Colton Baby Conspiracy (The Coltons 0f Mustang Valley Book 1)

by Marie Ferrarella

  Marlowe blinked, perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked.

  “Your stomach, the baby...” he said, letting his voice drift off in case he had left something else out.

  Her eyes smiled at him. “My stomach, thanks to the chicken soup from Lucia’s, feels wonderfully calm for the first time in a while. As for the baby, it’s cheering you on,” she told him with a laugh. “So whatever you do,” she said, her voice dropping to an enticing whisper, “don’t stop.”

  “Then I won’t,” Bowie told her, his words gliding along the hollow of her throat.

  His smile seemed to burrow right into her, lighting up her very soul.

  His lips and hands seemed to be everywhere at once, touching her, pleasing her, making her ache for more. And all the while, she couldn’t help wondering how she had managed to go so long without this after having sampled it that very first time the night their baby was conceived. She felt like a giant jigsaw puzzle that had just been put back together after an endless wait.

  Although she wanted nothing more than to enjoy this, to absorb every touch, every single nuance of his fingers glancing along her skin, she just couldn’t lie back and have this happen without some sort of reciprocation on her part.

  Marlowe eagerly slipped her hands beneath Bowie’s shirt, opening buttons, moving aside the fabric and all the while yearning for the next exciting moment.

  And the next.

  A moment filled with reverence, with kissing. With fire.

  His breath along her skin excited her beyond all measurable scope, and she desperately wanted to make Bowie feel what she was feeling. Determined to try, Marlowe returned his kisses with a frenzy that she had never experienced before, fueling a fire that burned to unimaginable heights within him.

  Bowie felt his heart pounding, and while he wanted to experience the rush that came with ultimate release, he was determined to prolong what was happening between them for as long as was reasonably possible.

  Capturing Marlowe’s hands to keep them still as well as from causing him to reach the peak of their experience, Bowie kissed her slowly, deeply, his passion increasing with each passing moment until Marlowe all but melted into a puddle right beside him.

  A hot, contented, bubbling puddle.

  She bit her lower lip as she felt his mouth branding every inch of her body with hot, achingly slow, arousing kisses.

  Unable to remain still, she began to twist and turn beneath him as she tried to absorb each imprint, each arousing pass of his hands gliding along her throbbing skin.

  He was making her crazy.

  Shifting, she reversed their positions, and suddenly, she was the one who was leaving hot, moist trails along his heaving body; she was the one making him ache for her instead of the other way around.

  Marlowe was working him up to the point that he was afraid, any second now, he was going to wind up wanting her too much and lose the control he was exercising over his body.

  “Who would have ever thought that underneath that beautiful, cool exterior was this churning volcano of molten lava about to erupt and shower its fire all over me?” Bowie said with a laugh.

  “That has to be the best-kept secret in Arizona,” he added, his eyes shining as he looked at her again.

  And then there was no more time for talking, no more time to continue to keep feeding the fire. The fire they had lit was now hot enough to consume them both.

  Bowie shifted his body, moving along hers until he was directly over her. His eyes all but devoured her, holding her prisoner.

  Lowering his mouth to hers, he captured her lips and then moved to enter her.

  At first he did so slowly and then with more feeling, moving so that the dance that was within their souls suddenly bloomed and became very much a reality.

  Marlowe caught her breath as a shower of stars exploded within her. By the way he moved, she knew he’d been captured in the fallout, as well.

  With all her heart, she wanted to hold on to this feeling forever, even though she knew that really wasn’t possible.

  But at least she had now, which meant a great deal to her and made her heart sing. As for the rest of it, she would deal with that later.

  Chapter 19

  She knew her bed was empty the second she woke up, even before she opened her eyes the next morning.

  Marlowe was reluctant to actually open them, because then she would know for sure, and until she did, she could continue to pretend she was wrong. That Bowie was still here beside her.

  Oh, grow up, Marlowe. You can’t just spend the entire day in bed with your eyes shut, in a state of denial.

  That wasn’t who she was, she told herself. Denial was not the way she operated, anyway.

  Bracing herself, she opened her eyes.

  The emptiness hit her harder than she would have ever thought it would.

  He was gone.

  So what? Marlowe upbraided herself angrily.

  After all, she knew what she was getting into, right? Bowie Robertson had turned out to be an honorable man, saying that he would step up when the time came, but he had made absolutely no promises to her about their future together in the traditional sense. When it came to that, he hadn’t said any of the things a woman wanted to hear with the sole goal of getting her into his bed.

  As a matter of fact, if she were being honest about it, she thought with a sigh, Bowie hadn’t tried to get her into bed at all. She was the one who had made the first move. She had kissed him and made it abundantly clear that she wanted to make love with him last night.

  If anything, Bowie had even tried to get her to back away, pausing right at the beginning and asking her if everything was all right. If she had suddenly backed away at that point, she knew he would have let her.

  He might not have been happy about it, but he would have definitely let her.

  No, she thought, tossing off the covers and looking around for her robe, last night had been a wonderful, singular experience—well, all right, two experiences, she amended with a smile. But right from the beginning she certainly knew that he had no intentions of turning that into their way of life from here on in.

  If things wound up working themselves out, there might even be a few repeat performances of last night, but there was nothing on the drawing board to suggest it would turn into something permanent, and the sooner she wrapped her head around that, the better off she would be.

  Besides, she had enough complications in her life right now. She certainly didn’t need anything more.

  The main things on her mind right now should be finding who had targeted her and Bowie previously. And Ace and who had switched him for her so-called real brother that night. Also she needed to find out why they had done it. For all she knew, the person who had switched those two babies could have even been her own father.

  The more she thought about it, the more it sounded like it could have been something he would be capable of. After all, the image of a sickly first son was not exactly in keeping with the kind of legend Payne Colton would have liked to project.

  C’mon, Marlowe, up and at ’em, she silently ordered, sitting up. Seeing her robe, she pulled it over and put it on.

  Last night was in the past—as was Bowie, she insisted. Time to face a new day. All she needed was to grab a quick shower and get dressed, and she could be on her way—that thought stopped her. Her car was still back at Colton Oil’s headquarters. Unless she felt up to a long walk—and she didn’t—she needed a ride.

  Callum, she decided. She’d give her twin a call. He wouldn’t mind driving her in to work, and he wouldn’t ask her a lot of unwanted, pesky questions while he was doing it. Callum, thank goodness, knew when to mind his own business. He—

  Marlowe stopped abruptly. Was she imagining things? Because right now she could have sworn she smelled...chicken soup?

  But t
hat was impossible. She was positive that Bowie had put the remainder of the container of soup into the refrigerator before things had heated up between them last night. If it was there, how could she smell it now?

  Curious, she went into the kitchen to investigate. Startled, Marlowe stifled a scream. But it was still loud enough to have Bowie almost drop the pot he had just finished warming up and was now about to transfer to the counter.

  He put the pot down just in time. “Hell, Marlowe, you just made my heart stop,” he told her. “And not in a good way,” he added, as if remembering last night.

  She glared at him. If there was one thing she hated, it was acting afraid in front of an audience, even an audience of one.

  “Well, that makes two of us. I thought you’d left,” she accused, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down her galloping pulse. “What are you doing here?”

  “Not exactly the most welcoming tone of voice I’ve heard, but I’ll answer that I said I was taking Bigelow’s place as your bodyguard. That would include this morning until I get you back to the office and under his watchful eye. Don’t you remember?” he asked.

  Marlowe shrugged. The only thing she had thought of this morning was that he wasn’t there. “I just assumed when I woke up and you weren’t next to me...”

  “That I had folded my tent and disappeared into the night?” Bowie guessed. Had he caught a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes when she’d screamed? Perhaps that thought made him smile, although he clearly did his best to maintain a straight face.

  “Something like that,” Marlowe admitted, hating just how happy the sight of him made her feel.

  His being here didn’t change anything. He’d practically told her as much. He was just being honorable and living up to his word, but that didn’t mean he was about to turn over an entirely new leaf and become a new man. He was a commitmentphobe, and that wasn’t about to change.

  “Well, you assumed wrong,” he told Marlowe.

  So it would seem, she thought. Desperate to change the subject, she nodded at the pot on the counter. “What’s with the soup?”

  He turned toward the counter, grateful to have something else to focus on. “Since you tolerated it so well last night, I thought maybe you could have some more soup for breakfast, too—until you can eat other food,” he explained. Then he looked at her more closely. “How’s your stomach this morning?”

  “Well, I haven’t thrown up yet,” she answered, then added philosophically, “but then, the morning’s still young.”

  “Ever the optimist,” he commented. And then he smiled encouragingly. “Maybe this is a sign of things to come,” he told her.

  “Maybe,” she allowed, although she wasn’t nearly as confident as he was. She was still holding her breath, waiting for her stomach to rebel against her.

  “I’ve got water boiling for herbal tea just in case,” he told Marlowe. “But since the soup’s all warmed up,” he said, taking the ladle and putting just a small serving into a bowl, “why don’t you try sipping some of that first?”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she insisted.

  Being on the receiving end of all this fussing from someone who wasn’t being paid to dance attendance on her made her feel uncomfortable. Having him wait on her like this put her in his debt, and she didn’t like the way that felt.

  “I know,” Bowie answered. “Maybe I’m just trying to explore my domestic side,” he told her, a grin twitching his lips.

  “Heating up chicken soup and boiling water for tea isn’t exactly going to turn you into the next Julia Child,” she informed him.

  “Another dream shattered,” he quipped. And then he indicated the bowl he’d placed in front of her. “Just eat the soup, Marlowe.”

  She frowned. She didn’t want to be beholden to him in any manner, and yet here he was, serving her and keeping her company while she ate.

  “I can call a cab, you know,” she told him, “or have one of my brothers come and pick me up.” She looked at him almost accusingly. “You don’t have to hover over me like this.”

  He patiently refuted her arguments. “Number one, I’m not hovering.” He had taken a seat opposite her. “Number two, I already told you, I’m taking Bigelow’s place until I get you back to him. And number three, if I didn’t have such a thick hide, thanks to my father, I would have said that you trying to get rid of me like this is hurting my feelings. Now eat your breakfast.”

  He was talking down to her, she thought, leveling an annoyed look at Bowie. But she grudgingly did as he told her to.

  Picking up her spoon, she raised it, then dipped it into her soup. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a dictator?”

  “Yes,” he answered simply. “It’s one of my better leadership qualities.” He waved at the bowl. “Now stop stalling and eat. I’ve got another meeting to get to this morning.”

  “Then go,” she all but ordered him. “No one’s keeping you.”

  Bowie frowned at her. Being with this woman required a great deal of patience, he couldn’t help thinking. “Were you always such a slow learner?” he asked. “I just said I wasn’t leaving your side until I turn you over to Bigelow. Now stop arguing with me and eat!”

  “You know, maybe you should take lessons from Wallace,” she informed Bowie.

  “I’ll be sure to let him know that. It’ll make him happy,” he said. “Now are you going to eat your soup, or am I going to have to feed you?”

  She raised her chin, almost spoiling for a fight. “Go ahead,” she challenged.

  He’d never been one to back away from a challenge. “All right, I will.” Picking up the spoon, he dipped it into the bowl and then proceeded to say, “Open up, Marlowe. Here comes the airplane heading straight for the hangar.”

  He said it so seriously, she couldn’t help but laugh. And once she started, it was hard for her to stop. When she finally did, Bowie picked up the spoon again, filled it and brought it up to her lips once more as if nothing had happened.

  What he hadn’t counted on was the act of feeding her like this, of keeping his eyes on her as he slipped the spoon in between her lips, aroused him.

  As it did her.

  Bowie managed to get exactly three spoonfuls into her mouth like that and then the spoon, as well as the pretense of feeding her, were abandoned. He rose to his feet, bringing her up with him. And then he took her into his arms and kissed her.

  She felt his smile against her lips. “You know,” Bowie told her, “at this rate, you’re going to wind up starving to death.”

  “Well, if that happens, I’ll die with a smile on my face,” she told him, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  “Are you going to be late now?” Marlowe asked Bowie nearly an hour later.

  Bowie was finally taking her to Colton Oil headquarters after first calling Wallace to alert the bodyguard that he needed to be there to take over. Bowie was not about to just leave her at the building and take off. He took his responsibility very seriously.

  “I’m the one conducting the meeting. They can’t very well start without me, although I really wasn’t planning on being late,” he told her.

  And he hadn’t counted on wanting her so much after they’d already made love twice the night before. He was beginning to think of Marlowe as an addiction that he couldn’t seem to shake.

  “That’s what you get for trying to be nice,” she told him.

  “Trying?” Bowie echoed. “I thought I was pretty successful in that department.”

  “I was talking about being nice,” she informed him, “not the other part.”

  He grinned at her, even as he warned himself not to get drawn in again. He didn’t have time for entanglements or for getting caught up with the daughter of his father’s archrival...even though they were now ha
ving a baby together.

  So why was he having so much trouble convincing himself to leave her alone?

  * * *

  “So was I,” he told her, his grin getting under her skin.

  It occurred to Marlowe that he was driving awfully slowly for a man who was supposed to be in a hurry. This was a sports car, for heaven’s sake.

  “Can’t this thing go any faster? You’re not the only one with meetings to get to,” she told him. “I’ve got one scheduled for half an hour from now, so step on it,” she urged.

  “Five minutes isn’t going to make a difference,” he told her. “It’s not just your life you’d be risking by speeding. You’re going to have to start thinking more like a mother, Marlowe.”

  She really didn’t take well to being lectured to. “I am thinking like a mother,” she informed him. “An impatient mother. Now make this car go faster!”

  Her eyes widened as she felt the car slowing down, not picking up speed. Looking at the speedometer, she saw that she was right. Bowie was slowing down.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Making you take a breath.” He wasn’t kidding anymore. Bowie was deadly serious. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to wind up giving yourself preeclampsia,” he told her.

  She stared at him. He was making that up, she thought. “Say what?”

  “That’s where you wind up with high blood pressure, swollen ankles, and a lot of other unpleasant symptoms and side effects, which in turn will force you to spend the duration of your pregnancy laid up in bed, something I have a feeling that you really wouldn’t like,” he concluded. “So stop being such a rebel and just take it light, all right?”

  “How do you know all this?” she asked, still not certain if she believed the man in the driver’s seat or not. She wouldn’t have put it past Bowie to have made that word up.

  “Since you told me about our pending bundle of joy, I’ve done a lot of reading up on the subject,” he told her. “Preeclampsia is also something you would know about if you made that appointment with your doctor.” The look on Bowie’s face told her just what he expected her to do next.