His greatest love.

Chapter 17.

Diana set her glass down, the crystal making a soft click against the table. "The food was amazing... thanks," she said, polite but distant.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." His voice was smooth, deep — the kind that lingered in the air long after he spoke. His gaze stayed locked on hers, steady, deliberate, but with a faint narrowing that told her he was memorizing every flicker of expression.

"Why did you rent out the entire place?" she asked, brow raised, her voice carrying the sharpness of someone unwilling to be impressed.

His gaze slid up from her belly to her face with a slow, devastatingly amazing smile. "I rented it out so I wouldn't have to share your attention with anyone else."

She smirked lightly. "And here I thought it was because you don't like people."

"I don't," he admitted easily, leaning back in his chair, perfectly tailored suit stretching across broad shoulders. "But I'd tolerate a crowd if it meant being in the same room with you. This—" his hand gestured lazily to the empty tables, "—is just me being selfish."

"Selfish, huh?" she murmured, carefully leaning back to her seat.

He watched her as she gently rubbed her very noticeable beautifully round baby bump before speaking again, his tone lighter, teasing. "I have to say, Pierce, pregnancy suits you."

She shot him a flat look. "That's a dangerous line to close dinner with."

"I mean it," he said, his eyes glinting. "From the minute you walked in here every part of me wants to stand up and make sure no one in this city forgets you're mine."

"I'm not yours," she said, but there was a quiet warmth under her tone.

"Not yet." His reply was quick, unshaken, and laced with just enough confidence to make her want to roll her eyes.

She busied herself unfolding her napkin. "You're incorrigible."

"I prefer relentless."

"Relentless gets tiresome."

"Not if it's worth the chase," he said, his gaze holding hers for a moment longer than necessary — long enough for her pulse to betray her.

Her hand drifted to her belly, almost unconsciously, and he followed the movement with his eyes. For a fleeting second, his expression softened in a way she hadn't seen before. "How's my... sorry — your little one doing tonight?"

She smirked. "Still kicking. Probably annoyed you're here."

He chuckled, low and warm. "Then I'll take it as a sign we're bonding already."

She folded her hands. "So? What was so important?"

He leaned back slightly, one arm over the chair beside him, his thumb absently tracing the inside of his palm — the only small betrayal of his restraint. "We've fought our way to this... friendship. I like being around you. I like knowing you'll tell me the truth — even when it cuts."

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. "But...?"

His lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "But I want more."

She arched a brow. "More?"

His gaze dropped briefly — almost imperceptibly — to her mouth before coming back to her eyes. "I want to be the man you think about when you can't sleep. The man you trust enough to tell every secret you've never said out loud. I want to be the one you look for when you walk into a room." His tone stayed even, but the weight behind his words was molten.

Her eyes narrowed. "You hear yourself? I'm extremely pregnant."

"I can see that." His voice dipped lower, as if the words were meant only for her. "And it changes nothing."