Chapter Eighteen

Hunter’s POV

I hadn’t slept. Helena’s body was warm beside me, curled under the sheets like she hadn’t a care in the world, but I’d been staring at the ceiling since just after midnight. I had come to bed after Grace got home, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt, the image of Max kissing Grace burned into my skull.

I should’ve gotten up, gone to the gym off the garage, worked out until the ache dulled. But I just lay there, the silence broken only by Helena’s breathing, the tightness in my chest growing worse by the second until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I threw the covers back and got out of bed, pacing across the room in nothing at all. My feet were silent on the hardwood floors, but my thoughts were anything but quiet.

Why the hell did it matter?

She was Helena’s sister. My secretary. The surrogate. That was all. That had to be all.

But I kept seeing her face. The way she smiled when she looked at Max. The way she walked down the driveway last night in that dress, not once looking back. And then when she had come home with Max, the kiss. Soft. Intimate. Her hand on his arm.

It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. I had wondered at the time what she tasted like. It made me angry. The only woman I should be thinking about is Helena.

I sat on the edge of the chaise near the window, rubbing a hand down my face. I needed to stop this, to control whatever the hell was spiraling out of me.

Maybe I was just being protective. Maybe this was about the baby. Maybe seeing her with someone else had made something in me snap because I didn’t like the idea of that man being anywhere near Grace while she was carrying my child. Of being inside of her while my baby grows within her womb.

But deep down, I knew that was a lie.

The problem wasn’t Max. It wasn’t the kiss. It was the fact that she was spreading her wings.

She was slipping further away, and I wasn’t ready to let go. Not while she could be pregnant.

Beside me, Helena shifted, her arm stretching across the bed like she expected to find me there. I stood, about to walk to the bathroom, when her voice cut through the quiet.

“Come back to bed,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

I turned. She blinked up at me, hair a mess of golden waves, the sheet barely covering her chest. Most men would kill for this view. I used to crave it. Helena was a very beautiful woman.

“I need you, Hunter.” She spread her legs under the sheets in invitation.

“I need to get to the office.” It was still early. I could join her in the bed, so what was stopping me?

She sat up, the sheet falling away, her smile lazy and familiar. “Maybe I need you to take care of your wife first.”

I didn’t answer. But I came back to the bed, sat on the edge. Her hand slid over my naked thigh.

“You’re tense,” she said softly, naked she crawling behind me, her arms circling my waist, her breast pushed against my back, her mouth brushing against my shoulder. “Let me take care of you.”

It wasn’t what I wanted. Not really. But I let her anyway. Because maybe if I gave her what she wanted, it would shut down the part of me that couldn’t stop thinking about Grace.

Helena pushed me back onto the bed, her mouth hot as it trailed down my chest, her fingers wrapping around me with familiar pressure.

She took me into her mouth, slow and deliberate, knowing exactly how to draw a reaction. My hand instinctively tangled in her hair. My eyes squeezed shut. I focused on the sensations, tried to forget everything else.

She hollowed her cheeks, her rhythm unhurried, teasing me until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Come here,” I growled, pulling her up onto the bed, flipping her under me, my mouth catching hers in a kiss that lacked any real heat but still felt necessary.

She guided me inside her, her legs wrapping around my waist. I moved with the rhythm she liked. Soft. Steady. Nothing rough. Nothing that would leave a mark.

She moaned prettily, whispered how good it felt, how much she loved me. Even though my mind wasn’t into it, she didn’t know that.

It was a release. That’s all I needed it to be. Just to remind myself that Helena was mine, that we were still connected in body, even if lately, my mind had been else where. I would never hurt my wife.

After, she curled into me, her fingers trailing over my stomach, her head on my shoulder. I stared at the ceiling again.

“Shower with me,” she said, her voice coaxing. She grabbed underwear from the chest of drawers.

I hesitated. I needed to be at the office in an hour. But I agreed because I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

We stepped into the bathroom, steam filling the space quickly. Helena moved under the spray, moaning a little as the water hit her skin. She turned to face me, suds sliding down her body.

“Don’t forget,” she murmured. “Dinner party this weekend. Our families are coming.”

“Right.” I quickly washed myself under the second shower head. I never lingered in the shower unless it was to have sex.

I stepped out of the shower before she did. I found women always took longer. I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my waist. Used another for my hair.

“Can you grab my bra? It’s on top of the chest of drawers. I forgot it when I brought in my underwear.” Helena liked to be in her underwear when she rubbed body lotion into her skin.

I turned, exiting the bathroom to grab her bra. I found the lace strap hanging off the edge. It had gotten caught. I pulled the drawer open to free it.

And froze.

Tucked inside, half hidden under a silk camisole, was a small foil packet. I picked it up slowly. Carefully. As if it might burn me.

Birth control.

My blood turned to ice.

Why would she have these?

She was supposed to be infertile. That had been the entire point of Grace being their surrogate.

“Hunter?”

I didn’t answer.

My hand closed around the pills.

I turned and walked to the bathroom.

Helena stood under the spray, water slicking down her body. She looked back over her shoulder, smiling.

And I stood there, silent, holding the pills in my hand.