Page 7 of His Valentine

Chapter Three

Lena

“Why did you leave the hotel like that, Lena?”

I’ve known he’s going to ask me that sooner or later, yet I still cringe when Magnus asks. I’ve felt bad about running out on him like that since the day it happened. He didn’t deserve that. Not at all. Magnus is a good guy—agreatguy, it seems. But when I acted the way I did, I was too blinded by mortification to do the right thing.

“I was embarrassed,” I say. “I’d never had a one-night stand before.”

“I never thought it was a one-night stand,” says Magnus. His voice is low and serious.

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. I guess I just assumed…I mean, it all happened so fast. It seemed like a one-time thing.”

“It wasn’t to me.”

My heart flutters.

“I also left because…well…I’d never had a night as…hotas that.” I can feel my cheeks start to warm, but I know I need to tell him this. This is the time to be completely honest with each other. “It was so hot that I knew I couldn’t even talk to you without becoming a stuttering fool.”

“Damn,” he says, grinning. “That good, huh?”

“You were there.”

“Iwasthere,” he says.

Shit. I can feel my cheeks growing even warmer. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought that part up. My heart starts to race as Magnus reaches across the booth and closes his hand over mine.

“Lena,” he says. “Let’s be together. Let’s raise the baby together. Hell, let’s have a wholehousefulof babies.”

I’m simultaneously touched by the grandness of his words and unnerved by them. Is he saying he wants to get married? There’s no denying our connection is intense. Onalllevels, it already feels so strong. But I can’t just marry the guy.

“What are you saying, Magnus?”

“I’m saying I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?”

“What do you mean by ‘be with’?”

He studies me for a second. “It doesn’t matter how we define it right now. Or if we define it at all. Is that okay with you?”

I breathe out a little sigh of relief. Okay. So this isn’t a roundabout marriage proposal. “Yeah. That’s okay with me.”

“Good,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. God, his hand feels good on mine. When he draws it back and picks up a fry off his plate, I already miss his touch.

“So when can I see you again?” he asks. “Is there anything I can help out with baby-wise? Any upcoming appointments, that kind of thing?”

I give him an amused smile. “You want to hang out and do baby stuff?”

“Notjustbaby stuff,” he says.

I don’t think he’s actually implying anything dirty by saying that, but a wave of heat shimmers through me anyway. I push it away. I really shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like that.

“Idoneed to get a crib,” I say. “I was thinking of doing that tomorrow, actually. You could come with me, if you want to.”

“Perfect,” he says.

“Something’s the matter,”my mom says with a knowing look in her eye. It’s the following day, and I’ve just stopped by her place, as I usually do on Sunday mornings. She answered the door clutching a peace lily to her chest, which tells me she’s in the middle of a houseplant watering session.

“Morning, Mom,” I say, leaning around the glossy leaves to give her cheek a kiss.

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