The Bride and the Bargain

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  Oddly agitated considering how long and busy the day had been, she went into the en suite bathroom and flipped the bronze handle that sent water coursing into the mini swimming pool that passed for a bathtub. She tossed in a generous portion of bubble bath that Paula had urged her to buy one afternoon when they’d been visiting, and left the water running to retrieve her robe.

  Still her aging pink terry cloth one, though she now had several replacements hanging unused in her closets thanks to the personal shopper Loretta had recently sicced on Amelia to bolster her wardrobe up to Hunt standards.

  Her hair was already pinned up from dinner and she slid off her deep ochre dress and slid instead into the water, nudging a thick folded towel behind her head. Sighing, she closed her eyes and sank a little deeper into the water, swishing her hands through the froth of lilac-scented bubbles building beneath the rushing water.

  “The first night I talked to you on the phone you were in the bath.”

  Amelia’s eyes flew open.

  Gray was leaning his shoulder against the archway leading into the bedroom. The jacket and tie he’d worn at dinner were missing and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves.

  Her mouth dried at the wholly masculine sight he made. “I remember.”

  “I wondered then if you were a bubble bath type.”

  “It’s a good thing I am,” she managed. As it was, she was barely shielded by them in the rippling water still rising in the tub. “Is something wrong?”

  “Should there be?”

  She let her shoulders inch farther below the water. “You’re usually working at this time of night.”

  “I’m usually avoiding this bedroom at this time of night,” he corrected. He straightened and slowly crossed the thick Aubusson rug that prevented the travertine-tiled room from feeling cold.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For driving me to distraction?” He sat down on the wide ledge of the tub.

  She swallowed. “You’re in an odd mood.”

  “The judge called me this morning about Jack’s hearing.”

  She started to sit up straighter, but caught herself. “It’s scheduled?”

  “It’s dismissed.”

  “Part of me is relieved. Another part thinks he should have to face the consequences of his actions.”

  “Don’t we all?” He leaned over and slowly turned off the water. The sudden silence around them loomed tight and heavy, broken only by Amelia’s heart pounding in her ears and the faint, whispering rustle of bath foam settling. “I think he realizes the error he made. I don’t think you need to worry that he’s going to graduate to armed robbery or grand theft auto anytime soon. He’s a good kid.” His brooding gaze drifted over Amelia. “He’ll grow up to be a good man.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered faintly.

  He leaned across the tub again, this time to pick up the tall, thin bottle of bubble bath. He opened it. Smelled it. Closed it again. “This is why you always smell of lilacs.”

  “I didn’t think it was noticeable. Gray…” But she broke off, not knowing what she wanted to say. Only that something needed to be said. Done. Because he was killing her by slow degrees.

  He carefully set the bottle aside. “This isn’t working.”

  She froze. Slow degrees? This was a swift guillotine. “I warned you I was the wrong choice. You—you should have chosen someone like Marissa.”

  His brows drew together in a quick frown. “Jesus. I’m as bad as Harry.” He pushed to his feet and rubbed his hand over his raspy jaw. “I want you in my bed, Amelia.”

  “I…I am.”

  His lips twisted. “You take up about nine inches on one side of the bed. Even sound asleep you don’t budge from that narrow slice. Regardless of who keeps it there—you or me—I’m tired of the ten feet of space between us.”

  “It’s a big bed but not that big.” Her attempt at humor fell flat. “What do you want me to say?”

  He turned away from the tub and planted his hands on the marble vanity. His head lowered, his shirt straining over his wide shoulders. “Damned if I know.”

  Amelia looked at his reflection in the mirror above the vanity. He looked oddly worn and her heart squeezed. What had he done since they’d met but protect what he cared about? He even wanted to protect her and the children. There was not a day she went out when she wasn’t discreetly trailed by the men in that black SUV. He’d even gone beyond the terms of their agreement when it came to the children and though she knew that was no financial hardship to him, he’d given them time and attention—and those things were a premium in his life.

  His brothers could make fun of his workaholic nature, but she’d never known anyone to show such dedication to anything.

  “Gray.”

  He lifted his head and looked at her through the mirror.

  Praying that she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life, she drew up her knees, braced her hand on the wide ledge, and slowly rose to her feet. Water and bubbles streamed down her limbs. “I, um, I’m not very good at this.”

  Gray turned to face her. A muscle flexed in his hard jaw as his gaze burned down the length of her. “Don’t underestimate yourself.” He plucked a thick towel off the folded stack that was faithfully replenished every day and shook it out. “Come over here.”

  She felt exposed in a way that went much deeper than nudity. “You come over here.”

  A glint of surprise lit his eyes. “Negotiation, Amelia?”

  She lifted her chin a hair, emboldened by the rushing in her veins. “I’m the one standing here wet and shivering.”

  His gaze lingered on her. “A valid point.” He tossed the towel back onto the stack and kicked off his shoes and Amelia forgot the art of breathing as his shirt and slacks followed. He stripped off his socks, shucked what had to be navy silk boxers and straightened. “Feel more even?”

  Her lips parted as her parched lungs sucked in oxygen. There was no hiding the fact that he was as affected as she. But it wasn’t only that evidence that turned everything inside her weak and yearning. It was the cording along his shoulders. It was the swirl of dark hair over his wide chest. It was the roping muscles working down his thighs. The way his hands were curled into fists. The way his bare feet looked amazingly sexy.

  Mostly, it was the way his hungry eyes looked back at her. As if he couldn’t tear his eyes from her any more than she could from him.

  “Halfway?” Her voice was husky.

  “Fair enough.” He picked up the towel again and took a step toward her.

  She took one toward him. Then another.

  A last step. Her breasts, aching and tight, grazed his chest. And he, oh dear heaven, he grazed her hip.

  “Terms agreed?”

  She looked up at him, mute. She lifted her hands and gingerly settled them on that wide chest.

  He let out a hissing breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.” His arms came around her, pulling her tightly to him. He dragged the towel down her back, only to drop it and tempestuously repeat the motion, from her nape to her bottom, with only his widespread hand.

  Amelia gasped. She felt his heart charging against her palms as she worked her hands up the crispy soft whorls of chest hair until she reached his shoulders. Wound behind his neck.

  “I want you.” His words rasped against her temple. His breath burned against her neck as he tipped her head back. “I have for days. Weeks.”

  Her shaking fingers sifted through the short, thick strands of his hair, finding it even silkier than she’d expected. “You didn’t say anything. I thought…I thought you’d changed your mind.” She pressed her mouth to his bicep. Touched her tongue to him. Slightly salty. Addictive. “It’s happened before.”

  He crushed her loosely fastened chignon and pins scattered, pinging against the tile. “Look at me.”

  Her dazed eyes focused on his and she felt scorched to the center of her being.

  “It’s not happening with me.” His deep voice was low. Soft. It
still echoed around her. Echoed through her. “Not now. Not ever. So change your mind now if you have to, Amelia, or accept that fact.”

  Her fingertips flexed against him. “I don’t want to change my mind.” The admission sounded raw. Felt raw.

  He exhaled again. Pressed his forehead against hers for a breathless minute. Then his hands dragged down her spine again and he suddenly lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed, impatiently throwing aside the heavy ivory-and-black bedding before lowering her onto the cool, smooth sheet. Joining her, pulling her deliberately to the center of the wide, wide bed, heedless of the water still clinging to her.

  Need tangling inside her, she shifted beneath the long leg capturing hers. Found the slide of her smooth shin against his hairier one too tempting to resist, and repeated the motion.

  “I should be wining and dining you or something,” he murmured.

  “We did that earlier.” She dragged her hands down his spine. Back up again. Her mouth blindly sought his.

  He groaned a little and deepened the kiss until she couldn’t form a single coherent thought that didn’t center around him. In the center of her.

  When he finally lifted his head, she hauled in a hoarse breath, trying to drag his head back to her. But he was moving again, dropping his lips to her shoulder. “Impatient, Amelia?”

  She couldn’t manage more than an incoherent moan. Not when his kiss was drifting down to her breasts, not when his tongue teased her nipples into even tighter points and she felt as if the sensations inside her couldn’t be contained by her too-tight skin.

  She twined her legs around him, moaning his name, uncaring that she sounded desperate. Or impatient. She was both. And it felt like she’d been that way for a lifetime. “Please—”

  His fingers slid around her wrists, capturing both in one hand, and drawing them above her head. “I want everything you have to give,” he murmured, pressing his other hand flat against the rocketing beat of her heart. “Everything, Amelia.”

  She sucked in her lower lip. Swallowed. But she was still parched for him. “Gray—”

  His hand slid down from the valley between her breasts to the flat of her belly. She jerked a little and he let out a low, masculine sigh, and glided lower. She bit back a cry then, as he slowly, achingly slowly, sought out the very heart of her.

  “Everything,” he murmured again, and he brushed his lips across hers, just as delicately, as maddeningly as his fingers glided, slick and tempting.

  “Then don’t tease me,” she begged hoarsely, twisting her hands free only to gasp and grab hold of his shoulders when his teasing did stop, and his hand moved with deliberate intent and she hurtled abruptly into a shuddering, quaking climax.

  “You called my name,” he murmured when she finally managed to pull in a breath and open her eyes to look up into his.

  “I couldn’t help it.” The admission came without thought, sounding foolish to her.

  But he didn’t seem to think so.

  His eyes were so fierce, his expression so intent, she forgot words altogether, and she stared up at him, unable to look away as he shifted, settling against her.

  Motionless, she felt her heart beating with his until they were no longer distinguishable.

  Her skin was his.

  His breathing was hers.

  And just when she thought she’d scream from the agonizing anticipation in that endless moment, he brushed his lips over the diamond—his diamond—that lay against her throat.

  Emotion tightened her chest and she knew she was well and truly lost.

  His lips worked up her chin and slowly, gently brushed over hers. “Happy birthday, Amelia.”

  A tear slid from the corner of her eye. He kissed it away. Sighed her name and slowly, unforgettable made them one.

  And then Amelia cried out yet again because all there was was motion.

  His.

  Hers.

  And the awesome wonder that caught her in an even stronger grip, sending them both headlong into the whirlwind. And when it was her name that escaped Gray’s lips, she didn’t even notice her tears that spilled over.

  She just exhaustedly closed her arms around his broad, broad shoulders, and fell asleep with his head against her breast.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was no light seeping through the drapes hanging at the tall windows of their bedroom when Amelia woke. A glance at the clock on Gray’s nightstand told her that they still had a few hours to sleep.

  Only her body didn’t seem to want any just then.

  So she lay there, her head resting on his shoulder, one leg draped between his, her fingertips slowly drifting over his chest. He made a soft noise, closing one hand over hers.

  “Baby’s crying.” His voice sounded rusty. Exhausted.

  She sat up, pushing her tumbled hair out of her face. “I didn’t even hear him,” she admitted, feeling guilty. She scram bled off the bed and snatched up her robe, tying it around her as she dashed down the hall to the nursery. Amelia had insisted that Bonny not worry about tending the baby during the night. But it was rare, indeed, for Timmy to even wake in the middle of the night anymore.

  This time, however, he was wailing but good when she lifted him out of his crib. She cuddled him against her, carrying him to the changing table, flipping on one of the small lamps that were conveniently placed around the nursery.

  “He hungry or something?” Gray had followed her, wearing nothing but a loose pair of sweats hanging low over his hips.

  “Probably.” She dragged her eyes from the distracting sight of him and quickly finished changing the baby before lifting him to her shoulder once more. “Bonny said he didn’t finish his bottle before he fell asleep.” She went to the refrigerator the nursery was equipped with, and pulled out one of the bottles stored there.

  “Here.” Gray slid his hands around the baby, brushing against her breast as he lifted Timmy. “You get the cow juice. I’ll hold him.”

  She pushed the bottle into the warmer. By the time she turned it on, Timmy had stopped crying and was slapping his hand against Gray’s chest, seemingly fascinated.

  She knew the feeling. She was pretty fascinated by the man’s chest, too.

  “He’s gotten heavier,” Gray murmured.

  “Mmm, hmm.” The bottle warmer hissed a little as it worked. “He’s on the high end of the length chart and the low side of the weight.”

  Gray’s long fingers spanned the width of the baby’s back. “You still think he’s mine?”

  The question came out of nowhere, nearly making her legs go out from beneath her. She stared at him in the soft light, her mouth parting, but no words coming. Her eyes suddenly stung, because believing him meant she didn’t believe her sister and she badly wanted to believe him. “No,” she finally said, painfully honest. “But I want to believe you both.”

  He hefted the baby up to his nose. “She doesn’t trust easily, does she, Tim.”

  “Neither do you,” Amelia pointed out. She crossed her arms and wished the warmer would finish its work more quickly.

  He lowered the baby to his shoulder once more and prowled with him around the nursery, and despite the turn of the conversation, Amelia couldn’t help but feel the powerful punch of the sight. A man and baby. How had she gone so long in her life thinking that she didn’t want both of those things?

  Now, she had them, but they weren’t hers to have. Timmy had a mother. One who was fighting to make her way back to them all. And Gray—despite making their marriage a reality—was only hers for the duration of their agreement.

  “Harry didn’t teach a lot of it. Christina—” He didn’t bother finishing that. “Then there was Alex’s mom. She’s probably the least objectionable of them all, but she was no picnic. And J.T.’s?” He shook his head. “Don’t ask. Justin’s mom was so vindictive we didn’t even learn about him until he was about Jack’s age. It takes a lot for any of us to trust.”

  “They trust their wives. It’s ev
ident in every breath they take.”

  “Fortunately, they’re not Harry Juniors like I am. And they’re in love with their wives.”

  “You’re entirely different than Harry.” Gray wasn’t in love with her. He didn’t have to state that particular fact when she was already painfully cognizant of it. Just as she very much feared she was in love with him. She didn’t know when. Or how.

  She just knew it was there. Inside her. A part of her. “You must have loved Gwen.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Somebody’s been gossiping,” he finally said. “Because Harry kept it out of the papers back then. So who was it? Cornelia? Loretta? One of the cousins tonight at dinner?”

  “Does it matter? Losing her must have been very painful.”

  “Is that bottle ready?”

  Swallowing the disappointment that he wouldn’t share even something so distant in the past, she plucked the bottle from the warmer and shook it, testing it on her wrist. “Warm enough.” She held it out to him.

  He looked startled and she was ashamed of the stab of satisfaction that at least there were a few things beyond his comfort zone. So she held out both hands. “I’ll take him, then.”

  His lips tightened a little. He went to the rocking chair by one of the windows and sat down on it, juggling Timmy around.

  Amelia softened right back up again. She suspected that would be the case more often than not where Gray was concerned. She went over to him, perching on the padded window seat beside the wooden chair. She tucked the nipple into Timmy’s greedy mouth and adjusted the baby more comfortably in Gray’s arms. Timmy sighed hugely around the nipple, sending out a bubble of milk, and then settled on it in earnest. She rubbed her fingers along the silky tufts of hair he’d grown in the past month. It was darker than either Jack’s or Molly’s hair, though it still held a similar reddish cast.

  “Daphne never lied about anything in her entire life,” Amelia said softly. “Not for any reason and certainly not for money. So why would she do so where Timmy is concerned?”