He’d given her so much over the past week. Shown her what her passion could be like when she wasn’t fighting it, when she could be herself and not worry about being demanding or loud or difficult. And she couldn’t deny that she very much wanted more of that for herself. She also wanted to give something to him in return.
So what did it matter if she felt a little uncertain and doubtful about continuing what they had in France when they got back to Haerton? There hadn’t been anything bad about it. No, it had been the opposite. So there was no reason to let those doubts stop her, and there was no reason to be afraid. And after all, it had been a long time since she’d felt as happy as she was when she was with him. She didn’t have to give it up, not yet.
“I’m not afraid,” Anna said quietly.
“Yes, you were. I could see it in your eyes.”
“I was shocked. That’s all.” She lifted a hand and touched the side of his face gently, his skin warm against her fingertips. “And yes, I want that too.”
Fire leapt in his eyes. “There will be no medical assistance when it comes to conceiving our child.”
“No,” she agreed. “There won’t.”
You want him so very much. It could become a problem. It could. But she wouldn’t let it. She might want him, but it was only sex. And sure, her experience with sex might be severely limited, but she knew her own mind. She knew her heart. And it wasn’t involved. So where would be the harm?
“We will conceive our son naturally,” he insisted, as if she’d argued with him. “You will be in my bed every night.”
There had been times on their honeymoon where he would get oddly intense and demanding like this. It was usually in bed, while they were having sex, and sometimes it felt as if he wanted something from her. Something she didn’t understand and didn’t know how to give. When that happened, she would open her arms and hold him, give herself up to him, and that would seem to satisfy him in the moment. But she had the sense that it wasn’t quite what he wanted. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips and she let them trail along the curve of his finely carved mouth.
“I will,” she agreed.
“Do not fight me on this.” His gaze burned. “I will have what I want.”
“I’m not fighting you, Cedric. I want what you want.” Finally his gaze flickered, the intense glow in his eyes easing. He turned his head, his lips brushing against her palm.
“Good.”
She thought he might lean down and kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he pushed himself away from her and strode down the length of the jet, taking out his phone and starting into a string of phone calls, pacing as he talked. He was agitated, that was clear, which was unusual. She was the one who usually paced, not him. Was it going home that was getting to him? The honeymoon ending? What?
She wanted to ask him, but he remained on the phone for the rest of the flight.
They landed in the early evening and Anna thought they might stay the night in his city penthouse before returning to Haerton in the morning. But it soon became plain that wasn’t the plan as he ushered them both into a waiting helicopter for another flight north.
It was raining and gloomy when they finally arrived at Haerton.
Cedric ushered her straight up the sweeping staircase from the entrance and to his bedroom. It was cosy and welcoming, especially with the late-evening snack that had been prepared and was sitting on the coffee table before the fire, a couple of armchairs standing in front of it. Cedric didn’t seem to be interested in the snack, though. His agitation hadn’t eased since they’d arrived back in the country. If anything it seemed to have got worse.
As a staff member put down the last of their luggage, he paced back and forth in front of the windows, his hands in his pockets, a taut expression on his face.
She recognised that expression. She was tired and it was late, and yet still it made her breath catch.
As the staff member closed the door after him, sure enough, Cedric turned from the windows and came straight for her. She was standing beside the bed and made no move to evade him as his hands settled on her hips and he drew her hard against his body. There was a strange, feral light in his eyes. Something was wrong.
She didn’t want to make his agitation worse, so she didn’t push him away, merely leaning into the hard, muscled heat of his torso instead, resting her hands on his chest. “What do you need?” she asked quietly.
“You.” The word was rough and hard. “Now.”
It was coming home, wasn’t it? Being here, in this house. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she could feel it in the tightness of his muscles and in the hard strength of his grip on her hips. He was so tense. It wasn’t the right time to ask, but she didn’t like that tension in him. It made her think that he was in pain, and she didn’t like that thought either.
“What’s wrong?” Anna asked.
He bared his teeth in what she thought was supposed to be a smile. “Nothing. Why would you think anything is wrong?”
“You’re very tense and restless. You have been ever since we left France,”
His fingers firmed on her hips. “Well, once you take your clothes off, I won’t be tense any more.”
Anna debated giving in, letting him work out whatever was bothering him in the privacy and comfort of that big four-poster bed. But some part of her balked. It wanted to know what the matter was, because this man was different to the quiet, thoughtful man he’d been back in France and it troubled her. If he was in pain, she wanted to help him. Wasn’t that what a wife did for her husband? She helped him when he was in pain and vice versa.
Except you’re not a real wife.