Baby for the Billionaire(148)
For an instant the emptiness in her arms roused an ache of separation and she felt a flare of anxiety that she might never hold Dylan again.
She shook off the foolish fancy.
There would be lots of time to spend with her baby. She would be here for every day of his life—she could watch him grow, reach out to the world, become a real, rounded person.
Marriage to Connor had ensured that.
And, in spite of their differences in the past, both of them were committed to making this unlikely marriage work.
It had to.
Not only for Dylan, but for them, too.
Pulling her dressing gown more tightly around her, Victoria crossed the room to the oak crib where Connor stood, his broad shoulders accentuated by the white dress shirt, his hips lean in dark pants. She leaned forward as he tucked Dylan in.
“He’s getting big. Must be devouring rubber bands.” Maternal pride filled her as she studied the length of the oblivious baby. “He’s going to be tall one day.”
Connor pulled up the patchwork Peter Rabbit quilt. “He’s still just a baby. So many hopes and dreams tied up in one little person.”
The words moved her. “You feel that way, too?”
He turned his head, and in the dim glow of the nursery lamp part of his face remained in shadow. “I love him.”
She hadn’t imagined Connor capable of love. He’d always seemed too remote, too self-sufficient. Yet clearly he loved Brett, and now he was telling her that he loved Dylan, too. The tender expression he wore as he glanced down at Dylan made Victoria feel all soft and molten inside.
Connor doesn’t talk much about himself, Brett had said earlier. Well, she’d just have to learn how to draw him out, Victoria decided. The man she’d just glimpsed would be worth finding.
Downstairs the overhead lights in the living room blazed, illuminating the sculpted lines of the wide deck outside and reflecting off the glistening surface of the swimming pool under the night sky beyond.
“What about a glass of champagne?” Connor offered, and Victoria nodded.
He pushed some buttons in a wall panel and the brightness in the room dimmed, immediately transforming the mood from stark sophistication to shadowed intimacy. Victoria came to a dead standstill in the middle of an exquisite kelim and cast him a wary glance.
The invitation had been for a toast, she’d thought—not a seduction.
He extracted a bottle of champagne from a fridge concealed in a mahogany wall unit and two long-stemmed glasses from a cubbyhole above, and came toward Victoria where she stood dithering. Giving her a glass, he took her free hand.
Immediately, conflicting sensations rushed through Victoria. Trepidation. Nerves. And something far too close to desire for her comfort. But instead of fighting to free her hand she let him lead her to the black leather couch, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
“I prefer to sit on the deck outside at night, but it’s a little fresh out there tonight.” Connor increased her confusion by sinking down beside her instead of choosing the matching couch on the other side of the Murano-glass coffee table. After he’d filled both glasses, he said, “We’re paying the price for those open blue skies earlier.”
Determined to keep the conversation neutral, she said, “I’m not surprised you spend a lot of time on the deck—the view of the bay is simply stunning.”
It had been one of the first things about the house to capture her attention—right then she’d seen what Connor had meant. With its hardwood floors, big spaces, wide lawns and sparkling pool, this was the ideal place for a boy to grow up.
“And we were fortunate with the glorious weather today,” she added when he made no move to touch her. Get a grip, she told herself. They had a deal. She relaxed enough to take a sip of her bubbly wine.
“To my bride.”
Victoria couldn’t read his expression. The subtle tension notched upward. She decided to take the toast at face value and raised her glass in return. “My groom.”
He scooted closer and clinked his glass to hers. A sharp ting rang out. They sipped … and over the rims of the glasses their eyes held.
A bolt of electricity sizzled between them.
Victoria tore her gaze from his.
His hand came up and wrenched the black bow tie from his throat, peeled open the top button of his shirt. Victoria’s breath caught as her attention honed in on the ripple of a pulse under the swarthy skin. She didn’t dare raise her eyes lest she meet his and be scorched by more shudders of desire.