LITMIR.BIZ

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enough to see into her eyes. His gaze was disturbed, frustrated yet excited. Hot with desire. They were both breathing heavily.

      “Seriously,” he said in a quiet rasp. “How was it?”

      The question felt incredibly intimate, like he was asking her to describe an experience with a stranger, yet she could see he was deeply invested in her response. He wanted details. She wanted to be flippant, self-protect and be cool and pretend he hadn’t set the bar so high she had despaired before it was even over. She had known she’d never find another man to give her the same level of pleasure.

      Memories flooded in, the way he’d kissed the skin he’d revealed, made her climax with barely a flexing touch between her thighs, had her wrapping her legs around his waist, then had taken his time, making love to her gently and slowly, savoring each thrust until she’d been pleading for him to drive harder and faster and deeper—

      He stroked his thumb against her stinging cheek. Satisfaction relaxed his expression as he read everything he needed to know in her blush of fresh response.

      “I wish I remembered that.” He sounded so wistfully sincere she blushed harder and flinched in torment at the same time, raw. Feeling like the most important experience of her life was forgotten by the man who’d provided it.

      And it was.

      She swallowed and dropped her hand, ducking her head.

      Then there was that agonizing reason why it had been so good. He was an aficionado of women, having dedicated himself to learning how to pleasure multitudes before her. So many.

      She’d been dying on a distant level that day, wondering how she stacked up. It hadn’t helped that he’d disappeared before she’d woken. She’d needed the reassurance of his approval and satisfaction. His absence had been so demoralizing she still didn’t know how to deal with it. Things had worsened from there until they were here.

      Frowning at the flowers Octavia had given her, Sorcha tried to imagine how she could balance the heaven and hell of being married to him. There was no question he expected her to sleep with him. What if she wasn’t up to his standards? Sometimes she let herself believe that Diega had been lying when she’d said he had begged for forgiveness. She didn’t want to believe she had been merely a conquest, but what else would she have been?

      What if the only reason he wanted her today was because he couldn’t remember that he hadn’t enjoyed himself the first time?

      “I’ll take this back to my father and tell him you’ve had a better offer.” He retrieved the check from the floor and folded it to tuck it in his pocket.

      “Cesar—” He was such a pushy, dogged, overwhelming man.

      But there was no way she could look into her son’s eyes and admit that she’d had the chance to give him everything he was entitled to and turned it down. Not when she knew how it felt to receive nothing from her own father.

      As for love, well, she’d long ago resigned herself to this infatuation of hers with Cesar not being returned. At least she’d be with him, not pining from afar.

      “My mother is anxious to see Enrique,” she said as she realized he was waiting for her to speak. “I want to go to her as soon as I’m released.” Way to be a tough negotiator, Sorcha.

      “Of course. We can marry in Ireland. One of us ought to have family present.”

CHAPTER FIVE

      SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE been surprised that Cesar would be so single-minded. Or so possessive. His protocols with intellectual property told their own story about the lengths he would go to ensure he would never be stolen from again.

      But could he not see that if she wanted her son to have a father, that meant she expected him to be a father? He disappeared to Spain until she was released, asking her to text a few photos of Enrique, but showing little interest in his son or the final DNA report that proved it.

      “Go ahead and forward it. My parents will want that reassurance,” he said like it was a bureaucratic hoop he couldn’t avoid.

      “Don’t you want to see it?” she challenged.

      “If I thought you were lying, I wouldn’t have upended my life to marry you. Are they releasing the two of you now?”

      “Tomorrow,” she replied.

      He chivalrously turned up with an infant carrier, carting it out himself after interrogating the nurse about Enrique’s health and schedule for immunizations, but he had yet to properly hold his son.

      They went to her modest flat, where she had already been packing to give it up, planning to live with her mother through the birth and her maternity leave.

      When he saw the boxes, Cesar gave her a sharp look. “Small wonder you went into labor early.”

      She shrugged off that comment and called her landlord to explain the situation. Cesar took over, informing the man that his assistant would have everything shipped to Spain before the lease was up and that they were leaving today.

      Today? As much as she wanted to see her mother, Sorcha really wanted a nap.

      He packed her case while she sat on the bed and nursed, then she slept on his private plane as they flew to Cork. Her customary seat greeted her like an old friend. The hostess knew how to make her tea just right and brought it without asking.

      Sorcha relaxed in a way she never had in the flat she’d just vacated. She felt like she was home.

      Because she was going home, she reasoned when she woke, groggy and thinking again that her pregnancy had been a dream. But there was Enrique in the seat next to his father, blinking and alert, thankfully unaware his father was sending him the puzzled look he reserved for unexpected experimentation results.

      They drove down the coast to her mother’s village and a warm welcome.

      Cesar, being a man who didn’t just know how to disrobe a woman, but could outfit them effortlessly, had flown in a modiste from a Paris boutique. The bridal gown she brought only needed a few nips and tucks and the woman took care of that in her mother’s lounge.

      The dress wasn’t something Sorcha would have chosen for herself, but it was incredibly flattering. Its empire waist disguised her recent pregnancy and its seed-pearl-encrusted bodice and off-the-shoulder straps made the most of her chest—currently her best asset. Her hair never held a curl, but the straight, golden strands looked right beneath a crown of pink rosebuds.

      She looked like a Celtic goddess, strong and empowered.

      Cesar spent the night at the hotel while she stayed with her family and poured out her heart, including her concerns about her marriage.

      “I can’t imagine any man not loving you,” her sister said, squeezing her hand.

      Sorcha appreciated the sentiment, but half expected to be stood up at the altar. The entire village was holding their breath to see it, she was sure, but she went through the motions of dressing for her wedding.

      The morning ceremony was held in the church Sorcha had attended growing up, and was, secretly, her most cherished dream come true.

      When she saw Cesar waiting at the altar for her, she felt more than relief. Pride. Joy. The sun came out long enough to splash reds and blues and greens from the stained glass windows onto the worn, golden pews and gray stone floor. Cesar had provided all the women with corsages, which, along with her elegant bouquet, perfumed the air with the scent of lilies and roses. The moment was pure and reverent.

      Cesar wore a morning coat and had shaved. He hated shaving, which was why he wore stubble most of the time. He wore stubble really well, truth be told, but with his cheeks clean, his face looked narrow and sharp, his sensual mouth more pronounced.

      Perhaps it was a severe mood putting that tautness in his expression, she thought, but as her sister

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