Baby for the Billionaire - By Maxine Sullivan Page 0,82
He caught her hand in his and drew her closer, keeping his voice low and reassuring. “CPS will notice if we’re not living as husband and wife. So will Sara and Mrs. Walters. Even Isabella will sense that something’s off. She’s too young to understand what, but I want her to feel safe and secure on every level. Having two parents who act like parents will help her do that.”
“We never discussed this aspect of our marriage,” she protested. “I assumed—”
He smiled. “You assumed wrong.”
“How far do you plan to take this?”
“Take what?”
She regarded him with naked apprehension. “Take our relationship.”
“As far as you let me,” he answered calmly.
“And if it’s not as far as you’d like?” she shot back.
“You draw the line, Annalise, wherever you want it. The real question is—” he snatched a quick kiss that had Isabella giggling “—what will you do when one of us steps over it?”
Dinner that night passed on wings, filled with laughter and delicious food, while the conversation flowed with surprising ease. It wasn’t until afterward that time slowed and stuttered. Much to Jack’s amusement, Annalise did her best to drag the evening out. Still dressed in their wedding finery—at Isabella’s insistence—they played games until bedtime, at which point Mrs. Walters came to collect his niece.
There was a moment of concern when she protested being escorted to bed, but Annalise stepped in with surprising firmness, and Isabella gave them a reluctant hug and kiss before retiring. The instant they were alone, Jack scooped his bride into his arms and carried her to their bedroom.
“This isn’t necessary,” she protested.
“Indulge me. It’s not every day a man marries.”
“Jack, please.”
“I intend to please you.”
He shouldered open the door to the master suite and stepped across the threshold before gently setting his bride on her feet. She stood, unmoving, examining her surrounds with a combination of curiosity and nervousness. He tried to see the room through her eyes.
The furnishings were sturdy pieces with clean, simple lines, stained to a deep golden sheen. They weren’t overwhelmingly masculine, yet they were a bit stark. The candles helped, giving the room a warm, welcoming glow. Sara had provided a few romantic touches of her own by scattering a pathway of ivory and blush pink rose petals from the doorway to the bed, as well as across the duvet covering the mattress. Two crystal flutes stood at the ready alongside a bottle of champagne that rested in a bucket of ice. He studied the scene with an uncertainty he’d never experienced in the business world, concerned about Annalise’s reaction.
For more years than Jack could count, he’d lived in an emotional wasteland. His father had been a cold bastard and still was, and he treated his son as little more than a commodity.
His mother had left him, though he didn’t doubt it had been against her will. Not that it had changed those lonely years of his childhood. And Joanne … God, how he missed her. He’d survived her loss, of course. Barely. But ever since his parents’ divorce, he’d learned to keep tight control over all aspects of his life. To hold people at a distance. He had no intention of ever being deserted, physically or emotionally, again.
As though sensing the dark direction of his thoughts, Annalise offered him a tentative smile. “This is lovely,” she said. “Like something out of a fairy tale.”
With the gift of one simple smile, warmth flooded through him and the cold and dark faded. This was his wife. His woman. It didn’t matter how or why they’d come to exchange those vows. In this moment, they belonged together and he’d do whatever necessary to make this night one she never forgot.
“I’m glad you like it.” He gestured toward the champagne. “Would you care for a glass?”
“I don’t drink,” she confessed.
He tilted his head to one side. Interesting, considering Derek’s report. “Not at all?”
Her mouth twisted. “I had a small run-in with alcohol when I was sixteen. It didn’t agree with me.”
“This might be a good time to confess that I already know about the incident.”
She froze. “How is that possible?” she asked carefully.
“I have an excellent PI. I had you checked out after I hired you. I believe he referred to it as a youthful indiscretion.” He attempted to interpret her reaction to his confession with only limited success. “Are you angry that I had you investigated?”
She drew a cautious breath. “I guess that depends on why you did it.”