As soon as she said the words, he saw the piece of
paper she had created, her carefully folded marriage manifesto.
Truth. Respect. Partnership.
For the first time, he completely understood how deeply he had betrayed her. He had failed on every one of her counts.
Truth. He had lied by omission, every single time that he chose not to tell her about Grandmother's demands.
Respect. He had treated her as if she were an incompetent, a child, a fool, someone who could never understand the real pressures in his life.
Partnership. He had never let her be his equal, never relied on her to stand beside him, to work with him, together, to solve the problem of Grandmother's demands.
He could try to explain the twisted way his mind had worked. He could try to tell her that he had been working to protect her, to keep her safe from emotional harm. He could repeat the words that he had taken so long to say, reiterate the simple, unassailable fact that he loved her. That she was the one woman he had ever loved.
His excuse wasn't good enough. His reasoning was completely flawed. She had given him a rulebook, a simple formula, and he had utterly, completely failed. He wanted to reach out for her, to touch her, to convey the perfect truth of his understanding with the language of their bodies, the only language that he'd ever made work between them. But for now, the only thing that he could do was struggle with unwieldy words.
“Sloane, I should have trusted you. I was wrong in a hundred different ways. You told me, you wrote it down in black and white, and I still didn't understand. I was an idiot, Sloane, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I love you. I love the way you fight for what you believe in. I love the way you build your own life, making it what
you
want it to be. I love the way you make your lists, the way you set all the world's wild, confus
ing emotions into simple, straightforward words. Trust. Respect. Partnership.” His voice broke on the last word, and then he whispered, “I'm a better man when I'm with you, Sloane. Let me be with you. Let me stay with you. Let me love you.”
She had to shut her eyes against the sight of him. This was not an Ethan Hartwell she had ever seen before. This was a man who was stripped to his bones, who was bare to the world. “Ethan,” she whispered, not trusting herself to say more.
“Sloane.” His voice was so husky that she felt the words more than heard them. “Grandmother's birthday doesn't matter. It's just a date. If you want, I'll wait until next year, until June, or whenever you agree to marry me. I don't care about stock transfers, about corporate obligations. If there isn't room for me at Hartwell Genetics, I'll build my own company.
We
will. Please. Just tell me that you will marry me eventually. Not today, not tomorrow, but some day, when you can trust me again. I love you, and I'm begging you. Will you be my wife, sometime, in the future, with no more games between us?”
Her heart stopped beating. Her breath froze in her lungs. She was suspended in a cocoon of silence, of space. All of her fears shimmered on the edge of her vision, all of her dark thoughts whispered at the very limit of her hearing. Ethan stared at her, perfectly still, hope indelibly written across his features.
The baby stirred inside her, reminding her to speak. Ethan had said everything, had confessed everything, had made every argument he could ever make. And in the end, she had to embrace the essential truth: she loved him. She loved him as much as he loved her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He crushed her to him. Apparently freed by her acceptance, his body moved to enfold her, to gather her close, to show her that she was his and his alone. His kiss was devastating, igniting her lips, sparking across her tongue. She clutched at his back, wrapped her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
The ice that had bound her shattered into a million shards, bursting with all the force of frantic, pent-up love. Fire thrust into her belly, making her heart kick hard in her chest. She moaned against his lips, barely managing to form his name in her gasping desire.
She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, pulling him toward her, toward the rumpled bed. As she fumbled at his already loosened tie, she realized that he was still wearing the suit he'd worn to their engagement party. He'd spent the entire night seeking her, tracking her, desperate for her; he hadn't gone home, hadn't taken any creature comfort.
She smothered her remorse as she pulled off his shirt, laughing as his eager fingers helped her. The laughter turned to a gasp of shock as he stripped away the belt from her robe.
He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, nuzzling the tender flesh with such perfect attention that she was forced to squirm away, to pull back, gasping for air. Her hands found his, though, and she pulled him to the bed, tugging him down beside her.
Her robe slipped open as she tumbled into the sheets, and he lost no time measuring the perfect flesh of her body. He was overwhelmed by the need to know her, to feel her, to understand every inch of her. His lips followed his fingertips in exploration as he traced the dark circles that accented her breasts, as he discovered the perfect beads waiting for his attention.
She writhed beneath him, tightening his groin. He shifted, trying to maintain contact with her sweet flesh, trying to fill his lungs with the honeysuckle scent of her, with the warmth that radiated from every exposed inch of her.
The power of his need was simply too great, too painful. He tore at his trousers, kicked them off, banishing them to the floor with a grateful gasp.
That relief, though, was short-lived. Sloane reached out to help him, edging her slim fingers beneath the elastic waist of his boxers. The touch of her hands on the full length of him nearly made Ethan shout her name; he had to bury his face in the soft valley between her breasts, had to smother his instinctive cries. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to calm his raging need, to ease the throbbing pressure that threatened to convulse him.
Sloane laughed in pure delight. She had never imagined that she could have this much power over a man, that she could bring such a powerful creature completely under her sway. Feeling wicked, she traced one fingernail from the forest of tight curls to his velvet tip, rejoicing as Ethan's entire body shuddered.
He tried to pull away, but she only let him get far enough that she could strip off the last garment between them, that she could send his boxers to the floor with the rest of his clothes. He succumbed to her decision, and she thought she was in control, until he wrapped his arms around her, rolling her so that his back was cushioned by the mattress, so that she was sprawled across his chest, her robe finally lost in the chaos of the sheets.
He took advantage of their new position, raising his head to suckle at her right breast. The touch of his lips on her tight nipple sent waves of heat rolling over her
body, ripples of pure sensation that drew her in, focusing her on a single circle of pure, flawless pleasure. She thought that she'd never felt anything as wondrous, anything as perfect, and then he shifted his attention to her other breast. Whimpering, she threw her head back, nearly overwhelmed by the intensity of the feeling he raised within her.
With velvet tongue and satin lips, he fed the fire within her. Red-orange-gold flames flowed through her body, eddied in her veins, pooled deep inside her core. Backfires were kindled by his fingertips digging into her waist, by the firm grip of his hands as he held her steady, held her close, locked her in to the pure pleasure he delivered.
Overcome by the intensity, she tried to arch away from him, tried to give her body the cool break that she thought she needed. He merely doubled his attention, though, adding tiny nips from his perfect teeth to accent the sensations that flooded through her breasts. She shuddered at the new sensation, crying out in surprise. The solid touch of his palms against her flanks reminded her of the child inside her, of the daughter they had created, of the unexpected, perfect beauty they had shared months before. His hands were anchors, pulling her closer to him, securing her body to his.
One more tug of his teeth, one more tickle with his tongue, and she crashed over the precipice she'd known was terrifyingly close. She cried out his name, drowning in the sudden whirlpool that roared through her core. The entire world around her disappeared; she was reduced to the brilliant fire that he sparked inside her, billowing wave after billowing wave of endless, mindless heat.
In that moment outside of time, Ethan thought that his
heart might break from the beauty he saw before him. Sloane's hair surrounded her face like a midnight halo. Her eyes were closed, hiding away the brilliant intelligence that had drawn him to her in the first place. Her lips had tightened into a perfect circle in the instant before he gave her the release that she craved; now, her mouth was relaxed, swollen, begging him to drink as deeply as he dared.
He felt the aftershocks ripple through her body, the shuddering descent as she returned to awareness, to reality. The iron muscles of her fingers, her hands, her wrists unlocked, and she telegraphed the final waves of her sweet tension to the broad muscles of his chest.
That secret message, those unspoken words, reminded his proud flesh that he had sacrificed for her pleasure, that he had denied himself even the faintest hope of release. His body shifted of its own accord, and her eyes opened wide, suddenly filled with understanding.
“Ethan,” she breathed.
He couldn't keep from touching her. He couldn't restrain himself from brushing the hair off her face, from tracing the delicate line of her lips as she hesitated. He'd hurt her. Hurt her in ways that he hadn't understood, that he'd never intended. He would spend the rest of his life making that up to her, giving her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, now that she'd agreed to stay with him forever. “Yes, love,” he said, lifting one of her hands from his chest, brushing his lips across the sweet silk of her palm.
“I want to feel you,” she said, holding his gaze. She set each word between them with perfect precision, just as he had once predicted she would, on the night he had proposed. She wasn't asking for a kiss. She wasn't ask
ing for simple physical release. “All of you,” she said. “Like we did before, before all of our misunderstandings, all of the confusion. Please, Ethan. I need you inside me, now.”
He had no intention of making her ask again.
His arms were firm around her as he pulled her to his side, as he shifted so that she felt his body against hers, his legs stretched beside her own. The rasp of the hair on his thighs awoke new sensations in her, stirring her to an awareness she would have thought impossible only a few heartbeats before. She thought that he had shown her all the pleasure of her physical self, that he had taught her everything she could enjoy, but now she knew his lessons were only beginning.
As if he sensed her uncertainty, he kissed her. This was not a kiss of passion, not a kiss of endless, reeling sensation. Instead, it was a pure bonding, a seal of all the promises they'd ever made to each other, of all the vows they'd ever taken, ever were going to take. There was a sweetness on his lips, an infinite tenderness, and she knew that he had never meant to hurt her, would never hurt her again. That kiss made tears rise in her eyes, happy tears, joyful tears, and he wiped the moisture from her cheeks with a gentle touch.
Still holding her gaze, he lowered his hand to her waist. He found her damp folds without hesitation, stroking once, twice, coaxing her to open. She shifted her hips, responding to his call, biting her lip at the sensations he stirred within her.
Slowly, with perfect deliberation, he ran a finger over the most tender pearl between her thighs. Pure sensation jolted through her, arching her spine against him, driving her to seek immediate release.
He shook his head, though, smiling with the inten
sity of an explorer about to discover a whole new world. His fingers touched her again, ignited her again, and she closed her eyes against the sheer physicality of the sensation.
“No,” he whispered, and the command was as gentle as the last kiss they'd shared. “Watch me. I want to see your eyes.”
She swallowed hard, wondering if she dared. Another pass of his fingers. Another blast of pure, grasping pleasure. A new energy, a new force, as she managed to maintain eye contact, as she read his promise of eternal, perfect devotion.
Knowing that she was ready, knowing that he had primed her to take the length of him without harm to herself, to her body, to the precious child that she bore, he raised himself above her. Her gaze was steady. Trusting. She was ready for this new life between them, the new shape of love between their bodies, between their souls.
For just an instant, he hovered, feeling the sweet softness of her entrance, sensing the magical need that chimed through her veins and sang to his flesh. And then, he eased himself inside.
He moved as slowly as he could, giving her time to adjust, to accept, to envelop the full length of him. The tightness of her feminine muscles nearly undid him; he would have lost control, if not for her pure, unshuttered gaze. His hips met hers, and they were joined completely, in perfect balance, in perfect trust.
Careful, watching her for any sign of pain, he started to withdraw. Her fingers scrabbled on his back, coaxing him forward with a new urgency. He yielded to her silent request, dipping back into the honeyed sweetness of her core.
She felt the rhythm grow between them, the ways their bodies adjusted to each other. Heat poured from him into her, spiraling deeper inside, winding past all of her inhibitions, any lingering thoughts of right and wrong. Overwhelmed by the sensation, by her emotions, she closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on the power expanding between them.
“Sloane,” he whispered, summoning her back. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, and she forced her eyes open, locked on to the steady agate of his gaze.