Scandalously Expecting His Child

“I didn’t do that, either.” Before she made another comment, he raised his hand, his eyes reflecting his mirthless smile. “I won’t tell you how I arrived before you, or how I came in, so save your breath. I’m through sharing secrets with you. And you’re finding out no more on your own, either.”

She held his gaze. Before she melted into a puddle at his feet, she said, “I bet you didn’t sample any of Hiro’s first-class sushi or sip his fine shochu. I didn’t.”

His eyes widened at her sharp detour. Before he could adjust, she turned and crossed to her kitchen.

Once there, she looked back over her shoulder. “Seems this is going to be a long night. Want to eat something?”

* * *

Raiden watched the one woman he’d been truly intimate with sashay away in that stranger’s body.

And his own body roared in unremitting rage...and hunger.

She’d walked away earlier saying, “Forget all about me again.” As if he’d ever forgotten about her at all.

But it had been the sane thing to do, to heed her advice. To go back to the ball and his fiancée, to his plans and life, and forget that she existed. Because she in fact never did. Her current identity was just another fictitious figment that would disappear without a trace soon enough, once she’d gotten whatever she was after here. She’d done it once before when he’d been of no further use to her.

But there was nothing sane about what she made him feel. Never had been, and, it was clear by now, never would be. Renewed exposure to her had caused the fever in his blood to relapse as if it had never subsided at all. As it never had.

The need to have it all out with her ate through his restraint. He’d only ever had speculations about her, didn’t have a single fact to quench the maddening thirst to know the truth.

But if he and his brothers had wiped their pasts and created new, perfectly verifiable identities, she’d far surpassed their combined undercover prowess. What they’d done only once, she’d done so many times she seemed to have never had an original identity.

As for their time together, which had scarred him in a way not even his nightmarish existence before it had managed to, he had only theories, no real answers to satisfy the gnawing uncertainty that never stopped asking how. Why?

Now he needed to know the truth.

Though he was certain she’d kept her end of the bargain, since there’d been no hint of suspicion in his identity, he needed to know everything to guard against any breach like hers ever happening again.

Or that was what he’d told himself as he’d torn his way over here. That it was a necessity, a prophylactic measure.

Slow steps finally took him to the semi–open plan kitchen. He found her flitting around, her hair up in a wonderfully messy mass.

As soon as he entered, she looked over her shoulder again, nodding toward the island. “Pull up a chair. I won’t be long.”

He walked up to her instead, struggled not to pull her back against his aching body.

She continued to work with fast, precise movements, pausing only when he tucked a lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder back into her impromptu hairdo.

He bent, murmured in her ear, “Don’t you think it weird, with our history, for you to be inviting me to a meal?”

She straightened, continued to work with renewed zeal. “Why? I invited you to meals before.”

And he’d thought everything she’d served him had been ambrosia. “You were someone else then. Actually you weren’t someone at all, just a role. One that necessitated satisfying my every hunger to mollify me enough so you could dupe me. Which you did. No more reason for you to feed me.”

She flashed him another look over her shoulder that struck his heart like a bolt, before resuming work. “It’s the least I can do after I made a fifty-million-dollar-shaped hole in your pocket.”