She felt the burn of his mouth now, working at her skin, branding her. He invaded her space casually, as if she belonged to him. His hands on her body always felt intimate. He touched her the moment he was close to her. He had in the hospital, and he certainly was now. She knew she should put a stop to it, for the sake of self-preservation alone, but she couldn’t help herself. She told herself it didn’t matter, that she wasn’t committing to anything, she just wasn’t up to fighting with him. The truth was much more complicated, but she refused to think about it too much.

“No, you didn’t.” She had to deny that. She couldn’t let it go. If it was the truth, he was even more of a danger to her than she thought, and she thought he was a huge red flag. She needed to put the brakes on, but he kept doing things like sliding his tongue just behind her ear so that small little flames danced in her bloodstream.

“I did, mi amor.” His hands were back at her hair, dividing the mass into three sections. “Your braid is as thick as my arm, Siena. Can you imagine what our child is going to have in the way of hair? Mine is thick, and yours is even thicker.”

She stiffened at the mention of her baby, one hand automatically dropping down protectively. “You can’t talk about that. Not yet. I just can’t go there.” Elijah was right though—any child they had together would have a mass of hair. His was nearly as wild as hers.

There was silence. His hands stilled in her hair. She pressed her lips together and then looked over her shoulder at him. She couldn’t read his expression.

“Elijah?”

He frowned, his dark eyes forcing her gaze to remain on his. “I guess I never asked you if you wanted the baby. I was happy we were having a child, so much so that I never once considered you might not want it.”

She pressed her hand tighter against her stomach, as if she could shield the baby from the conversation. She didn’t know how she felt, or how to react.

“Siena, talk to me. Be honest. This is important.”

There was that note in his voice. A warning. Something lethal. She found herself shivering. She had the feeling that he would put a manacle around her ankle and hold her prisoner if she said she was considering getting rid of their child. Their child. That was the problem. Not the baby. She sighed. Elijah was right. They had to talk about it, and he deserved the truth. He was the father, there was no denying that fact.

“I want the baby,” she admitted.