Modern Romance October 2019 Books 5-8. Annie West

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       CHAPTER SIX

      THE MEDITERRANEAN GLISTENED just beyond the window of his study. On the second floor of his mansion, and jutting out a little from the rest of the building, this workspace boasted panoramic views of the ocean. Leonidas braced his arms on the windowsill, staring out at it, his breath burning in his lungs, his head spinning as comprehension sledged into him from both sides.

      In Capri, he’d acted purely on instinct.

      His wife and child had died, but here was another woman, another child, and they weren’t Amy and Brax—they’d never be to him what Amy and Brax were—but they were still his responsibility.

      The fact he would never have chosen to become a father again was a moot point.

      She was pregnant.

      They were having a child—a daughter.

      His chest clutched and he slammed his eyes closed, the taste of adrenalin filling his mouth. A thousand and one memories tormented him from the inside out, like acid rushing through his veins.

      Amy, finding out she was pregnant. Amy, swelling with his child. Amy, uncomfortable. Amy, in labour. Amy, nursing their infant. Amy, watching Brax learn to walk. Amy, patiently reading to Brax, loving him, laughing at him.

      Amy.

      His eyes opened, bleakness in the depths of their obsidian centres.

      If sleeping with another woman was a betrayal of Amy, what then was this? Creating a whole new family, and bringing them to this island?

      He grunted, shaking his head, knowing that wasn’t fair. Amy would never have expected him to close himself off from life, from another relationship, another family.

      But Leonidas had sworn he would do exactly that.

      The idea of Hannah ever becoming anything to him besides this was anathema. Theirs was a marriage born of necessity, a marriage born of a need to protect his child, and the woman he’d made pregnant. It was a marriage of duty, that was all.

      Flint formed in his eyes, his resolution hardening.

      They would marry—there was no other option. Even if it weren’t for the possible threat to Hannah’s life, Leonidas acknowledged his ancient sense of honour would have forced him to propose, to insist upon marriage. Growing up in the shipwreck of his father’s marriages hadn’t undone the lessons his grandfather had taught him, nor the unity he’d seen in his grandparents’ marriage.

      Their child, their daughter, deserved to grow up with that same example. Hannah deserved to have support and assistance.

      And what else?

      His body tightened as he flashed back to the way he’d responded to her that night, the way desire had engulfed him like a tidal wave, drowning him in his need for her. The way he’d kissed her, his mouth taking possession of hers, his whole body firing with a desperate need to possess her, even when he’d spent the past five months telling himself their night together had been a mistake.

      It had been a mistake. It should never have happened, but it had, and, looking back, he didn’t think he could have stopped it. Not for all the money in all the world. There had been a force pulling him to her; the moment their bodies had collided he’d felt as though he’d been jolted back to life. He’d looked at her and felt a surge of need that had gone beyond logic and sense. It had been an ancient, incessant beating of a drum and ignoring it had not been an option.

      Perhaps it still wasn’t…