Page 142 of King of Ashes
I can’t believe the asshole makes fun of my fucked situation––literally and metaphorically.
I dig my finger into his stone chest. Words elude me when I notice the warmth in his eyes, his feelings for me so clear that they unravel me, and I forget everything, including my anger.
He leans in and kisses my forehead as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Stop touching and kissing me. I don’t recall giving you permission.”
“I never needed it.”
I whip my chin to him. “You––”
“I don’t need it now either.”
I purse my lips, the vein in my temple throbbing. It’s a wonder my head doesn’t explode.
“Close your eyes,” he says in a gentle yet firm tone, compelling me.
“Anything else you’d like?” I ask, infusing as much annoyance as I can.
“Not at the moment.” He tugs a strand of hair behind my ear. “You need sleep.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mumble, “I need to escape you.”
He cocks his head, simply taking me in. “That won’t be possible for either of us, Zara.”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
He drapes a protective arm over my belly. “You’re my priority.”
I close my eyes, hoping he’ll shut his mouth and stop spewing so much bullshit and not because I feel tired.
His soft touch and his steady beating heart lull me to sleep, and oblivion catches me in its arms. I surrender only to wake up with my cheek resting on his chest, my palm next to it, and his hand caressing my hair.
I don’t know how long I napped, but I feel better, less cranky. That ends when my brain wakes up and reminds me where I am and who’s holding me.
I jerk up and he sighs, aware that the peace has evaporated.
The sun has moved some more to the west, and my stomach grumbles.
Without a single word, he goes inside, surely to fetch me something to eat.
It’s his mess, anyway. I am hungry and sleepy all the time because of him. At this rate, we won’t make it two weeks with my cravings.
“Just like your daddy,” I say, the softness in my voice surprising me. “My little demanding prince.”
I know it’s a boy; I feel it with every fiber of my being, and warmth spreads through me. I am going to be a mother.
I already am, and I keep fondling my belly, forgetting who fathered my small wonder.
“I hope you take after me,” I whisper. It would be too hard to see his mini-me.
Vian clears his throat, and it startles me, my hands palming my belly like a shield.
Please don’t see the truth.
“Can’t you announce yourself first?” I snap, my heart shooting up in my throat.
Keep it together, Zara. If I continue behaving jittery, he will discover my secret.
