Yeager was working in his office in the Flatiron Building, his tie loosened, the top two buttons of his dress shirt unfastened, when his assistant, Amira, texted him from her desk in End of the Earth’s reception area. She only did that when she was trying to be discreet about something. In this case, it was that there was a Hannah Robinson, who didn’t have an appointment, here to see him. Should she just show her the door the way she usually did with the women who came to see Yeager at the office without an appointment, or should she tell her to wait until he had a free moment, which would probably be in a couple of hours—maybe—and hope Hannah left on her own after sitting in the waiting room for a while?
Instead of texting back that she should do neither, Yeager headed out to the reception area himself and ignored Amira’s astonished expression when he got there.
Hannah was standing with her back to him, studying an enlarged photo of the Sinabung volcano on Sumatra that he’d taken five years ago. The first thing he noticed was that her clothes matched the photo, her shirt the same rich blue as the sky, her skirt printed in the same variegated yellows as the sulfur. The second thing he noticed was that she didn’t look pregnant.
He mentally slapped himself. Of course she didn’t look pregnant. She could only be a couple of weeks along, at most, since it had only been eleven days since he’d last seen her and twelve since he’d made love to her. But she must be pregnant. Otherwise, why would she have come to his office? If their first effort had failed, she could have just texted him to say, Sorry, see you next month.
“Hey,” he said by way of a greeting, his heart racing at the prospect of good news, way more than he expected it would in these circumstances.
She spun around, her gaze connecting immediately with his. That was when something cool and unpleasant settled in Yeager’s midsection. Because he could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t pregnant.
“Come on back to my office,” he said. Then, to Amira, he added, “I’m unavailable for the rest of the morning. Maybe the afternoon, too.”
“Sure thing, Yeager,” Amira said, sounding even more shocked than she looked.
Hannah threw a soft but obviously manufactured smile at his assistant and murmured a quiet, “Thanks.” Then she crossed her arms over her midsection and followed him silently to his office.
He closed the door behind them and directed her to one of two leather chairs in front of his massive Victorian desk. His office, like the rest of Ends of the Earth, was cluttered with antique furniture and vintage maps and artifacts. A deliberate effort to replicate a time when world travel was full of intrigue and danger, attempted by only the most intrepid explorers. He pulled the second chair closer to Hannah’s and sat.
“It didn’t work, did it?” he asked. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
She shook her head.
Even though he’d already known that was what she was going to say, he was surprised by the depth of his disappointment. He really had thought they’d be successful the first time they tried. They were healthy adults with even healthier libidos, and when they’d made love in North Carolina, it had been with exuberance and passion and a very long finish. In the days in between, they’d bungee jumped from an abandoned train trestle and zip-lined through the mountains. He still smiled when he remembered Hannah’s expression and half-baked objections both times as he cinched her safety harness to his, followed by her unmitigated elation at the end of each adventure.
But his disappointment wasn’t just for a failed effort after his confidence that they would succeed. He felt genuine sadness that there wasn’t a tiny Yeager or Hannah growing inside her at this very moment. And it wasn’t until now that he understood how very much he wanted to have this child with her.
“It’s okay,” he said. Even if it didn’t really feel okay at the moment. “We’ll try again.”
Hannah nodded but she didn’t look convinced. Not sure why he did it, Yeager lifted a hand and cupped her cheek in his palm. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to hers. It was a quick, chaste kiss. One intended to reassure. But the moment his mouth touched hers, desire erupted inside him. It was all he could do not to swoop in for a second, more demanding kiss. Instead he dropped his hand to hers and wove their fingers together.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Very softly she replied, “I think so.”
He could tell she wanted to say more, but no other words came out. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“No,” she said. Then she quickly amended, “Yes.” She expelled a frustrated sound. “I don’t know. I feel so weird right now.”
That made two of them.
“It’s just...” She inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, then met his gaze. Her beautiful silver-gray eyes seemed enormous and limitless, filled with something he had never seen in them before. Not just disappointment, but uncertainty. He’d never known Hannah to be a victim of either of those things. She was always so sunny and contented whenever he saw her. Even in her tiny apartment that offered so little to be sunny or contented with, she’d seemed to be both.
Hannah was one of those rare people who was satisfied with what life had brought her, even after life had brought her so little. Not that she didn’t have aspirations or goals, but she wasn’t blindsided by a single-minded, driven ambition that overshadowed everything else, the way most people were when they were going after what they wanted. She took life day by day and enjoyed what each of those days brought. At least, she had until now.
“It’s not about the money, you know?” she said. “I mean, at first, it was. I did always plan on having kids someday, but my timetable was fluid where that was concerned, and I didn’t really give it that much thought. Then, when I found out about my grandfather and all that money...” At this, she managed an almost earnest chuckle. “Well, hell, yeah, it was about the money. I could do everything I ever wanted if I inherited the Linden billions. But this morning, when I discovered I wasn’t pregnant, it wasn’t the money I thought about first. It was the baby. And how there wasn’t going to be one. And I just felt so...”
She blinked and a single, fat tear spilled from one eye. Yeager brushed it away with the pad of his thumb before it even reached her cheek. Then he kissed her again. A little longer this time. Maybe because he needed reassuring as much as she did, which was the most surprising thing of all this morning.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “I bet no one gets pregnant the first time they try.” He smiled gently. “Really, when you think about all the logistics that go into procreating, it’s amazing anyone ever gets pregnant at all.”
He had meant for the comment to lighten the mood. Instead, Hannah looked horrified.
“I’m kidding,” he said quickly. “It’ll happen, Hannah. Don’t worry. This just gives us the chance to go to Malta next time. I know this very isolated, extremely wild beach where there are some incredible caves for diving. You’ll love it. I promise. A few days in the Mediterranean, lying on a sunny beach, eating all that great food...” He stopped himself from adding the part about the virile young stud she’d be spending her nights with, since that part went without saying. “Who wouldn’t get pregnant with all that as a backdrop?”
She smiled again and, this time, it was a little more convincing. “You’re taking me to the beach,” she said.
“I am.”
“I’ll finally get to see the ocean.”
“You will.”
“How long have you been planning this trip?”
Yeager had started planning it in North Carolina, the minute she’d told him she’d never seen the ocean. For some reason, though, he didn’t want to admit that. So he hedged. “I’ve had a few ideas for destinations in my head all along. Malta was just one of them.”
Which was true. He just didn’t mention that Malta had been at the bottom of the list, since beaches, even the Mediterranean ones, were usually pretty lacking in adventure, and besides, when you’ve seen one beach and ocean, you’ve pretty much seen them all. Except, of course, for Hannah. So Malta it was.
“That’s sweet of you, Yeager.”
It wasn’t sweet of him. He just didn’t think it was fair that a perfectly nice person like Hannah had never seen the ocean, that was all. And, hey, that Mediterranean diet was supposed to be all kinds of healthy.
“Will it be a problem for you to take the time off from work?” he asked.
“I’m sure Mr. Cathcart and Mr. Quinn won’t be too crazy about me asking off again. But when I remind them how, in the ten years I’ve worked for them, I hadn’t had a single vacation before last month, they’ll probably grudgingly concede. I’m not sure how many more times I’ll be able to play that card, though. And it really will eat into my paycheck.”
Yeager started to offer to intercede on her behalf with her employers for her again and cover any of her lost wages. Then he remembered how adamant Hannah had been that she could make her own way. Besides, he really was sure the trip to Malta would be, ah, fruitful. There was a good chance Hannah wouldn’t need to ask for any more time off, because she’d be able to quit that job and follow her dreams.
“It’ll be okay, Hannah,” he told her a third time. Because three was a charm, right?
Except in baby-making, he quickly amended. In baby-making, two was. They would be successful next time. Yeager was sure of it.
* * *
Hannah stood on the balcony of the breathtaking suite in the luxury hotel Yeager had booked for them in Valletta, gazing out at the Grand Harbour at night, waiting for him to finish his shower.
She was beginning to understand why he lived the way he did. This place was amazing. The city was awash with light against the black sky, practically glowing with a golden grandeur reflected in the water of the bay. The moon and stars, too, were gilded with an otherworldly radiance that made her feel as if she’d completely left the planet and arrived on some ethereal plane. She couldn’t be farther removed from her life in New York than she would be if she were standing at the outer reaches of the universe.
The mere view from a European balcony wasn’t enough to satisfy Yeager’s idea of adventure, though. For him, the adventure for this trip had lain in the ocean caves where they’d spent yesterday diving. And that had certainly been fun. But to Hannah, the true adventure was simply being in a place that was so different from her own. There really was a lot more to the world than the neighborhoods she’d called home. And she’d only visited two places at this point. Maybe, if everything worked out the way it was supposed to, once her life settled down, she’d think about doing a little more globe-trotting with her child or children in the future.
A wave of apprehension spilled over her. Right now, that child or children was still a big if. Though she and Yeager were spending this trip at a more leisurely pace than their days in North Carolina. The cave diving yesterday had been peaceful—even the heart-racing moments of interacting with a real, live, albeit small, octopus—and today, they’d lain in the sun and strolled along the streets of Valletta and stuffed themselves with local cuisine. With any luck, Hannah would drop an egg at some point tomorrow—or the next day—that was ripe for fertilization. And tonight...
The thought stopped there. Yeah. Tonight. Tonight was... Tonight would be... She sighed. This time last month she’d been looking at the night ahead as a task necessary for her to complete to claim her legacy. Not that she hadn’t liked the idea of having sex with Yeager—a lot—but, originally, that was all it was supposed to be: sex with Yeager. Something that would conveniently lead to her achieving her goal of starting a family. After actually having sex with Yeager, however, everything seemed to...shift. She still couldn’t put her finger on what was different about this attempt to become pregnant from the last one, but there was definitely something. Something different about Yeager. Something different about her.
When she heard a door open in the suite behind her, she spun around to see him emerging from the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of midnight blue boxers, scrubbing his black hair dry with a towel.
She watched as he crossed to the walk-in closet and stepped inside it. He then withdrew, wearing buff-colored trousers and buttoning up a chocolate-brown shirt. She recognized both as pieces she had made for him, and a ribbon of unexpected pleasure wound through her. She didn’t know why. She’d probably made, or at least altered, half his wardrobe, the same way she had for many of Cathcart and Quinn’s clients. His wearing of her clothes had never affected her any more than some other man’s wearing of them. For some reason, though, she suddenly liked the idea of Yeager being wrapped in garments she had sewed for him.
She continued to watch him as he strode to a table where a bottle of champagne had been chilling since they’d returned from their day in town. Deftly, he popped the cork and poured two flutes, then nestled the bottle back into the ice. Hannah didn’t think she could ever get tired of just looking at him. He moved with such ease and elegance, utterly assured in himself but completely unconscious of that confidence. She remembered how, in North Carolina, he’d revealed his seemingly quiet upbringing in the heart of the Midwest. Try as she might, he hadn’t let her bring up the subject again. And she was dying to know how that little boy from Peoria had become such a raging scion of world adventure.
He made his way toward the French doors leading to the balcony, where Hannah awaited him in the darkness. His eyes must not have adjusted from the light of the room because he didn’t seem to see her at first. Then he smiled and headed toward her. He halted just before reaching her, though, and gave her a thorough once-over.
“Wow,” he said. “You look incredible.”
She warmed at the compliment. They had reservations for a late dinner at some upscale seafood place he’d told her was one of his favorite places in the world. She’d had to scramble to find something to bring with her that would be suitable, since upscale didn’t exist in her normal wardrobe—or her normal life, for that matter. Fortunately she’d had a couple of large enough fabric remnants to stitch together a flowy, pale yellow halter dress and had found some reasonably decent dressy sandals at her favorite thrift shop.
She was also wearing the strapless bra and brief panties Yeager had given her their first day in Valletta to compensate for the ones he’d sent down the river in North Carolina. Or so he’d said. Somehow, though, the sheer ivory silk-and-lace confections bore no resemblance to the cotton Hanes Her Way that they’d replaced. And she was reasonably certain they didn’t come in two-and five-packs.
“Thanks,” she said, the word coming out more quietly and less confidently than she’d intended. “You look pretty amazing yourself.”
He smiled. “Thanks to you.”
Another frisson of delight shuddered through her. Why was his opinion suddenly more important to her than it had been before? She knew she was good at her job—she didn’t need the approval of others to reinforce that. But Yeager’s approval suddenly meant a lot to her.
He handed her a glass of champagne then turned to look at the city lights she’d been marveling at. “I think this may be one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever visited,” he said.
There was a wistfulness in his voice she’d never heard before. She wouldn’t have thought Yeager Novak could be wistful. She smiled. “You talk like there are actually cities you haven’t visited.”
He chuckled. “One or two.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine living the life you do. Are you ever in one place for any length of time?”
“I try to spend at least one week a month in New York,” he said.
“One week is not a length of time,” she told him.
“Maybe not to you. But even a week in one place can make me restless. Besides, I can pretty much run Ends of the Earth from anywhere. And there are times when I have to be out of the country for months.”
“Have to be?” she echoed. “Or just want to be?”
He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Could be they’re one and the same.”
Interesting way to put it.
“So, what?” she asked. “You just live in hotels?”
“Sometimes. Or in tents. Or out in the open. Depends on where I am. I do own homes in the places I visit most often.”
“Which are?”
He turned to look at her full-on. “I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”
She shook her head adamantly. “Oh, no. No way. We talked about me the whole time in North Carolina. You know everything there is to know about me. This time, we’re going to talk aaalll about you.”
He bristled palpably at the comment. Hannah didn’t care. The last time they were together, he’d avoided every effort she’d made to learn more about him, always turning the conversation back to her.
Yeager really did know everything there was to know about her. About how she’d nearly failed phys ed at her Harlem middle school because she was so bad at gymnastics. About the four stitches and tetanus shot she’d had to get when she was seven, after slicing open her knee in a vacant lot on Lexington Avenue. About how, to this day, she still missed the grumpy, one-eyed tabby named Bing Clawsby that had lived in one of her homes.
He knew her favorite color was purple, her favorite food was fettuccine Alfredo, her favorite movie was Wall-E and her favorite band was the Shins. He knew she was a Sagittarius, that she’d never learned how to drive, that she believed in ghosts and, how, if she could be any animal in the world, she’d be a fennec fox. All she knew about him was that he was the only child of a quiet-sounding couple from Peoria and that he’d played hockey for a college so far upstate he might as well have been in Canada. He wasn’t going to avoid her this time.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “How bad can your secrets be? You barely have two thousand hits on Google.”
He arched his eyebrows at that. “You looked me up online?”
“Of course I looked you up online.” Hell, she’d done it after the first time he’d come into Cathcart and Quinn. There was no reason he had to know that part, though. “You’re going to be the father of my child.” She hoped. “But all that turned up was your social media accounts, stuff about Ends of the Earth, and mentions in some extreme adventure blogs. Even that article about you in Outside magazine didn’t reveal anything about the real Yeager Novak.”
He enjoyed a healthy taste of his champagne and avoided her gaze. Hannah remained silent as she waited him out. She was surprised when she won the battle after a few seconds and he turned to gaze out at the bay again.
Quietly he said, “That article in Outside revealed everything you need to know about me.”
“It didn’t tell me you’re from Peoria.”
“That’s because Peoria isn’t a part of my life.”
“But it’s where you grew up,” she objected. “Where and how a person grows up is a huge part of who they are.”
“It’s a huge part of who they were,” he argued. “You can’t go home again.”
“Everyone goes home again at some point, Yeager, in some way. It’s inescapable.” When he said nothing she asked, “Do your folks still live in Peoria?”
He sighed that sigh of resignation she was beginning to recognize fairly well. “No,” he told her. “They died within a year of each other when I was in college.”
“Oh,” she said soberly. “I’m sorry.”
She was sorry for his loss, not sorry that she’d asked. This was exactly the sort of thing two people should be sharing when their lives were going to be linked—she hoped—by a child. The things that had impacted them, the things that had shaped and moved them.
“I was one of those late-life surprises,” he said. “My mother was fifty-two when I was born. My father was nearly sixty. He had a fatal heart attack my junior year of college. My mom had a stroke ten months later.”
Which could explain one of the reasons Yeager kept himself so physically fit. It didn’t, however, explain why he kept traversing the globe over and over.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said again.
He gazed down into his glass. “It was a long time ago.”
Maybe. But two losses like that, so close together, had to have taken a toll on a college kid hundreds of miles away from home.
Hannah changed the subject from his parents to his school. “So...hockey scholarship. You must have been pretty good.”
He nodded. “I was, actually. I had interest from a couple of pro teams before I graduated.”
“Why didn’t you stay with it?”
He shrugged again, even more half-heartedly. “Hockey was something I shared with my dad. He was my coach when I started in a youth league at five. He took me to Blackhawk games once a month before I even started school, even though Chicago was a three-or four-hour drive one-way. We’d make a weekend of it—my mom would come, too—and we’d do touristy stuff while we were there. Hit Navy Pier or the Shedd Aquarium or the Field Museum or something. And my dad never missed one of my games, all the way through high school. He even hung around the rink to watch me practice when he could. After he died, it wasn’t the same. Hockey didn’t mean as much to me as it did before. I just didn’t have the heart for it anymore, you know?”
Hannah didn’t know, actually. She could no more imagine what that had been like for Yeager than she could swim from here to New York. She’d never had a relationship like that—had never shared anything like that—with anyone. So she didn’t respond.
He didn’t seem to expect an answer, anyway, because he continued. “That was when Tommy and I started talking about going into business together. He’d spent his childhood living all over the world, thanks to his mom’s job, and after my parents’ deaths, going someplace else in the world—anywhere else in the world—sounded pretty damned good to me. So that was where we put our efforts.”
Hannah had thought it would take the entirety of their trip this time—and then some—to uncover what it was that made Yeager tick. But in less time than it took to drink a glass of champagne, she was beginning to understand exactly why he’d become the traveler and risk-taker he was. It was clear he’d been very close to his parents, and that they’d been a loving family. A family he’d lost while he was still a kid and whom he missed terribly. A part of him might even still be looking for that family, in his own way.
Maybe, deep down, she and Yeager weren’t quite so different as she’d first thought. But where her way to deal with that loss was to stay put in one place to try to a build a life there, his was to escape any reminder of what he’d once had.
He lifted his glass, drained its contents, then gazed at the bay again. Hannah sipped her champagne carefully—the way she did everything—and studied him in silence. After a moment he almost physically shook off his sober mood and looked at her again. He even smiled. Kind of.
Evidently heartened by having overcome the most difficult hurdle she could throw in front of him, he asked, “So what else do you want to know about me?”
She smiled back. “Favorite color?” Even though she already knew it was blue.
“Blue.”
“Favorite food?”
“Anything from the ocean that’s been blackened and grilled.”
And on it went until she knew his favorite movie was High Noon and his favorite band was whatever happened to be streaming that didn’t suck. That he was, ironically, a Virgo. That he even knew how to drive—and actually preferred—a stick shift. That he thought ghosts were a lot of hooey and that, of all the animals in the world, he’d choose to be not a lone wolf but a Komodo dragon because, hey, dragon.
By the time Hannah finished her interrogation, Yeager was pouring the last of the champagne into their glasses, and she was feeling mellower than she’d ever felt in her life. In North Carolina, they’d scarcely had a single minute when they weren’t doing something adventurous. Including the sex, which, even though they’d had a perfectly good bed in their glamping tent, had happened that last time on a blanket in a clearing in the woods, under the stars, surrounded by fireflies. They’d been stargazing at the time, then one thing had led to another and, suddenly, Hannah had been naked, and then Yeager had been naked, and then she’d been on all fours with him behind her, thrusting into her again and again and again, and, well... It had just been, you know, super, super adventurous the whole time.
Anyway.
This time felt a lot less demanding. A lot less needful. A lot less urgent.
Until she looked at Yeager again and realized that, somehow, he was thinking about the exact same things she’d just been thinking about. Right down to the nakedness, the all fours and the thrusting again and again and again.
“You know,” he said softly, “we can always cancel our dinner reservation.”
Heat erupted in Hannah’s belly at the suggestion. “But I thought you said it was one of your favorite places to eat in the whole, wide world.”
His gaze turned incandescent. “I can think of other places I like better.”
“How do you always know what I’m thinking?” she asked, her voice scarcely a whisper.
“I don’t,” he told her. “Except when you’re thinking about sex. It’s your eyes. They get darker. And there’s something there that’s just...wild. You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen in a human being. At least, they are when it comes to wanting something.”
“Or someone,” she said before she could stop herself.
He took her glass from her hand and set it with his on the balcony railing. “We should definitely cancel our dinner reservation,” he said decisively.
“Okay,” Hannah agreed readily. Although she was certainly hungry, dinner was the last thing on her mind. “If we have to.”
Yeager took her hand in his and tugged her to him. Then he dipped his head and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, with none of the heat and urgency she knew was surging through both of them. He brushed his lips over hers, once, twice, three times, four, then covered her mouth completely with his, tasting her long and hard and deep.
Oh. Okay. There was the heat. There was the urgency. There was the...
He skimmed one hand over her bare shoulder and down her arm, settling it on her waist to pull her closer.
Hannah went willingly, looping her arms around his neck, tangling the fingers of one hand in his still-damp hair. His heat surrounded her, pulling her into him, until she wasn’t sure where her body ended and his began. Slowly he began moving them backward, into their suite. He paused long enough to switch off the single lamp that had been illuminated, and then they were bathed in the pale light of the moon and the golden city outside.
Yeager continued to kiss her as he guided them toward the bed, his tongue tangling with hers, his mouth hot against her skin. He reached for the tie of her halter at the same moment she reached for the button of his trousers. As she unzipped his pants, he unzipped her dress, until the garment fell into a pool around her feet. She felt his member surge against her fingers, hard and heavy against the soft silk of his boxers. So she tucked her hand inside to cover him, bare skin to bare skin. He was so... Oh. And she could scarcely wait to have him inside her again.
As she stroked him, he bent his head and tasted her breast over the fabric of her bra, laving her with the flat of his tongue until her nipple strained against the damp fabric. His hand at her waist crept lower, his fingers dipping into the waistband of her panties, then lower still, between her legs. Somehow, Hannah managed to take a small step to the side to open herself wider to him, and he threaded his fingers into the damp folds of her flesh. She gasped at the contact, gripping his shoulder tight when her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, her caressing of his erection growing slower and more irregular.
Yeager didn’t seem to mind. As he fingered her with one hand, he moved the other to her back, expertly unfastening her bra until it fell to the floor, too. Then he pulled as much of her breast as he could into his mouth, the pressure of his tongue against her nipple coupled with his hand between her legs bringing her near orgasm. When he realized how close she was, he moved his hand away, dragging his wet fingers up over her torso to cradle her breast in his palm.
He lifted his head again and covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply. His member twitched beneath her hand, and she knew a keen desire to have him inside her now. With trembling fingers, she freed him long enough to unbutton his shirt and shove it from his shoulders. Then she tugged his trousers and his boxers down over his hips, kneeling before him to skim them off his legs completely. When he stood in front of her, towering over her, his member straight and stiff, Hannah couldn’t help herself. She wrapped her fingers around him and guided him toward her mouth.
He groaned his approval at her gesture, tangling his fingers in her hair. She ran her tongue down the length of him, back up again, then covered the head of his shaft completely, pulling him deep inside. Eagerly, she consumed him, taking her time to pleasure them both until she knew he was close to his breaking point. Only then did she rise again, dragging her fingers up along his thighs and taut buttocks, over the ropes of sinew and muscle on his torso, pushing herself up on tiptoe to kiss him as hungrily as he had her.
He reached for her panties and pushed them down over her hips, and she pulled them the rest of the way off. Then he lifted her up off the floor and, after one more fierce kiss, threw her playfully to the center of the bed. She landed on her fanny with a laugh, until he joined her, spreading her legs wide to bury his head between them.
Now Hannah was the one to gasp—and moan and purr—as he devoured her, drawing circles with the tip of his tongue, nibbling the sensitive nub of her clitoris until she thought she would come apart at the seams. Then he was turning their bodies so that he was sitting on the edge of the mattress again, with her astride him, facing him. Gripping her hips, he lowered her over his shaft, bucking his hips upward as he entered her, long and hard and deep. Hannah did cry out then, so filled was she by him. He moved her up, then down, then up again, until she picked up his rhythm fluently. Over and over their bodies joined, until they seemed to become one. And then they were climaxing together, Yeager surging hotly inside her.
Immediately he turned them again, so that Hannah was on her back and he was atop her, bracing himself on his strong forearms. He murmured something about staying inside her until he was sure she was pregnant this time—because he was sure she would be pregnant this time—then kissed her again for a very long time.
All Hannah could do was open her hands over the hot, slick skin of his back and return the kiss, and hope like hell he was right.