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‘Can we make each other a promise?’

He angled his head slightly, inspecting her as though she were a mystery of his to solve. Finally, eyes narrowed, he said, ‘Depends. What is it?’

‘I’m not going to say we won’t sleep together again.’ Heat flushed her cheeks, because she knew how honest she was being on that score. She already felt the stirrings of renewed desire, and they’d literally just been together. ‘But it’s just sex.’

His eyes bored into hers.

‘Very good, very meaningless sex.’ It felt vital to say that, as though the more she started to like him, the more meaning was threatening to burst through her, she needed to delineate these boundaries. ‘Something we can have, while it’s good, but walk away from whenever we want. That’s all. Can you promise me that, Tate?’

‘Tell me why,’ he prompted, and inwardly, she cursed. Cursed his curiosity and perception, and his need to understand absolutely everything. What was she supposed to say?

In the end? The truth. ‘Because I don’t want to like you.’ She pressed a hand to his chest, heat bursting through her. What she didn’t tell him was how terrified she was of liking anyone. Needing anyone. ‘I don’t want to want more from you—ever. We’re having a baby, and we’re obviously attracted to each other, but that’s it. Other than that, we’re just…two strangers.’

‘You think that’s sustainable?’

She bit into her lower lip. ‘It has to be.’

‘Why?’

She flexed her fingers at her sides, sucking in a deep breath. ‘Because it’s how I live my life. And how I think you live your life. Knowing we can walk away, that we’re not in too deep—that matters.’

He tilted his chin, studying her, and when their eyes met, she felt their souls collide; on every level, she knew he understood. ‘Yes.’ His agreement proved her right.

‘I know having a baby complicates that, but only if we let it.’

‘Does this mean you’re suggesting a marriage in which we don’t share meals, and conversations?’

‘I—don’t know,’ she admitted, a frown flickering on her face. It all felt so amorphous and unclear. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

‘Sarah, it’s not that far ahead. We’ll be married within a week.’

‘I haven’t agreed yet.’

His eyes lanced hers, and there it was again: that sense that he was staring right into the very centre of her soul, seeing things she’d prefer to keep hidden. ‘You know you have.’

‘You gave me seven days to make up my mind,’ she reminded him, clinging to that like a shield.

His smile was cynical. ‘That’s true. And?’

‘So, I still have time, right?’

‘Which way are you leaning?’

‘I’m trying to work that out.’

‘Tell me this, then. What does life look like if we don’t get married?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You came here thinking you could go to England and raise your baby there.’

She shrugged one shoulder. ‘You have all the money in the world,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s not like you couldn’t come visit often.’

A thundercloud seemed to crack over his expression showing her it was completely the wrong thing to say. ‘I will not be a part-time father.’

She swallowed, recalling how adamant he’d been on that score, trying to remember that this was about their baby, not her. Not the fear that had dogged her, all her life, that she was essentially unworthy of love, because of the way her own father had rejected her. It hadn’t mattered how much her mother had compensated, nothing had been able to drown out that noise.

‘Fine. You tell me how this works,’ she said, and now she did move to where their clothes had been discarded in a fit of wild abandon, scooping up her underpants and pulling them on first. Her whole body was oversensitive, though, with goosebumps dancing on her skin as she ran the soft material over her body.