“Lean forward,” he says, and when I do, he starts to gently massage my lower back. “How’s that feel?”

“Really good,” I tell him. I’ve been suffering from searing stomach and back cramps, the same cramps that led me to the doctor earlier this week. Declan became really concerned the other night when he woke up to find me sleeping in the bath tub, filled shallow with hot water. He made me call the doctor to see if she could prescribe painkillers, but since I’m pregnant there isn’t anything that wouldn’t be harmful to the baby. So I’ve been spending most of my time soaking in hot baths since it seems to be the only thing that gives me any real relief. The doctor said that this type of cramping is pretty common during an endometriosis pregnancy.

“I hate that you’re leaving when you’re hurting so much,” he says while he kneads his fingers along my back.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t. Stay. I’m not going to be able to function knowing you’re with him.”

Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs, making my request, “Talk to me.” I need him to do something to distract me from my sadness.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me about your home in Scotland. What’s it like there?”

He pulls me back against his chest, grabs a washcloth, and starts dipping it in the water and wringing it out over my shoulders and neck.

“It’s rainy most of the time,” he begins, and I close my eyes, resting my cheek on his pec and listen as he speaks. “But the green, sprawling hills make up for the lack of sunshine. The countryside is amazing.”

“Is that where your house is? In the countryside?”

He drags the washcloth around my neck and down to my breasts, answering, “Yes. It’s south of Edinburgh in the Galashiels.”

“What does it look like?” I ask, my eyes closed while he continues to soothe me with his voice and touch.

“The estate is called Brunswickhill. It was built in the mid-late nineteenth century, a neo-classical Victorian mansion, but was completely renovated before I took ownership a few years ago.”

“You were here though.”

“I know.”

“Have you ever stayed a night there?”

“No. I hired someone to furnish the place, but I’ve never actually stayed there yet,” he tells me.

“So why did you buy it?” I ask.

“Because after my father sold his house to take permanent residence in New York, I felt I didn’t have any more roots there aside from my mother,” he tells me.

I open my eyes and look up at him when I ask, “Is that where she’s buried?”

“Yeah, it is,” he murmurs.

“You bought the place to stay connected to her?”

He nods as he looks down at me, and then kisses my forehead before he continues, “You’d love it there. It’s on six acres, so it’s peaceful and quiet with a great view of the Tweed River.”

“Tell me more.”

“There’s a huge garden and a Victorian grotto built entirely out of clinker under this huge glazed dome.”

“Are there lots of flowers?”

He drops the washcloth and bands his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin, sighing, “Yeah, darling. Tons of red and purple ones.”

“Purple?” I question, my mind suddenly seeing the purple walls of my childhood.

“Mmm hmm.”

“I don’t like purple,” I mutter softly, and he doesn’t let a second pass before saying, “Then we’ll rip them out.”

I laugh under my breath and then he inquires, “You’ve never told me what your favorite flower is.”

I take a moment even though I already know the answer, but the thought alone grips my throat, tightening it as I reveal to him, “Daisies. I like pink ones.”

“Daisies?” he questions in surprise. “Such a simple flower. I would have thought something lavish.”

“Why’s that?”

“You just seem like a girl who likes nice things, that’s all,” he responds casually as he leans back, pulling me with him as we recline.

“Daisies are nice. Simple and nice, which is why I like them.”

“I want to know everything you like.”

“Is that so?” I lightly tease, and when he kisses my temple, he says, “Tell me a few things you like.”

“Mmmm,” I hum before revealing, “I like tea, and I like cupcakes with sprinkles. Apple juice, but only when it’s in a small juice box. And I like daisies.”

“Pink daisies,” he clarifies, and I nod, repeating, “Pink daisies.”

“What else do you like?”

I tilt my head to the side so that I can see him when I say, “I like the way your stubbled jaw feels when you kiss me.”

“Why’s that?”

“It makes me think of how a prince’s kiss would feel.”

His smile grows as he questions, “Aren’t princes clean-shaven?”

Reaching up, I run my hand around the back of his neck, saying, “Not in my dreams,” before pulling him down to kiss me. His lips move gently with mine, eventually taking his tongue to open me up, tasting me deeply. I savor the ice of his mouth, gliding my tongue along his.

He takes my hips and eases me around to slide over his lap, my legs straddled around him. His cock is instantly hard, and the need for closeness takes over, so I lift up, and with my hand on his massive erection, guide him inside of me. His eyes close as I slowly descend down around him and hold myself still. Neither of us moves as we cling to each other—hugging—flesh against flesh.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against my breasts as he starts planting soft kisses down the swell and over my nipple, tightening it to a stiff peak.

“This.”

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Just this. I just need to feel you inside of me right now,” I respond, giving him my honest words, because I desperately need to be as close to him as possible right now.

“I am inside of you,” he says, loosening his arms and slipping his hand between our bodies, resting it on my stomach. “This is me inside of you.”

My eyes well as I nod, needing to believe that it is a part of him growing inside of me and not Bennett or Pike. I want it to be him because all I want is simply him. My tears fall as I gaze into his beautiful, green eyes. Eyes filled with adoration for me and I adore him just as much. I love him. And now I’m doubting everything because all I can see are the rolling hills of Scotland, a nineteenth-century estate, and Declan with our baby in his arms.

The pain of what it would mean to destroy everything good in this man and turn him into a murderer for the sake of this sick game Pike and I schemed up shreds my heart. I tried to stay focused, I tried to shut myself off from feeling anything towards Declan, I tried to stick to the plan. But I can’t do it. This isn’t a game; this is a man’s life. A good man’s life. A man that I deeply love.

I can’t ruin him and turn him into a monster. If sparing Bennett’s life, even though I want him to suffer for what he did to my life, means that Declan’s life won’t be destroyed, I’ll do it.

Killing Bennett isn’t worth sacrificing Declan.

My tears grow, spilling over and down my face as I whisper, “I love you. All I want is you. You and me and this baby.”

His cock thickens inside of me with each word I speak, but he doesn’t urge me to move as we remain connected, locked together intimately. I know what I must do, and it won’t be easy. Pike has given up so much these past few years while I’ve been married to Bennett. But I can’t do it. I won’t do that to Declan. Truth is, I don’t have to kill Bennett to get my fairytale—my second chance—because that fairytale is right here in my arms. This is the happiness I’ve been missing all my life.

So I’ll go to Pike and tell him it’s over. Tell him I’ll play it out, divorce Bennett, and fold my cards. I’ll live the rest of my life as Nina, the girl from Kansas, if that means I won’t lose Declan. I’ll bury my past.

“I want to own every part of you,” he groans as his eyes flare in heat, his fingers pressing into my skin as he grips my ass.