Expecting A Bolton Baby. Sarah M. Anderson
a wall and giving her no choice. Sort of like he’d done about ten minutes ago. And a lot like he wanted to do right now.
“It’s not a problem. But there’s still a lot we need to talk about. Right now, I only know a few things. I know that I met you eight weeks ago, that there was something between us—something good. I know that I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since then. I know that I’m glad to see you. I know that your father doesn’t know where you are and that we both want to keep it that way until we have a plan. I know you sew and make your own lace. But beyond that—”
He leaned forward, brushing the sharp angle of hair away from her cheekbone, marveling at the pale blush that sprang up wherever his fingertips touched. She could pretend that she was some sort of ice princess, but he knew better. Buried beneath her cold detachment was a woman whose blood ran as hot as his did.
“Beyond that, I don’t know you like I need to. That’s what I want to work on this weekend.”
This time, she didn’t look away, didn’t close her eyes. She met his gaze straight on. “What if it takes more than a weekend?”
If the baby was his, then they had all the time in the world. For Bolton men, family came first. Family was everything. Of course, he hadn’t quite figured out how that was going to work while he built a resort, produced a reality show and helped run a company.
That’s why he needed the weekend. That, and he wanted to keep her as close to him as possible.
He grinned and was rewarded with a smile that got so, so close to wicked. “Then we’ll make a damn good start.”
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