Magnate's Marriage Demand

by Robyn Grady

  His damp chest inflated. “I wouldn’t worry. It’s going to be a very long season.”

  His palm came over to press her in and she sucked back a gulp of air as he entered her feminine core. An amazing heat sizzled through her. Her insides quivered and heartbeat went from impressive canter to furious gallop.

  This was only the tip of him. Only the beginning.

  He waited a few seconds then nuzzled into the hair near her ear. He nipped her earlobe then pushed a little deeper. A battalion of sparks zapped through her system. When he withdrew almost completely, instead of receding, those electric sensations imploded.

  Her voice was a croak. “More.”

  She felt his strain. The trembling arm holding her was close to crushing. This time he moved slowly, more deeply, palm gliding down her outside thigh, ironing back up ’til he weighed her sensitive breast. His thumb brushed its tip at the same moment he immersed himself all the way. Her gasp sucked down to her toes.

  Gradually her muscles relaxed to the point where he could move within her. His jaw flexed against her cheek. “Still with me?”

  Her answer was a shivery sigh.

  His rhythm increased, grinding her body close as she slipped against his muscular frame. The slow burn, low and pressing, grew more urgent. When he held her in a telltale bear hug, his heart might have burst through his chest, it pounded so savagely against her. A final squeeze, he shuddered, then sighed hard and long. Tamara could barely catch her breath or wipe the contented smile from her face.

  When she finally opened her eyes, the shadows had receded a little. A tree limb lashed against the huge arch window that presided over the room. Still floating, she surveyed the art on the wall—a couple of landscapes and one of a sad little boy. A group of crystal figures—unicorns, fairies and angels—sat quietly in their locked glass cabinet. This had been her bedroom these past weeks. Soon, perhaps as soon as tomorrow, the master suite would have a mistress.

  Smiling, she nestled into what felt like an endless plateau of warm, bullet-proof steel. Her fingers ran over the field of hair that sprinkled his chest and arrowed silkily down to his belly—

  He hiccupped out a short laugh and snatched her hand.

  She frowned, blinked, then smiled. “My God, you’re ticklish.”

  He cleared his throat, but didn’t release her hand. “Only in that one specific, rarely noticed spot.”

  “You don’t look like the ticklish kind.”

  “What kind would that be?”

  She tossed it up. “Not like you.”

  “You mean surly. Focused. Determined.”

  “Alpha. Built. Sexy.”

  He cradled her closer and she burrowed in, fingers splayed over his chest. An impulse grabbed her. She let her fingers walk a few inches.

  His hand captured hers. “Stop right there. A man has to have some secrets.”

  She put on a pout. “Things he won’t even share with his wife?”

  “Believe me, some things are best left private.”

  She grinned. “You think?”

  “There’s nothing you’d like to keep buried?”

  Tamara noticed his tone change. Her thoughts skipped, and her mood dipped.

  Best left private…left buried. She thought back to her conversation with Ruth. After hearing the full story today, she understood far more. She felt so sorry for both those boys. Sorry for the whole sordid mess. But what mattered now was them being together, being a couple. And, beyond all else, the baby being safe.

  She breathed in Armand’s sensual male scent and whispered into the quiet, “Thank you for being there today.”

  He sounded almost surprised. “I wanted to be. It was my place.”

  Her heart doubled size. Surely Marc would rest easy if he could hear that. But now, lying naked in Armand’s arms, wasn’t the time for that kind of memory.

  Her thoughts wandered off toward the future. Christmases, birthdays, school…

  Suddenly animated, she pushed up onto one elbow. “Do you like baseball?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  “How about football?”

  “Aren’t too many men who don’t. Why?”

  She glowed looking at the vision in her mind. “Saturday mornings at footy practice.”

  “We’re not certain he’s a boy, remember.”

  “Girls play football, too,” she reminded him, then had another thought. “What age do you think you’ll introduce him—or her—to De Luca Enterprises?” She laughed. “I can picture a toddler in a necktie sitting behind a giant U-shaped desk.”

  Armand’s smile was thin. “That’s a long way off.”

  “Which part? The toddler or running the company?”

  “She might not have a good business head?”

  Tamara flinched. Like I don’t have a good business head?

  But another connection bothered her more. “Am I missing something? You’re so driven and focused on DLE, and on tradition and heritage…I thought you’d be teaching him about stock market surges before Kindergarten, and ‘Crush all opposition 101’ by third grade.”

  Any remains of a smile drained from his eyes. “You should stop studying my father’s portrait. You’re getting us confused.”

  A withering feeling fell through her. From all accounts, Dante had been relentless, both in his business and private life. No doubt Armand’s childhood had been dominated by rigorous training designed to prepare for his inheritance. Unlike his father, Armand had inferred he would not repeat that mistake. She would be forever thankful for it.

  She touched his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you were a…” She searched for a word other than tyrant.

  He dropped a quick kiss on her brow, then flung the sheets off and pushed to his feet. That withering feeling fell through her again, faster this time. Her fingers curled into the sheets. “Where are you going?”

  “Hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting.”

  Now? She sat bolt upright and the sheet pooled around her waist.

  His gaze fell to her breasts. Jaw flinching, he collected his trousers. “I’d like to stay, Tamara, but this meeting is important. I can’t delay it.”

  She slid the covering up over her cooling body. “I didn’t mean to…”

  The words trailed off again. He was a busy man. But she could take heart knowing that when they truly needed him, she and the baby would come first. A baby who would grow to help run DLE, a multimillion-dollar company that controlled so much and so many. The concept was so incredible she could barely get her head around it.

  She watched him sweep his shirt off the floor. “When will you be home?”

  “Not sure.”

  Finding a grin, she brought up her knees and hugged them tight. “Will we mess up my bed some more or try yours out?”

  His arms shot through his sleeves. He studied the crumpled fabric and, frowning, ripped the shirt off again. “Actually, I think it’s a good idea if we hold off now until the wedding.”

  Tamara’s jaw dropped. Her mouth refused to work. She could form only one word. “Why?”

  Expression torn, or maybe just a touch irritated, he crossed over to her. “I’m not sorry this happened. But don’t you want our wedding night to be special?”

  He was fine with abstaining while she was already aching for him again? Tears pricked the back of her eyes and her cheeks grew hot. “Be truthful. Is it the tradition thing?” Her vision blurred. “Or just me?”

  He sat down and curled a finger around her cheek. “Without a word of a lie, you were better than wonderful. But our next time together will be as man and wife. We’ll share ourselves intimately, completely, and seal the commitment we make on that day.”

  Her mouth twisted on a wry smile. “Are you worried I won’t marry you if we ‘share’ too much beforehand?”

  God help her, the wounded part of her meant it. Maybe he considered his decision a romantic gesture, but their falling into bed couldn’t be undone. In her humble opini
on, it was a bit late to lose sleep over traditional values now.

  His gaze sharpened and he stood to his full imposing height. “I’m late.” He moved to swoop up his belt, paused, and came back. He tipped her head up for a parting kiss, but for the first time in what seemed like forever the embrace didn’t leave her wistful, so much as wondering.

  He looked at her for a long, heart-swelling moment then walked away.

  She called out, “Will I organize dinner? Maybe we could go out.” He might be leaving on a down note, but they still had today’s medical reprieve to celebrate.

  He hesitated at the door. His hand on the jamb, he flicked an apologetic look over his shoulder. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

  Sinking into the pillow, she told herself to focus on the positives. She and Armand were one hundred percent compatible in the bedroom and in a few short days the unimaginable would happen.

  She would become Mrs. Armand De Luca and, soon after, their baby would be born. Surely no one could ask for more.

  Nine

  Armand’s heart swelled with pride watching his bride of two hours mingle with the crowd gathered for their Christmas Eve wedding reception.

  He’d been told by the bride herself that she wore an empire-style gown. The beads bordering the modestly cut halter-top were crystal and the fabric felt like the world’s softest petals. The image of Tamara from earlier would live in his memory forever. She’d moved like some divine vision down the botanic garden path toward the gazebo where he’d waited, veil a gauzy river that trailed behind her for what had seemed like miles.

  That veil was wrapped around her arm now as she stopped to chat with an inquisitive pair—a rowing buddy and his very pregnant wife. Tamara tipped her head and the diamond tiara, set upon her crown of sable hair, flashed in the golden light. Armand smiled at the sound of her tinkling laughter. Sipping champagne, he surveyed the extent of the extravagant ballroom, which provided a magnificent wall-to-wall view of the harbor’s starlit waters.

  Approximately eighty guests were in attendance, a smallish gathering by anyone’s standards. But given the time frame, it had been easy enough, and he’d been happy to comply with her wish to keep the numbers down. Despite tabloid reports, he didn’t thrive on “society,” simply knew how to play the game when need be.

  They caught each other’s eye and Tamara’s heart-shaped face shone. When she raised her flute, filled with a nonalcoholic variety of bubbly, a pang of guilt curled low in his gut.

  He recognized the look of a beautiful young lady in love, he only wished he could return that depth of feeling. Of course, he cared for Tamara. So much, it sometimes frightened him.

  He must maintain control. No matter how tempting, he would never again surrender to a force that could lift him as high as the heavens, only to crash again. That didn’t mean he couldn’t give her the fairy tale she wanted and deserved. He doubted he’d have any trouble pretending to have lost his heart for love of her. He’d come close to losing his mind with want. Tonight, at last, he would enjoy some relief.

  She begged off from her present company and, collecting one corner of her satin gown, headed toward him. On the way, she grabbed the arm of an older woman, who seemed to be enjoying herself watching couples slow-dancing to the mellow music of an eight-piece band.

  Armand blindly checked his black bow tie and put on his most charming smile. He took Elaine Kendle’s hand in greeting before gathering his wife near. Tamara’s scent was similar to the roses sitting tall in the glass vases set upon round tables dressed in gold, white and a soft pink.

  He stole a kiss, lingering close to murmur, “You’re beautiful.”

  While Tamara’s cheeks turned the color of ripe cherries, Elaine audibly sighed. “Always was. Doubt you could’ve got anyone prettier than Tammy.” She settled a worn hand on her daughter’s tulle-wrapped arm, pale green eyes glistening. “I’m just so glad everything worked out.”

  Tamara hesitated a beat before her expression melted and she came forward to kiss her mother’s lined cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  The undertone was clear: she hadn’t been certain Elaine would come. It would remain his and Elaine’s secret that, to make it easier, he had paid her plane fare and added a decent amount for an outfit and associated needs. Overnight accommodation in this inner-city hotel was available, too, as was the case for all their guests, though he couldn’t anticipate numbers. Many had young families they wished to wake up with tomorrow morning. Next year, he and Tamara would be in the same boat.

  Elaine stepped back, cloaking her emotion by smoothing a hand down the front of her peach-colored skirt suit. “Are you still studying, Tammy? Must almost be done by now.”

  Tamara blinked as if surprised—and delighted—Elaine had remembered. “I have an exam in a month’s time. Then two more subjects before I get my degree.”

  “It was something you’d set your heart on.” Elaine’s smile came slowly. “I’m proud you’re finishing when other girls might’ve lost heart.”

  An awkward pause followed and Armand knew the two women were considering the contrast in their lives. One had barely gotten by because she’d chosen to settle for her lot; the other recently lost everything, but still retained the spirit to achieve—the defining quality of a winner.

  Not that Tamara would ever need to use that degree. Once the baby came along, then the next, she’d have her hands full. She wouldn’t want to waste her energies worrying about restarting a business. He respected her ideals as well as the valid reasons she’d strived so hard to attain her independence. But her life was different now and given time he was certain she would come to understand that working outside of the home could spoil a happy family life. No one wanted that.

  Elaine sipped her champagne over a grin. “I’ve finished a course, myself.”

  “You’re studying?”

  “As of last week, it’s official. I didn’t want to say anything ’til I was certain. I’m an authorized wedding celebrant.” She glanced around. “A bit of coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  Tamara squeaked and flung an arm around her mother. Armand heard her throaty murmur over the animated chatter and occasional ting of crystal glasses. “My turn to say I’m proud. I can’t tell you how much.”

  Eyes glistening again, Elaine patted Tamara’s back then gradually pulled away. “It took me a long time to learn a big lesson. Everyone has choices,” she explained with a simple shrug. “But you always knew that, didn’t you, Tammy? And you’ve made the very best choice today. A promise that you’ll keep for the rest of your lives.” She leaned into Armand and growled. “Don’t you dare let her go.”

  He grinned. “Believe me, I won’t.”

  Happy with that, Elaine exhaled and cast a glance over to the buffet. “Think I’ll grab some of that delicious-looking dessert. Don’t know I’ve ever heard of a wedding ‘cheesecake’ before.”

  As she left, Armand qualified, “Only the top layer, which, I think, is a crying shame. In my opinion, fruit cake is overrated.”

  Tamara laughed and he angled around to hold her hand in his. He spoke to her eyes, reassuring her. “She seems nice.”

  With a slight shake of her head, Tamara sighed. “I guess she always was. It was just hard to grab a moment when she was home, happy and not catching up on sleep.”

  “A marriage celebrant.” He grinned. “Seems like the bad times are well and truly behind her.” He would look after Elaine’s needs in any case; Tamara’s family was now his.

  He lifted and rocked her hand from side to side, admiring the ruby and simple gold band, which would forever symbolize the vows they’d made today, but admiring the sense of connection and belonging far more.

  Like Tamara, he’d missed out on a family growing up. After his farce of an engagement to Christine Sawyer, he’d pushed aside a goal that had quietly gnawed at him for years. He would never enjoy a friendship shared between close brothers, though he understood in part “Marc Earle’s” reasons for
renouncing his birth name and, later, Armand’s offer of a share in the company. Good chance Armand would have done the same if his father had disowned him. Still, he couldn’t deny that tonight he felt a sense of justice: the wheel had turned full circle.

  He frowned. He could do nothing about Marco; Angela’s fair-haired boy was gone. But today the “dark prince” had reclaimed what he’d lost so long ago—a family. He had a wife whom he would keep close and cherish, and a child who would take his ordained place within the De Luca matrix and, subsequently, inherit. Not as much as his own children when they came along, of course.

  He winced a little. But, when all was said and done, the share he had in mind was certainly a more than adequate cut. When the time came, Tamara would understand. Naturally children from their marriage, sons he had spawned, would receive a greater share. That’s just the way the world worked, the way things had to be. This child would still be provided for, the way Marco would have done.

  He lowered her hand. “Did you tell your mother about the baby?”

  She glanced at Elaine, who was speaking with an interested gentleman, their silver forks poised over plates of chocolate cheesecake. “I thought I’d keep that surprise for another day—” her eyes narrowed “—but I have a sneaking suspicion she already knows.”

  Glass in hand, his knuckle grazed her cheek. “Perhaps because you’re glowing.”

  She blushed. “All brides are supposed to be radiant.”

  “Not like you.” He edged nearer so the hand he held pressed low against his jacket. “I’m catching light just touching you. Imagine an hour from now.” If he wasn’t careful, he’d self-combust.

  Her expression sobered. “After that afternoon we spent together, I was upset when you suggested we wait.” Her lashes lowered. “But now I’m glad we did.”

  Certain no one would mind, he captured a lingering kiss from his bride. God, but she tasted sweet.

  He exhaled on a grin. “You’re going to tire of me hauling you back to the bedroom during our honeymoon.” And all the days and months and years beyond that.