"Make me better." His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes moving over her sculpted body. "But, sweetheart, you're already perfect." If it weren't for her pounding heart, she would have rolled her eyes and replied with a snide remark. But instead, she said, "Make me irresistible. Make me someone better so he wants me." He lifted a brow, using his long index finger to considerably stroke his jaw. "Then it wouldn't be you he'd want. You'd be someone beneath you." "I don't care," she found herself saying. "I just want someone to look at me the way everyone looks at you - like you're something they want." He deeply sighed, nodded his head then turned away from her before saying, "We'll have to eventually break you in then, sweetheart. No one wants an inexperienced lover."

"Pregnant," he said, the word rolling off his tongue. "Yes, Mr. Devereux, I am pregnant with your child." She cast her eyes down at her nails to avoid his intense hazel eyes. "Anyway, you don't even remember me. I just thought you should know. Goodbye." Oh, yes, he remembered this one. She had been a challenge, and when he finally stumbled into bed with her, he didn't ever want to stop his deep thrusting or the desperate movements of her hands in his hair, pulling him closer until they came together. "Olivia," he said, drawing out her name the same way he had during their passionate night. "I want my child. Give me proof it's mine so I can take this predicament off your hands." She laughed at the insensitive man. "How dare you have the nerve to call my child a predicament? There is nothing unpleasant about the blood I carry. Goodbye, Mr. Devereux, and I hope you rot in hell."