One-Night Heirs

CHAPTER EIGHT

SAINTSPOKEAS though he meant it, so Fliss smiled as though she believed him.

Besides, she was growing overwhelmed by his closeness. Her hand found its way to his chest without her realizing it. Her fingertips tucked themselves behind the placket of his shirt between two buttonholes, and she tugged him closer while she lifted her mouth.

His breath hissed in at her unhesitating invitation. His head dipped, and his firm lips angled across hers.

At first contact, a sensual jolt pulsed through her, so strong it made her groan at the sting of it. Who cared if her life was destroyed by this? Touching him was life. He was hot and dynamic and pulsing with energy that shimmered into her, making her feel surrounded and safe and more alive than she ever had.

For three long months, she had been waiting to feel this way again, convinced she never would, but now she was back in this wondrous place where his lips moved over hers with controlled mastery. His palm slid up her arm to the back of her neck, cupping her head while he deepened the kiss at an achingly slow pace.

It was both soothing and inciting. Frustrating. Urgency was rising in her, making her run her hands around to his back so she could pull herself tighter against him.

“I was an animal last time,” Saint said, drifting his kiss to her cheek and brow. “You should have told me how long it had been. I would have been more careful.”

“I liked it.” He’d made her feel irresistible, and she wanted that rush again, maybe to reassure herself it was still there. Or that she held some of the power over him that he had implied, but even though she arched to press her pelvis into the stiffness behind his fly, he only made a sound of gratification and dragged at her hair so he could nuzzle his mouth against her throat.

“I’ve thought about you a lot. About that night.” His free hand skimmed the side of her breast, then climbed beneath the fall of her T-shirt to trace patterns against her waist and lower back, showering her with tingling sensations. “About all the things I would do with you if I ever got the chance again.” His hot words stimulated the hollow beneath her ear and stirred the fine hairs at her hairline. “The list is long, Fliss. Very, very long.”

She was hearing him on a subliminal level, all her senses drawing tight with anticipation while he only teased her with the brush of his lips on her throat and the unhurried movement of his hand creeping higher and higher toward her breast. By the time his thumb traced the under-band of her bra, she was trembling.

But Fliss had the wherewithal to say, “Don’t wreck it. I made it.”

He lifted his head. “This?” His clever fingers grew more exploratory, making her wriggle when his tickling touch went into her armpit.

“Yes. And you ripped the knickers I made—”

“I wanted to keep them, they were so sexy. Let me see.” He took hold of the hem of her T-shirt, forcing her to raise her arms, then skimmed it off and away. His gaze glittered with approval as he took in the jewel-colored scraps of silk, silver lace and black satin straps. “You made this?”

“I had to. I’ve already gone up a cup size.”

“Hell yes, you have.”

“Don’t look too closely.” Fliss touched a tiny wrinkle in the lace edging. “It’s full of mistakes. Lingerie is very finicky and unforgiving.”

“I’m looking very closely and all I see is perfection,” he assured her in a throaty voice. “You should make nothing but lingerie. This is...” Saint slid his finger under the strap where it came over the top of her shoulder. It connected to an eyelet that supported a split strap that framed the upper swells of her breasts in bold triangles before connecting to either side of the balconette cups. He swallowed. “Magnificent.”

The feathery trace of his touch was making her breasts tingle and swell. They ached, but even though she drew a breath and shifted, he showed no mercy. His thumb grazed the point of her nipple where it was lifting the amethyst silk.

She didn’t realize she’d made a throaty noise until he paused. “Hurt?”

“No. It feels really good.” Everything about his hands on her felt really, really good.

A satisfied rumble sounded in his throat. He brushed the strap off her shoulder, then scooped his hand inside the cup to dislodge it. His head ducked and he licked at her nipple, teasing, blowing softly, before he opened his mouth to take the tip deeply into the wet heat of his mouth. He sucked until she was standing on her tiptoes, fist knotted in his hair.

When Saint straightened, his eyes were glazed with lust. He checked in with her very briefly before he freed her other breast and bent her over his arm. He ravished the other one just as thoroughly, sending runnels of heat into her loins and making her cling and arch higher into his mouth and gasp his name.

He didn’t let up. No, he pushed his hand into her jeans and knickers and discovered exactly how profound an effect he was having on her. She groaned with aching delight as the restriction of her clothes firmed his touch against her folds. His finger probed, and the plane of his palm sat implacably against the pulsing knot of nerves that had been waiting for this. For him.

“Saint.” She was so aroused she was begging, bowed in supplication, lifting her hips to deepen his penetration, trying to increase the friction.

He fluttered his tongue against her nipple, and she lost it. Climax rippled through her, deep and satisfying, tearing a cry from her throat. If he hadn’t held her so firmly, she would have fallen down as she fell apart. It was terrifying and exalting and left her so shaken she was still quivering when he removed his hand from her jeans and eased her onto the bed.

“I thought my memory had exaggerated how responsive you are,” he said in a rasp. “Are you sure this is okay? I didn’t expect you to come so hard and fast.” He opened his hand across her abdomen where her muscles were still twitching in the aftermath.

He didn’t look that worried. He looked kind of smug.

“It’s very okay,” she said shakily, opening her jeans and lifting her hips to push them down and off with the rest of her remaining clothes.

Saint straightened to yank at his own shirt and pants, his impatience flattering. His erection sprang forth. All of him was like burnished oak, carved and sanded into smooth planes and lovingly accentuated details. He swept his hand across his torso as he looked at her, then slid his hand down, taking hold of himself in a tight fist, expression tense with carnal hunger. He reached for the night table drawer.

“You don’t need a condom,” she reminded him. “Unless there are other issues? I had a full screen as part of my checkup.”

“I was tested...” He frowned in recollection. “It was right before I left for London for the gala. There hasn’t been anyone else since. I’ve never had sex without a condom, though.”

“Me, neither. We’re both virgins.” Fliss sat up to draw the blankets down so she could get under them but paused to ask with false concern, “Do you think we should discuss it first? With a responsible adult we trust?”

“Like who? The pilot?” He threw the covers away and loomed over her, nipping at her lips with his own as he pressed her to the mattress. “Damn, but I’ve been wanting this.”

“I thought about you a lot, too,” she confessed in a whisper, stroking her hands down his strong back and over his firm buttocks.

Somehow, he made her feel both delicate and vulnerable but safe. He was proprietary in the way he inserted his legs between hers, effortlessly pushing hers open in a demonstration of how much strength he had—plenty enough to overpower her if he wanted to. But the way he kissed her was a coax.

Let me in. Come with me down this erotic path.

And he went down an erotic path of his own, one that took him over the hills of her breasts and across the field of her abdomen, then into the grove between her thighs.

“You don’t have to—” She was already aroused enough, but her voice turned to a moan of indulgence.

“I really do,” he said in a low voice, bringing his thumb into play with his tongue.

Fliss couldn’t talk after that. All her brain cells were fried by the lazy way he was pulling her toward orgasm again, coiling sensation upon sensation until she was at the tipping point.

“Not yet, lovely,” he said, lifting his head and stroking his thumb in the moisture of her folds, avoiding where she most needed to be caressed. “Wait for me.”

He set his teeth against her inner thigh just tight enough to threaten pain, then sucked a love bite onto her skin. The discomfort drew her back from the edge but made her sob in denial.

“Soon,” he crooned, climbing his wicked mouth over the wobbling muscles of her belly and pausing to worship her breasts once more. The inferno in her loins grew to an ache she couldn’t bear.

“You’re mean,” she accused, so tense with need she thought she’d break in half.

“So mean,” he agreed, taking his time with departing from her nipples before he finally, finally rose over her and guided himself to the molten core of her. “I’m going to savor this,” he said in sinful warning. “But let me feel it, Fliss. Let me feel you come as many times as you can.”

She was still very much out of her league, she realized in those seconds. Not just at his mercy, but willing to do anything for him. For this, the press of his thick shape sinking into her primed, welcoming sheath. Glorious shivers of near climax sent hot-cold sensations across her skin. Her knees bent to hug his sides and her heels dug into his ass, pressing him deeper.

Saint began to move, slow and deep and powerful, and it was all she needed. She twisted beneath him as orgasm detonated within her. Wild noises left her. Breath and thought and any sense of self were all gone in those moments of pure pleasure. Pure being.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, sounding barely affected despite destroying her. He continued moving in those precise but leisurely thrusts. “Now another,” he commanded, hooking his arm behind her knee to increase the depth of his possession.

She gave him everything he asked for.

“I don’t want earrings,” Fliss murmured through the dark, hours later, when they were exhausted and damp and drifting off to sleep.

Saint had her spooned into his front. He roused slightly, his ingrained cynicism thinking, Here we go.

“What would you prefer?”

“Respect.” She sighed and snuggled deeper into his chest. Her hand slid to cover the one he had draped over her waist and grew heavy.

Seconds later, he could tell by the shallowness of her breathing that she was deeply asleep, but he was wide awake, blinking into the darkness, aware of the white noise of the plane’s engines and an itch against his conscience.

He had told her he was a generous person, and he was, in a material sense. He could afford to be. But it could actually be argued that it wasn’t generosity when the cost to him was very low. On a more emotional level, he was much more miserly. He had built thick, jaded boundaries around himself. Any respect he offered was conditional. Tentative. Everyone would disappoint him eventually. It was not a matter of if but when.

Fliss was authentically generous, though. Considering how she’d been treated in the past and then Saint’s neglect of her when she’d been attacked by the press, she would have been within her rights to help him exit the plane without a parachute. It made her openness and lack of inhibition in this bed even more of a gift.

The abuse she’d suffered—and yes, it was abuse—incensed him. On top of that, he was disturbed to realize how little experience she really had with relationships. She needed more than respect. She needed to be handled with tenderness.

He didn’t have a capacity for that. Inadequacy chipped at him as he recognized how he was likely to disappoint her. In his mind, the baby had been the one who needed his protection. Fliss would provide the love their child needed, and Saint would try not to be the same sort of cold bastard his own father had been. Somehow, they would rear a contributing member of society.

Fliss was more vulnerable than he’d realized, though. It was hitting him that she would need more from him than orgasms and an introduction to some top designers. She would need things he might not have within him to give.

Maybe he shouldn’t marry her. He might’ve regarded love as a drug that wore off and left you with a horrific hangover, but she seemed to believe in it. She’d thought his parents should have divorced so they could find it.

That meant that at some point, she might expect him to let her go so she could marry someone else who—

The clench of rejection was so strong inside him, he twitched, causing her to drew a small, startled breath.

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep,” he whispered, securing her closer while pressing a kiss to the point of her shoulder.

She sighed and relaxed, but he lay awake a little longer, pondering that soar of feral possessiveness in him. Why? It wasn’t about the baby. It wasn’t even about sex.

Although sex with her was next level. And bareback sex? He would revel in that as much as she was up for. Still, as powerful as his orgasms were, that wasn’t the only reason he was obsessed with her. He’d been preoccupied with her from the time he’d left her in London three months ago, thinking about her daily. He had read the gossip stories to know where she had turned up—needing to know she was alive at least. He had wanted to know if she was reading her cards and communing with her grandmother.

He had wanted to know how much of what she’d shown him of herself was real.

That was an uneasy admission. Especially because she was literally in his arms, in his bed, and he was so sexually gratified he ought to be catatonic, but there was a nagging sense of tenuousness keeping him awake.

Every relationship ran its course, whether it was a friendship or someone he hired or a liaison with a woman. He was always aware the association would end, even in the earliest stages of meeting someone new. He could see it as clearly as he saw the person he was meeting.

With Fliss, he hadn’t seen the end. He hadn’t had time in that initial flurry of lovemaking. Then he’d tried to force the ending, which had sat crooked inside him until he’d seen her again. He still couldn’t see the day when they would part for good.

Because of the baby, obviously. Their child would keep her in his life forever, no matter what happened between them.

That was a strange, new concept. The only lifetime relationships he had were with his parents, and those were thorny as hell.

Was that why he always foresaw an end point? Because he liked walking away from people when things got difficult?

It was better than the alternative—sticking it out to stick it to the other person. Wasn’t it?

Saint was still thinking about that the following day, when he left Fliss in Willow’s capable hands at his New York penthouse and entered the boardroom. He was using a tablet to bring the remote board members into the meeting when his father arrived.

“You’re on time at least,” Ted Montgomery muttered. “Why are you doing that? Where’s your assistant?”

“Good God, Dad. If I’m not capable of connecting a video chat, I have no business working here, do I?” He said into the microphone, “Can everyone hear me? Shall I start the presentation?”

“We’ve all seen the slides,” his father dismissed. “I’m more interested in why you hared off to London. It wasn’t in your schedule two days ago.”

“I was rearranging some things so we can have dinner with Mother tonight.”

“We?”

“It’s been added to your calendar.”

His father’s cheek ticked. “What does she want?”

“I called it. One way or another, we’ll need to debrief on what happens today.” Saint was being deliberately cryptic as he held his father’s challenging gaze.

On their way out of London, Saint had had a private nurse take samples for a lab. The paternity results ought to be available by the time he sat down with his parents tonight. Before he shared that news, he wanted to know where he stood at Grayscale.

“Shall we get to the vote?” he asked.

His father made an impatient noise and sat, then flicked his hand at the CFO to speak.

“Order champagne tonight,” the CFO said with her warmest smile. “We wouldn’t have asked you to the meeting if we weren’t prepared to back you. We’re particularly pleased to see how you have shifted the conversation around your personal life. This gives us the confidence that when the time comes, you’ll lead Grayscale well into the future.” She cut a careful glance toward Ted. “Until that time, we see the value in this new direction you’re taking. I move that we support Saint’s proposal.”

“Second,” someone murmured.

The vote was carried and the approval minuted.

“Excellent. No backsies, right?” Saint directed that to his father.

“I’ll have Xanthe draft a press release,” the CFO assured him. “It will go out this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Satisfaction and a rush of pure adrenaline for the challenge washed through him. Saint had done so much preliminary work in anticipation of this, he only needed to open the gates and let the horses loose.

His usual single-mindedness was fractured, though. Weirdly, his first instinct was to call Fliss and tell her I did it, even though he’d only given her the bare bones of what he’d hoped to accomplish this morning. He had never been one to brag, having learned as a child that there was no point. His father took an attitude that excellence was the bare minimum. He had never been proud of anything his son had done.

Ted would be livid tonight, which was why Saint deliberately kept any mention of Fliss and her new place in his life to himself. It was dirty pool, but once the board’s support of his project was publicized, it would be a lot harder for them to reverse course.

It would be hard for his father to reverse course once he learned about the baby, but even if it all went to hell in a handbasket...

Saint would hate that. He really would, but Fliss and the baby were his priority now—which was such a lurching departure from his usual way of thinking, he didn’t know how to feel about it.

He shook hands with each of the board members, accepting their congratulations as he left them to finish their quarterly meeting.

His father only gave him a curt nod, saying dismissively, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Fliss couldn’t decide if she was Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella.

She’d been half-asleep when they had landed and driven into the city last night. Saint had shown her around his cavernous penthouse before they’d gone back to bed, but she hadn’t fully appreciated his home until she’d woken to the sunshine pouring in on her.

Situated eighty floors into the sky, it was two stories wrapped in an arc of glass offering panoramic views of the Hudson River, New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. She descended what looked like a glass staircase to the main floor, where a color scheme of slate and midnight blue and quiet cream welcomed her. All of his furniture was modern with rounded corners and long, flowing lines. The floors were marble and hardwood, and the area rugs were so exquisite they had to be handloomed. The contemporary abstracts on the walls were by names she didn’t recognize but would look up later.

She and Saint hadn’t spoken much. It had still been early, so they’d made love, eaten breakfast, showered, and then he’d dressed in a suit, telling her he had an important meeting with the board this morning. It was a special project that had been derailed by the bad publicity after their initial affair.

Fliss had grown uneasy, deducing that her presence, and pregnancy, could impact his aspirations again.

“There’s still time to...not do this,” she’d reminded him.

He had turned from the mirror, his tie still dangling loosely from his upturned collar, the top button of his shirt not yet closed. She’d been barefoot in her cotton pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt without a bra.

“Do you want to not do this?” His gaze had flicked to the bed they’d used with enthusiasm.

“I want to do this.” She’d pointed at the floor. “Be in this room and never leave. I don’t want to do that.” She’d waved at the windows. “Be out there as a thing that strangers can judge.”

“Good news. Your wish is granted.” He’d come across to drop a kiss onto her lips that had been seductive enough that she’d leaned into it, encouraging him to linger. He’d drawn back with reluctance. “For the day, anyway. We’ll have dinner with my parents tonight, but it’s best if you stay inside until then. Do you mind?” He’d finished buttoning his shirt and expertly tied his tie without looking.

“Dinner? Tonight?” she’d cried. “Where? Here? Am I supposed to cook? What do I wear?”

“Wow. This is not an actual emergency. Take a breath. I’ve asked Willow—Ah. They’re here.” He’d pointed toward a muted ping that had sounded from a hidden speaker.

“Who’s here? Who’s Willow?”

“My executive assistant. Their pronouns are they/them. I’ll introduce you, then I have to go. Do you mind getting dressed?” His gaze had dropped to her chest. “I like seeing your nipples through your shirt, but I’m getting possessive about who else does.”

Her nipples had tightened in a responsive sting that had made her blush. He’d smirked.

She’d hurried to change while Saint had shrugged into his jacket and put on his shoes, then he’d led her down the stairs, saying, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” the well-dressed twenty-something had responded. They’d worn a very smart pinstriped suit and boots with a heel. They hadn’t batted an eyelash at Fliss, even though they’d known who she was because they’d said, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Corning. I’m Willow.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Fliss had shaken their hand, smiling uncertainly because even in jeans and a fresh T-shirt, with a bra, she’d felt very underdressed. “Please call me Fliss.”

“I’ll go to the office alone,” Saint had said to Willow. “I need you to stay and help Fliss get settled. First order of business is to find her an obstetrician.”

“Of course.” Willow had drawn a phone from the inside pocket of their suit jacket, again seeming completely unfazed. “My sister has a specialist she loves. Let me ask her for the number.”

“See if she has a stylist she likes, too.”

“For tonight?” Fliss had asked him.

“And the foreseeable future,” he’d replied, adding to Willow, “Someone stronger in procurement than opinions. Fliss knows what she wants. Make dinner reservations at that place my mother likes. Warn them that my father will be with us so they can have a steak on hand. I’ll text if I think of anything else.” He’d checked for his phone, then he’d dropped a kiss onto Fliss’s pouted mouth. “Willow is extremely trustworthy. You’re in good hands.”

Seconds later, he’d been gone and she’d been alone with the stranger.

“My sister,” Willow had said with a satisfied smile as their phone had pinged. “The office won’t be open yet, but I’ll set up a call to interview the doctor as soon as I can get through.”

“Thank you. Saint ordered breakfast.” Fliss had waved toward the kitchen where they had eaten at the island bar. She hadn’t put it away yet. “They must have thought we were a party of thirty. There are pastries and fruit medley for days. Would you like something?”

“I’ve eaten, thanks, but I’ll make myself a coffee.” Willow had gone to the industrial grade espresso maker behind the island. “Can I make one for you, too?”

“I prefer tea, but I’ve had enough for now. You don’t seem shocked that I’m here. Or that I...need a specialist.”

“I expect the unexpected, working for Saint.” Willow had reached unhesitatingly into the various cupboards, clearly familiar with the layout. “It’s funny because a lot of my days are very boring. He travels and leaves me with reports to analyze, or I’m picking up dry cleaning. I start to think I’m overpaid and underutilized, then he drops a jigsaw puzzle on the table and tells me to finish it by lunch.”

“Am I the jigsaw puzzle?” Fliss had guessed.

“You are. But I love puzzles,” Willow had said, lips tilted with amusement.

“Me, too. I used to do them with my granny.” Fliss had smiled. Maybe she didn’t need to be so intimidated by Willow and their ultra-efficient manner after all.

In truth, they got along like a house on fire. The stylist, Regina, was nice, too. The only hiccup occurred when Fliss balked at ordering more than a handful of items on top of the dress she had picked out for the evening.

She was used to making her own clothing or buying from consignment and altering or embellishing to make a piece her own. There was also the fact that whatever she bought today wouldn’t fit her for very long, which Willow picked up on, waiting until Regina had left to say, “Saint wants you to have everything you need for the foreseeable future. That includes maternity wear. If you’re not ready to tell Regina, we can work around it, but I’m confident she could source some items without revealing who they’re for.”

“I’ll think about it,” Fliss murmured, but she really wanted to keep her pregnancy under wraps for as long as possible, certain it would put her in the spotlight again.

By the time Regina returned with three racks of clothing and a metric crap ton of shoes, it was time for Fliss to get ready. Since her prep for the gala had failed to measure up to Saint’s usual crowd, she let Regina’s staff do her hair and makeup and even allowed Regina to alter her dress when she would normally do that herself.

She definitely felt like Cinderella when she was pronounced “ready” and made her way out of the spare bedroom and down the stairs.

Regina had leapt on Fliss’s appreciation for vintage styles with contemporary touches. She’d brought her a selection from an up-and-coming New York designer including this A-line style skirt in Mediterranean-blue satin with a black fitted bodice. It was off the shoulder while still being meet-the-parents modest. The sweetheart neckline made the most of her ample breasts while creating the illusion that she had a well-defined waist. Her shoes were a closed-toe Mary Jane with a medium heel.

Fliss felt like a screen legend from the black-and-white era but gripped the rail with tension as she came down, half fearing that Saint’s parents were here because she could hear him speaking.

He stopped mid-word when he saw her, saying into his phone, “My date is here. Forward that to my parents, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

He ended the call and came to the bottom of the stairs, trapping her on the bottom one so they were eye to eye.

She held her breath as he took in her hair, scooped into a simple twist, her red lips, her bare shoulders and cleavage, then came back up.

“So you do like my taste in earrings.”

“These aren’t the earrings?” She touched the very artistic scroll of blue-and-white stones. Regina had said they would go perfectly with her dress, so Fliss had assumed the other woman had picked them herself from some high-end costume jewelry.

“They are,” he confirmed, making her stomach feel funny.

“But you’re not giving them to me,” she protested. “I said I didn’t want any,” she reminded, wondering if this meant he’d rather give her sparkly rocks than respect or regard.

“I collected them on my way to Nottingham, so I already had them when you said you didn’t want them.” His face blanked into the remote expression that was so hard to read. “Would you rather not accept them?”

“They’re worth a fortune! It’s stressful to wear things this expensive.” The dress and shoes were already a lot to worry about. “Why do you want me to wear them?”

“Because you like them and they suit you?” he suggested pithily.

“It’s not because...”

“What?”

“Are you trying to prove something or... I don’t know,” she mumbled as she saw his expression darken.

“I don’t care about anyone’s opinion but yours. If you like them, then I want you to have them and wear them.”

“Thank you.” Fliss touched her lobes to ensure each earring was secure. Her stomach was full of snakes. “I feel like you’re mad at me now, and that wasn’t my intention. I’m just nervous.”

“I’m not mad,” he said in that acerbic voice. “Not at you. I’m only realizing that the earrings will be noticed and remarked on and that will make you self-conscious. I want you to be able to enjoy wearing a pair of damned earrings if you want to.”

“What an apt description. That’s what I’ll call them from now one. My damned earrings.”

Saint didn’t react, only stared at her.

“Sometimes my sense of humor is misplaced,” she admitted with a wrinkle of her nose.

“Now that you’ve found it, keep it,” he drawled, helping her down the final step. “It’ll help you get through dinner.”

“Because they’re going to hate me?” she asked with dread as they waited for the elevator.

“My father hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“And your mother?” she asked as they stepped into the elevator.

He sighed. “Mother has always believed her looks are her only asset. Dad has never given her credit for bringing more to their marriage than beauty. As such, she despises any sign of aging. The title of grandmother will be a knife to her heart.”

“Do we have to do this in public?” she asked as they exited and stepped into the waiting car.

“We do,” he said firmly.

The drive wasn’t far. The restaurant was smallish, obviously very exclusive given the way they were escorted from the curb up carpeted steps that were protected by a black awning lit by fairy lights. They were handed off to a middle-aged ma?tre d’ who had the air of someone who had made a career out of this work.

“Mr. Montgomery. Welcome. I just seated your parents. Please follow me.”

Saint had taken hold of Fliss’s hand as they’d left the car. He had to feel how clammy her palm was, but he forged the way, allowing her to trail behind him as they wound through the full tables. She tried not to crane her neck, even though she recognized a few celebrities. It was disconcerting to realize they were looking back, noticing Saint and maybe recognizing her from her photos.

She tried to focus on the clothes as a distraction, and it worked a little too well. She nearly crashed into Saint when he stopped walking. He steadied her as he brought her to stand beside him.

“Mom. Dad. I’d like you to meet Felicity.”

Fliss’s anxiety turned to the sort of morbid terror that came from facing something she knew wasn’t genuinely life-threatening but still turned her blood cold, like a giant spider.

The couple stole a moment to recover from their shock, then rose politely. Ted Montgomery was a peek at what Saint would look like in forty years—distinguished and even more stern, still wearing an aura of power that hadn’t diminished at all.

His mother was the source of his star power, though. Norma was easily fifteen years younger than her husband. Her figure was fit, not the least bit matronly. She wore a sequined drop-waist dress that glinted and shimmered in the candlelight. Her beauty would have been a standard blonde-and-blue-eyed variety if not for an intrinsic sparkle that might have dimmed with age, but it was still there, demanding she be noticed.

“How charming. Call me Norma,” his mother said, offering her hand in a very brief, weak shake. Her cool gaze skimmed down, taking in every detail of Fliss’s appearance, including coming back to the earrings before transferring a silent question toward Saint.

“Ted.” His father didn’t offer to shake hands. He moved to help Norma with her chair.

“A bottle of Dom,” Saint said to the hovering ma?tre d’ as he held Fliss’s chair.

She sank gratefully into it, knees weak. Her throat had constricted so tightly she felt as though she sipped oxygen through a straw.

“This is why you went to London?” Ted asked with only a flickering glance toward Fliss before shifting his glare back to his son. “You didn’t say a word about her in our meeting this morning.”

“I was waiting on an email that I’ve forwarded to both of you,” Saint said blithely. “You can read it later, but the important piece is that you’re being informed of our happy news at the same time. I’m not playing favorites.”

“Hap—Saint.” His mother’s voice was a gust of betrayal.

“There’s no dispute?” His father reached for his phone.

“None,” Saint assured him. “I sent it to Elijah so he can begin making adjustments to my will.”

Ted sent her a look that was both accusation and disgust. His mother’s eyes gleamed with angry tears.

“Wow,” Fliss couldn’t help saying. “When you said your family dinners were a nightmare, you meant it.”

Shock slacked everyone’s jaws.

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” She facetiously touched her lips. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

Ted’s gaze narrowed. Norma’s gaze dropped, and her red face turned redder.

Saint sat back, angling to face her.

She’d gone too far, she knew she had, but she had her passport in her clutch and enough room on her credit card to get herself back to London. She could go straight to the airport from here. She didn’t have to put up with anyone treating her this way.

“As I said, I’d like you to meet Felicity,” Saint drawled. A glimmer of admiration stole into his expression as he continued looking at her. “How you feel about her is irrelevant. How you treat her is not.” He sat straight again, making a point of looking at both of his parents in turn. “If you drive her away, you drive me away, so think about the words that are coming out of your mouths.”

The bucket of champagne arrived with four crystal flutes.

Saint held up a finger to hit pause on the popping of the cork.

“Are we staying?” he asked them.