There was something else in those depths, too—and it was infinitely more dangerous than his anger.
Desire.
Still.
She could feel it rolling over her body as sure as if it were his hands themselves.
A low ache began building right there. Right between her legs, deep and insistent, and only Malachi had ever made her feel it.
Good grief, she couldn’t trust herself around him for a moment.
The realisation was like a blow to the gut. If she went back to his apartment it would only amplify her haywire emotions that much more. Until they were completely out of control. Until she was.
Panic clutched at Saskia.
‘Stop the car,’ she muttered abruptly.
‘Sorry?’
‘I said, stop the car.’ She raised her voice, tapping on the glass between them and the driver. ‘I need some air.’
She was vaguely aware of Malachi dipping his head in confirmation before the car slowed. Stopped.
Saskia was out in an instant—but not fast enough to beat Malachi, who had materialised right by her side. He took their coats from his driver, who must have retrieved them from the cloakroom before they’d left the gala.
Why was she even surprised? Of course Malachi hadn’t left the event on a whim. The man never did anything on a whim. Except that long weekend with her, that was.
And now this baby.
Taking her arm, Malachi steered her to the riverside. The bracing air walloped her, mercifully knocking her out of her panic.
‘Not exactly the balmiest evening for a walk along the promenade.’ His tone was clipped. ‘But at least the wind has dropped.’
‘It’s invigorating,’ she lied, turning away from him and beginning to walk.
Anything was better than being pressed up to him within the confines of that car. Remembering the feel of his hands as they had explored every last millimetre of her body with such reverence. The heat from his breath as he had tracked down the column of her neck, leaving her shivering with desire and desperate for more. And the way he had moved between her legs, holding himself up and locking his eyes with hers before he surged into her, making her whole world explode in a riot of colours she’d never known before.
Had that first time been the moment the die had been cast? The moment her journey to pregnancy had begun? Or had that been later, in his apartment? On the couch or on the rug? In the swimming pool or in the bedroom? In his shower or in his bed?
He had claimed her over and over and over again, as if she were his.
She had actually felt like she was. For that one incredible weekend.
And then it had been over.
She’d made herself leave, sneaking out when he hadn’t been able to postpone a conference call for a fourth time, because she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be able to walk out through the door if he was watching her.
Over the last three months she’d told herself that she’d imagined the way it had been between them. That her memories had been blown out of proportion to all reality.
Now, with her body reacting in ways it had no business doing, Saskia was beginning to fear that her memories hadn’t even done reality justice.
‘Is this really where you want to talk?’
Malachi’s rich voice cut through her thoughts. She toyed with telling him that a part of her didn’t want to talk at all. But she knew that would be unwise. Either way, it was better here...where her body wasn’t so assaulted by memories.
‘There’s no one around.’ She shrugged, even as a faint shiver entered her voice.
She wouldn’t last long in this cold, wearing only what she had on. He would use that to his advantage.
‘So be it.’
They managed about fifty metres in silence, but if she’d been hoping the location might put him off then clearly she’d been mistaken.
‘Were you planning on telling me?’ he demanded, without preamble.
When she didn’t answer it appeared that he couldn’t stop himself from goading her—just a little.
‘Or was there some doubt in your head that it was mine?’
She lifted her eyes up to his dark, blazing ones. A sense of belated dignity was apparently struggling to make itself known.
‘Is yours.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Is,’ she repeated clearly. ‘Not was.’
‘My apologies.’ He didn’t look in the slightest bit apologetic.
‘And, for the record, I don’t make a habit of one-night stands,’ she managed stiffly, compelled to make the point even though it didn’t remotely answer his actual question. ‘I’ve slept with two people in my life. Andy was my first. You were my second.’
Another flash she couldn’t recognise went through his eyes, and another thread of taut silence wove its way around them, as if binding them tighter together even in the expanse of the promenade.
‘Is that so?’
She licked her lips.
‘It is. And I know I told you that already. Three months ago.’
He still didn’t answer, and she had to wonder whether her pedantry made her more of an idiot in his eyes or less. Either way, his intense glower did funny things to her insides. The way it had three months ago. And the way it had every time she’d thought of him since then.
Except that this was so much more...real. So much more potent.
‘You should have told me,’ he growled.
Yes, she should have. No matter how she ran events through her head, that simple fact was unmistakable.
Saskia paused. She wasn’t used to feeling so cautious, as though she was on the back foot. She prided herself on being confident, strong and bold. Ordinarily she would have brazened it out. But then ordinarily she wouldn’t have been facing off against Malachi.
Still, she tilted her head up boldly.
‘I know that it was a one-night stand. I understand that. And that this is an unforeseen consequence. But I want to keep my baby, and that’s my choice. It doesn’t have to be yours. Right here, right now, I’m officially releasing you from any responsibility.’
‘Is that so?’
His eyes glittered furiously, and it was all Saskia could do to hold her ground.
Not that she thought she was in any danger from Malachi—at least not physically. But emotionally...? That was a whole different concept.
It made her choose her next words very, very carefully. ‘I’m trying to be reasonable here,’ she offered at last, trying surreptitiously to take a step back.
He took a step closer to her. Just one, single step. But his stride was longer than hers anyway, and it was enough to force her to tip her head back to look up at him.
Enough for her entire traitorous body to leap in thrilled anticipation. Her hands actually itched to reach up and grab the material of his dark wool coat which had no business clinging to every ridge and muscle which she already knew lay beneath.
‘Reasonable?’ he echoed quietly. Too quietly. ‘Is that what you call it, zvyozdochka?’
‘It is.’
Her