They left Bali on a flight that chased the dawn across the South China Sea. Amber slept with her head on Kabir's shoulder, the gold chain cool against her throat, her hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly. The baby had started moving more regularly now, tiny flutters that felt like butterfly wings against her palm. She had begun to recognize the rhythms of her daughter's wakefulness. Morning and evening, when the world was quiet, the child stirred and danced.

Kabir watched her sleep, his dark eyes tracing the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes, the pearl pendant that rose and fell with her breath. She was more beautiful now than she had ever been. Pregnancy had softened her edges, deepened her surrender, opened her to a vulnerability that made his protective instincts roar. And yet she was still his whore, still his slut, still the woman who would get on her knees at a single word and beg for the privilege of his cock. The paradox of her was the most exquisite thing he had ever known.