analysis. She could only lie there and feel the weight of his body on hers, and know that he was as mad as she was, as completely beholden to this crazy, all-consuming passion. Satisfaction was a slowly receding tide, foaming around her body, soaking her in happiness. Until it wasn’t.

Until her brain reactivated, and she found herself blinking up at Tate with a shifting sense of uncertainty.

Yes. I’ll marry you.

She’d said the words, and, in that moment, she’d meant them. But she’d been half mad with longing, and he’d known that. He’d known she would have said yes to anything, at that point. And he’d ruthlessly exploited her desire.

She pressed a hand to his chest, the heat of earlier replaced by a chip of ice in her chest. When she looked at him, really looked at him, she knew she was right. ‘You…’ She shook her head, anger making it hard to form words.

‘Yes?’

‘You used our connection to get me to agree.’

His brows shifted upwards, but he didn’t deny it.

‘You used sex to get me to agree to marriage.’

‘You were always going to agree. Sex is just a silver lining to that.’

She spluttered something unintelligible and pushed at his chest. He was so much bigger, there was no way he’d have moved with just her persuasion, but he did shift, rolling onto his back first, then to the edge of the bed and standing. He walked, gloriously naked, towards a doorway, through which she presumed there was a walk-in wardrobe.

‘We’re not finished,’ she called after him.

He stopped, turned to face her, and all the air rushed out of her body at the sight of his spectacular nakedness front-on. She gaped, trying to remember what she’d been going to say.

‘I’m not interested in arguing the semantics. We’re getting married, and we both know that. You agreeing to it just formalises what was set in motion the second you fell pregnant.’

Her lips parted. Moments earlier, he’d been as besieged by passion as her, but now? He was an ice-cold, ruthless billionaire, all practicalities and command. She pulled the sheet up to her neck, knowing it didn’t change anything, but somehow just needing the cover.

‘But you used what I was feeling—’

‘Yes.’

She stared at him, surprised by his admission.

‘You were finally being honest and I exploited that. I’d do it again, too.’

Her eyes narrowed, anger surging through her. ‘That’s despicable.’

‘It was necessary. The sooner we get married, the better. We don’t have weeks on end to wait around for you to come to terms with what we both know you’re going to do.’

‘Don’t tell me what I think and want.’