He was both serious and teasing. To cover a painful memory, she suspected. His mother had been the only softness in his childhood. His only source of love. It hurt to imagine what life must have been like for him after she'd disappeared.
"I've never been afraid of you," she repeated, sensing a need in him for reassurance.
"Good. Because I would hate it if you were."
"I know."
He ambled closer, his bare chest gleaming like well-rubbed bronze in the diffused light from the lamp. Her breath hitching, she waited for the slow, rolling sensation that always came when he touched her. Though he stopped just short of arms' length away, his big callused hands remained at his side,
"Maybe this is just your subtle way of warning me off?" His drawl was silken, yet with enough roughness to suggest the rumbling purr of a big cat.
"If I wanted to warn you off, I wouldn't have agreed to have an affair with you." She grinned. "As for subtle, I doubt there's a subtle bone in your body."
He considered that with a frown hovering over his brow. "I think I've just been insulted," he said finally, looking annoyed.
"Complimented," she corrected with a laugh. "You're too straight-arrow to be devious."
"Now I know I've been insulted."
She blinked, suddenly confused. "You're upset because I think you have integrity?"
"Hell, yes, woman," he all but growled as he closed the distance between them. "No self-respecting journalist wants to think of himself as one of the good guys."
"He doesn't?"
"No indeed. Haven't you been paying attention to the conventional wisdom? We're slimeballs. Opportunists. Blood-sucking vampires who'll drain their grandmothers dry for a story."
Raine stifled a giggle. "Surely not?"
He nodded solemnly. "Sleazoids, scum, pusillanimous purveyors of falsehoods. Left-wing agitators."
It seemed perfectly natural for him to cup her shoulders with his big warm palms. At his touch, some of the tension clawing her spine drained away.
"I can see now why you'd hate being lumped in with those 'good guys' you mentioned," she assured him earnestly. "And I apologize for calling you a straight arrow."
"Thank you."
He skimmed his palms down her arms, then linked his arms at the small of her back. She stiffened slightly, waiting for him to pull her closer. Instead, he simply stood there, holding her loosely.
She drew a breath. The faint aroma of cigar smoke clung to his skin. It should be repugnant to a dedicated nonsmoker like her, she decided, but it wasn't. Perhaps because it was so intensely masculine, so blatantly aggressive. In her mind she could see him in riding breeches and shiny boots, urging a blooded stallion over a high fence, his tousled hair golden in the sunshine, his rich laughter rolling over the green hills.
It was impossible to resist a smile. According to Morgan's sketchy description of his background, there wasn't an ounce of blue blood in his veins. Just the opposite. In fact, he wasn't all that certain his parents had ever married. And they'd certainly lived a crude life, yet, there was something about the way he carried himself that suggested an aristocratic upbringing. The man who considered himself an ignorant hillbilly was really a gentleman at heart.
"Hey, where'd you go, honey?" His voice was soft, with amusement curling the edges.
"Regency England," she murmured. "Or maybe the antebellum South."
"Uh-huh."
She burst out laughing. "Don't look so alarmed. It's the hormones. Luke said I might have odd moments now and then."
Something changed. She wasn't sure why or what, but she felt it. And it scared her.
"Luke?" he said in a flat tone.
"Luke Jarrod. My obstetrician. You met him tonight."
The arms that encircled her suddenly seemed stronger somehow. More rigid. "Sounds like he's more than that."
"Well, yes. He's a friend, too. Just like Boyd is a friend. And Case." She took a breath. "Prudy's the one who recommended I make an appointment to see him when I started having problems."
"And he's the one who recommended the insemination bit?"
"No, actually Prudy mentioned it first, and then I talked to Luke—"
He bit off a curse that had her eyebrows flying up. She felt a jolt of anger, followed almost instantly by an urgent desire to hug the man. In all the years of their marriage she'd never once glimpsed this obviously volatile side to his nature.
"I don't believe this," she declared in soft wonder. "You're jealous of my doctor."
"Bull. I'm protecting my interest."
She saw determination in his eyes and desire and something else, something she didn't know how to read.
"But I'm divorcing you," she protested.
"Trying to divorce me. I'm fighting it."
"Why?"
"Because we're good together. I understand you. You understand me. And we're dynamite in bed. What more could you want in a marriage?"
She burst out laughing, but the feeling inside her was more sad than amused. "A lot more, as a matter of fact. Like love and companionship and sharing."
His mouth quirked. "Hey, I'm here, you're here, and there's a nice big bed just a few feet away. Perfect for love and companionship. And definitely made for sharing."
"Sex. You're talking about sex."
His grin was endearingly lopsided. "Yeah, guess I am at that."
"It's just a chemical reaction. A physical creation of nature. My father used to lecture me about it all the time."
"With charts, too?"
She laughed. "No. He didn't go that far."
"Thank the Lord for that, anyway."
"You disagree?"
He raised a brow. "Me, disagree with the professor? Besides, there ain't nothin' wrong with physical, darlin'," he drawled, slipping his arms around her once more. "In fact, it's damned good, when done right."
Something flickered in his eyes, giving her a glimpse of a different man. A lonely, lost man who was reaching out. A man with deep scars and unhealed wounds. She felt a trembling inside her. A softening. A need to hold him. And then his thick, blunt lashes swept down, and his mouth slanted. The man who needed so desperately disappeared, replaced by a rogue with a naughty gleam in his eyes instead of shadows.
She felt a shiver. A surrender. Desperate longing.
"And I suppose you think you know how to do it right?" she whispered thickly.
"Maybe not, but I'm a fast learner." He brought his mouth closer to hers, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. "All I need are a few pointers along the way."
He touched his mouth to hers in a sweet and tender kiss that sent warmth all the way to her toes. Lazily, as though time was irrelevant, he nudged her mouth open with his tongue, then found hers. Tips touching, he kept the kiss gentle, even as she felt his breathing quicken. He ended the kiss too soon, and she fought a wave of disappointment.
"You like that?" he asked, his mouth still only inches away.
"Very much," she admitted, her arms automatically encircling his neck. His skin was warm, his body solid. Unable to resist, she lowered her head to the swirl of golden chest hair and touched her tongue to one tiny flat nipple.
He groaned and stiffened at the same time. Beneath his skin, hard muscle spasmed involuntarily, beyond his control. Raine decided she liked having power over this man, if only physically.
"Sorry. Did I hurt you?" she teased, before tasting him again.
He sucked in air. She felt a rush of purely carnal satisfaction.
"No, you didn't hurt me, little witch."
"Good, because I wouldn't want to hurt you."
She ran her hands over his chest, using just the short, rounded tips of her nails. When she trailed her touch lower, to the corrugated wall of his belly, he let out a low groan. At the same time he grabbed her wrists, imprisoning her with hard fingers.
"You're enjoying this," he growled, his eyes golden.
She pretended to think that over. "Yes, I think I am at that," she
admitted after a moment. "I like the idea of being in charge for a change."
Morgan saw the fire in her brown eyes and felt a fast jolt of satisfaction. Anything was better than the painful vulnerability he'd sensed in her earlier.
"Who says you're in charge?" He kept his voice gruff. The triumph he saw in her eyes told him it was the right slant to take.
"You do."
"Yeah? Well, who's holding who here?" he challenged, directing a pointed look at the spot where his hands manacled hers against his chest. Though she was tanned, his skin was shades darker, the result of a lifetime spent under the open sky.
"But if I weren't in charge, why would you be so determined to take control?" she countered with a look he could only call smug.
"I'm the guy here. That's my job."
"Nonsense."
Her lips curved, and he had to fight a need to trace that sweet smile with his tongue. Instead, he rubbed his thumbs over the thin skin of her wrists and felt the fast surge of blood through her veins. His body grew harder.
"Admit it, honey. You wouldn't like a wimpy lover."
She rubbed her belly against his like a cat with an itch. He swallowed. Tried to concentrate. Reminded himself that he was in charge.
"There's a difference between being wimpy and being sensitive," she murmured, splaying her manacled hands against his chest.
He felt the scrape of her nails against his skin, like kitten claws. His train of thought veered off into a more erotic track, and he had to fight to concentrate.
"Difference?" he demanded gruffly. "What difference?"
"A sensitive man realizes that a woman sometimes likes to take the lead."
"Guess that depends on where his woman is fixin' to take him," he said with a grin.
"Let me go, and I'll show you."
Morgan felt a prickle of wariness, akin to the hot tingle of warning that had saved his sorry ass more than once in the past. He braced inwardly, ready to defend himself from some unnamed threat, then relaxed his grip.
"Well, hell, my mama didn't raise no coward. Why not?"
Surprise glittered in her eyes for an instant before a darker, richer emotion took over. He felt an edge of anticipation like a jolt of adrenaline.
"Lie down," she ordered, her face turning a delicate pink as she darted a glance at the bed behind him. His arousal grew more insistent.
"Which way? Front or back?"
The blush on her cheeks grew deeper. "On your back."
Her eyes sparkled as her tongue made a nervous pass over her lower lip. He nearly groaned.
"Whatever you say, honey."
He backed up slowly, his gaze on hers. He was beginning to like this game. In fact, he was getting turned on so fast, he wasn't sure how long he could last before he had to take over again.
"Under the covers?" he asked when he felt the hard edge of the mattress against his shins.
"On top, so you can feel the satin against your skin."
She advanced slowly, her unfettered breasts swaying beneath the cotton shirt. Her nipples looked like hard little buds poking at the thin material, and his mouth went dry. She wanted him.
Praying he wouldn't burst before she finished with him, he stretched out on top of the shiny comforter. The satin slipped easily beneath his bare shoulders as he crossed his arms under his head and grinned up at her.
"Okay, woman. Have your way with me."
She drew her eyebrows together and regarded him intently. "I suggest you take this very seriously, Mr. Paxton," she warned, tapping one small bare foot. "Otherwise, I shall be forced to be severe with you."
"Severe?" He thought about that. "Sounds kinky."
Her soft, pale mouth twitched at the corners, sending another jolt of hunger racing through him.
"Don't move," she ordered, glancing at his legs. He was still wearing his jeans and briefs. Nothing else.
"No, ma'am."
She took a slow, deep breath, and her breasts swayed. He swallowed. She'd always been beautiful to him, but now, in the full bloom of pregnancy, she was magnificent. A woman in all of her intended glory.
"First we have to get rid of these sorry-looking jeans," she murmured, reaching for his fly.
"Watch it, woman. These suckers have been with me a long time."
"Obviously."
Her fingers were busy with the metal buttons, and he held his breath. Suddenly she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband and tugged, and the air trapped in his lungs came out a rush of harsh sound.
"Am I hurting you?" she asked, grinning down at him. "Shall I stop?"
He gritted his teeth and glared at her. "Stop and I'll never forgive you," he muttered.
She choked out a laugh, and it was like a rare gift.
"Step two," she said, tugging his jeans lower. The backs of her fingers skimmed over the skin of his lower abdomen, and he groaned.
"Lift your hips," she ordered.
He obeyed.
"Higher."
With one last tug, she had his jeans off and on the floor. Looking down the length of his body, he saw his arousal straining to be free of his tight briefs and wondered just how far human skin could stretch before it burst.
"Uh, honey, maybe you'd best let me … ah." He closed his eyes on a wave of hot pleasure when she slowly, deftly freed him from the confines of his underwear. He took a few deep breaths, struggling to regain some measure of control.
Her hands were soft and clever and—
"Raine, baby, don't … oh, heaven help me."
"You like that, do you?" Laughter flavored her words—the same words he'd used earlier to tease her. He started to reach for her, to drag her on top of him, but she stopped him with a hard little squeeze that had his breath leaving his body.
"Don't move, remember?" she chided, her fingers trailing the length of him. "I'm having my way with you."
Morgan couldn't help himself. He arched upward, thrusting against her hand, and she sucked in air.
"Oh, my," she whispered, her voice thick.
He swore, frustration and desire tearing at him. "Baby, I can't handle much more of this," he warned, his jaw so tight, it was difficult to force out the words.
"Soon," she murmured, staring at him with an absorbed look that was almost as arousing as the soft stroking movements of her fingers.
"Take off that shirt and let me see you," he ordered, his hands clutching at the slick comforter.
"First the briefs."
She released him and he all but growled in protest. Her hands were wonderfully warm as she slid the underwear down his legs. Nothing remained to shield him. He was naked. Vulnerable. With no place to hide and no energy to run.
"Raine." He heard his voice calling her name. Heard the throaty timbre and raspy urgency. Was it a plea or a threat? He was too dazed to know. He only knew he needed her. And she was so close.
He was about to take over when she hiked up her shirt, then knelt next to him on the bed. Then slowly, almost tentatively, she drew the shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor.
He felt a rush of emotion, a soaring need. Slowly, reverently, he lifted a hand to touch the ripe curve of her belly. Her skin was taut, yet soft, and as pale as milk. He thought he said something. He wasn't sure what.
Her smile told him that his words pleased her.
"I want you," he whispered. Or so he thought. At the moment he was lost in a haze of desire so powerful, he was half-afraid to move.
"And I want you," she murmured as she slowly straddled him. Her thighs were warm against his, sending his heart rate skyrocketing.
"Take me," he begged, so aroused, he was panting.
She did as he asked, her fingers curling around him gently as she guided him to the hot, moist spot between her thighs. It took the last measure of his control to keep from surging upward, into her.
Taking her own sweet time, she eased him into her, the soft inner folds slowly parting to admit him. He sucked in his breath and willed himself to endure.
Her body adjusted inch by inch until he was fully seated. Absorbed. He released the breath he'd been holding and exulted in the feel of her body clinging to his.
"Raine, baby—"
She reached for him, her fingers curling over his shoulders. Eyes half-closed, her lips softly parted, she began to move, riding him slowly at first, then faster and faster.
Morgan could scarcely think. She looked so lovely astride him, her hair flowing back, her face flushed with passion. For him.
It was like a miracle. A precious benediction.
She wanted him. This special woman wanted him.
No one had ever wanted him like this. With this abandoned freedom. With this unconditional generosity. No one had needed him the way Raine needed him. Now. This moment.
He called her name, his voice thick with his own need, his own wonder. She smiled, even as her fingers dug deeper into his shoulders. He was hers, in her power, under her control. For the first time in his life he was lost.
She leaned closer, her belly snug against his, her breasts warm and inviting. He fought to last long enough to give her the pleasure she sought, but hot pincers of desperate need were clawing him.
"Hurry, honey," he begged, knowing he was at the edge.
He felt her body tighten around his, heard the soft little cries in her throat, and then soft rippling spasms were gripping him, urging him to let go.
He cried out, and at the same time felt the explosion of her climax. His body gave up the struggle, surging his seed into her in violent waves until he felt utterly drained.
She collapsed on top of him, her face pressed to his neck.
There was a sheen of perspiration between her breasts, and the smell of musk surrounded them. He relaxed deeply, his eyes half-open, her hair tickling his cheek.
"If this is severe, I'm all for it," he managed to murmur against her hair.
He heard her laugh, felt her hands caress his slick shoulders. "If you're a good boy, I might give you another lesson one of these days."
"Trust me, honey. I'll be good."
Morgan rubbed the small of her back with the flat of his hand. She sounded damned pleased with herself, this wife of his.
Baby by Design Page 16
