Saint drew a breath that seared his lungs with fresh liability. She was too good at prying into him, forcing him to self-exam and see where he fell short.

“My relationships have always been superficial,” he admitted, rising in a restless attempt to dodge that spiky truth. “You weren’t wrong when you called me that. And, as you’ve discovered, my life can be taxing on those who get involved with me, even briefly. If I can reduce the criticism or soften the impact, I do.”

“With jewelry? Just admit you’re paying for sex, Saint. This is a safe space. No judgment.” She sounded facetious.

“I’m paying for the fact that I don’t offer much beyond sex,” he prevaricated. “I’m monogamous and materially generous, but I don’t fall in love. Emotions are grit in my teeth. That’s why I have the reputation I do, so no one expects grand gestures or heartfelt declarations.”

“You should be in sales. I can’t wait to overturn my life for that.”

“You’re doing it for our child.”

“Right. It’s not about me.” Her voice sounded tight.

“I’m aware of my limitations, Fliss. Now you are, too. We’re going into this with a much clearer vision than my parents had. My mother mistook passion for love and didn’t understand why it faded. You won’t have those sorts of unrealistic expectations of me.”

“And what would you expect of me?” she challenged, expression cantankerous.

“I’d like sex, but I don’t expect it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No—” She made an impatient noise. He didn’t think she could hug herself any harder without turning herself inside out. “According to the headlines, you’re looking to settle down with ‘someone who shares your values.’ That’s not me. I know that because it’s been three months without a word from you. You didn’t even ask me to continue that affair you claim to have wanted. Don’t—” She held up a stalling finger. “Don’t say you didn’t have my number. If you can get Delia Chevron’s personal number, you can get mine. You’re only here—” she pointed at the floor “—because I came to you. So don’t pretend you want me when what you really want is sex. If you want honesty between us, be honest about that.”

Saint rocked back on his heels, annoyed that she was such a pugnacious fighter but admiring how tough she was at the same time.

“My search for a wife is a smoke screen. I was generating too much unflattering publicity. The board refused to fund an important project until I was able to prove I take Grayscale and my future seriously. Much as I wanted to call you, I thought it was better to let the attention die down.”

“And your silence had nothing to do with finding out I was a lowly housemaid.” Her words dripped cynicism.

“The part where you were fired for theft concerned me,” he said with gravity. “Not the job you were doing at the time.”

Fliss dropped her gaze, not bothering to make more excuses.

“Now you be honest,” he commanded gruffly. “Would you have continued our affair if I’d asked?”

“I don’t know.” She was staring into a corner, profile tortured.

“Really?” The tension of expecting a blow came into his abdomen. “Do you not think of that night as often as I do?”

Her gaze swept to his, wide with exposure, then slid to the bed before snapping away. The flush of pink that came into her cheeks was so ripe with sensual reminiscence he had to fight a smug smile of gratification.

“Okay, then.” All he wanted in that moment was to crawl onto that narrow mattress with her and relive every single thing they’d done. Then start making new memories.

“What ‘okay’? No. All I’m hearing is that you need a trophy wife,” she blurted. “How do you expect an unplanned pregnancy with a scrounging housemaid will go over with your board?”

“Oh, they’ll treat it like a national holiday. There might even be a parade.”

“Gawd,” she cried softly and buried her face in her hands.

“Fliss.” He couldn’t resist going over to take her hands, forcing her to reveal all the uncertainty gripping her. “I’ve already thought through how I’ll handle it. And once everyone realizes I’m producing Theodore the Third, they’ll be very happy for us.”

She quirked her brow. “Is your real name Theodore?”

“Now you know my deep dark secret,” he said. “Why are you shaking your head? You think our baby is a girl? Gender is a construct.”

“Because you’re moving too fast, Saint Theodore.” She shook her hands free of his.

“Theodore Saint Garvey Montgomery,” he clarified. “And what about your experience with me makes you think I move any other way?”

“I thought you wanted a paternity test?” She paced back to the table. “Let’s both take a beat while we wait for the results. After that, if we decide to try—” her voice faltered “—living together, I’ll give notice at work.”

“Do you really doubt that I’m the father?” he asked with a frown.

“I thought you did.”

He chewed the corner of his mouth, thinking about the way she’d flinched when he’d said back at the hotel that he couldn’t take her word for it.

“My father will want one, but you and I need to be able to trust each other, so tell me the truth—I swear I won’t be angry. Is there someone else who could be the father?”

She flinched again, making him want to probe why, but after a moment of hesitation, she pressed her lips together and shook her head, conceding, “You’re the only person I’ve been with.”

“Good.” A strange sensation washed through him. It was something like relief and something like elation. It sank so deeply into him, it crept toward places he guarded very closely, threatening to get under the door.

“How is that good?” Fliss asked skeptically.

“You’re being honest with me. That’s very good.” He was side-stepping what she had really asked so he didn’t have to explain his inexplicable reaction. He was far more comfortable with stepping into action. “Now, you said yourself that you’ll be showing soon, so let’s get ahead of this. Come to New York with me, and we’ll let people see we’re in a relationship. We’ll announce the baby news when we can no longer hide it.” He took out his phone to text Willow. “What’s evening traffic like? Is it realistic that we could be at the airport in two hours?”

“No. I just finished bringing my things from London. I can’t pack up my life again in ten minutes. Where would I even put it?”

“I genuinely don’t understand the question.” He searched Fliss’s distressed expression, trying to see the problem. “I’ll pay the rent here until we find a place in London, then I’ll hire movers to bring all of this there. Pack what you want with you in New York, which I presume is that photo of Granny and your tarot cards. Text your employer that you quit. We’ll say goodbye to Mrs. Bhamra on the way out of town.”

Fliss was on Saint’s private jet before she had fully absorbed what she had agreed to do, but it was too late for all the qualms that piled on her with the climb in altitude.

This was the real fall from the Tower, she realized. She was literally in the air, the life she’d built, such as it was, falling away. She didn’t even have a job to go back to. She had a few hundred pounds in the bank and Mrs. Bhamra’s insistence that she should call if she needed anything.

As they reached cruising altitude, the flight attendant offered drinks and asked if they would like her to prepare their meal.

“I’ve eaten, thanks,” Fliss said, stifling a yawn.

“I’ll eat later.” Saint frowned with concern at her. “Are you tired?”

She’d nodded off in the car on the drive to the airport, so she ought to have had a little more in her, but, “I was up really early this morning, and it was a long day. I wouldn’t mind shutting my eyes for a bit.” Plus, she needed time to process all that had happened.

“Use the bed.” He unclipped his seat belt and rose. “Come. I’ll show you.”

It was a throwaway comment. He didn’t mean he’d show her how to use the bed, but he sure had the last time they’d been together. As she followed him to the back of the cabin, her cheeks stung with self-conscious heat.

“Are you blushing?” he asked in an amused undertone as he held the door for her.

“Don’t tease.” She covered her hot cheeks.