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“That’s up to you, baby.”

“Do we model our marriage after your parents’, mine, or Cillian’s?”

After we made love back at the penthouse, I told Maddox of my kidnapper’s demands. One confession led to another. I’m a McCabe. Cillian is my father. I haven’t told him Granger is my half-brother. I want to tell Granger that news first.

“Our marriage will be what we make of it.”

He didn’t answer my question. If he’d asked me the same question, I would say I want a marriage like the parents who raised me. Committed. Faithful. Loving. Supportive. My father took in a child who wasn’t his, not only to help Cillian, but to bring happiness to a woman he called the love of his life.

I recline back on the lounger and stare at the ocean. I brought Maddox to heel. Got him to make love to me. Wasn’t revulsed by skin on skin. Cried for what I missed out on when I withheld my touch from others. I can stand to touch him and will let him touch me with his bare hands on my bare skin to our hearts’ content.

But can I hand over to him my heart?

I haven’t asked him the questions that has me doubting his feelings for me. Did you sleep with Evie Lawson? Is she your physical release while you court your first love, Kristine?

“Babe?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t answer my questions. Are we exclusive? Birth control or not, I won’t be raising another man’s child, Blaise. Accidents do happen.”

“You’re the only one I want.”

But will I be expected to share him with other women? Raise his lovers’ children?

“And the guy from the nightclub, the one with his hand on yours?”

“He’s my personal bodyguard.”

“I’m the only man who gets to guard your body.” He stands and tugs down his swim shorts. His erection proudly rests against his six-pack abs. “Strip, baby.”

I tip my chin. “Bossy.”

He smirks. “Please.”

“Better.”

I undo the clasp on my strapless bikini top. Discard the bottoms. He sits and pats his thighs.

“Straddle me.”

I take my time getting up. Make a show of stretching out the kinks in my back from doing nothing all day other than enjoying the sunshine, Maddox’s rock-hard body, and our conversations that run the gamut of favorite food, to what pet we’d get if we had a huge house and property, to the kinds of movies we like to watch.

“Blaise,” he growls, and reaches for me.

I sidestep his outstretched hand. My boobs jiggle. He groans.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

God, I hope not. “Take that back.”

“Take what back?”

I straddle his thighs. “That I’ll be the death of you.”

“It’s a saying.” He slips a finger inside me. Circles his thumb on the slippery knot.

“It’s bad juju.”