by Anna Durand
My eyes drifted shut, my body went limp, and my thoughts dwindled into a mental silence broken only by his voice and the achingly beautiful melody he sang to me.
Chapter Eight
When I woke in the morning, the sun had risen high enough in the sky I wondered if I'd slept through the whole morning. A glance at the clock on the bedside table assured me I hadn't. It was eight thirty, though, and I rarely slept this late. Slumbering in the arms of an odd and enticing Scotsman had proved enormously restful.
Rory had left a terrycloth robe at the foot of the bed for me. I ditched his shirt, the one I'd slept in, and donned the robe before ambling out into the living room.
He sat in a high-backed, upholstered chair adjacent to the terrace doors, wearing charcoal slacks and a pale-green dress shirt, his attention focused on the laptop computer balanced on one thigh. Brows lowered, mouth tight, he studied whatever the screen displayed to him. Glasses perched on his nose, reflecting the light from a nearby lamp. So intent was he on his task that he didn't notice me until I crouched in front of him and laid my hands on his knees. Without lifting his head, he glanced up at me.
"Good morning," he said. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, very." I squeezed between his knees, but his computer blocked me from getting as close as I wanted. "Why are you doing boring things on your computer? You should join me for a bath instead."
"How do you know what I'm doing is boring?"
"Because you look tense. If it was interesting — or heaven forbid, fun — you'd look more relaxed." I pushed up on the corner of his mouth with one finger. "Might even smile."
"I'm not on holiday, Emery. This is a work-related trip."
"Come on, it's Sunday. Spend another day with me before I have to go home."
He watched me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he tipped his head down to peer at me over the tops of his glasses. "As much as I would enj — appreciate the company, I have to finish this contract."
I sank back on my heels. "Contract? What kind of business are you in?"
"Later, I will explain. You have my word."
"Ugh. It's always later with you." I picked up his computer and set it on the floor. He held motionless while I wriggled between his thighs to twine my arms around his neck. "Be spontaneous, just this once. For me. I'll beg if you want."
His lips twitched, and his eyes sparkled, but he didn't reciprocate my embrace. With his hands on his thighs, he gave a small shake of his head. "Later is the best I can offer."
"What are we going to do later? At least tell me that."
He caught me around my waist and stood up, hoisting me with him. I landed on my feet, and he eased me away from his body. Spoilsport.
"Have a bath," he said. "I'll be finishing soon."
"And then you'll join me?"
"I will come to you in the bathroom."
Why did I get the feeling he was sidestepping my question? Joining me in the bathroom didn't mean he'd get in the tub with me. I could not understand his reticence to get naked with me again. We'd had sex, for crying out loud. A bath was going too far?
Helpless to resist the chance to tweak him, I undid the sash of my robe and let the terrycloth fall open.
Rory's focus snapped to my breasts. He inhaled a long breath, his body relaxing as he released it. His gaze wandered down to the hairs at the apex of my thighs. He cleared his throat and met my eyes. "Have your bath, Emery."
No mistaking the roughness of his voice or the faint blush in his cheeks.
"I'll do that, Rory."
My robe flounced around me as I spun on my heels and sashayed into the bedroom. I veered around the bed, heading straight into the bathroom. While I got the tub filling, I considered the situation. Before this weekend, I would never have believed a man with Rory's seduction skills could be so uptight outside of the bedroom. He wanted me, but he wouldn't take me even when I all but threw myself at him. I'd told him I would beg if he wanted me to. The disturbing part was I'd meant it. I would beg. I wanted him that much.
A one-night stand, as hot as it had sounded at the time, would've left me feeling empty inside. I'd realized the truth when I woke yesterday to find Rory gone. A full day and another night with the man had made me curious — fascinated, actually — about the mystery that was Rory MacTaggart.
So what if I might've begged him to take me. I would've done it in a sassy, entertaining way that would've made him cringe. In the end, though, I would've gotten my way, because he wanted me with a lust as all-consuming as mine.
I lost track of the time while I soaked in the jacuzzi with bubbles swirling around me. They tickled my skin, and when I raised my knees to spread my legs, the bubbles tickled my sex. I let my head fall back, loving the arousal that burgeoned within me. A memory replayed in my mind, of Rory's hand on my sex and the skillful way his fingers propelled me toward release, the pleasure building like an ocean swell cresting.
Well, if he wouldn't touch me…
I snaked a hand between my thighs. My fingers delved between my folds where I was already wet and aching for Rory's touch. I moved my fingers in slow, sure strokes — the way he had done to me the other night, with those strong fingers. The image of him poised above me took hold in my mind, a vivid recollection of his naked and muscular body, and my lust cranked up higher and hotter on a new surge of liquid need. Arching my back, I rubbed my clitoris hard and fast, my breaths shortening into breathy grunts.
Someone rapped on the bathroom door.
I froze, my hand motionless though pressed to my swollen flesh, and struggled to catch my breath. "Yes?"
"May I come in?" Rory asked.
Panic iced through me, but then I realized I had nothing to hide. If he took one look at me and figured out what I'd been doing, maybe he'd jump in the tub with me after all.
"Yeah, come on in," I said, removing my hand from my groin. I rested my arms on the tub's sides, my legs outstretched.
The door swung inward, and Rory stepped inside the bathroom. He halted alongside the tub, near my feet. Unlike last night, when I'd shocked him with my intention to disrobe in his presence, this morning he gave my nude body an assessing glance. His lips kinked into that repressed smile of his, a barely perceptible indication of interest.
He ran one fingertip along the tub's rim. Slowly. Sensuously.
Oh yeah, it was more than interest.
"Enjoying the amenities?" he asked.
"Absolutely." I raised one knee, swishing it to make the water splash high enough to lap at his finger. "What's the point of staying in a luxury hotel if you don't avail yourself of its pleasures?"
He tipped his head to the side, his focus gravitating to my sex, visible every time my knee swished to the right. The rich brown of his eyes seemed to darken and smolder with desire. Though he lifted his head to stare at the opposite wall, his gaze kept flitting to my body.
"Out of the tub, please," he said gruffly. "I need to speak with you."
"We can talk here." I braced my ankle on the tub's rim, poking his leg with my toes. "Hop on in."
"No thank you." He leaned his leg against the tub, probably an unconscious action, and folded his arms over his chest. Those thick biceps bulged a little more. "I will wait for you in the dining room."
I feigned a pout. "You're no fun."
"Yes, I stipulate that fact."
Stipulate the fact? I squinted at him for a moment, wondering for the umpteenth time what kind of job he had. He talked in such a formal way sometimes.
I lifted my leg, stretching my toes in an attempt to reach his arm, but I couldn't quite get there. Foiled, I wiggled my damp toes in the air near his hip. "I'd rather have a conversation in this tub. I think better naked."
He choked on what sounded like a laugh that he managed to squelch. "I rather doubt it. Even if it's true, I will not think properly while naked in a tub with you."
I smiled, reveling in his admission. "You're that h
ot for me. Wow, I'm super flattered."
Rory snared my foot with his hand, and his thumb traced circles on the ball. "As tempting as you are, I need to discuss a serious matter with you." His thumb drifted down the side of my foot, following the sensitive flesh at the edge of my sole. "We'll talk in the dining room."
With another fake pout, I let my arms splash down into the water. "If you insist."
"I do." He released my foot and moved to the door. "And put on some clothing, please."
I admired his gorgeous backside as he strode across the bedroom to the doorway. His sculpted ass flexed under his slacks, but I lost my view of those fine glutes when he exited the bedroom. I climbed out of the tub, dried off, and strolled into the bedroom to dig some clothes out of my suitcase. Since we were having a "serious" conversation, I chose indigo-blue jeans and a sunny yellow peasant top.
No cleavage exposed, so Rory could concentrate.
What he wanted to discuss with me, I couldn't even guess.
In the dining room, I discovered him seated at one end of the rectangular wood table. Though a golden-colored chandelier hung suspended above the table's center, most of the light came from the two windows. A white pot in the middle of the table held pretty purple flowers.
Rory had placed a little stack of papers on the shiny tabletop. A small, rectangular black box beside his laptop spit out more sheets.
A portable printer. Nice.
The printer completed its task, falling silent. Rory added the newly printed sheets to his perfect stack.
"Have a seat," he said, waving toward the chair at the opposite end of the table.
Okay, I wasn't allowed to sit beside him. Whatever.
I pulled the chair out, plunked my butt onto its cushioned seat, and propped my feet on the table. My elbows on the chair's arms, I linked my hands over my belly.
Rory's mouth scrunched up, but he made no comment on my pose.
"What's up?" I asked.
He tapped his fingers on the table but avoided looking at me. "What were you doing in the bathroom when I knocked? I heard noises."
"Oh, that." I grinned. "Since you wouldn't join me, I decided to have a good time all by myself. I was seconds away from my happy ending when you interrupted."
He did a double take. "You were touching yourself?"
"Bingo," I said. "You must've suspected as much, or you wouldn't have asked what I was doing."
He squared his shoulders, re-stacked his perfectly stacked papers, and reasserted his impenetrable expression. "I simply can't understand why you would do that in the daytime."
I clamped my teeth over my lips in an attempt to keep from laughing. He'd take it as an insult, but really, I found his discombobulation to be the cutest thing ever. "It's okay, Rory. I like your hang-ups. Makes me want to nibble them away one by one with my teeth, my tongue, my lips, my —"
"Enough. I've deduced your meaning."
Damn if his stuffy language didn't make me want to crawl across the table to start that nibbling campaign right away.
"Is this what you wanted to talk about?" I asked. "Whether I masturbate in the tub, in the daytime, while you're standing outside the door. Bet you were listening at the keyhole."
"There is no keyhole on the bathroom door."
"Don't be so literal. I'm cool with you being a lech."
"I am not — Never mind." He snatched up a pen and twirled it around and around his middle finger.
"Out of curiosity," I said, "what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a solicitor."
Wow, he'd answered this time. "That like a pimp?"
He slapped the pen down on the table. "No, it's like a lawyer."
"Chill out, I was kidding. I watch BBC America, I know what a solicitor is." I relaxed into my chair. "And you are a very solicitous solicitor."
Harrumphing, he picked up the papers, rapped them on the table to make their well-aligned tops extra-even, and set the stack down again. "I have an offer for you."
"What kind of offer?"
"One I hope you'll consider." He shut the laptop's lid with a soft click and fiddled with the papers a bit more. "You seem as if you'd be amenable to this sort of —"
"Spit it out, Rory."
He repositioned his hands on his lap and leaned back against his chair. "I want us to marry."
Chapter Nine
Everything seemed to stop moving, from the draft from the air conditioning to the atoms of my body. I must've misheard him. Right? Nobody proposed after thirty-six hours of acquaintance. Did they? And of course, I had to say no. This was insane, and even I had enough sense to turn down a proposal pitched from left field. Didn't I?
Deep down, beneath the surface shock, I kind of wanted to consider it.
Either he'd hypnotized me while I slept, or I'd lost my mind.
"Perhaps I should explain," Rory said.
"Yeah, I think you really should."
Head bowed, he flattened a palm on the tabletop, kinking his fingers and then spreading them. He studied his own reflection on the polished surface of the table. "I've been divorced three times, and I have no desire to marry again."
"So naturally, you propose to me."
His fingers tensed into a claw-like position. "I said I have no desire to marry, but circumstances require that I do."
"This isn't the Middle Ages. People aren't required to get hitched."
"You don't understand." He slumped forward, elbows on the table, hands atop the skinny stack of papers. "In the past two years, both my brothers have married. First Lachlan, then Aidan. This has resulted in my family insisting what I need to set me right is another wife."
"Set you right?" I tipped forward, crossing my arms on the tabletop. "You mean because you're so uptight and pent-up and determined to make yourself miserable when you could be having a rollicking good time?"
Rory stabbed his tongue into the inside of his cheek. "Yes."
"You've decided they're right, and that marrying a stranger is the solution."
He scratched his head. "This will not be a love match. It will be a business arrangement."
"Better explain in more detail, before I run for the phone and call nine-one-one to report a man is kidnapping me for sex slavery."
He rolled his eyes, and with a huff, threw his body against the chair's back. "No slavery of any sort. You are intelligent enough to consider my offer and decide whether to accept it."
"Gee, thanks. But you haven't explained your offer yet."
He steepled his fingers under his chin, elbows balanced on the chair's arms. "I need a wife, to appease my family. As I said, they've grown rather insistent marriage is the cure for what they believe ails me, to the point they've begun to contrive seemingly accidental meetings with eligible young women every time I go out in public. They convinced my housekeeper to bring her divorced daughter to work with her in hopes I'd find her appealing."
"You didn't."
He rested his forehead on his steepled fingers. "She's bonnie, but I'm not interested. Besides, she was a wee bit frightened of me."
"Frightened? Of you?"
"I realize I have no such effect on you, but some people find me intimidating." He glared at the papers he'd left on the table. "The salient fact is this. I tried marrying for love three times, and three times I was… disappointed."
By the way he said it, I got the feeling disappointment was an understatement.
"This time," he continued, "I will marry for pragmatic purposes. If I go home with a new wife on my arm, my family will have no choice but to stop blethering about my personal life. You and I would remain married for one year, then you will leave, and I will tell my family our marriage is over. There will be a legally required one-year separation after that, but you will receive generous compensation as soon as you move out."
"How generous?"
"Five hundred thousand American dollars."
I drew back, most like
ly slack-jawed, as my arms tumbled off the table onto my lap. "You're paying me half a million bucks to be your wife for a year."
"Precisely. I have more conditions, however." He reached for his papers but changed his mind and took up his pen, twirling it like a gunfighter. "You will live with me, and we will have sexual relations on a regular basis."
My mouth definitely dropped open then.
He raised a placating hand. "Of course, you're free to say no if I want sex and you don't. But I will require it at least twice a week."
Sex. Twice a week. With him. As much as the idea appealed to me, the rest of his cockamamie offer rang alarm bells in my head. The loud, grating kind.
Before I could muster the brainpower to voice my concerns, he went on. "Sex with strangers has been less than fulfilling, and even the risks involved couldn't provide enough stimulation for me. A monogamous arrangement seems the most prudent alternative."
I gripped my chair's arms. "We were strangers the other night, which means you're saying sex with me was less than fulfilling."
"That's not — I meant the others, not you."
"Mm-hm." I glanced at the windows and then at him, confounded and intrigued at the same time. "This is sounding an awful lot like I'll be your live-in prostitute."
"Donnae be ridiculous." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "You will be my wife, with all the benefits of such a relationship."
"Like what?"
"Free access to my financial accounts and the freedom to do whatever you wish." He stood, gathered up his papers, and stalked down the table's length to where I slumped in my chair. Poised on the table's corner, one leg bent, he held the papers facedown on his thigh. In a voice far too enticing for my sanity, he said, "You told me you've spent years working hard to pay off your student loans, and that you had little opportunity for the fun you value so highly. It sounds to me as if you've been stifled by responsibility. For a woman like you that must've been torture."
Damn, he was good. He'd listened to everything I blabbed to him, but more than that, he'd figured out what it all meant.
"Not torture," I said. "I got sick and tired of working forty hours a week — often fifty, sixty, or more — to make my employer rich while I lived in a teeny apartment and never took a single vacation day."
