Page 39 of Forbidden Boss

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he says with a sigh, as if he’s already gearing up for an argument. “And I’m not worried about you overdoing it at work. But you are carrying my heir and that makes you an even bigger target. I’ll keep the two of you safe no matter what it takes.”

His words land like a heavy weight. I can only stare at him in disbelief.

“It’s a six-week-old embryo,” I say, starting to feel a little sick. “I think calling it your heir is a little much right now.”

“That’s what it is to my world,” he says. “That baby is the most important thing to my future. And my enemies would feel the same. They wanted you as leverage before. Now they’ll want you and the baby dead.”

The room goes quiet. For a second I can’t get my lungs to work. Hearing it put that way makes my skin go cold.

“Stop,” I say.

“You need the full picture,” he replies flatly. “This increases the risk tenfold. We’ll have to crack down even more on your security detail.”

“No, seriously,” I say, standing up and holding my stomach. “I can’t hear this.”

“You need to hear this,” he says, standing up and looming over me. “You need to understand how serious the danger is for both of you. If you couldn’t believe that about yourself, at least believe it about our child.”

My stomach flips. Heat hits my throat. I turn and head for the hall.

“Mari?” he asks sharply.

I make it to the bathroom, drop to my knees, and retch. It’s violent and fast and leaves me shaky. I sit back, press a hand to my belly, and breathe, the tile cold against my knees. Lev hovers in the doorway, one hand on the frame like he’s bracing himself.

“Should I call a doctor?” he asks, sounding a little panicked.

“No.” I swallow and let out a sarcastic laugh. “This is pretty standard for a pregnant woman. You don’t need to call a doctor every time I throw up.”

“Nothing about this is standard,” he says.

He wets a washcloth, kneels, and uses it to wipe my forehead. It feels unbelievably good. I didn’t realize until this moment how hot my skin had gotten. This apartment, as big as it is, is starting to feel claustrophobic.

“What can I do?” he asks softly. “Do you need medicine? Water? I’ll go get you water.”

Before I can protest, he’s gone. He comes back a minute later with a cold bottle of water. I take it gratefully and take sips, feeling the chill of the water move through my body. All the while, he watches me carefully, concerned about what will happen next.

“I’m okay,” I tell him truthfully. “It passed.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“That’s going to happen a lot, huh?” he asks, wincing.

“Pretty much every day for the next couple months.” I shrug. “At least from what I’ve read. Everyone’s different.”

“I don’t like it,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m worried about you. I’m taking you to bed.”

“Lev,” I groan. “Pregnant women throw up. I’m fine!”

“But not all pregnant women throw up after being told their lives are in imminent danger,” he shoots back. “You could be in shock. You need to rest.”

He crouches down next to me, sliding one arm under my knees and another around my waist. It takes me a second to understand what’s happening when he lifts me easily off the ground, as if I weigh nothing.

“Lev!” I yell, thrashing against his embrace. “Put me down, I can walk!”

“I know you can,” he answers with a satisfied smirk. “But you don’t like doing anything I say, so I figure why give you the chance to argue? I’m taking you to bed.”

I don’t have the energy to fight him, so I put my arms around his neck to steady myself. He carries me to his bedroom and turns down the duvet. I sit. He covers me, then steps half a step back and studies my face again.

“I’m sending up some food,” he says. “Whatever you want.”