Her hand moved before he had time to think, meeting his face with a sharp crack that made his ears ring. He knew he’d gone too far, but he couldn’t get rid of the anger and pain boiling in his stomach.
He caught her wrist as she raised her hand to slap him again, her eyes welling, and he pushed her back against the window, pinning her hands to the glass.
“It’s my life,” he yelled. “I’m a fucking adult—I do what I want, when I want.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “I know.”
“My father doesn’t know what’s best for me. I didn’t make a mistake going to the UK, and contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t screw everything up by leaving you in Prague.”
“I know.”
“You’re not everything to me, Megan.” His voice had turned hoarse. “You’re not the only woman in the world. There’ll be others.”
“I know. I didn’t want to tie you down. I just want you to be happy.” A tear spilled down her cheeks.
Hurt raged through him—and nausea made his stomach clench. He banged her hands against the glass. “Don’t be so fucking sanctimonious. Even you can’t be that fucking virtuous. Is that really what you want? To see me married off to someone else, to leave you and Harry behind?”
“No.” She tried to dry her wet cheek on her shoulder, but he held her too tightly. “I want you, Dion. I’ve always wanted you, since I was a girl. But I want you to want me too.” Tears poured down her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your dad, and about your job. And I’m sorry about Harry. I know I should have told you, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you turning your back on us and being angry with me. I didn’t mean to get pregnant, I swear.”
“It’s too late for that,” he said fiercely. “What say do I have in it now?”
“None, I know. I’m sorry. I love you.”
His chest hurt so much that for a moment he thought he was having a heart attack like his father. “Don’t.”
“I know you don’t love me back, but I have to say it.”
“Don’t!” He yelled the word and watched her bottom lip tremble in response. His hands tightened on hers.
She continued to cry, but her eyes were glassy and clear as they met his, shining with the love he knew she felt for him. “I love you, I’ve always loved you.”
“Megan…” His control crumbled. Releasing her hands, he pulled her into his arms and crushed her lips to his.
For a brief moment he thought she’d push him away, maybe even slap him again, but her frozen body melted against him. She slid her arms around his waist, her mouth opening under his, and he kissed her hungrily, sinking his hands into her hair, plunging his tongue into her mouth.
He raised his head and kissed her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, terrified of letting her go in case she walked away. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
Desire surged through him, a deep longing to lose himself—if only for a few brief moments—in her. He kissed up her jaw to her ear, then back to her face, holding her tightly. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “About Harry, I mean.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. It was a fucking awful thing to say, and I wish I could take it back.”
She caught his face in her hands and brushed his lips with her thumbs. “Dion, forget it. Nothing matters.” She kissed him. “I don’t care about the future. But right here, right now, I want you.”
He was hardening against her, and he slipped his hands onto her butt to pull her against him so he could press his erection into her soft mound. Still he hesitated though, knowing this was probably a mistake—their emotions were too high, and they weren’t thinking clearly.
“Megan…”
“Ssh.” She fumbled at his waist and undid the button of his shorts, then slid down his zipper. “Don’t say anything.”
“I don’t want to hurt you after what you’ve been through…”
“I’m fine, Dion. I swear.”
“I don’t have any condoms,” he mumbled.
“I don’t care. I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” She turned him and pushed him back and onto to the sofa. She removed her panties and climbed on top of him, and he freed his erection. Without further ado, she climbed astride him, reached down and guided him to her opening, then welcomed him inside her, letting him slide all the way.
Dion gasped, closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the sofa. The sensation of being encased in her warm, wet heat was blissful. Suddenly all his tension, all his anger, drained away.
He opened his eyes to look straight into her green ones, and he cupped her face, hoping he hadn’t hurt her. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I thought it would feel different, but it feels…” She moved her hips experimentally, and her lips curved. “Pretty good actually.”
Relieved, he slipped a hand behind her head and pulled her down to kiss her, this time savouring her lips gently. She rested her hands on the back of the sofa, returning the kiss, rocking her hips just enough to make him groan and swell inside her.
He took the hem of her vest in his hands and lifted it, and she sat up briefly as he pulled it over her head. She looked down at her chest, then gave him a wry smile. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting to get lucky.”
He smiled and reached around her back to unclip the maternity bra. “Doesn’t change the beauty of what’s inside.”
She flushed prettily as he drew the bra down her arms and tossed it onto the floor. Her breasts were larger, fuller than he remembered. He cupped them gently. “They don’t hurt?”
“No. Sometimes they get a bit tight.”
He brushed his thumbs across her nipples. She shivered and moved her hips, her hands clenching on his shoulders.
“Would you rather I didn’t touch you there?” he asked.
“No, it’s okay… It feels…nice.”
When he first found out she’d had a baby, he’d wondered what it would be like to make love with a new mother, how she would be able to put aside the changes to her body and still feel—and be—sexy. But although her slender body had changed a little, softening and rounding, she was still beautiful, and he had the same urge to pleasure her that he’d had in Prague, the same desire to love her, and be loved by her.
He bent his head and kissed her breasts, then circled her nipples with his tongue, enjoying her answering shudder. And then he returned his lips to hers, letting her move on top of him as he kissed her, waiting for her to relax and their bodies to realign.
When her movements grew more energetic and her breathing grew irregular, he held her tightly, moved to the end of the seat and stood.
She lifted her head to laugh, all anger gone. “What?”
“I want you to take you to bed,” he said huskily.
“Vanilla?” she teased. “Really, Dion.”
He smiled, but couldn’t put into words how he was so, so sorry for what he’d said about Harry, for hurting her feelings, and for walking away from her in Prague. And how he wanted her with him in the warmth and comfort and softness of the bed, how he wanted to take the time to love her properly.
So, still inside her, he carried her into his room and closed the door, opened the sliding doors to the deck outside, peeled back the duvet and lowered her onto the mattress. Then he moved her so they were lying side by side, her leg hooked across his hip, and took her in his arms.
He kissed her, his hands wandering over her, exploring the changes to her body. He would have liked to touch her breasts more, to lick and suck her nipples because that had turned her on before, but in spite of her reassurance, he wasn’t sure how she’d feel about it now she was feeding Harry.
How did women reconcile the fact that breasts served two separate purposes? And how did breasts know the difference between baby sucking and partner sucking? Presumably they didn’t, and he realised what that could mean. He’d thought it might turn him off, but in truth it fascinated him, turned him on even. But was that wr
ong? And what if she didn’t feel the same way, if it embarrassed her?
So instead he withdrew from her, smiling at her complaints, and stroked between her legs to arouse her, intrigued by what she’d been through, amazed that she seemed so different and yet so the same. Kissing her in between strokes, he spent time studying her face, making sure she was enjoying his touch, amused and pleased when she blushed under his hot gaze. And eventually he entered her again, sliding into her warm folds with an ease that made them both groan, and beginning to move inside her with a renewed, urgent passion.
She met him thrust for thrust, and he held her tightly to him as their hips moved, capturing her sighs with his mouth and trying to control his own desire to make sure she came with him. But she was too beautiful, too warm and soft, and his traitorous body wouldn’t wait. Heat rushed through him, and he stiffened and clutched hold of her as he came inside her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as she kissed him, unable to stop the words, even though he wasn’t sure what he was apologising for anymore.
Only as the pulses died down did she tighten around him, and he opened his eyes and watched as her orgasm swept over her. And only then did he finally realise the truth.
He loved her.
And maybe, just maybe, his father had been right.
Chapter Twenty-One
As Megan’s body relaxed from the intensity of the orgasm, she became aware her skin was sticking to Dion’s, both of them glowing in the humid warmth. He withdrew from her and she winced, a little sore from the unusual exercise, but the pleasure he’d given her more than made up for that.
They didn’t say anything because there wasn’t anything left to say, but he continued to plant soft butterfly kisses on her lips and cheeks as she began to doze, and even though her thighs were damp and she should really pay a visit to the bathroom, she couldn’t be bothered to get up, and soon faded into sleep.
She awoke when the front door closed in the distance and tiny feet thundered on the floorboards, and realised Sean and Gaby and the kids must be home.
Dion was asleep, sprawled on his back on the bed, naked to the waist, his legs tangled in the duvet. She admired him briefly, her eyes lingering on his young, strong body, overwhelmed with love. She wasn’t sure yet what was going to happen. He hadn’t dealt with his grief, and they had a lot to decide. But something had happened between them, something sensual and magical, and she wrapped herself in the resulting glow along with the bathrobe Sean had lent him as she quickly visited the bathroom, then went out into the living room.
While the toddlers sat on the sofa playing with their Christmas presents, Sean and Gaby were getting themselves a drink in the kitchen, talking to Harry where Gaby had placed him on the kitchen counter, but they looked over as she walked out.
“Hey, hey,” Sean said, taking in her appearance. “I’m guessing you found the perfect way to console him then?”
She gave him a wry look, went over to her son, unclipped him and lifted him out of the seat. “Hello, mummy’s boy.” She kissed his forehead. “Did you miss me?”
“Not at all,” Gaby said, lifting his tiny hand with her finger. “He loves his aunt Gaby, don’t you darling?”
Megan smiled. “Thanks.”
“No worries.” Gaby nodded toward the bedroom. “How is he?”
“Asleep. He’s pretty broken up.”
“But you guys are friends?”
Megan nodded and hesitated. “I think…I think we’re good. Well, we’re on the path anyway. We’ll have to see.” She remembered that Dion had yet to hold his son or even show any interest in him. Maybe he’d see the baby as an intruder into their relationship.
All of a sudden tiredness overwhelmed her. Her breasts were aching and Harry was squirming, so she knew he needed a feed. “I’m going back to bed. See you in the morning.”
“I’m glad you were there for him,” Sean said.
“Me too.”
“I changed Harry just before we left,” Gaby said. “Sleep well. And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Megan wasn’t sure if it was the kindness of her sister-in-law or all the emotion that brought a lump to her throat, but she gave Gaby a quick kiss on the cheek and left before she started crying again.
She went back into the bedroom and looked around. She’d thought there was a chair in there, but Sean must have moved it out to give Dion more room.
“Everything okay?” Dion sat up.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” She walked forward into the late evening sunlight that slanted across the bed.
“No, it’s okay.” He looked at the baby. “Sean and Gaby are back?”
“Yes.” She nibbled her lip. “Harry needs feeding. Shall I…um…go in the bathroom?”
He frowned. “Of course not.” He pulled the cover back. “Come on.”
She went to the bed and placed Harry down for a moment, slipped off the robe and climbed on with him.
“Is it all right if I lie down?” she said. “I’m tired.”
“Whatever’s best for you,” he said. He rolled onto his side toward her and propped his head on a hand.
She faced him, also lying on her side, and pulled Harry toward her, guiding his mouth to her breast. He suckled immediately, and she prepared herself for the sweet, sharp pain of the let-down reflex as the milk came. “Ouch.”
Dion reached out a hand and stroked her face. Then he dropped his hand to her other breast. She looked down and saw a bead of milk forming, her body responding to the baby’s hungry sucks.
Dion brushed her nipple, removing the bead with his thumb, and her face grew warm.
“Sorry,” she said automatically, even though she had no control over it. He hadn’t touched her breasts much while they made love, but she wasn’t sure whether that was because he was worried about hurting her, or whether the thought of touching them while they were also serving another function repulsed him.
But he said, “Don’t be,” and to her surprise, lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked off the moisture before returning his hand to the bed in front of him.
She swallowed, half-embarrassed, half-turned on by what he’d done. Was it wrong to be aroused by that? Breastfeeding was such an odd thing. Sensual rather than sexual. But it sometimes felt odd that she fed the baby with the part of her body that aroused her in bed. She’d wanted Dion to kiss her breasts more while they had sex but was too shy to ask. She had no idea what he thought about the changes in her body, and she’d worried what would happen if her nipples got confused.
But now he met her eyes, and she caught her breath at the warmth in his. It hadn’t turned him off. The thought made her glow.
They lay quietly, Harry feeding and making the odd sucking sound, his eyes drooping contentedly. His chubby little legs kicked occasionally, and at one point he waved his arms, his hand bumping Dion’s chin.
Megan stifled a giggle as Dion gave her a wry smile. Harry looked up at him, his big blue eyes fixed on the serious, slightly wary visage of the man above him.
And then, for the first time, Dion reached out a hand and gave Harry a finger to hold.
She looked down, not wanting him to observe the jubilation that swept through her. Play it cool, Megan. So she smoothed out the creases on Harry’s vest, pretending not to see Dion’s thumb stroking across Harry’s knuckles, and the way he straightened the baby’s fingers to inspect the tiny nails.
Still, she knew she had to act on the moment. Plus, she really needed to pee again.
She disengaged herself, wiped Harry’s chin and sat up. “I’m really sorry, I need the bathroom. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Dion’s eyebrows rose, but he just nodded.
She gave him the square of muslin she’d brought with her. “In case of spillage.” And then, heart racing, she left the room and closed the bathroom door behind her, abandoning the males in her life to their fate.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dion stared at the baby.
The baby stared
back.
Dion looked up hastily at the bathroom door, hoping Megan wouldn’t be long. Babies made him uneasy, and being left alone with one made him extremely nervous. What if the boy wanted something?
He sometimes thought he could almost imagine having an older child, eleven or twelve maybe, that he could throw a rugby ball around with or take fishing. But babies and toddlers left him cold, and he’d never understood what all the fuss was about.
Harry curled up his legs and for the first time screwed his face up and mewled.
“Crap.” Panic rose inside Dion. He raised his voice. “Megan?”
“I won’t be a minute.” Her voice filtered through the closed door.
Harry scrunched his nose and began to cry.
“He’s crying,” Dion called.
“I can hear him.” Megan sounded amused. “Seriously Dion, I just need a minute. He’s probably got wind. Put him over your shoulder.”
Dion sat up, exasperated, and glared down at the baby. Harry’s big blue eyes focussed on him, real tears forming and leaking out of the corners.
Dion gave in. “Okay, okay.” Grumbling under his breath, he got off the bed, pulled on his boxers and walked around to the other side. Harry was crying properly now.
As he’d seen Megan do, Dion put the square of muslin over his shoulder. Then he leaned forward, slipped his hands under the baby’s armpits and lifted him awkwardly to his shoulder to rest there.
Now what? He walked up and down and bounced a little, but the baby continued to cry. Frustration welled inside him. He was useless at this sort of thing. Being a dad didn’t naturally make you good at the job—he’d found that out from his own father.
He patted the baby on the back, trying to clamp down on his irritation at the grating cry. Babies do this, he reminded himself. It’s nothing to do with you.
Harry let out a gigantic burp.
“Jeez.” Dion looked at him in astonishment. “That came from your boots.”
Harry rested his cheek on Dion’s shoulder and began to suck his fist, and the room fell quiet.
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