Page 67 of Tempting Tessa

“Fuck you,” she spits, but there’s no heat behind it. Just fear, raw and exposed.

“Later, maybe.” I brush her hair back from her face, gentler now. “First, you’re going to the doctor.”

She shakes her head, chin jutting out in that defiant way that makes me want to kiss her and spank her at the same time. “I have deadlines, Matteo. People are counting on me.”

“And I’m counting on you to take care of yourself and our baby.” I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb. “The doctor is expecting us at eleven. I’ve cleared your schedule for the entire day.”

“You what?” Her eyes widen with outrage. “You cleared my schedule? Without asking me?”

“I didn’t need to ask.” I let my hand drift to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there as a reminder of who’s in control. “I own that company, remember? I can clear whatever schedules I want.”

“You manipulative bastard,” she hisses, but her pulse jumps under my fingers.

“Call me whatever you want, stellina.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “But you’re going to that appointment.”

She struggles against me, but it’s half-hearted at best. “You can’t just⁠—”

“I can.” I cut her off, voice hardening. “And I did. You can talk until you lose your voice, but you’re still going.”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, but I know better than to think she’s given up. This is just the first battle, not the war.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, voice small.

I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Because you’re mine. Because that baby is mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I silence her with a kiss—deep and possessive, my tongue sliding against hers until she melts against me with a soft moan.

When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed. “Go get dressed,” I tell her, giving her ass a firm smack. “Wear something comfortable. We leave in thirty minutes.”

She glares at me, rubbing her stinging ass. “This isn’t over.”

“Of course it isn’t.” I smirk, watching her slide off the counter. “This is just the beginning, Contessa. Get used to it.”

As she storms out of the kitchen, I allow myself a small smile. Stubborn, bratty, and absolutely fucking perfect. And mine—all mine.

Dr. Chen’s office is exactly what I expected. It’s expensive, private, and discreet enough to ensure no paparazzi will ever get wind of who’s inside. I stand beside Contessa in the exam room, my hand resting on the small of her back as the door opens and the doctor enters. A petite woman with silver-streaked black hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She introduces herself, shaking both of our hands with a firm grip. Instantly, I like her, and I know my stellina does also.

“So,” she says, flipping through a chart, “I understand you’re about eight weeks along based on your last menstrual period?”

Contessa glances at me, then back at the doctor. “I think so? I’m not exactly sure.”

Dr. Chen nods, making a note. “That’s common. We’ll get a more accurate dating today with the ultrasound.” She sets the chart aside and looks at Contessa with gentle directness. “How have you been feeling? Any concerns?”

Contessa’s fingers are still wrapped around mine, and I can feel her pulse racing through them. “Morning sickness,” she says. “Pretty bad, actually. And I’m exhausted all the time.”

“Also common in the first trimester,” Dr. Chen assures her. “We’ll talk about some strategies to manage that.” She stands and moves to a machine in the corner. “Let’s take a look, shall we? This is going to be a transvaginal ultrasound since you’re still early in your pregnancy.”

Contessa’s grip on my hand tightens to the point of pain, but I don’t pull away. I’ll let her do anything if it helps her get through this.

“An ultrasound?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Chen nods, already preparing the equipment. “We’ll get a clearer picture of how far along you are, check that everything looks good, and hear the heartbeat if we’re lucky.”

I feel Contessa tense beside me. Her eyes are wide, those gorgeous brown pools reflecting her fear and uncertainty. I squeeze her shoulder, trying to offer silent support, but she’s staring straight ahead at the ultrasound machine like it’s about to deliver a death sentence.

“Remove your clothes from the waist down and lie on the table,” Dr. Chen instructs, pulling on a pair of gloves. “I’ll step out while you get comfortable.”

The moment the door clicks shut, Contessa rounds on me. “I don’t want to do this,” she hisses.