He closed his eyes, his body stirring with the memory. So beautiful. So shocking. Completely unexpected. The fact that she would treat him like that, initiate it and enjoy it, left him shattered inside. She would forever be inside of him. Every preconceived notion he had about the intimacy between a man and woman was gone. She’d made him feel like a good man. A man worthy of an incredible woman.

Her body was close. He wrapped himself in the faint wild, exotic scent that was uniquely hers. Her body was as lush as her mouth—full, soft curves—a body a man could get lost in—would want to get lost in. He leaned down and pressed a kiss into her belly, right where his child was growing in her. A small miracle. Siena was the real miracle. She seemed to be able to accept him as he was. She hadn’t even told him to watch his language. She just . . . loved him. She hadn’t said it. She hadn’t used those words, but he felt it in every stroke of her tongue. As if that wasn’t enough, she’d given him more. She’d let him drift off to sleep, his mouth on her, his fingers in her.

A leopard chuffed just outside the door, and he stiffened. He was needed. He knew the morning was gone, along with most of the afternoon. He wanted to be alone with Siena, without the security team. Without the threats to her life. To his. He shook his head as he slowly, with great reluctance, pulled his thigh from between hers. He probably wouldn’t know what to do with normal. Without knowing every second of his existence, someone was plotting against him. That was normal, but he didn’t want that for Siena or his children.

The moment he moved, her arm tightened around him and she murmured a protest. His heart shifted. “Go back to sleep, mi amorcito,” he said softly.

Her long, feathery lashes lifted, and he found himself staring into the piercing emerald green of her eyes. “What’s wrong, honey?”

He knew his expression hadn’t changed. He didn’t blink. He simply stared down at this woman who so easily had taken his heart and soul. Still, she knew. His heart fluttered when she called him honey. He loved the way the word rolled off her tongue and the soft look in her eyes when she said it.

“Nothing for you to worry about, baby,” he said, and ran his finger over her nipple, watching it form a hard peak. Distracting her.

She shivered, drew in a breath, but sat up, shoving at the long hair neither of them had braided before they’d fallen asleep. “Tell me, Elijah.”

“I said not to worry about it,” he repeated. This time he used his rough, leopard voice, the one that no one defied.