Читать книгу The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride - Maisey Yates - Страница 3

Allegra walked over to the door and opened it. Then her heart fell into her feet. She tried to keep her face straight as she stared into the dark, uncompromising gaze of Cristian Acosta.

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t. She refused to believe it.

Though standing there, looking up at him and those coal-black eyes, she wondered how she hadn’t known it was him the moment he’d walked into that ballroom.

He’d looked like Death come to collect then. And he looked like it now.

His black brows were locked together, as was his hard, square jaw. His lips, usually the softest-looking thing about him, were pressed into a grim line.

He filled the space, and he wasn’t even in it yet. So tall, so impossibly broad. He made her feel small. He made her feel weak. He made her feel like he was looking straight through her.

That brief moment of hope was crushed beneath the weight of that stare. That knowing, intense stare. For just a second, she’d had freedom.

And now, there was Cristian.

“Did you come to congratulate me on my upcoming marriage? Because if so—”

“I am not here to play games with you. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“About...” Her throat was completely dry and excuses were swirling around her head like foxes chasing their tails.

“The baby,” he said.