Magnate's Marriage Demand

by Robyn Grady

  He eased the other sleeve and strap down. When she turned for him to embrace her, with his arms then his lips, her wrap and negligee slipped to the floor. As they came together, she fell into the sensation, giving herself over to the physical, lost in the wonder of how his body pressed a perfect fit into hers. The surge of her arousal, of his, obliterated any remaining doubt.

  She belonged here, with him. Despite what had happened tonight, she’d never been more certain of anything.

  Eyes closed, she frowned when his arms left her. Hearing the rustle of fabric, she grinned against his lips and understood. Blindly reaching out, she helped maneuver his jacket off the ledge of his shoulders. Next, two pairs of hands tumbled over one another to get to his shirt buttons. Not until she heard the zip of his trousers did she stop to think. A second later, a thunderbolt of alarm zapped through her.

  Pulling away, she covered her breasts and darted a look around. “We’re out in the open.”

  His smile passionate and ruthless, he dragged her close again. “On the penthouse floor of one of the highest buildings in Sydney in the middle of the night.”

  His palm glided down her stomach into the front of her panties. She gasped at the flash of heat, but shimmied back. “People still might see.”

  “I like fresh air.”

  He reached again, but she held up a hand. “I like privacy.”

  His growl was playful but determined. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her to the other door, which led to their bridal bedroom—large, fragrant and dressed all in snow-white. Once inside, he drew her gently in again. One hand on the dip of her naked back, the other holding her palm against his cheek, he began to move to imaginary music, swaying from side to side, then slowly around.

  Her hand kneaded the polished, hard surface of his shoulder while her breasts grazed the sculptured form of his ribs. When the friction building below felt bright enough to see, she squeezed her muscles around a luscious coil of longing and tilted back her head. A silver moonbeam touched the lick of black hair fallen over his widow’s peak while his eyes glistened with undiluted desire.

  His deep husky voice seduced her all the more. “I didn’t want to miss out on the last dance of the evening.”

  She imagined their guests gazing on now and shook her head, grinning. “We’re not really dressed for it.”

  “You are so right.”

  After leading her backward, he hitched her up so she landed just shy of the middle of the sumptuous king-sized bed. The fire curling through her blood roared louder when, one knee on the mattress, he leaned closer to ease the panties from her behind, then down her elevated legs.

  His broad chest inflated. “Much better.”

  He removed the rest of his clothing then joined her on the bed. His hand slid up her side before he winged her shoulder in and his mouth dropped over hers.

  Her outside leg craned up, her knee skimming back and forth just south of his hip. Hot sparks shot over her skin, igniting every inch while their tongues danced and hunger grew. After needing his love so desperately, at long last she felt released.

  His hand grazed down to her waist, over her hip then across to her apex, which cried out for his touch.

  He nipped her lower lip. “You feel like heaven.”

  She hummed in her throat and held his hand in place. “You, too.” Silken, dreamy, delicious bliss.

  He shifted, taking the peak of her breast in his mouth, playing with its bead while he continued to explore her. When his finger slid into her private warmth, she tensed for a giddy moment then melted on a sigh. The deep pulsing at her core was so intense, the energy made her shrink and grow with every beat. Sucking down a lungful of air, she gripped his ears and hauled him back up.

  “Kiss me.”

  Their mouths joined at the same time he tipped her flat on her back. His palm gently kneaded her belly before a fingertip wove higher, tracing back and forth over the pattern of her ribs. The hot length of his shaft ground against her thigh as he shifted slightly to deepen the kiss. When he rediscovered her breasts, so full and aching with want, her need took a sweeping turn and landed her smack-bang in the middle of ecstasy.

  I love you.

  The words echoed through her mind, growing louder, sweeter, with every stroke and caress. Why didn’t he say it? Now was the time…the first time of so many.

  She held him tighter, her hands sliding over the domed length of his back, slick with perspiration. As if she’d given a sign, in one skillful movement he lay positioned on top. Acting on instinct, she threw her legs around his hips and thrust up while her head arced slowly back. She felt him looking down at her, studying her throat and lips before his thighs tensed and he eased into her.

  Ripples of heat swam out from her center, building as they traveled to rock her from head to tingling foot. The butt of her hands dug like anchors into his sides as she drove her hips up then gyrated gently around.

  He pumped slowly, snatching one, two, three kisses from her parted lips. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he murmured close to her mouth, “but you feel better than the first time.”

  She closed her eyes and reveled in his words. “I don’t ever want to wait for you again.”

  If she never left his arms, she couldn’t be happier.

  A stronger breeze blew through the open door. As the sheer curtain flew and cooler air rushed in, their rhythm increased, becoming deeper, more urgent, his length hitting time and again a sensitive recess inside that throbbed like unstable TNT.

  When he drove in to the hilt, her hands fell to grip the sheet at either side. Her inner walls hummed and squeezed before the fireball combusted, shooting whirling flames like a spinning wheel to every receptor of her body. On another plane, she felt tremors grip his frame at the same time his biceps bunched and pinioned her arms. The intense pleasure consuming her mind, body and soul flared and ebbed in delicious waves until the fire slowly died. Spent, he groaned as his dark head lowered to bury in her hair.

  She felt both heavy and floating, alive yet stripped of every conceivable ounce of energy. Sighing over a contended smile, she maneuvered one arm out to run her fingers through his hair. He groaned again and nuzzled deeper toward her ear and neck, murmuring her name, filling her with indescribable warmth and newfound peace.

  As the seconds ticked by, her euphoria subsided. She blinked into the darkened room, waiting for something else. Waiting for more words. Finally he shifted, and her blood began to wildly pump again. Brows slightly drawn, he searched her eyes, her face, then gathered her against his broad hard chest, his hand holding hers on his stomach. But while the silence should have been comfortable and the steady thumping of his heart should have completed her fulfillment, her cheeks began to burn.

  He wasn’t going to say it.

  Eleven

  Armand pulled up unexpectedly at the nursery doorway. His wife of two weeks stood in the center of the room, serenely gazing down at the cradle.

  Back only a couple of days from their all too brief honeymoon, it had been one hell of a morning. An early start to the weekend seemed like a damn fine idea. He thought he might find Tamara in the garden and was on his way to the bedroom to change, jacket already ditched, when he’d happened upon her here.

  Dressed in a soft yellow shift, she seemed absorbed in the motion of her hand running down the cradle’s net. Her stream of sable hair lay draped over one shoulder. In profile, a wistful smile touched her lips.

  Each time he laid eyes on her, the same urge struck. He needed to feel her, smell her, kiss her. No exception now. In fact, it grew stronger every day.

  Heartbeat beginning to pound, he walked up behind and gently squeezed her shoulder. She spun around as if the devil had leapt down her throat.

  Her hand flew to her chest and she gasped before her wide eyes blinked in recognition. “Armand…you scared me half to death!”

  Damn. He’d meant to surprise her, not frighten her. After enfolding her in his arms, he sampled those honeyed lip
s. “Forgive me?”

  She let go a breath and surrendered a smile. “Well, just this once.” She frowned and grabbed his wrist to check the time. “You’re home early.”

  “I needed to see my wife.” Game, set, match—it was official. He was addicted.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed against him. “That’s the nicest news I’ve had all week.”

  He searched her eyes, saw their hope and trust, and suppressed a stab of guilt. Instead he peered down, focusing on the bump settled between them. “How’s baby?”

  Her face glowed. “He was moving again.”

  She took his hand and pressed it to her tummy. He waited, concentrated, shifted his angle, then shook his head. “Can’t feel a thing.”

  “It’s like a tiny fish swimming around.”

  His hand dropped away. “Sounds strange.”

  “Feels wonderful.” Both her hands cradled her belly. “Sometimes I want to pinch myself. Three months ago I didn’t know where to turn, my life was in chaos.” She shrugged. “Now I’m happily married.”

  He felt the yawning gap again. The one that needed to be filled with his confession of love. He wanted to. No reason he shouldn’t be able to say it. They were only words. And the longer he didn’t, the more he saw it in her eyes—the little question marks that hadn’t quite disappeared since their wedding night.

  The tension bracing his shoulders eased slightly when she broke their gaze and moved to the dollhouse in the far corner.

  “So, what happened today? Any news on China?”

  He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “Spoke with Mr. Zheng. We’re making sound progress.”

  “What does Matthew say about that?”

  “Matthew had a lot to say.” He sauntered over to join her. “Until I decided it was time to pull the lid off our news.”

  Sucking down a breath, she found his eyes. “You told him we were pregnant?”

  “And took great pleasure saying that we’re due just before my birthday. I finished by letting him know that even if the baby came late, I would fight him to my last before I’d let him keep that trust.” He moved a miniature love seat closer to a window in the dollhouse. “If he decides to have a shoot-out, it could take time and a lot of money. He’s an exceptional lawyer with connections everywhere, but I’m sure as hell not going to roll over and play dead.”

  “Bet he was gobsmacked.”

  Armand remembered Matthew’s reaction—ice-blue gaze clear, his demeanor cool. “Honestly, I think he expected the news—about the baby as well as my challenge.”

  She moved the love seat back to its original position. “Did he hand in his resignation?”

  Armand moved the love seat back. It fit better by the window. “He’s not ready to throw in the towel. I might have to go through the process of gaining the support of the other board members and asking him to resign his seat. He can keep his shares, as long as he’s denied any executive power.”

  She straightened the tiny welcome mat at the front of the display. “What a sad way to end a relationship.”

  Armand studied her thoughtful profile. An easy bet she was thinking about the links she and her mother were rebuilding. He was happy for her, but they both knew reconciliation between Matthew and him was out of the question.

  However, while Armand could no longer count on Matthew’s friendship, he could, in part, understand the lawyer’s motive for betrayal. Armand might have seemed like a nephew or, possibly, a son, but Matthew now had a child of his own to champion and fight for; he’d recognized a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and seized it.

  Dante had taught them both well. Though it pinched in this situation, “loyalty to one’s own” was a philosophy Armand had been raised to respect. Blood—pure blood—was always thicker than water. That’s the way things were. The way things had to be.

  Clenching his jaw, he pushed those thoughts aside. He was home and wanting to enjoy his beautiful wife’s company. He looped an arm around her waist and drew her away. The bedroom was calling. “Let’s not talk about him. What have you been up to?”

  “Studying for my exam.”

  He frowned and brought her closer as they meandered past an arrangement of stuffed animals. “You should take a rest after that.”

  He waited. Interesting…she didn’t agree but didn’t disagree, either. No doubt the closer the birth got, the less attractive working outside of home must seem. One problem solved.

  A thought struck and he stopped to glance back over the room, exactly as they’d seen it in the store, but with some added touches—a clown mobile over the cot, a carousel light on a round corner table.

  “What were you doing in here anyway?” A grin chipped at one corner of his mouth.

  Smiling, too, she stopped to tug his tie. “I was thinking that before too long, he’ll be needing new furniture. They grow quickly.”

  “Will we use this setup for the next one or try something different?”

  She shot him a round-eyed, then adoring look. “How many children would you like?”

  He wanted to sweep her up and carry her away. Now, while that priceless look still lit in her eyes. He dropped a kiss on the tip of her perfect nose. “Three sounds like a good number.”

  She scooped her arms under his and clung to him, burying her cheek against his chest. “I’m so grateful our baby won’t be an only child. That he’ll have brothers or sisters to play with and love.”

  He stroked her hair and breathed in her flowery scent while her muffled words both soothed and strangled his heart. Growing up he’d had so much and she had had so little, but neither possessed what was most important—a sense of connection.

  In fact, sometimes as a boy he’d felt cleaved in half. Until he’d learned to shut those feelings off. But with this baby on the way, thoughts of siblings, about family—real family—invaded his thoughts more and more. Particularly today at his lawyers’. He’d thought about it so hard, the pen had almost snapped in his hand.

  “I wonder if it’s true?”

  Armand snapped back. “What’s true?”

  She tipped back to meet his eyes. “Did you know that firstborn siblings are more likely to be leaders and to succeed as leaders?”

  Gut clenching, he steered her again toward the door. He’d had enough of nursery musings for one day.

  “I looked it up on the Net this morning,” she went on. “Some big professor did a study on intelligence. She found that, of over three hundred eminent twentieth century personalities, forty-six percent of them were firstborn children.”

  He grunted. “Don’t know that necessarily applies in this situation.”

  They’d made it halfway to the train set when she stopped to cough out a laugh. “Why not?”

  His jaw shifted. “Why do you think?”

  That laugh again. “Armand, if I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

  The skin around his collar began to heat. Mother of mercy, he didn’t need this discussion now. Still, from the curious but determined look in her eyes, he might not be able to avoid it.

  And, hell, maybe today was the day for declarations. He could get it off his chest, out in the open, and not have to stew over it a moment more. What was done was done, and that would be the end of it.

  He scrubbed his cheek. “The first sibling rule might not apply because they’ll have different…” Genes, blood—fathers?

  Her soft palm settled against the square of his jaw, over his hand. “Oh, Armand, you don’t need to worry.”

  He held his breath. Surely it wasn’t that easy. He had to make himself, and the inescapable facts, clear. “You understand…there’ll be a…” He tried to find the right word but came up with only one. “A difference between this one and the rest.”

  She craned up on tiptoe and kissed him, light and sweet. “There won’t be any difference. I have no doubt, and neither should you. You’ll be as great a father to this child as you will to any that follow. No one will love you any less, I promise.
”

  The almighty knot beneath his ribs threatened to cut off his air. She thought he was worried that this child wouldn’t feel for him as deeply as a son would his biological father? Of course, that was possible. After what he’d done today, maybe even probable. But that couldn’t be avoided. He’d made a decision as head of the family. He’d signed those papers. That was how it must be!

  She sought out and held his hands. “I’m booked in for an ultrasound before my exam. Dr. Fielding said we’ll be able to see so much more than last time. She might even say whether she thinks it’s a boy or a girl.”

  He only half heard over the deafening pulse pounding in his head. This situation had to be cleared up. He needed to get it aired and, more important, she needed to understand.

  Squeezing her hands, he willed her to focus. “Tamara, I have something to say and I want to say it now. I don’t want you to find out later.”

  Her jaw grew slack and pupils shrank. Then she blinked. “Has Matthew done something—”

  “This has nothing to do with Matthew. It’s about us, this baby.”

  She squirmed her hands from his and backed up. “Armand, you’re frightening me.”

  “I signed some papers today. My will.” Tamara waited, face ashen. His throat closed over. He could still shut up. Keep quiet until it needed to be said. Perhaps after she’d had the next baby, or the next. But now he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

  “There’s a clause that dictates the limit on this child’s inheritance, and a formula to work out how subsequent children will share equally among themselves.”

  Her palm went to her belly. “Are you saying that you don’t want to treat our children equally? That this child won’t have equal say in your company and estate?”

  “I could have waited until we had another, but I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. I need to make certain everyone and everything is looked after properly.”

  “Like your father should have thought more about you and that stupid clause?”