The possessiveness in his tone should have annoyed her, should have made her bristle, but instead it did something complicated to her chest, made her heart do a stupid little flip she didn’t have time for.
“I’m not yours,” she said softly. “The baby might be.”
“Might be,” he echoed.
She laughed, and it sounded broken. “Right. Of course.”
Carter’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, frowned, then looked back at her.
“I need to make a call,” he said. “Stay here. Eat something. There’s food coming up.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You need to eat.” He was already heading toward the door. “Don’t leave this apartment, Natalie. I mean it.”
And then he was gone, leaving her alone in his massive bedroom with its floor‑to‑ceiling windows overlooking New York City and its enormous bed that probably cost more than her yearly rent.
Natalie looked down at her hands. They were shaking.
What had she expected? Really, truly, what had she expected when she decided to come here today?
Carter Sullivan was a billionaire. A man who lived in a different stratosphere entirely. The fact that they’d shared one magical night didn’t change the fundamental reality of their situations.
He was powerful and wealthy and surrounded by people who wanted things from him.
Of course he’d be suspicious. Of course he’d want proof.
But it still hurt.
It hurt so much more than she’d thought possible.
A knock at the door made her jump.
A man in a white chef’s coat entered with a tray.
“Soup, crackers, fruit, water,” he said kindly. He set it on the nightstand. “Mr. Sullivan insisted you eat, miss. The soup is gentle on the stomach. And there’s ginger tea for nausea.”
“Thank you,” Natalie managed.
When he left, she stared at the food. Her stomach growled despite everything.
