The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011(150)

“I don’t know.”

“She was your foster sister, not your blood relative. You probably don’t even have the disease in your family.”

“But that’s the problem.” She spun away from the window, pain and fear etched on her face, in her eyes. “I don’t know. If it’s not that disease it could be any one of hundreds of others. Have you any idea of the number of genetic disorders people face every day? I have no idea about my background. Nothing. I don’t even know my real last name. I’m terrified I’m about to bring a child into this world only to watch it suffer like Andrea suffered!” Holly’s voice grew more frantic with each syllable.

So that’s why she’d started her own investigation. Suddenly it all made perfect sense. The wretched fear in her eyes ripped at Connor like a physical threat as the enormity of her dread became more real with every word. This was his baby they were talking about. His flesh and blood. The concept of bringing a child to life—a precious young life—then watching it slowly die while you stood helpless on the sidelines was as foreign as it was abhorrent to him. After watching her foster sister die no wonder she was so frightened, so opposed to bearing a child.

“The baby will be okay.” He forced the words out like a mantra. If he said it with enough strength, enough belief, it would be so. Fate wouldn’t be so fickle as to take another baby away from him. It wouldn’t dare. They’d undergo every test available to be sure.

To lend weight to his words, Connor stepped closer and deliberately cupped his hands on either side of her neck and drew her closer. Face-to-face. Her eyes were still awash with tears and a tiny frown furrowed between her eyebrows. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against the puckered skin.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Nothing will happen—to either of you. Trust me.”

“You can’t be sure of that. No one can.” Her voice wobbled with uncertainty.

“I protect what’s mine.” He rested his forehead against hers and slid one hand down to press gently against her lower abdomen. “And this is mine.”

“Andrea was my life. Don’t you understand? I don’t know how to go on. I can’t do this.” The plaintive cry in her voice struck him at his heart.

“You have to go on. One second … one minute … one day at a time. You’re alive. You have a new life growing inside you.” He spread his fingers possessively across her belly.

“It doesn’t seem real. I don’t want to believe it’s real.”

“Believe it, Holly. You. Me. The baby. Very real.”

Suddenly words were not enough. He needed to imprint the truth on her. To make her see, to feel, to finally understand, that to distance herself from their baby was useless. He tilted his head and captured her lips, teasing her mouth open, and swept his tongue inside—plundering, imprinting himself upon her. Need burned through him like a flash fire, and he slid his arms around her still-slender waist, pulling her closer until she lined up against the hardness of his body and the softness of her breasts pressed against him.

It wasn’t enough. A shudder rocked through her body as he kissed her, and a surge of triumph swelled from deep inside as her arms crept around him, her hands sliding up his back, her nails digging into his shoulders as he suckled on her tongue.

He reached for the buttons that fastened the front of her blouse, fumbling in his desperation to feel her without any barriers, to taste her creamy softness. As the panels swung free he reached behind to unfasten her bra and pushed the lace fabric up—groaning against her mouth with delight as her breasts filled his hands. He rubbed against her tightened nipples with the flats of his palms and felt her lips tremble beneath his.

“Too much,” she protested, her legs buckling. “I … feel … too much.”

Connor swept her into his arms, and in a few short strides laid her on the bed. Her skirt worked its way up around her hips as he settled his body gently between her legs feeling the cradle of her hips cup his sex. He’d read that her breasts might be more sensitive, that she might even recoil from his touch.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her nipple.

He twirled his tongue gently around the darkened aureole then blew gently and watched as it tightened and peaked even harder, goose bumps prickling on her pale skin. He repeated the movement, first warm and wet, then a soft cool breath, wrenching a sound from her that was half plea, half sigh. His lips teased into a smile as he shifted his attentions to her other nipple. She squirmed against him, pushing her hips up to strain against his erection and sending a shaft of desire so deep he had to halt his ministrations to catch himself, to slow down.