Her Forgotten Lover's Heir. Annie West

she needed to understand.

      So she didn’t blurt out the news of the baby. She had no idea how he’d react. Would he be thrilled? Maybe they’d been trying for a while. Or would it be unexpected? No, definitely better to wait a little longer before throwing that news at her husband as well. For now they had enough to deal with.

      Which was why Molly didn’t demur when Pietro showed her to a gorgeous bedroom, asked again if she needed anything then left, closing the door behind him. For a moment, maybe two, she’d wondered if he’d stay with her, fold her in his arms and take her to bed, not for sex, but for a long overdue cuddle.

      Of course she wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t. He was being careful of her boundaries, aware that to her he was a complete unknown.

      Yet in her heart of hearts Molly longed for the comfort of his embrace.

      She slipped out of her shoes and wriggled her toes in the plush softness of the rug at this end of the room. At the far end the bed sat on a raised plinth with a gorgeous headboard of stylised roses climbing up a metal frame.

      Quickly Molly turned away. She was not going to think of Pietro on that broad bed. Or of herself naked and spread-eagled on the counterpane, her fingers gripping the headboard as a tall, dark-haired man settled between her thighs.

      Molly choked back a gasp of excitement mingled with shock.

      Was that a memory? Heat seared and her mouth tipped up in a grin as she thought of her returning memory beginning in the bedroom. But it wasn’t to be. It was simply a case of wishful thinking.

      Yet between her legs a pulse started up and her muscles softened.

       Simply from imagining Pietro in bed with her.

      How long had it been since they’d had sex? Had they been abstaining for some reason or did she have a naturally sensual nature?

      So many questions. So few facts. After she’d showered, she’d begin finding out more. This morning it had been enough to get away from the claustrophobia of the hospital and trust Pietro to bring her home.

      Soon she’d get more answers.

      Sighing, she crossed the floor and opened a door. Instead of the bathroom she found herself in a dressing room. Molly stopped, eyes widening, as she took in the luxurious space. Customised storage for shoes, bags, boots and hats. A deeply padded day-bed, presumably for reclining on while deciding what to wear. Racks of clothes in a multitude of colours and styles. Her dazed eyes took in a bright sundress and a tailored suit. There were dresses that sparkled and swept low towards the floor and skirts that flared or fell in straight lines.

      Slowly she pivoted, surveying the range of feminine clothes it would surely take months and months to wear. Had they, like the clothes she wore, been bought while she’d been in hospital? Was it all on loan while she decided which items she wanted? She’d have to talk with Pietro.

      But as she turned she discovered something else. There was no men’s clothing in the space.

      Frowning, Molly backed out and returned to the bedroom.

      There was another set of doors. But as she turned the handle she discovered they led out onto part of the roof terrace, made private by screens of green foliage that blocked it from the rest of the garden.

      Molly turned and crossed the room, her feet silent on the cool floor. She pushed open another door and there was a bathroom, an airy space full of exquisite creamy marble flecked with gold.

      Ignoring the call of the sunken tub, and the rain shower big enough for a small crowd, Molly spun round, surveying the bedroom.

      No more doors, which meant no walk-in closet for Pietro.

      Nor were there any signs of male habitation. There was nothing on the bedside tables, desk or even on the long sofa facing the bed.

      Pietro didn’t share this room with her.

      Which begged the question—exactly what sort of marriage did they have?