Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(70)

His hand went to my belly, still flat. Soon it would be rounded.

Already a small life was growing inside.

Then he lifted my chin with his forefinger. “You’re my family,” he whispered.

He kissed me on the mouth, the chin, the hollow between my breasts. He kissed the curve of my belly with reverence. “Family,” he whispered again, his dark eyes meeting mine.

Then he quested lower, to where my flesh pulsed and slickened.

A single kiss at the core of my body, and then he was gone.

No longer between my legs.

No longer caressing my body.

I moaned in protest.

“Shh,” he murmured, pulling something up from the side of the bed. A small box, unmarked, a deep red. He held it out to me.

I opened it to reveal a necklace, a delicate chain of gold, the pendant some kind of shimmery stone. I touched the uneven surface, feeling a million tiny facets that reflected the afternoon light. There was a spare elegance, an effortless strength.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.

“A diamond,” he said gruffly.

My eyes widened. “Wow. Philip. I can’t…”

I looked back at the rough, opaque surface of the heavy rock. It wasn’t anything like the straight-edged, translucent stones I had seen in jewelry store commercials. This was hard and fierce and a little bit wild, carved out of nature and left in its natural state—a dirty little secret. No one would know what was inside here, unless they knew to look. Unless they dug deep.

It honored me, this gift—the curiosity that had brought us together.

And it reflected him as well, this man with so many facets, encased in a dark, glittering exterior. No one would know what was inside him. That would never change.

I knew what was inside him, and that was enough.