The Billionaire's Baby Bargain(44)

His gaze slid over her, smoldering with desire. But there was more, an unfamiliar gentleness and connection that took her breath away. “Ah, you are so lovely, cariño.”

He sank to his knees, clasping her hips lightly. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the tiny swell where their child grew, tracing her skin with his fingertips.

Chloe’s throat tightened with emotion and she stroked the softness of his thick black hair. The look of wonder on his face was so foreign to his features that a shuddering sigh fled past her lips.

Then Andrés moved lower, his lips burning a trail that led straight into the curls shielding her sex.

“Andrés,” she protested feebly, but he ignored her, delving fingers between her legs to explore the damp folds.

Soft moans escaped her when he stroked her, but when he leaned forward and kissed her most intimate place, she was lost. He leaned in to taste her, touch her. Chloe’s thighs shook and her pulse raced; each flick of his tongue sent her mind spinning with sensation.

When she could barely stand anymore, Andrés eased her down to the rug where the soft fur cushioned her back, then returned between her thighs, his mouth teasing her to hedonistic levels of sensation.

He pushed her over that cliff of pleasure until she was crying out and clutching the rug. And then Andrés moved swiftly between her legs, entering in one smooth thrust while her body still quaked from the aftermath of her release.

“Ah, why can’t I get enough of you?” He lanced his fingers with hers and began to ride her. “What have you done to me, Chloe?”

What had she done to him? Her heart ached with how much she wanted him to see her beyond the woman who carried his child. The woman who gave him pleasure in his bed. If only he saw her for whom she truly was—the woman who was already half in love with him. She closed her eyes, tightening her fingers around his. She lifted her hips to meet his every thrust.

Even though she’d already peaked, the pleasure built again. She gasped when he moved deeper inside her, arching her back to shatter into pieces once more.

“Chloe.” He called her name and then found his own release with a shuddering groan.

A moment later he rolled to his side, still keeping her in his arms. She snuggled against him, pressing her cheek against his damp chest and listening to the furious beating of his heart.

“It’s not you,” he murmured softly.

She frowned, still drowsy from their lovemaking, and tried to figure out what he was referencing. “What isn’t?”

“It’s not only you that I can’t love, Chloe.”

Her heart shattered at his words, and her blood that had pulsed hot became like ice. She tried to push him away, but he held her firmly in his grasp.

“I want you to understand,” he said huskily. “I want to tell you why.”

Chloe stilled in her attempt to escape, the air locking in her lungs. The realization that he was going to confide had everything within her taut with hope. She waited for him to continue, not daring to say anything in case he changed his mind.



“My parents’ relationship was not like what your parents had,” Andrés began cautiously. Was he really speaking of this aloud? He’d never told anyone of his childhood.

Chloe traced a finger over his chest, the movement putting him a bit more at ease. “How so?”

“They married young and had me not long after. My father loved my mother more than anything. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for her.” His jaw tightened and he forced out the rest of the words. “But my mother fell out of love with him when she met another man. She left one day, simply went to the market and never returned.”

Chloe inhaled swiftly. “Oh, Andrés, I’m so sorry.”

His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I’m not finished. Nowhere near…” He closed his eyes and continued, trying to not let himself relive anything emotionally. Told the story as if it had happened to someone else. “My father was a broken man and could barely function, let alone take care of his child. He finally drank himself into an early grave.”

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

“Oh God.” She kissed his chest and hugged him tighter. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s not much to say. It is clear my parents didn’t love me enough. My mother not enough to stay, my father not enough to live.”

“But they must have loved you,” she started hesitantly, but he heard the doubt in her words. “Who raised you after your father died?”

“My father’s brother and his family,” he replied in a flat tone, always careful to keep it devoid of emotion. “They were wealthy and had much money to spare, but no love. Any affection they had was invested back into their own child, who was several years older than me. The only time I was paid attention to was when they found a reason to hit me. To tell me that I would amount to nothing…remind me that nobody had ever loved me and nobody ever would.”