Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition (13 page)

She plunged shaking fingers through his damp hair as his tongue slid across the reddened flesh. Her breath gushed out as he took one puckered nipple into his mouth and bit it lightly. Raw heat flooded between her thighs. She clamped her legs together, trying to hold the inferno back as he worked the same magic on her other breast.

He smoothed his hand down her abdomen, stroked where the baby grew. ‘Pregnancy suits you,’ he said. ‘I may have to keep you this way for the rest of our lives.’

The possessive statement made her heart jolt. What did that mean? But then his hand strayed lower and she couldn’t breathe any more, let alone think.

‘Open your legs,’ he coaxed, probing the silky curls of her sex. Again she obeyed him without complaint, holding him as he drew his thumb down, brushed over her clitoris. She bucked wildly at the tiny touch. Incredible—how could she be so close to orgasm so soon? One more touch and she would surely be there. But he didn’t give her the touch she yearned for.

Holding her hips, he angled her pelvis, positioned himself above her, then thrust slowly, solidly until his penis was lodged hard inside her. She moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders as the full, brutally stretched feeling had her pleasure fading.

‘It’s too much,’ she said, straining against the shocking invasion.

He gave her a fleeting kiss. ‘Give it a moment,’ he said, with all the arrogance of a man in total control.

‘In my fantasies you were a lot more amenable,’ she grumbled.

He laughed, but she could hear the tension in his voice, knew he was holding back, waiting for her to adjust. She drew her hands down his back. She loved the feel of him, the smooth silk of naked flesh, the firmness of bunched muscles beneath.

Sliding one hand under her bottom, he began to move. The small, rocking motions sent tiny licks of pleasure through her and the discomfort faded. She moved with him, tried to match his rhythm, but she knew she was a
long way from the glorious release promised moments before.

‘That feels nice,’ she said. ‘If you can keep it up for an hour it might work.’

He laughed, but the sound was harsh. ‘Give her a couple of orgasms and suddenly she’s a damn critic. Couldn’t you just fake it?’ he teased.

‘Forget it. I’m never doing that again,’ she said, knowing that with him she would never have to.

‘Let’s try a different position,’ he said. ‘We haven’t found what I was looking for.’ He pulled her leg high over his hip and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Suddenly she was straddling him, and he was impossibly deep. He grunted as her muscles clenched, struggling to adapt to this new, overwhelming sensation. Then he flexed his hips and nudged a place deep inside her.

She cried out, her body raked by a wave of pure pleasure so intense she thought she might faint.

‘That’s more like it,’ he growled. He held her hips, bucked under her, going deeper still, and the rush of orgasm intensified. Then he reached down, exposed the nub of her clitoris with his thumb and rubbed. One small stroke, one hard thrust, and she crashed over the edge, crying out as the tidal wave of sensation hurtled through her.

She sobbed, tried to catch her breath as his fingers dug into her hips. He held on, pumping into her and forcing her into the grip of another titanic orgasm. She tumbled into oblivion, her body collapsing on top of his in a quivering mass—and heard him shout out her name as he emptied inside her.

She could hear the buzz of insects and the staggered rise and fall of his breathing. His chest hair tickled her cheek as the final waves of orgasm shimmered through her body.

She’d never felt more exhausted or more exhilarated in her entire life. She had thought he’d already shown her what sex could be, but their first night didn’t even come close to what she’d just experienced.

Gentle fingers brushed the hair from her face, slid down her back to stroke. His hands cupped her bottom and caressed.

‘How did that rate with your fantasy, then?’ he asked, his voice gruff and a tad self-satisfied.

‘Mmm,’ she said, using every last ounce of her strength to lift her head. Bracing her hands in the soft grass on either side of him, she studied him in the dreamy shadows cast by the mill. Framed by wildflowers, the strong angles and planes of his face looked outrageously handsome.

Prince Charming eat your heart out.

She ran her finger down his nose. ‘You’ll have to do it again for me to rate it properly.’

He nipped her fingertip, grinned. ‘You little tease,’ he said. His hands roamed up her spine, pulled her back down until she was snuggled against his chest. ‘We’re liable to kill ourselves if we do that again too soon.’

She giggled, listening to the insistent beat of his heart as his lips nuzzled her hair and his thumbs traced the ridge of her spine.

And, just like that, she felt her heart tumble into love.

Her eyes snapped open.

Don’t be ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly be in love with him. It would put her at too much of a disadvantage. That sudden swooping feeling in her chest a moment ago hadn’t been love. It couldn’t be. It was just endorphins. She was doing that dumb thing of mistaking sex for love again, that was all. Her heartbeat finally began to slow, to even out.

A firm slap on her rump brought her sharply back to reality. ‘Ow!’

‘No falling asleep on top of me.’ Luke’s voice rumbled out, not sounding all that lover-like. He rolled her off him and stood up, then reached down and hauled her up beside him.

‘Let’s freshen up in the lake,’ he said, massaging her shoulders as he gave her a quick peck on the forehead. ‘Then we can head back to the house.’ He took her hand, marched towards the dock. ‘So far we’ve made love against a wall and in a field. It’s about bloody time we got to a bed.’

He’d led her halfway down the dock before her mind cleared enough to register his intent.

She dug her heels into the warm wood. ‘No way. I’m not going in the lake,’ she said, with as much dignity as she could muster while she was stark naked in a field and still rosy with afterglow.

He stepped back to her and hefted her easily into his arms.

‘Put me down,’ she squealed, kicking her legs and wriggling furiously. ‘It’s probably freezing.’

He kept striding down the dock. ‘It’s warm. The water’s not that deep.’

‘But I’m with child,’ she squeaked, struggling in earnest now. ‘The shock might harm the baby.’

‘Rubbish—the baby will be fine. It’s as healthy as you are,’ he said, and walked right off the end of the dock.

She shrieked as they hit the water together—forgot to close her mouth as they plunged beneath the surface, and swallowed half the lake.

‘C
OME
on, Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up. Breakfast’s here,’ Luke murmured, his lips nuzzling Louisa’s nape.

‘Go away, I’m asleep,’ Louisa grumbled. She kept her eyes firmly closed and snuggled into the pillow, enjoying the fresh scent of the fine linen sheets, the pleasant ache from their morning lovemaking and the last vestiges of a very erotic dream.

‘Don’t make me do this the hard way.’ His breath brushed her earlobe, sending a shiver of awareness through her bloodstream.

‘Shoo.’ She tried to flick him away, her eyes still shut.

‘The hard way it is, then.’

The mattress dipped, and her eyes flew open as she was hoisted up in strong arms. She grappled to pull the sheet over her nakedness and push the tangle of hair out of her eyes as he marched across the room. ‘This won’t do you any good. I’m not hungry.’

‘Rubbish—you’re starving. You always are,’ he said, laughing, as he placed her in a chair.

‘I’m not eating breakfast in the nude.’ She wriggled round, hoisting the sheet up, and got ready to bolt back to bed.

‘Oh, yes, you are,’ he replied, a wicked grin on his face as he lifted the domed cover off her plate.

She sagged back into the seat. The salty aroma of bacon wafted up as she gazed longingly at the full English breakfast. Fluffy scrambled eggs, Cumberland sausage, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms in cream and—
the pièce de resistance
—two rashers of crisp streaky bacon.

Her stomach rumbled. ‘That’s cheating,’ she moaned.

‘Tough,’ he said, placing a knife and fork beside her plate.

She scowled at him as he poured her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. He looked disgustingly awake, wearing a newly ironed pair of chinos and a T-shirt, and with his dark wavy hair still damp from his shower. She muttered something derogatory, but wrapped the sheet round her breasts and tucked the end down her cleavage.

‘Don’t be such a sore loser,’ he said, whipping back the drapes beside the table. Mid-morning sunlight streamed into the room, clearing the sleep from her brain.

Louisa’s heart stuttered as she took in his striking face, gilded by the sun. Goodness, but the man had more than his fair share of blessings from the good-looks fairies. With those sensual lips, the chiselled cheeks and the hint of stubble shadowing his jaw he looked irresistible.

She felt the familiar swooping drop in her chest that had been plaguing her for three whole days—ever since their tryst by the lake. In the long lazy summer days since they’d argued about everything from party politics to which side of the bed to sleep on, flirted with each other mercilessly, scored points off each other every chance they got, and made wild passionate love too many times to count. And she’d adored every minute of it. She picked up her fork and smiled to herself. There didn’t seem much point in denying it any longer.

She was hopelessly in love with this devastating man.

He sat opposite her, glanced up and frowned.

‘Eat,’ he ordered, nodding at her plate. ‘Before it gets cold.’

Or rather she was hopelessly in love with this domineering tyrant.

‘All right already,’ she said, putting on a terrible New York accent, and shovelled some scrambled eggs on to her fork. ‘Keep your hair on.’

Okay, so she’d been an idiot and fallen in love with him again. But at least she was exceptionally well aware of his faults now. He wasn’t the charmingly romantic Prince Charming she’d met that first night, but a flesh-and-blood man with a stubborn streak a mile wide, a serious problem with relinquishing control and the arrogance to match. Living with Luke would always be a challenge, but in the last three days she had discovered that beneath that tough, take-no-prisoners exterior was a man who had a fierce sense of responsibility, a playful sense of humour, and who was the most generous of lovers. And, luckily for her, she was no pushover.

And anyway, she didn’t have to be frightened of her feelings because she had a foolproof plan. She had no intention of throwing herself on his mercy. She would wait for him to declare his love first. And she was positive he was halfway there already. In the last few days he’d shown her in so many subtle ways that he cared about her, that he needed her.

Why else would he bring her breakfast in bed every morning? Why else would he drone on about whether she was looking after herself properly? Why else would he take her on a tour of the gardens, his fingers squeezing hers and his voice thick with pride as he pointed out the careful blend of colours and textures he’d designed? Why else would he
make love to her with such urgency, such intensity—as if each time were their last? And why else did he hold her afterwards as if she were the only person who mattered?

She knew he had no idea what was happening to him, and that because of all those defence mechanisms he’d acquired during his childhood it was going to take him a while to figure it out. But she could be patient—especially when the wait was this much fun.

There was only one small fly in the ointment. Apart from their marriage, he didn’t seem to want to talk about the future, or about the baby. But she wasn’t too worried about it. Lots of men never talked about their feelings unless you pressed them.

She watched him dig into his breakfast as she lifted a piece of granary toast from its wire rack. Now she knew how much she loved him, it was probably about time she started pressing.

‘You know, Luke,’ she said, brandishing the butter knife, ‘you’re really going to have to learn to curb your caveman tendencies before our daughter arrives, or there’s likely to be trouble. Little girls don’t respond well to being ordered about by their fathers. Believe me I know,’ she quipped.

She waited for him to rise to the bait, but instead he went still. ‘You survived,’ he said, but the relaxed humour of a moment ago had disappeared.

Louisa frowned. ‘Only after my father learned to—’

‘Can we talk about something else?’ he interrupted, his eyes meeting hers at last.

She put the toast down. That hadn’t quite gone according to plan. She’d mentioned the baby yesterday and he’d subtly changed the subject. He hadn’t even been subtle this time.

Clearly pressing him wasn’t going to be enough. ‘Why don’t you want to talk about the baby?’ she asked bluntly.

He stopped cutting his sausage. ‘It’s not due for six
months. There’s nothing to talk about.’ He gave her an exasperated look. ‘Except when you plan to marry me, and you’re the one who won’t talk about
that
.’

She felt the fanciful little leap that always accompanied the topic of his marriage proposal, but forced it down. She knew a diversionary tactic when she saw one. ‘I’ve told you why I won’t discuss marrying you. It’s far too soon.’
Maybe when you’ve got the guts to tell me how you really feel about me, then I’ll discuss marriage.
‘And there are tons of things to discuss about the baby.’

His eyebrow lifted. ‘Like what?’

Why was he being deliberately obtuse?

‘Well…’ She grasped for the most obvious examples. ‘How about possible names? What should we call it? A child’s name is very important, and—’

‘I don’t have a preference. Whatever you decide I’m sure I’ll be fine with it,’ he said, so dismissively her apprehension increased. ‘As long as it’s not Elvis.’

He was trying to be funny. They’d argued yesterday about whether Elvis was really the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll. But now Louisa had never felt less like laughing.

‘What about antenatal classes, then?’ she asked. ‘And do you want to be there at the birth?’

He put his knife and fork down. ‘I don’t know,’ he said carefully. But she could see the answer in his eyes—and it was no.

‘Luke, you’re starting to scare me. Do you have a problem with the baby?’

Luke swallowed, struggling to ignore his impatience and the flicker of guilt underneath. Why did they need to talk about this
now
? Why was she forcing the issue?

Everything had been going so well since their morning
at the lake. She’d proved to be a better match for him than any woman he’d ever dated. Her irreverent wit and lively intelligence made her an entertaining opponent in any argument, and he’d laughed more in the last few days than he had since he was a child. And the sex was incredible—more satisfying, more fulfilling than anything he’d ever experienced before. He was a demanding lover, but she’d met all his demands with demands of her own, and he hadn’t tired of her yet—not even close. But he couldn’t let her or the child come to mean too much to him. He knew what it was like to be dependent on others—and he never intended to expose himself to that kind of misery again.

He lifted her hand, which had fisted on the table, eased the palm open. ‘Louisa—relax, sweetheart. Of course I don’t have a problem with the baby.’ He’d offered to marry her, hadn’t he? How much more involved did she want him to be? ‘I just don’t think I’ll be any good at the day-to-day stuff,’ he said cautiously. ‘I’m sure you’ll handle it fine without me.’

‘Without you?’ she asked dumbly.

She didn’t look wary any more. She looked horrified.

Luke ruthlessly controlled the urge to take the words back, to apologise.

Their relationship had limits and this was one of them—she needed to understand that. But why did the thought of telling her the truth make him suddenly feel so hollow?

He struggled to regain the feeling of certainty, of invulnerability that had always sustained him in the past. He had to start setting some parameters to their relationship before this got any more complicated.

‘I’m sure you’ll make a great mother, Louisa. You won’t need me there,’ he said, but the words were much harder to say than he’d expected.

Louisa stared at Luke, the warmth of the sun on her bare shoulders doing nothing to ease the chill around her heart. The hearty breakfast she’d been eating churned inside her. He couldn’t mean it, surely? That he intended to have no real role in their child’s life?

But his face had gone blank. He looked so closed-off, so controlled, she barely recognised him. Where was the man who had held her so tenderly, who had teased her and made her laugh, who had made love to her with such passion—and who had spent a small fortune turning Havensmere into a home?

Where was the man she loved? The man she had simply assumed would love their child.

‘Of course I’ll need you there,’ she said, the words sounding dull and unreal. Why was she having to explain this to him? ‘How can you say that? You asked me to marry you, Luke. Why would you do that if you don’t want to take any real part in our child’s life?’

‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ he said, his tone stiff and defensive.

‘But if we got married we’d be living together. How could you just ignore your baby?’ She could hear the desperation in her voice and hated it, but what choice did she have? Surely he could see that what he was suggesting was madness?

He seemed to consider that for a moment. ‘I see your point,’ he said, but as she sighed with relief he continued in the same toneless voice. ‘Living together in the long term probably wouldn’t work.’

His thumb brushed the back of her hand, but she hardly felt it.

‘I’d want to visit you, of course,’ he said. ‘And I plan to buy you a place more suitable for you and the baby. But
if I moved in, you’re right—it would probably confuse things. Especially once the baby’s born.’

‘Confuse things…?’ Her fingers had gone numb, and she pulled them out of his grasp. She folded her arms across her chest, tucked her hands under her armpits, suddenly feeling desperately exposed. He didn’t want to live with them? She could hardly grasp the reality of what he was implying. Had she really made such a terrible mistake? Had she really misread his intentions towards her and her child so completely?

‘You want to make me your mistress?’ she said dully.

‘How could you be my mistress if we’re married?’ he said, sounding annoyed.

‘Why do you want to marry me at all?’ she asked, tears pricking her eyes. ‘If you don’t want to live with me or with our child?’ A lone tear spilled over her eyelid.

‘Louisa, for heaven’s sake, why are you crying? You
know
why I asked you to marry me. I don’t want my child to be illegitimate.’

She gulped down the sob that wanted to burst out, pressed her fingers to her lips. She’d been a complete fool. He didn’t love her at all. But, much worse than that, he didn’t want to love their child either.

She gathered the sheet up, forced herself out of the chair, the lancing pain in her heart almost more than she could bear. ‘I have to go home,’ she stammered as she rushed towards the bathroom.

She’d taken less than two steps before he spun her round. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Don’t touch me,’ she snapped at him, trying to muster her temper to hide the hurt.

‘Okay,’ he said, lifting his hands as if he’d touched a live flame. ‘I won’t touch you as long as you tell me why you
look so devastated. Surely you can see this is the best solution for everyone concerned?’

She swiped the tears from her cheeks, determined not to let him see her crack. She had her pride. Right now it was all she had. And then another horrifying thought occurred to her, and her knees began to tremble.

‘Why did you sleep with me, Luke? Just answer me that.’

His brows drew together. ‘You know perfectly well why.’

‘Actually, no, I don’t.’ She dragged the sheet round her, held it tight and locked her knees to stop herself collapsing in a heap. ‘Was it because you wanted me, or because you thought it was a good way to coerce me into this sham of a marriage you have planned?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, but she saw the flicker of alarm before he could mask it. ‘Our marriage will be legally binding.’ He took her arm, hauled her towards him. ‘And I intend to exercise every one of my conjugal rights—so it won’t be a sham.’

She wrestled herself away from him. ‘Of course it will be a sham. How could it be anything else if we don’t love each other? If we don’t have a future together?’

For a moment he looked as if she’d slapped him. But then he gave a toneless laugh.