by Abby Green
The perfect filet she’d eaten rolled in her stomach at the callous reference to what she had been hoping was lovemaking. A wave of nausea, so strong that she had to grit her teeth, made her set her napkin aside and reach for her purse. “I’m going to visit the ladies’ and then I’ll be ready to leave. I’ll meet you in the entry.”
Rafe rose, a frown of concern creasing his broad brow. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m not.”
“I knew you shouldn’t have had that wine. Is there anything I can do?”
“You’ve done quite enough, thank you.” Her words were clipped and she saw his eyes narrow at the tone, but she was past caring. The beat of her heart in her chest was nearly painful as she pushed away the hopes she’d had of love. Rafe had been hurt in the past, but he wouldn’t share that part of himself with her. And she couldn’t live with a man who couldn’t love her, no matter the reason.
Six
Elizabeth was so quiet on the drive back to the hotel that Rafe could feel his gut twist with worry. She’d started getting weird again when he’d mentioned their fathers and the marriage deal. Mentally he kicked himself. That had upset her before, as well. He should have remembered. What did it matter if she didn’t want to believe she was part of an arranged marriage? Women liked a little romance. Well, he thought, she’d forget about their conversation soon enough when she saw what he had done for her.
He led her back to their room and passed his keycard through the lock, then opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. As she did so, he pressed the button on the entry wall for the lamps in the living area.
Halfway into the room, she stopped dead.
Behind her he was grinning. The florist had done a good job. On the glass table in front of the couch stood a huge crystal vase with an arrangement of red roses, three dozen if they’d done as he ordered, beautifully displayed against a background of greenery and some fine-textured, airy white stuff.
“What’s this?” Her voice sounded strange.
“They’re for you.” He stepped forward and took her hand, drawing it to his lips. “For the mother of my child.”
She half turned and her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. Then she burst into tears and bolted into the bedroom, sobbing.
What the hell—? He was so stunned, he didn’t react at all for a moment.
Then he sprinted to the bedroom door as a feeling of déjà vu assailed him. She wasn’t locking him out again!
But the doorknob turned easily beneath his hand. The bedroom was empty and he could hear water running in the adjoining bathroom. Tentatively he knocked on the door. “Elizabeth?”
“Just a moment.” Her voice sounded strained and muffled.
She didn’t sound as if she planned on camping in there for the night, so he lounged against the closest bureau and waited. It took a while, but finally the doorknob turned and she opened the door. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy, but she wasn’t crying, at least.
He straightened. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed. “Nothing. Thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful.” But her tone was lackluster and she looked at the floor rather than at him. “I’m very tired,” she said. “I’d like to go to bed.”
“All right.” He knew perfectly well she meant alone, but there wasn’t a chance of that. He walked back into the other room and locked the door for the night, then turned off the lights in the living area. By the time he returned, she’d slipped out of the pink dress and wore nothing but the silky undergarments he’d bought her.
She turned, startled, as he came back into the bedroom, but he ignored her reaction, crossing to the bath to turn out the lights. Then he rounded his side of the bed and casually began to undress, removing the tux jacket and unfastening his cuff links and studs.
“What are you doing?” Her voice had the same odd tone it had carried when she’d seen the roses.
Calmly he continued undressing, stepping out of his clothes until he wore nothing but his briefs. “Getting ready for bed. I thought you said you were tired.”
“I am.” She paused and made a helpless gesture with one hand. “I didn’t intend to sleep with you.”
“There’s only one bed,” he pointed out.
“No!” Her voice rose an octave. “I am not sharing a bed with you. Not for sleeping, not for…for any other activity, either.”
He’d had it with guessing what was going through her head. Slowly, deliberately, he began to walk around the bed to where she stood.
She took a step backward for every one of his until finally she was literally backed against a wall and he was directly in front of her. If she wanted to get away from him now, she’d have to crawl across the bed.
“I thought you’d like the roses,” he said. “I’m sorry if they upset you. Will you please tell me why?”
She hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it again. Finally she said, “Red roses are for lovers, for—for special relationships.”
Now he was the one to hesitate. Slowly, feeling as if he was walking down a tunnel without a single glimmer of light, he said, “You…are special to me. Not just because you’re going to have my child.”
Her eyes were shadowed in the light of the single bedside lamp she’d lit. She shook her head. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Rafe. If I weren’t pregnant, if I hadn’t come and sought you out, we’d never have seen each other again.”
He opened his mouth automatically to protest. Then he shut it abruptly. She might be right. Five months ago—hell, one month ago—he couldn’t have imagined himself feeling like this, couldn’t have imagined his life without her. She’d been there in the back of his mind for months, and now that she was in his life he wasn’t letting her go. Baldly, he said, “You’re probably right. If you’d stayed in Wynborough, we never would have seen each other again. But—” he reached out and slowly cupped the warm, soft flesh of her cheek in his hand, framing her jawline with his thumb “—you did come after me. You were smarter than I was. And I’m glad. I don’t want to be without you. Not because of the baby. Because of you.”
She swallowed. He felt the movement beneath his hand. “Rafe, I can’t—”
“Shhh.” He stepped closer, gathering her into his embrace, rubbing his chin over the top of her head and tucking her against his heart. “Don’t analyze it to death. Just accept it.”
Bending his head, he kissed her temple then her cheek, then tilted up her face with his thumb beneath her chin and brushed soft kisses over her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, finally nuzzling his way down to her mouth. She was warm and soft and pliant in his arms and he could feel her begin to tremble as she became aware of the arousal he couldn’t hide as his body reacted to the scents and feel of woman, his woman.
“I want you,” he said against her mouth. He bent his knees and kissed her throat, then trailed tiny kisses down the smooth flesh swelling at her breasts until the silky fabric of her slip stopped him. “May I?” he whispered.
She was leaning back against the wall now, her hands in his hair, eyes closed. Without opening them she nodded her permission, and his blood heated as he realized he’d convinced her to stay with him.
Slowly he reached down and found the hem of the slip, drawing it over her head. Her bra clasped in the front and he set his fingers at the little hook, gently snapping it apart and pushing it back off her shoulders, letting her pretty, pink-tipped breasts bob free. She was so beautiful. His throat grew tight at the realization that she was his now. He wondered if she knew he never planned to let her get away…but this wasn’t the time to discuss it. Slowly he raised his hands, cupping the soft, full globes in his palms and gently brushing his thumbs back and forth across the nipples.
She began to breathe faster, her head lolling back against the wall, and the lamplight slanted across her face, making her look mysterious and sensual and desirable. He bent again and placed his mouth right at the place where her breasts met in the center, licking his way down the swe
et crevice and then continuing on around the base of one pretty mound. He moved his hand and flicked his tongue over her flesh in an ever-decreasing spiral until finally, he was nearly at the peaked nipple. But he didn’t close his mouth over the enticing tip until she moaned and her hands came up to his head, threading through his hair to cradle his skull and guide him to her.
Victorious, he suckled the tight bud, lashing it again and again with his tongue, moving finally to treat the other nipple to the same attentions. Her fingers clenched and loosened and clenched again in his hair, and the unconscious actions fired his own arousal, pushing him heavily against the restraining fabric of his briefs and making him ache with the need to bury himself within her.
But he wanted this time to last. He wanted her to want him, to need the sweet invasion of his body as badly as he needed to immerse himself in her hot depths. And so he lingered over her breasts, suckling strongly then gently laving the puckered flesh until she was quivering before him, her hips shifting in small circles, tiny moans escaping her throat each time he increased the sweet torture.
Finally he allowed her hands to push him down, away from her breasts and he trailed his lips over the satiny flesh of her abdomen to the swell that contained his child. Turning his head, he slid to his knees and lay his cheek against her, savoring the sweetness of the moment. But she was too needy to be satisfied with such gentle actions and soon he explored the tender flesh below with his mouth until the edge of her panties, riding low beneath the fullness of her womb, made him pause.
He grasped the lacy fabric with his teeth and tugged gently, pulling the garment down, burying his nose in the spicy curls that lay exposed before him. Hooking his fingers into the fabric, he slid her panties down and off, and sat back to view the results of his labor.
If he could stand the thought of another man seeing her nude, he’d have her painted just like this, head thrown back, red hair a wild tangle down her back, hands braced on the wall behind her and one leg cocked slightly open, inviting him to search the sweetness hidden in her shadows. But there was no way any other man was getting within a mile of her naked glory. He didn’t care how primitive and possessive it sounded. She was his and his alone. Forever.
The thought shook him slightly. And because it was an uncomfortable one to contemplate, he let her siren’s call distract him, freeing himself from his confining briefs, letting his straining flesh spring free in anticipation. Leaning forward again, he placed his mouth directly over the shadowed crease in her feminine mound, gently blowing a warm stream of breath over her. She made a low sound of surprise, and he drew back, putting his hands on the insides of her thighs and shifting her stance wide, baring her pink, pouting flesh to his gaze.
His own body was urging him to move faster, but he resisted its pleas. Leaning forward yet again, he used his tongue to open her slick softness and when she cried out, he plunged deeply into her, tasting the hot wet warmth of woman that greeted him. He lifted a hand and rubbed his fingers along the plump folds until he could enter her easily with one finger. As she arched against his hand, he set his mouth over the tiny nubbin that he knew awaited his touch, stroking over it with a rhythmic licking that he mimicked with the movement of his finger.
She was crying with each breath, her hips plunging, her hands in fists beating against the wall. She tolerated only a few of his intimate caresses before she climaxed, her body squeezing his finger in tight, hard contractions as her knees gave way and she began to slide down the wall to the floor.
He would have liked to wait, wanted to spin out the pleasure even more, but he was so hard even the brush of his flesh against his own belly pushed him dangerously close to release. Frantically, he took her by the hips and guided her down onto his jutting staff, arching up and plunging deeply into her just as a series of harsh, hard pulses left him gasping for breath, his head bowed as weakly on her shoulder as hers was on his.
When he could breathe enough to speak again, he chuckled softly. “How in the hell am I going to manage to go six weeks without this after the baby comes?”
She lifted her head from his shoulder and though she still sat astride him, though their bodies were still sweaty and joined together, there was a distant quality to her smile. “You managed for five months last time.”
He wanted to shake her. Instead, he leaned forward and nipped lightly at the smooth flesh of her shoulder. “Yes, but that was when I’d convinced myself you were a figment of my imagination.”
She yelped and shrank back. “Your imagination?” She sounded slightly indignant.
“My imagination,” he repeated. “Too good to be true. A hallucination caused by years of disappointing experiences. I wanted the real thing so badly that I created it. Or so I thought.”
“And this is the real thing?”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said, frowning to disguise his smile. Little smart aleck. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her forward, kissed her hard and deep one final time and then lifted her off him.
She promptly collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Groaning as his cramping leg muscles protested, he stood and pulled back the covers on the bed, then lifted her and laid her on the mattress. She immediately snuggled into the pillow, and he patted the smooth, bare buttock she presented before turning out the light and climbing in behind her. He gathered her into his arms and as he closed his eyes and sank into the sweet oblivion of sleep, he felt more content than he could ever remember feeling before in his life.
The morning’s bright white light streamed into the room through the sheer curtains over the window, slowly calling him awake. He’d forgotten to close the heavier drapes the night before. It didn’t really matter, though. They needed to get up and get going today anyway.
Elizabeth stirred in his arms. Or rather, beneath his arm. During the night she’d stretched out flat on her stomach. He lay on his side with one arm and one leg possessively chaining her to him. He smiled at the thought.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Mmm. G’morning.” She turned onto her side, then rolled onto her back. “What am I going to do when I can’t sleep on my stomach anymore?” she asked the ceiling.
“I guess you’ll just have to let me hold you all night,” he offered.
She turned into his arms, snuggling in and pressing small kisses across his chest. “That sounds nice.”
“Elizabeth.” He spoke slowly and quietly, not wanting to disturb her unduly. This was going to be the tricky part. Turning his head, he kissed her temple, his thumb caressing the ball of her shoulder where his arm lay around her. “We should get married.”
As he’d expected, her body stiffened. She didn’t pull away, though, and he was cautiously optimistic. Maybe she’d realized that what they had between them on the physical plane was extraordinary, that some people lived entire lives without experiencing the connection they had.
Finally, she spoke. “I believe we already had this discussion. No, thank you.”
“Why not?” His instinct was to lift himself over her and demand that she acquiesce, but he knew her well enough by now to know that that approach would get him nowhere.
“Physical infatuation isn’t a good enough foundation for a lifetime together.”
“But it’s a solid part of that foundation,” he argued. “How many married couples do you suppose aren’t sexually attracted?”
“It’s only a part, though, as you just said.” There was a hint of sad weariness in her voice. “And it’s about the only part we do have.”
“We have more than that,” he insisted.
“Rafe, I’m not going to marry you and that’s final.” Her body was stiff and unresponsive, and suddenly he couldn’t stand to be in the bed where she’d been so warm and sweet the night before.
Heaving himself upright, he stalked into the bathroom to shower and shave, then donned the second set of clothes he’d ordered for himself yesterday. While he dressed, he stee
led himself to do what he was going to have to do if she continued to be stubborn.
Damn woman! He couldn’t understand the wall of resistance she erected each time he mentioned marriage.
Walking back into the bedroom, he said, “I’ll ask you one more time. Elizabeth, will you please marry me?”
She was looking out the window, clad only in a sheer dressing gown; all he could see was her profile as her lips formed the word, “No.”
He sighed. “Then you leave me no choice.” He walked across the room and picked up the telephone. Fishing his wallet out of the pants he’d flung across a chair the night before, he extracted a piece of paper and started punching in the numbers.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling your father.”
“My father!” She turned her head and glared at him. “Put that telephone down.”
He ignored her.
“Why are you calling my father?”
“To tell him that you’re pregnant with my child, and you won’t marry me even though I’ve begged you to.” He knew it was harsh, but he sensed that there was no other way to force her to agree, and he was determined. His child was going to have his name, and Elizabeth was never leaving him again.
“No!” Her response sounded so agonized that Rafe had to steel himself not to take her in his arms again and comfort her.
Slowly he replaced the receiver and turned to face her. “Why not?”
Elizabeth swallowed. Her gaze was still defiant, but he sensed the decisiveness draining away from her and gradually her defiance changed to a sad acceptance. “I’ll marry you,” she said quietly. “Just don’t tell my parents.”
“You’re going to have to tell them sometime.”
“I know.” She shook her head and looked away. “You don’t understand. I should be the one to tell them.”
