The question hung thick in the air for a half-second before Voren's mouth curved into a smile. He crossed the room toward her at an easy pace, like nothing could rush him, and his arm slipped around her waist the way it was beginning to do naturally, no asking, no hesitation, as if it already knew exactly where it belonged.
"I told you," he murmured, voice low and meant for her alone. "I handle what I can handle. What I can't, I leave to you."
His eyes dropped briefly to her stomach, and Seraphine felt heat rush up the back of her neck and flood her cheeks before she could stop it.
She pressed her lips together, eased out of his hold, and stepped closer to Desmond, creating a bit more space between herself and the man who kept making her face burn like this.
Desmond watched her approach with that steady, warm expression of a man who had already made up his mind and was simply waiting for the right moment to speak.
