The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,133
of his desire, and his underlying need to talk to her, he realized she was allowing him to kiss her, but she was holding herself back.
He didn’t blame her this time.
Panting with the need to have her, body and soul, and the determination that he couldn’t, not yet, he set her away from him. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I should have said what I came to say first. Without further ado, here it is. I hate that you deceived me. Because I hate what it means, that you didn’t trust me.”
She tried to speak but he couldn’t let her. “Please, don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. I can’t bear to hear it again.”
Her eyes glistened. He took that as his cue to move on. “You couldn’t have known how I felt about you because I didn’t tell you. I’m rectifying that mistake now, so it can never happen again. The day I married you, I made the best decision of my life. But it wasn’t the only decision I’ve made. I’ve made some downright poor ones.” He paused when she cracked a smile. “It’s my wish,” he said, “that I’ll be forgiven for those. I’m sorry I didn’t come home to you after I was released. I was despondent.” The next words were poised to lay his heart on the table. “I wish I could bring our son back, Elizabeth, but I can’t. I don’t want that defeat to be the end of us. I want to see you round with my child. I want—” He paused when her gray eyes welled with tears and her lips parted, again as if she meant to interrupt him. He set his finger across her lips, savoring the silkiness of her skin against his. “Three children. No, five. Six. However many we’re blessed with, Elizabeth. I love you. I want all of my children with you.”
She smiled widely and, pushing his hand away from her lips as she came onto her tiptoes, she kissed him. He held himself still as her arms encircled his neck. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself as he’d done before. But God, he wanted her.
Her warm lips caressed his gently before becoming more insistent. She pressed her body toward him until he stumbled back against a settee. When his calves brushed the furniture, she pushed him down until he sat. Then she climbed into his lap and looked into his eyes. “But you see, Constantine, you did get Oliver back. You didn’t fail me.”
Con looked at her in disbelief. All thought of having her warm and willing and on top of him deserted him. “What?”
She beamed. “Finn brought him back. He said Oliver deserved you almost equally; I suppose it was the way you refused to yield at the trial. There’s more to it, having to do with his wife’s sense of honor and a lengthy assignment for him in American seas, but ultimately, he said without your commitment to Oliver, he never would have considered such a thing as granting custody to me. You’re the reason he gave our son back.” Her soft gaze held his, so full of adoration and hope. “Constantine, I already loved you, but…you went to prison for me. A move so drastic, even Finn was brought around to the fact that you truly, truly love me. How can I not say yes to you and your seven babies?”
He grinned, feeling like he’d been put on this earth just to make her happy. He’d done it! They’d done it. “Seven?”
She widened her eyes innocently. “However many we’re blessed with.”
He eyed the square neckline of her gown. On the one hand, he wanted to run up to the nursery and reunite with his son. It figured that he’d never let himself dream that Oliver might be returned, even when it was clear now that she must have told him, for she’d spoken of little else but Oliver’s ever-increasing mischievousness since the first time she’d been to see Con—and why would she have done that, if not because she wanted Con to know what he had to live for?
On the other, she might have lost a stone during the last two months, but she was still round in all the right places. He glanced at the drawing room door, which stubbornly remained wide open. Not quite the right time, then, to consummate their marriage.
He kissed her anyway, threading his fingers through her hair to draw her lips closer to his. She moaned and relaxed against