Tempted by the Wrong Twin

by Rachel Bailey

  “You don’t like mint?” she asked, clearly trying to match his tone.

  “Sure I do. In toothpaste. Why would I want toothpaste-flavored ice cream?”

  She shrugged. “Point taken.”

  They reached the freezer, and he pulled out an unopened tub and read the label. “Peanut butter with caramel swirl.”

  She frowned, so he held up the container for her to see.

  “You’re a man of surprises, Nick Tate.”

  “What were you expecting?” he practically drawled.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe coffee, maybe dark chocolate. But not—” she looked down at the label “—peanut butter with a caramel swirl.”

  He kept a poker face, but he liked this playful version of Harper. “Don’t knock something until you’ve tried it.” He pulled open the cutlery drawer and grabbed a spoon. “You’re going to be singing my praises in a few minutes.”

  “Is that so?” She grinned, her brown eyes dancing.

  After removing the lid, he scooped out a small spoonful and held it out to her. Harper leaned in. Her lips closed over the ice cream and pressed firmly together. His pulse spiked, and he realized the flaw in his plan. Dessert was meant to distract him from his wanting, not increase it.

  He clenched his jaw and tried to suppress every scrap of desire that hummed through his blood.

  Then she moaned, and her eyes drifted shut. “That. Is. Sinful,” she murmured.

  Her eyes opened again, and he focused on the spoon in his hand. On autopilot, he dug out another bite-size scoop and fed it to her. This time, she leaned forward to meet him partway, and as she opened her mouth in readiness, he glimpsed her pink tongue and damn near groaned himself.

  Her eyes closed again, and the look of bliss that stole over her face almost did him in.

  “Harper,” he rasped.

  Her eyes flew open, and the want, the need in her gaze were as strong as ever, but she was looking at him instead of the ice cream.

  He was a goner.

  * * *

  Harper watched Nick and tried to keep her breathing under control. Being so close to him on the sofa as she’d pretended to watch TV had set every single nerve ending she had on edge. And then he’d fed her ice cream... Her skin yearned for his touch, but if she gave in now, all would be lost—she might not be able to pull back.

  Then she noticed the strong, insistent beat of his pulse at the base of his neck. The tension in his muscles as he held himself in check. The way his gaze smoldered.

  And she forgot what they were fighting against.

  “Nick?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  “Yeah?”

  “What would happen if we gave in?”

  His gaze flicked to her mouth then back to her eyes. “Gave in to what?”

  “To this.” She motioned back and forth with a finger. “To what’s burning between us.”

  He swallowed hard. “You really want to know?”

  “Yeah, I do,” she whispered.

  He looked down at her in the dim light of the kitchen, then lowered his head until his lips brushed over hers, just once. “This.”

  A sigh built within her and escaped her throat as she leaned into him. “Oh. This is a good plan.”

  She lifted herself on tiptoes and found his mouth, warm and dark and inviting. He wrapped one arm around her waist, hauling her flush against him, and sank into the kiss she offered. The sizzling impact of his tongue, the decadence of it, had her whispering his name against his lips.

  He pivoted and pushed her against the wall, pinning her with his weight as he kissed her like he hungered for her. Like she was the only thing necessary for life.

  Panting, she wrenched her mouth from his. “I vote we stop fighting it for tonight,” she said, then paused to catch her breath. “Just give ourselves this one night.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing labored, too. “You have my vote.”

  “Okay, then. Well, if we’re agreed—” she stepped away, leaving their laced fingers as their only connection “—this time we should aim for a bed.”

  One corner of his mouth hitched, and he headed off down the hall. She followed as he led her to his room. She hadn’t been this way before, but she only barely noticed her surroundings—all her attention was on the man beside her.

  He stepped into an open doorway and hit a switch with his fist. Soft light diffused through a large room dominated by a king-size bed. There were closed blinds on three sides, though small windows up high allowed fresh air in, and through another door, she spied an en-suite bath and shower that looked similar to hers. But now was not the time to explore. Now was the time for Nick.

  “One more thing,” he said and disappeared into the attached bathroom, returning seconds later with a little packet of protection.

  She grinned. “I’m already pregnant.”

  “I’m clean, but I want you to know for sure.”

  “I’m clean, too, but thank you.” She stepped closer. “So, I guess dessert is out of the question?”

  “There’s no more ice cream.” He kissed her softly before saying against her mouth, “But I’ve been dreaming of tasting every square inch of you.”

  Spearing fingers into her hair, he cradled her head as he kissed her—taking exquisite care with ravishing her mouth. It wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. With hands flat on his chest, she gently pushed, needing the room to explore his body, and he took the hint. Clothes were in the way, but still, she took advantage of the opportunity and roamed her hands across his broad shoulders, down his arms, across his chest, acclimatizing herself to him again. And he stood still, allowing her the freedom to do what she wished.

  “My turn,” he said, his gaze burning. She wasn’t nearly finished, but it was fair, so she dropped her hands and waited to see what he’d do.

  Button by excruciating button, he unfastened the front of her summer dress and pushed the sides open, exposing her skin to the cool night air. Her pulse fluttered madly. In simple movements, he unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor, and she felt her breasts tighten in the light breeze from the high windows—and under his all-consuming gaze.

  “Harper,” he said and swallowed hard. “You’re so damned beautiful.”

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. So instead she reached for him again and focused on touching him, on feeling him touch her.

  His hands sliding down her sides, across her stomach, felt like fire licking at her skin. In idle moments she’d wondered if their electric connection that first night had been because of its illicit nature, and whether making love with him now that he was her husband would have less of an edge. Less intensity. Now she had her answer. He...they...this was so much more than anything she’d experienced before. More than she’d imagined.

  She pulled at his shirt where it was tucked into his trousers. Then, not bothering with the buttons, she tugged it over his head. His skin was beautiful, so beautiful, and the scars and marks that showed his history of putting his body on the line for others only made it more beautiful. The muscle definition on his abs was crazy—he’d obviously kept up whatever training the SEALs had him doing—and the crisp hair scattered across his chest called to her fingers. As she walked her fingertips over the dark hair, he shivered, and she smiled, glad she wasn’t the only one affected this badly.

  He captured her mouth. Not breaking the searing kiss, he took a step backward, taking her with him, then another, until they reached the edge of the bed. He finally released her mouth, grinned wickedly and fell backward onto the mattress, bringing her down on top of him.

  The sensuous slide of their bodies set every nerve ending she had alight, but it wasn’t enough. She reached for his belt, wanting all the fabric separating them gone, but he stayed her hand.

  �
��Not yet,” he said, his voice unsteady.

  She could feel the blood pump through her body, strong and insistent. “I want more, now.”

  “No can do,” he said as his thumb grazed the curve of her breast.

  A delicious shiver raced over her skin, and she had to wait a moment for it to pass before she could speak again. “Why the holdup?”

  “I want this to take all night.” He hooked his fingers in the scraps of fabric around her hips and dragged them down over her legs before letting her underwear follow her bra over the side of the bed to the floor. “We have a lot to make up for.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, starting to lose her train of thought.

  “The night of the ball, our first time, it was rushed.” He kissed a trail down the inside of her arm to her wrist, his hair tickling her ribs as he went.

  She gasped, then found her breath again to reply. “I thought it was excellent.”

  Grinning, he caressed a pattern on her stomach. “Phenomenal.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” She slid her leg up his thigh and hooked it around him, locking his hips against hers. What a shame he was being reluctant about removing his trousers...

  “Now that we have more time,” he said, rocking against her in defiance of his words, “I want to take it slow. To do all the things we didn’t get around to.”

  He kissed her again, and while his mouth was busy, she unzipped his trousers and pushed them—and his boxers—as far down his legs as she could reach. Then she broke the kiss to remove them all the way before smiling back up at him. “See, it’s all about your perspective.”

  He dipped his hand down until it slid between her legs, moving in patterns and with a rhythm that was going to drive her crazy. The way one corner of his mouth hooked up as he spoke told her he knew the effect he was having. “What other way is there to look at it?”

  Her eyes drifted closed, but even if she couldn’t see him, she could feel him everywhere. “You want this to be different from last time.”

  “I do,” he said, his voice husky as his hand still moved to the melody of silent music.

  “See, I’m thinking that’s too prescriptive—” she paused to moisten her lips so her mouth could form the words “—for making love.”

  His hand stilled, and she opened her eyes to see him. His gaze was squarely on her, his brow creased as if he was trying to discern where she was going with this. “What do you have in mind?”

  “That we stop thinking and just let it happen.” There was something about his skin that she couldn’t get enough of. Its texture, its scent. She dipped her tongue to sample the skin just above his collarbone, and dug her fingernails into his back. Dug them in and dragged them lightly across his shoulder blades. She could touch this man forever.

  “I like your idea...really like it—” he drew in a quick breath and swallowed hard “—but I still want to take it slow.”

  Deciding the time for talking—for negotiating—was over, she found the foil packet on the bedside table and quickly sheathed him before pushing at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. She rose up over him and hesitated. The sight of him lain out on the bed, for her, the perfection of him, was overwhelming. He reached out, found her hand and linked their fingers palm to palm. It was exactly what she needed, securing her in the moment, grounding her. Then she sank down onto him, and, as their bodies connected, he let out a guttural groan.

  She moved, drunk with desire, and he matched her rhythm, so they danced together as one. She was flying, free—the only things that mattered were Nick and the pleasure that was engulfing her.

  He hooked his hands behind her knees and held them, anchoring her, changing the angle, and wave after wave of blinding heat consumed her as she imploded. While aftershocks still assailed her body, Nick called her name and a fierce shudder ripped through him.

  Breathing ragged, she slid down to lie beside him, a possessive hand across his stomach, and he looped an arm around her shoulders. Cocooned with him, by him, her world slowly returned to normal, and she drifted off to sleep.

  Six

  Harper woke with a jolt, her heart in her mouth. The first thing she was aware of was shouting. The room was dark except for glimmers of moonlight through the blinds, which was enough to show unfamiliar surroundings, and the man beside her.

  Nick.

  His shouting eased to incoherent mumbling. Despite still being deeply asleep, his head moved with jerky rhythms and his hands seemed to punctuate his words.

  Should she wake him? This was no happy dream—he was far too agitated for that to be possible—but wasn’t there a rule about not waking someone from a nightmare? Or was that sleepwalking? She bit down on her bottom lip, wishing she’d paid more attention to wherever she’d heard the advice.

  “No,” he barked, eyes still closed as his hand sliced through the air. His wedding ring glinted in the moonlight, and it struck her anew that the man in her bed was her husband.

  Husband.

  They were married, and she knew less about him than about many of her coworkers. A wave of panic washed over her. She didn’t really know this man, and she certainly didn’t know how to help him now.

  He shouted again, louder this time, then he screamed. It was a raw, guttural sound, full of pain and anguish, like nothing she’d ever heard before, and it sent cold prickles racing across her skin. She had to act.

  Not wanting to wake him suddenly, she began to talk softly, soothingly, gradually raising her volume. The way his face contorted into expressions of utter despair broke her heart. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to wrap him in her arms and take his pain away, but all she could do was keep up the litany of soothing words. Slowly, steadily, she talked him around. His screams died to tearless sobs, and she raised her voice again, to just above normal speaking volume. He drew in a deep, shaky breath, and as he released it, his eyes opened.

  For a millisecond, the pain she’d witnessed was reflected in their depths until his eyes focused on her. She saw the moment he realized what had happened—just before the shutters came down. Hard.

  He jumped out of bed and stood on the rug, skin covered in a sheen of perspiration, muscles clenched, his pose rigid, every inch of him proclaiming his military past. Despite being naked now, he’d been more exposed when he’d been asleep and covered by the sheet.

  “Harper, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough yet controlled.

  “It was a nightmare.” Smiling, she shook her head, wanting him to know everything was okay. “You have nothing—”

  Expression flat, he cut her off. “You shouldn’t have had to experience that.”

  Her heart broke a little for him then. He shouldn’t have had to experience that, either. “It’s okay, Nick, really—”

  “I’ll take a guest room.” Without making eye contact, he reached for his phone and wristwatch from the bedside table, turned and walked through the door.

  Stunned, she watched him go.

  He was leaving her.

  As he disappeared into the dark hallway, she had trouble filling her lungs. He might be virtually a stranger, but he was her husband, the man she’d made love with only hours ago. And now he was leaving the bed where they’d shared that passion.

  A small, hard knot of panic sitting in the middle of her chest grew, enveloped her and bestowed the familiar taste of abandonment.

  She tried logic, always her first line of defense—he’d left because he was still upset about the nightmare, not because of her. But it didn’t ease the sour taste at the back of her mouth. She’d offered to be there for him while he dealt with the nightmare, so, yeah, he’d walked out on her.

  Logic rarely worked when she was dealing with the slap of rejection, and she usually moved right on to the second line of defense—comfort eating. But she w
asn’t in her own home, and having to riffle through his kitchen cupboards for carbs and sugar would probably cancel out any comfort effects. Besides, she was trying to eat healthy for the babies.

  So that left her with two options—curl up in a ball and let the emotion overwhelm her, or...

  Or find Nick and get him to talk his nightmare through, both for his sake and so she could let go of the image of him walking out the door the way so many people in her life had done before him.

  She stood and rubbed her hands over her face. This night had shown her one thing—she’d been right to think that sleeping together would make their relationship messy. They already had so many challenges in making their arrangement work, making love had been foolhardy. They’d risked their tentative cohesion merely for physical desires.

  They couldn’t afford to take the risk again.

  But she couldn’t dwell on that right now. First, she needed to deal with the fallout of this time and make sure Nick was okay.

  * * *

  Nick flicked the light on in the guest bedroom’s bathroom and headed for the shower, trying to forget the look of horror on Harper’s face. A look that had the power to haunt him forever.

  That wasn’t the expression he’d planned to leave on his new bride’s face the first time he’d taken her to his bed...

  He stepped under the hot spray of water and rested his palms on the wall behind the faucet, dipping his head to bear the full force of the spray.

  Hell.

  He should have known. Should have expected he couldn’t just walk into a marriage the way a normal man could. Especially a marriage of convenience like this, where they were plunged into it with barely any emotional preparation. He’d been shot at and felt shells detonate close enough to make his teeth rattle too many times to count. He was partially deaf due to an explosion that had blown to bits some of the fiercest warriors he’d ever had the privilege to fight alongside. He’d been captured and held prisoner by a faction of rebels notorious for their treatment of prisoners. After all he’d been through, after all the damage to his soul, what made him think he could have special things in his life?