He stood front and center on the life-sized poster with his hair hanging down past his shoulders, all dark silk and crazy curls. He had one eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face that could be condescending, cruel…or turn into a gentle smile, just like that.

“Son of a bitch!”

Shoving up off the couch, the crystal ball fell from my hand into the cushion, already forgotten. I stormed over to the poster and stared at it. From this angle, his head was nearly two feet above mine. I craned my neck, struggling to see him full on. He had only taken his sunglasses off for a short time when we’d been together, after I teased him…and again in the throes of wild, intense love-making. And in the shower.

But now, there was no denying it.

This picture.

Devin X.

Mac.

It was him.

Swearing, I grabbed a nearby chair and hauled it closer to scowl into the face of one of the world’s most famous magicians.

And the best liar I’d ever met.

Management, my ass.

Security, bullshit.

I had slept with Devin X?

Devin X was Bump’s baby daddy?

Mac was Devin X?

I was so worried about this trip possibly getting him into trouble with his job, and he owned the damn hotel! I guess I should’ve known from the fact that he made me wait in this room. It was one level above the penthouses and presidential suites. This was no mid-level staff’s lodging.

Christ.

“You sneaky, lying, good for nothing son of a bitch,” I shrieked at the poster, pointing a terse index finger at the spot where it could easily hit his eye socket if he were really standing there.

“That’s not totally fair, Angel,” a voice said calmly from behind me with no warning. “You never asked me who I was.”

Startled, I spun around. The chair wobbled, and if Mac hadn’t sprung forward and caught me, I would’ve ended up crashing to the floor at an inconvenient angle.

As it was, I still sort of fell. Right against him with his arms around my waist and the feel of his chest against my belly. My heart reacted, pounding in my chest as something small and sturdy down low in my belly thumped a demand for attention.

Mac felt it, too. Something flickered in his eyes before he lowered me to the ground. “Well,” he said. He cleared his throat then offered, “Now I don’t have to ask if you’re sure you’re pregnant. He’s a wily one. Or she. I felt that.”

“Of course, I’m pregnant,” I remarked without definitively addressing Bump’s gender. “You really believe I’d make up something like that? Trust me, I am. I’d know, after three pregnancy tests, one full month of morning sickness, one ultrasound, and two visits to my OB/GYN. Don’t even talk about the fact that I’ve grown out of Almost. All. My. Damn. Clothes.” Especially my bras. I didn’t mention that part out loud. Covering my belly with my hand, I gave him a fake smile. “No, I’m pretty damn certain I’m pregnant, Mac. Or Devin X. Or whoever you are!”

“Mac.”

His eyes shot with laser-like intensity to my belly, lingering there.

As Bump thumped between us again, doing what felt like a double somersault, I forced another smile. “She’s excited. Probably because I’m shocked out of my skull as to what you hid from me in plain sight. Which makes me really curious about what else you’ve been hiding.” I looked down at my belly. “She usually isn’t quite this active.”

“She.” His voice went soft and rough at the same time. “You found out it’s a girl?”

“No,” I replied honestly. I had no idea why I’d started referring to Bump as female. “I still don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. Saying ‘she’ just sort of slipped out. I’ve been calling the baby ‘Bump’.”

His brows shot up, all but disappearing into his hairline. “Bump?”

He still stood way, way too close for my rapidly eroding self-control. With my feet solidly on the ground now, I casually eased away, putting a couple of paces between us before saying another word.

“Yes. Bump.” Standing so close still did bad, bad things to my body. My nipples were so hard, they hurt. And other parts of me were aching as well. Turning to face him, I framed the hard mound of my growing belly. “She goes bump, bump, bump all the time. And she’s…well, a bump. So…Bump.”

To my surprise, he laughed. It was a low, husky chuckle and it sent shivers through me that I had to fight to suppress. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, a pensive expression on his face.

“Can I...” Then he stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

It was pretty obvious what he was thinking to ask.

“I don’t know how long she’s going to keep doing her somersaults. Baby gymnasts probably need more rest than most.” Holding out my hand, I waited for him to give me his. The expression on his face made my heart melt. Something in his eyes looked like wonder, a little awe and a whole lot of surprise when I placed his hand on my belly.

We stood there while he felt the baby roll and twist for a few more seconds before she quieted down.

“Is that normal? I mean, is everything okay with...?” His eyes shot up to meet mine, then dipped low, back down to where Bump seemed to have tuckered herself out.

I nodded. “Completely normal, according to the obstetrician.”

Awkwardness settled between us, and he slid his hand from mine before pulling away. “Thank you for that.”

As he moved over to the window, staring outside, I braced myself. He hadn’t asked. I was tired of waiting for him to do it, so I was just going to put it out there. “Aren’t you going to ask me if she’s yours or not?”

He shot me an irritated look. “I know she’s mine.”

It was almost unsettling, the calm way in which he said those words.

“Just like that? I was prepared for you to demand a DNA test or something.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m going to have friends riding my ass for not agreeing to one. Probably the lawyers too. But for me personally? I don’t need one. You’re not the type to lie.”

“How would you know that?” I asked, angling my chin up, “I mean no, I’m not, but how do you know?”

He closed the distance between us again and reached up. My breath caught as he feathered the tip of one finger across my eyebrow. “You can’t be in my line of work and not be a master at reading people. Now my friend LeVan is better at reading facial expressions. He’s the mentalist on our team. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well. And you lie about as easily as you fly.”

“I can lie,” I countered mildly, to my defense. And my cheeks colored. I could feel the blood rushing straight to them.

“Yes, so I see.” His fingers now moved down to brush over the roses that bloomed in my cheeks.

He wasn’t mocking me. It was odd that he could say something so forward and not be making fun, but he was merely pointing it out. And then he was touching me, really touching me, as if the brief physical contact from those few light caresses made him yearn for more.

It had certainly done that to me.

As he swept one finger down the arch of my neck, I said, “You really shouldn’t touch me. Not like that. I’m sure we need to talk, and your touching me does the same thing to me now that it did close to five months ago.”

“And just what is that?” he asked, liquid heat pulsing in his voice, echoing in the very pit of my belly.

Instead of answering, I just gave him a look.

He returned it, shifting his hand so that his palm covered my neck from the base of his hand to the very tips of his fingers. I shivered, feeling the rough rasp of calluses before he dragged his hand lower. It slipped over the fine cotton of my blouse, and I suddenly hated the shirt. It was one of my favorites, one that still fit, probably the only one I’d brought along that flattered my figure.

And just then I wanted to burn it.

It was how he touched me. I couldn’t stand that much longer. Not without much, much more. Then, it wasn’t in the way quite so much, but rather, what his deft fingers were busy doing. Mac slipped open one button, then another, and another.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” I asked, my voice rough.

“Well,” he teased. “You might not have studied people the way I have, but you’re a smart lady, Angel Halliwell. I’ve noticed that about you. I’m sure you can figure this out. But since you asked…I’m unbuttoning your blouse.”

“Why?” Christ, what was up with my voice, shaking like that?

“Because I’ve done little else at night but dream about you. That’s why.”

I opened my mouth and tried to find a fitting response. I had nothing.

Mac continued with, “Ever since the last time I touched you, I’ve done little else but kick my own ass all day for not finding a way to track you down. All while my PA kept those letters a big fat secret from me. And now here you are, beautiful. You’re here. And you’re carrying my child. I’ll be damned if I let another moment slip by without getting my hands on you again.”

The words were delivered in a raw, blunt voice that left my knees weak and shaking.

Reaching up, I gripped his arm at my cleavage.

“Spending the next thirty minutes naked isn’t going to do much to help us figure out how we’re going to handle this situation,” I pointed out.

His hand quickly took my chin and lifted it up. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Miss Angel.” He brushed his lips against my mouth then slid them down to my neck.

The heat of his touch left me shuddering. But one of us had to be coherent and serious, right?

“I’m incapable of rational thought right now, Angel. And I know it’s not going to get much better until I’ve had you wet and naked, wrapped around my dick. Can you tell me that won’t help you…focus a little better?”

He lifted his head, staring down at me.

This was it—my one chance to bring this sensual madness to an end so we could get some critical details out of the way.

But that wasn’t what I did.

No.

I reached up, pushed my hands into his hair and pulled his face down to meet mine.