The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 342

Chapter 167-2

Chapter 167-2

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know,” I say, turning the stem of my glass between my fingers. “It’s just strange. I mean… it’s all

new.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Locke promises, reaching across the small gap between our chairs to rest over my knee. “And anyway, come Monday, you’re going to tear Knox’s business model to pieces from behind that desk. But tonight… tonight you’re allowed to just be Zara. No papers, no bullshit,

no survival mode.”

“Just Zara,” I repeat, testing the words on my tongue. They feel light. They feel whole.

“Just Zara. The woman who beat the odds. The woman who’s carrying our son or daughter.”/

I smile, leaning my head back against the dark leather headrest, casually looking over at him.

Locke is staring back at me. Not casually.

He isn’t looking at the fire, or his glass, or the room. He’s looking directly into my eyes with an intensity so fierce that my breath catches in my throat. The flickering orange firelight traces the sharp line of his jaw, the thick dark stubble on his cheeks, and the deep, dark gray of his irises.

“What?” I ask, a bit startled. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Locke says softly, his deep voice dropping into that thick, intimate register reserved only for when the doors are closed and the world is shut out.

“It’s not nothing,” I tease gently, reaching across to touch the collar of his shirt. “You’re staring.”

Locke doesn’t break eye contact. He reaches out, taking my hand off his collar, holding my fingers gently in his massive palm. He raises my hand to his mouth, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the back of my knuckles, his warm breath fanning over my skin.

“I’m just looking at you,” Locke says. “You’re so amazingly fucking beautiful, Zara.”

My heart gives a sharp, sweet thump even as I blush. “Locke…”

He shifts slightly in his chair, leaning closer, his eyes tracing the curve of my body beneath my clothes, lingering over my waist.

“I was sitting at that clubhouse table watching you all day,” Locke says, his hand sliding up to the lower hem of my sweater. “And all I could think about was how I can’t wait to see you, Zara. I can’t wait to see what you look like when you’re all lush and rounded and visibly pregnant. Your curves are going to be so damn sexy.”

A breathless, fluttering gasp escapes my lips. The sheer, raw intimacy of his words strikes me

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skin washes over me.

“Are you tired, Zara?” Locke says, his deep voice dripping with heat.

I look up into his eyes, my pulse hammering against my ribs, my cunt aching for him. I reach up, running my hands up his massive biceps, feeling the hard muscle beneath the black cotton.

“No,” I whisper back, my voice strong and honest. “Not at all.”

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