Freya’s eyes flicked upwards, searching his. One of them wasn't thinking straight. Either she was hearing things she wanted to hear or he'd made a misstep, admitting paternity in the emotional heat because that was the way he'd wanted it.
His strong hands were still gripping her shoulders, she could feel every fingertip burning through the thin fabric of the sleeveless dress she wore. And he was too close, too male, and too much loved.
'Did I hear what I think I heard?' she asked acidly. She felt his hands drop to his side. 'Do you admit the child is yours?'
'Yes.' The approval made his face go hard and she stared at him disbelievingly. Had he finally concluded that she could be trusted? Had he cared about her enough to work it out for himself?
'I don't blame you for hating me, Frey
