All Chapters of Ruthless Temptation: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Emma I used to measure time by meetings, deadlines, and late-night rendezvous in the office. Now, I count it by baby kicks, doctor appointments, and the way Killian’s eyes light up when he talks to my belly like our baby can already understand him. The second pregnancy has been so different. With Alina, it was all nerves and secrecy, a thrilling chaos we had to adjust to. But this time, it’s… tender. Familiar. Like our love has deepened into something even more meaningful, something that’s rooted in stability but still full of heat and wild affection. At twenty-one weeks, I’m finally starting to show. My bump is impossible to hide now, especially in the sleek work dresses I stubbornly insist on wearing. My assistant keeps trying to get me to wear maternity suits, and I keep brushing her off. I’m still me, bump and all. Killian has become even more annoyingly doting. He times my water

Emma’s POV Pregnancy the second time around was supposed to be easier. Familiar. Like rereading a book you’d already fallen in love with, knowing exactly where the heartache and joy would hit. But no one warned me that it could feel heavier, that the exhaustion would seep into my bones faster, or that my heart would stretch wider with worry and love than I ever thought possible. I shifted in bed, grunting softly as I tried to find a comfortable position—not that there was such a thing at nearly twenty-eight weeks pregnant. My belly had ballooned faster this time, and the baby seemed to believe my ribs were a punching bag. The moment I thought she’d settled, she delivered another strong kick—right under my breastbone. “Ow,” I murmured under my breath, one hand instinctively moving to soothe the spot. “Okay, little one, I get it. You’re active tonight.” The soft glow from the city lights spilled thro

Emma’s POV “Absolutely not.” Killian looked up from the notepad in his lap with an incredulous grin. “You didn’t even let me finish saying it.” “Because I already know where this is going.” I raised an eyebrow as I waddled over to the couch with a bowl of strawberries. “If you say ‘Khaleesi’ one more time, I swear to God…” “I was going to say Kira,” he said with mock innocence, then winked. “But now I’m rethinking Khaleesi just to mess with you.” I plopped down beside him, groaning as I adjusted the pillow behind my back. “You are the worst.” “Correction.” He leaned in, brushing a kiss against my temple. “I’m the father of your children. Which means I get naming rights too.” We’d been going back and forth for days. After Alina, who was named in a rare moment of mutual inspiration, we assumed baby number two would be just as easy. Wrong. Ki

Emma’s POV Pain had a rhythm. Not the chaotic, overwhelming kind I’d feared, but something primal—waves that crested, peaked, and receded. The spaces in between were brief enough to catch my breath and long enough to dread the next. I’d forgotten this part. Or maybe I’d buried it. Killian gripped my hand like an anchor, his voice low and steady in my ear. “You’ve got this. Just breathe with me, Em.” I wanted to curse him. Wanted to scream. But his voice was grounding me, a tether to something calm while my body unraveled and reformed with every contraction. The hospital room was lit in a warm glow, nothing like the sterile nightmare I’d imagined. A nurse adjusted the monitor strapped to my belly, and I saw the squiggly line spike. Another contraction building. “No—no, not again—” I choked out, clutching the sheets as fire burned through my spine. “You’re

Emma’s POV 3:12 a.m. I didn’t even have to look at the clock to know. My body had become a walking timepiece—calibrated to every whimper, every soft cry that spilled from our newborn’s lungs. I was already halfway out of bed before the baby monitor even buzzed. Killian stirred beside me. “Want me to get her?” “I’ve got it,” I whispered. “You got the last one.” He groaned something unintelligible and flopped onto his back as I padded out of the room and into the nursery. The soft glow of the nightlight painted the room in warm gold. Our daughter’s tiny fists were balled up as she squirmed in the crib, face scrunched like the world had wronged her. I scooped her up gently, humming softly as I rocked her against my chest. Her cries quieted almost instantly, little sobs melting into hiccupy breaths. I smiled through the fog of exhaustion, pressing a kiss to