The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(80)

This was the Four Seasons, not a shack on a remote island.

I gave her a doubtful smile. “I better head home.”

And I’m taking my soft pig-in-a-blanket with me.

“Oh.” Her face fell.

“Lou,” I said gently.

“It’s just that … she’ll be there.”

“Comes with the territory of her living there.”

“Is it something I said?” she asked.

I thought about what she said about Frederick. About the sort of man he was. And couldn’t deny her the truth.

“Yes. When you told me about Frederick, I realized I could never offer you what he made you take for granted. I need to sort through things in my head.”

I slipped my hand over her waist and pulled her into me, kissing her lips.

“Take care now, Lou.”

“You too, Devvie.”




My head was still spinning when I got back home. My limbs heavy with the realization that I was apparently immune to all women in the world other than the one who didn’t want me.

I stomped my way upstairs, cursing myself for the millionth time that week that I couldn’t use the lift like a logical human being.

Once I was done detesting myself for my claustrophobia, I began despising myself for having a traitorous body. What on earth was wrong with it? In the past, I’d been able to get it up whenever the faint scent of a woman’s perfume wafted through the air. Now, my cock decided it had principles, feelings, and morals. Did it not get the memo that it was, in fact, a COCK? The least sophisticated organ in the human body, apart from the anus.

I shoved past the entrance door to a darkened, vast living room, kicking the fencing equipment by the door aside.

If Emmabelle was out again, working until late or being entertained by a male friend, I was going to … going to …

Do bloody nothing about it. I had no power over her.

Hope that month of shagging her was worth it, mate. Because this is your future.

Moving across the living room, I passed by her bedroom before retiring to my own bed.

Her door was ajar. To my great embarrassment, my entire body slackened with relief when I noticed the light inside was on.

Unable to resist myself, I stopped by the sliver of space separating both of us and watched her.

She was standing in front of an imperial full-length mirror.

Her hoodie was bunched up around her chest. Her stomach was bare. She cradled it in front of her reflection, staring at it in wonder.

My eyes trekked downward, doing the same.

For the first time, it was truly and undeniably obvious that Emmabelle Penrose was pregnant.

The hard, round shape of her belly could not be mistaken. It looked magnificent. So smooth and warm and full of a baby that belonged to us.

She was showing.

I closed my eyes, pressing my head against the wooden doorframe, drawing a breath.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, sometimes I want to devour you just to make sure no one else will have you.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

She turned around to the sound of my voice.

The love and wonder in her expression melted, replaced by a sly smile.

“I’m surprised Louisa let you off the leash tonight. Trouble in purgatory?”

Guess it was her version of the word paradise for us.

“Stop it,” I clipped.

“Stop what?” she cooed.

“Stop acting like a brat. Stop pushing me away. Stop ruining a perfectly good moment because you’re so scared of men you simply must torment them if they threaten to put a crack in your perfectly constructed wall.”

“All right, then.” Belle let her hoodie drop over her stomach.

“No.” I pushed myself off the doorframe and made my way to her, my stroll unhurried. “I want to see.”

Emmabelle opened her mouth—probably to tell me to go make a baby with Louisa if I was so interested in seeing a pregnant belly—but I managed to put a finger to her mouth before the words came out.

“It’s my child too.”

Silently, she pulled the hoodie up to her breasts.

I stood in front of her, gazing at the wonder that was her pregnant stomach.

“Can I touch?” My voice was unrecognizable to my own ears.

“Yeah.” Hers, I noticed, shook too. The air around us stood still, as if holding its breath too.

The tips of my fingers circled her stomach from both sides. It was hard as stone. We both looked down at her belly like we were waiting for something. A minute passed. Then two. Then five.

“I don’t want to let go,” I said.

“I don’t want you to let go,” she said quietly. We weren’t talking about her stomach anymore.

My eyes rode up to meet her gaze through our reflection in the mirror. “Then why are you doing everything in your power to drive me away?”

She shrugged, a helpless smile on her face. “That’s the way I’m wired.”

“It’s bullshit.”

“It’s still true.”

“Tell me what happened to you,” I demanded, for the millionth time, thinking about Frederick, the way he had peeled Louisa’s layers. Was I even close to shedding the first coat? How many more to go? And what in the bloody hell happened to this woman?