That night, Charles didn't touch her—not even a finger.
Instead, he suffered through three cold showers, pacing the room like a madman while she slept like a baby. And when morning came and he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was her—bright, sparkly eyes looking up at him as if nothing had happened.
It only made him angrier.
With his hair tousled and brows furrowed, Charles looked every bit the furious husband. His voice was low, but the simmering tension underneath was impossible to miss. "How far along are you?"
He was both mad and worried. She was already a mother, yet she still gave him so much heartache. When she was pregnant with Trista, she had been critically ill. He hadn't even had the time or peace of mind to enjoy the moment. But this time, he wanted to make up for it.
