The words crossed her lips before she thought about them. Gaining a husband through pity felt worse than being broken by hunger to warm Joseph’s bed. A low sound of amusement came from Sloan. But there was nothing pleasant about it. He moved across the floor without a sound and cupped her chin in his hand. “Trust me, honey, pity isn’t on the list of reasons why we’re going to see the good parson.” His lips pressed into a hard line before she felt his opposite hand cup one bare breast. “I’m going to spend tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night after that between your thighs. So, unless you want the gossips in town counting up the months between your wedding and the birth of our baby, get that dress on before I climb back on top of you.” “I never thought about a baby…” Fear traced a path through her head for the first time. She’d never considered anything but herself.
