Magnate's Marriage Demand

by Robyn Grady

  Driven by an overwhelming impulse, she bounced onto her toes and threw herself around his neck. He wound his arms around her middle and a profound sense of destiny doused and soothed her. His low chuckle, a deep luscious throaty sound, soaked in to salve and lift her even higher—not only from today’s hellish descent, but also from her past.

  His unique male scent filled her lungs. God, she loved how he smelled. Even more she loved how he felt, like a rock she could hang onto no matter how fierce the storm.

  She murmured against the shell of his ear. “I should have trusted you, and let you make some decisions about the baby.” He was going to be her child’s father, for heaven’s sake. But she hadn’t truly accepted that…not until now.

  For a heartbeat he stiffened, then his nose and mouth nestled in her hair. “It’s okay. It’s over now.”

  She trusted him. The revelation was like a white searing flare going off in her mind. She didn’t need to talk to him about prenups. They need never talk about his parents, if he didn’t want to. This man would never hurt or stifle her.

  She was wise enough to admit that he’d been someone else when they’d met, a man driven by a cast of personal demons who had pushed him to succeed. But he wasn’t carved from stone. Their evolving relationship had turned him around inch by inch. Today she felt that epiphany more deeply than the wild thumping of her heart.

  “Don’t get me anything for Christmas,” she whispered, still huddled close, eyes shut deliciously tight as the lift whirred down. “I don’t need or want a thing, other than to know we’ll all be together next year.”

  He drew back, his eyes somber and dark, a single line etched between his brows. He stroked her chin before tugging her close. He kissed her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. She knew she was still emotional from the scene in Dr. Fielding’s office, but her reaction wasn’t about that. A simple touch was enough to release butterflies in her stomach and send her heartbeat clattering like maracas. Yet this sensation was more than physical reaction. It was pure and meant to be.

  No doubts now. She was falling in love with him. Arms spread wide, smile splitting her face, plummeting in love with Armand.

  All the air in the lift had evaporated by the time his mouth finally left hers. Dizzy, and so happy, she wanted to go back and have his spell transport her again. But the metallic doors had already opened. The crowd gathered on the other side, gazing in with fawning smiles, meant this ride was over.

  Or had only just begun.

  Eight

  The drive home took less than half an hour. Every minute, Tamara had burrowed into him like a purring Cheshire cat. Once in a while he dropped a kiss on her brow. He’d never felt so fiercely protective of a person. Of two people. Thank God, the test results had been wrong.

  He was fond of Tamara, exceedingly so. She was sexy and witty. Coupled with her workable balance of individuality and compliance, no doubt feelings would evolve into the bedrock a marriage could depend upon. He would be a good and responsible father to this child, and when his own children came along…

  Damn. He’d almost forgotten this afternoon’s meeting to sort out his own will. Now making certain provisions seemed doubly important—provisions Tamara might not understand or like. But he couldn’t let that sway him.

  Cold drops splashed on their heads, as they stepped out of his vehicle.

  When he circled her waist and swept her close, she laughed before her supple curves melded against him like hot wax molding to its cast. As she settled, the bow of her lips lifted so slightly, he wondered if he imagined her seductive smile.

  Snaking her arms around his neck, she snuggled in. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”

  His heart pounded. “Mine, too.”

  She stroked his Adam’s apple with a knuckle. “We could make it even luckier?”

  Primal heat surged through his veins. Eyes burning into hers, he set her palm against his cheek. “Are we talking satin sheets?”

  “They don’t have to be satin.”

  A fresh water smell rolled in from the east as Armand’s heat combusted. Growling deep in his throat, he shifted her slightly to accommodate what felt like molten rock. “We’d decided to wait.”

  Hesitation flickered across her eyes before she threaded her fingers up the side of his neck, over his ear, through his hair. One shoulder lifted as her head angled up. For the first time her mouth sought out his, rather than the other way around.

  She worked the kiss with an ease and sincerity that pumped his blood up past overload. Her perfume connected with the primitive part of his brain that reacted purely on instinct. His hand slid down her skirt, over the firm length of her thigh. He grinned at the mix of images…pure heaven and just as pure sin.

  When she drew away, his essence went with her, like a thunder crack after lightning.

  Her gaze followed the motion of her hand fanning over his chest. “Today made me realize again how fickle life can be. One minute you’re here, sailing along, thinking you have nothing to worry about, then…bam! Everything collapses and you want back what you had before, and want it more than ever.” Her eyes searched his. “I want you.”

  More droplets fell, catching and glistening on her lashes while her admission hung between them. The hope in her dilated eyes cried out for the obvious reply. Not I want you, but I love you. And he ought to say it, not only to cement the deal, so to speak, but also to make her happy. And he wanted that for reasons other than the satisfaction she gave him, and would give for years to come. She deserved to be loved.

  Or, at least, believe that she was.

  He was about to speak when the sprinkle turned into a stinging downpour. He found her free hand and, holding it tight raced with her beneath an archway dotted with climbing roses, two pairs of feet splashing madly toward the house. When they reached the back patio, Armand flicked his wet hands, swept open one half of the French doors and ushered her inside.

  To save her worrying unnecessarily, Armand phoned Ruth when they’d got in the car. He shot a glance around for her now and noticed his favorite cheesecake sitting on the counter. An accompanying note told them to celebrate. He glanced over to Tamara, indicated the cake, and winked. “I love the way Ruth thinks.”

  She smiled even as a tremor wracked her body. The air-conditioning was on high to fight the prestorm humidity, and she was soaked through. Her sheer white dress clung like plastic wrap. Every line and curve and peak seemed to cry out for him to take immediate action. She wanted him and—tradition be damned!—he was going to take her.

  He shook free of her spell long enough to fetch towels from a nearby linen press. A moment later, her shaking subsided as he dutifully rubbed her back, arms, breasts.

  As his actions gently rocked her, she hummed over a grin. “I think it would be smarter to ditch the clothes.”

  His desire shot a level higher, harder. “When your mind is made, you don’t fool around, do you?”

  “I’m only thinking of Ruth.” She slid a sandaled toe through the puddle at their feet, making a smiley-face pattern. “We’re dripping all over her clean floor.”

  “Maybe we should drip our way to the pool area.”

  “You promised me sheets.”

  He mock-frowned. “You were the one who suggested linen.”

  “And you gave me this ring, which means we’re supposed to be happy.” She wove a finger around his shirt buttons. “Make me happy.”

  He knew this Tamara had been hiding in there somewhere. Mother of mercy, was he glad she’d finally come out.

  Bending, he swung her into his arms. His soggy shoes squelched on the tiles as he strode toward the stairs and her bedroom.

  To the victor go the spoils.

  Armand set her down at her bedroom doorway. Her feet, minus the flat sandals, had barely sunk into the downy snow-white carpet before he began to prowl, crowding her back into the room. Tamara shuddered, not from cold but the intensity of the naked want smoldering in his eyes.

&n
bsp; Moving ever nearer, he tore the shirttail out from his trousers and blindly undid his shirt. Mesmerized, she watched the deft action as he released the last button.

  His chin jerked at her sodden dress. “Can I help?”

  He peeled the shirt from each muscular arm with a roll of his shoulders. She sucked down a hot breath. Oh, Lord, her mouth felt like the Simpson Desert. “Maybe a glass of water.”

  “I thought we were celebrating. If you weren’t pregnant, I’d suggest champagne….” Still prowling, he ripped off his belt and dropped it with as little ceremony as he had the shirt. “After we’re done.”

  His olive skin was a masterpiece in polished muscle, from his hard-ridged stomach to twin rock pecs and shoulders that weren’t so much large as formidable. His bulging biceps seemed to be on alert, his forearms powerful and corded with sinew. His sensuality was so vital, so real, she could literally taste it. Salty. Uncensored.

  Her focus lifted to his face.

  His eyes were dark, the bright irises drowned by desire. A wicked lopsided smile reached out to taunt her.

  “Tamara,” he admonished, “I hope you’re not thinking of pulling out.”

  A fire ate up her legs as she backed up. A wet carpet of hair slapped her back as she shook her head a little too hard. “Nope. Not at all.”

  He chuckled. “Then stop running.”

  He stooped to flip off one shoe and the other. They landed with a soft thump on the floor, more crumbs for the trail. Nerve endings catching light, she stopped to let him catch her. His heat struck her anew, searing like a blast of steam. He was right. She wanted this, had asked for it. She just hadn’t expected to feel so…overwhelmed.

  He seemed fascinated by the motion of his palm sculpting her shoulder. “Isn’t that better?”

  She leaned farther into his touch and felt immediately wrapped in a cocoon spun of competence and steel. “Much.”

  He found the zipper at her back. A moment later, the air brushed her damp skin. He slid the wet fabric from her shoulders and kissed the exposed curve of her neck. “Better still?”

  Head back. Eyes closed. Tingling all over. “You can stop convincing me now.”

  “Not a chance.”

  The dress dropped heavily at her feet. The fiery tips of his hands edged in and around her panties’ elastic, skimming her bottom. “You definitely need some help with these.” One hand wove up, threading under her bra’s back strap. “And this must be annoying. Feels wet right through.” The ice-pink bra snapped undone.

  Pangs of need curled in her stomach. Burying her nose in his chest, she breathed in the heady scent of prime male flesh. But clearly, he wanted her mouth where he could enjoy it. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply, maneuvering the bra ’til it fell. When her breasts brushed his abdomen, the longing was so intense she thought she might pass out.

  He drew back and a line cut between his brows. “You’re pale.”

  Her hands clenched his forearms. Yes, she was pregnant. However, “I don’t need kid gloves.” She pulled him close. “I need more of this.”

  Her mouth found his and his groan of appreciation vibrated through her fingertips.

  “All the same,” he murmured, half-kissing, half-talking, “I won’t take chances.”

  She locked her arms around his waist, refusing to let him go. “Honestly. I’m fine.”

  He chuckled, a deep rich sexy sound. “Don’t worry. I just need an excuse to carry you off to bed. I’ve been good long enough.” His grin was crooked as he swept her up. “Can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to being bad.”

  He crossed to the sumptuous lilac quilt. His gaze lingered on her lips before he did the most amazing thing. He swung her higher and set her to stand on the quilt.

  Her stomach squeezed around excitement, shock and wide-eyed self-consciousness. She felt so vulnerable, parked there in front of him, every imperfection on display. Her hips were too wide, her legs, too skinny. Yet he looked her over as if every inch were perfection.

  She partway covered her breasts, which felt suddenly twice as full and ten times more sensitive. “What are you doing?”

  “Admiring the view.” He took her hands away then brushed his lips near her navel. “You’re beautiful. Don’t hide it.”

  But she’d never done this before, made love with a man who affected her so deeply and on so many crazy, sublime, sometimes frustrating levels. The emotions were so strong, crashing over her, pinning her down and at the same time giving her wings. A month ago she couldn’t have imagined trusting the cool, insistent man who hadn’t let up and tracked her down. Remarkable, but now she couldn’t see herself married to anyone else.

  She’d discovered today she trusted Armand. But more than that…she was tumbling, head over heels in love with him. Surely tonight he would let her know he felt the same way.

  Her heartbeat thudded madly in her chest, in her ears, as he clutched the triangle of fabric at her vee and dragged the silk down. Her eyes drifted shut as indescribable pleasure released a firestorm through her bloodstream.

  He steadied her as she held onto his forearm and stepped from the last of her clothing. Cradling her bottom in his hot hands, he brought that newly exposed part of her close.

  A breathtaking shudder claimed her as he kissed her there, so softly, it was nothing more than a touch. So tender, she thought she might weep.

  His grip tightened. “You can’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of making love with you.”

  The husky sincerity of his words stilled her. Smiling, she wound her fingers through his strong, black hair. “I wish I’d been there.”

  He chuckled, and Tamara dissolved more as his hands came around with an agonizing lack of speed. His fingers trailed up, then down her sides as his tongue twirled a lazy motion where her thigh met her most private parts. Her moan came from the very depths of her soul.

  His thumbs winged down to massage her inner thighs as his mouth suctioned onto a quivering portion of flesh just above her bikini line. One fire-infused hand inched up her belly to find her breast, to roll and pull and adore its responsive tip.

  Drifting in an ecstasy-induced haze, she understood the smile in his voice more than his words.

  “This scene is a little uneven.”

  His weight shifted back.

  Cast by the raging storm outside, a theater of rocking shadows inhabited the room. In the midst of those shadows stood Armand, an arsenal of sinew rippling as he worked to remove his trousers. Cement-hard pecs jostled as both shorts and pants came down to reveal powerful thighs and, when he straightened, a sight that took the rest of her breath away.

  He had the physique of an athlete in his prime—every amazing inch, rock-solid and memorable. Her wandering gaze hooked onto his. He smiled as if he knew something she didn’t.

  “Ready?”

  “Don’t tease,” she pleaded. “Not now.” The anticipation of twining her limbs with his, making love all the way, was close to killing her.

  He moved forward, placed her arms around his neck and dropped moist, savoring kisses over her waist. Arrows of desire flew to her core when he reached the curve of her breast. The tip of his tongue trailed around the tender flesh, around and around, ’til she thought she might go mad. She hugged him in and he tasted her fully, sucking gently while his tongue still worked its magic.

  His teeth grazed as he released her. Hands circling her waist, he lifted her off the bed and against him, letting her slide all the way ’til her toes touched the carpet.

  The pad of one finger traced her temple, her cheek, finally skimming her parted mouth. He dipped to suckle her bottom lip as that fingertip fell to rim her other tight nipple.

  Oh, Lord. Any second, she’d go up in flames.

  He grabbed a fistful of quilt and flicked it back at the same moment a streak of lightning tore open the sky. A second later, an earth-shattering roll of thunder seemed to shake the room. She jumped, and Armand’s shielding arms reassured her.

&nbs
p; He bent to search her eyes. “It’s only a storm.”

  She survived a test of fire today. Nothing could unravel her now, particularly not typical summer weather.

  She thatched her fingers at the back of his neck and drew herself up toward him. “Just hurry up and kiss me again.” She murmured against the yielding pressure of his lips, “Keep kissing me. Don’t ever stop.”

  He hoisted her up and she stretched out on the smooth, cool sheets. The fresh laundered smell, hinting at lavender, surrounded her. Armand’s lowering frame blocked what natural light still filtered in through the window. The whole world seemed suspended in shadow.

  The mattress dipped as he edged in beside her. Over the sound of rain pelting against the window, their labored breathing joined. The heat of his body was molten. Like warmed butter, she melted against it.

  His fingers trailed her tummy and lower, between her thighs. Wanting more, she angled toward him, bending her leg and raising that knee to rest over his hip. When he nudged closer—his mouth snatching kisses from her brow, his touch exploring—she felt swept away, a petal sucked along in the wake of a torrent.

  Between their steaming bodies, the edge of his hand slid up to brush the tangible bud of her need. The jolt of pleasure made her jump even as a pressure, low and deep inside, began to burn and throb. Already almost flying, she arched more into the embrace.

  She lost herself in sensation and building emotion that surpassed any joys she’d known before. This felt right…so incredibly, wonderfully right.

  Her crescendo erupted. Her heart seemed to stop as her skin, this room, the universe, contracted. The walls inside her coiled exquisitely tight before the tension broke free to flash and pulse throughout her body.

  As her world rocked on delicious tremors of release, he held her close, kissing her exactly the way she needed to be kissed. Finally, reluctantly, she drifted back, blood humming and heart full.

  With great tenderness, he whispered, “How was Act One?”

  Dreamy, she wiggled closer, reveling in the pleasure fizzes playing along every nerve ending. “How many acts are there?”