Beyond the bed, French doors opened outward onto a private patio. Fee kicked off her shoes and went to explore. When Hartley dropped the bags and followed her outside, she leaned over the railing. “This place is perfect.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, tugging her back from the edge. “You’re perfect.”
The absolute sincerity in his voice wooed her, turned her knees to mush. She spun to face him. “Thank you, Hartley. Thank you for thinking of this.”
He kissed her nose. “Sit right there. Don’t move.” The small table was flanked by two metal chairs.
Moments later, he was back carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “This was our welcome gift.”
As he started to work on the cork, Fiona felt panic rise. Pregnant women couldn’t drink. “None for me,” she said. “I want to be awake for the next act. But you have some.”
He gazed at her quizzically, setting the bottle aside. “Whatever the lady wants.”
She reached across the table and took his hand. “I’ll ask it again. Are you okay?”
His expression altered for a split second and then settled back into his habitual lazy grin. Had she touched a nerve?
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, but his fingers drummed on the table.
“We haven’t had a chance to discuss your sister’s news. I was afraid it upset you.”
His jaw worked visibly. The silence lengthened. “I don’t think it’s good news, if that’s what you’re asking. But before you start in on me, it wouldn’t have changed anything if I had told them the truth. They wanted a baby. Mazie already knows that mental illness runs in our family.”
Fiona sighed inwardly. Had she ever met a more stubborn man? “Genetics is a tricky business,” she said. “Besides, their baby is half Vaughan. None of us can guarantee a perfect pregnancy ahead of time. It’s a roll of the dice.”
“Good thing I’m not a gambler.”
She glared at him, completely frustrated, but unable to tell him why.
Suddenly, Hartley stood up and paced. “Do you really want to have this argument right now? I thought we were here to indulge ourselves.”
He was right. Once she told him the truth tomorrow morning, everything would change. She wanted this one last night. She wanted Hartley. The other could wait. “I’m sorry,” she said. She mimed locking her lips and tossing the keys. “From now on, it’s all about you and me.”
At last, his body language relaxed. “I’m glad to hear it.” He moved behind her chair and played with her hair, sifting the strands, his fingers brushing her ears, making her tremble. He had barely touched her, and already she was wild for him.
When she tried to stand up, two big hands settled on her shoulders. “Don’t move, darlin’. We’re gonna take this slow. We have all night.”
It was supposed to be a promise on his part, but to her ears, it sounded dangerous. All night? What was she thinking? Morning always came, and with it, a reckoning.
He reached around her and slid his slightly rough man-hands inside the bodice of her dress, cupping her bare curves. She shuddered, biting her lip to hold back a ragged moan. Sounds carried on the night air.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Enjoying myself.” The laughter in his voice made her smile, though she was too wound for amusement to take hold.
She exhaled shakily. “Carry on.”
He played with her breasts, making her squirm. The nipples were more sensitive now that she was pregnant. When he kissed her neck and nuzzled the spot just below her ear—because he knew she liked it—she reached up and grabbed his wrists. “I want to go inside,” she pleaded.
“Not yet.” Without warning, he tugged her to her feet. “Let’s look at the stars.”
Fourteen
Fiona was confused. They were outside. All they had to do was look up. Apparently, that wasn’t enough for Hartley. He tugged her toward the edge of the patio where a low stone wall topped with three feet of wrought iron marked a boundary. A century and a half ago, a gentleman might have coaxed a Southern belle up here to see the sights.
The hour was late. Few people roamed the streets below. The ones who did, didn’t look up.
Hartley stood behind her, crowding her. “Hold on, Fee.” He took her hands and placed them on the smooth, cool metal curlicues. “Don’t let go.”
Her heart beat faster. Could he see the way her chest rose and fell with her startled breathing? She wanted to question him, to demand an explanation. But another part of her, submissive, aroused, wanted to see how far this would go. Hartley was a modern-day pirate. An adventurer. A man unafraid to push the bounds of propriety.
Even so, she was shocked beyond words when she felt him lift her skirt. Despite the season and the temperature, the air felt cool on her bare legs and the backs of her thighs. “Hartley?” The ragged word was equal parts protest and slurred pleasure. Surely he wouldn’t...
Once again, he kissed the back of her neck. “I’ll keep you safe, sweet thing. You can trust me.”
Her fingers clenched painfully around the unforgiving iron. She might have swooned had twenty-first-century women been given permission to do such a girly thing.
His big hands palmed her butt, squeezing. He made no move to take off her panties, but his thumb traced the crease in her ass through nylon and lace. Goose bumps covered her body.
Her voice was frozen, her breath lodged in her throat. Between her legs, her sex wept for him. She was swollen and hot and damp, unbearably needy. Would he unzip her dress? Here, where they were exposed?
The idea both frightened and seduced her.
Hartley continued to play with her backside as if he had all the time in the world. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear another second of his lazy torture, he reached around her and, with a single finger, stroked her to a sharp, vicious climax. She shuddered and groaned.
Afterward, her forehead rested against the metal. She could barely breathe. His hand was concealed by layers of tulle and satin. If anyone on the street below was inclined to gaze upward, nothing would seem amiss.
Hartley moved closer. She felt his arousal at her back. “I told you we’d see stars,” he muttered, his voice heavy.
Her body went lax, leaned into his. But still, she held the railing. “How much did you have to drink, Hartley Tarleton? You’re out of control.”
His laughter was strained. “Possibly.” He covered her hands with his.
The visual was enticing and beautiful and painfully perfect. She wanted this man and this life. But she wanted more. She wanted a future full of love and laughter and family squabbles. She wanted everything.
Without warning, he scooped her into his arms. “I’d like to get horizontal now. Any objections?”
Fiona waved a hand, yawning. “Not a single one.”
* * *
Hartley knew he had met his match. There had never been a female he couldn’t walk away from. Not until Fee.
Lust and tenderness and determination swirled in a dangerous cocktail of emotion. He wanted this woman. Maybe forever. The knowledge should have stunned him, but oddly, he recognized it. The need to claim her as his own had been growing underground. He’d told himself he was having fun.
Instead, he’d been making plans.
Fiona had no family of her own. He could share his.
As he carried her over the threshold into their hedonistic bedroom and bumped the door closed with his hip, his heart beat faster, a syncopated rhythm that made him breathe too fast. Was there more to this thing with Fee than sex? Did he want more?
Now they were enclosed in a cool, private lovers’ boudoir that smelled of roses and sin. He set her on her feet and kissed her roughly, his hands tangling in her hair, holding her head.
“I never seem to get enough of you, Fiona. Why do you th
ink that is?”
Her sleepy smile was sweet and guileless. “I have no idea. But I’m a fan of your work.”
His hands shook. “I may not be able to stop. I may have to take you all night, again and again. Like that first time we met.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
The sass in her voice inflamed him. Something about this weekend was bringing out his caveman instincts. He backed her up against the carved post at the foot of the bed. Falling to his knees, he knelt between her legs and found his way under her skirt.
Her skin was hot and fragrant with a familiar scent. He nudged her feet apart. Though his body ached fiercely with the need to be inside her, he wanted to give her every ounce of pleasure possible.
When he tasted her intimately, she groaned. Her hands fisted in his hair, making him wince. This time, her orgasm was slower, richer. It rolled over both of them in an endless stream. Hartley felt the quivers in her pelvis, the sharp jerk when her body hit the top.
She collapsed in his arms. He eased her down onto the soft, luxurious rug, wrapping her tightly against him. While Fee struggled to breathe, he pressed kisses to her hot face. “I need you, Fiona James. Tell me you want me, too.”
“Of course I do.” She blinked at him, befuddled.
“What if we travel the world for a few months? Give you new horizons and inspirations to paint? We’ll go wherever the wind blows us.”
She flinched. The change in her face was so obvious a blind man would have seen it. While Hartley had been weaving dreams, Fiona had clearly been on a different track. Distress darkened her soft blue-gray eyes. “Your brother asked you to come back to work. You can’t abandon him again.”
Suddenly, he remembered Fiona’s aversion to his spending the night at her house. What kind of fool was he? A woman who wanted her “space” clearly wasn’t keen on spending a lot of time together.
The raw hurt in his chest was astounding. Had he really been so clueless about his own obsession and Fiona’s ambivalence?
“Forget I said anything,” he said lightly, tucking away the heartsick feeling in his gut. “It was the lust talking. You’re a very sexy woman. I plead temporary insanity.”
“Hartley...” She cupped his face.
He’d be damned if he’d let her see that she had bruised his ego. Jumping to his feet, he dragged her with him. “Enough talking,” he muttered.
He stripped the dress and underwear from her body and then removed his own clothes rapidly. After folding back the sumptuous covers, he tumbled her onto the bed. He wanted to prove to himself that his emotions weren’t involved.
But when he tried to be rough and impersonal like this was just another encounter with just another nameless female, he couldn’t do it. Fee’s bottom lip trembled. Her beautiful eyes welled with tears. “I care about you, Hartley. You know I do.”
The lukewarm words were like alcohol on a razor cut. He held her wrists in one hand and loomed over her. “Let’s put that to the test.”
Deliberately, he held her down and pleasured her, made her come three times. Every time she tried to coax him to enter her, he resisted...even though the truth was, he was sick with wanting her.
Finally, his body betrayed him. He’d been aroused for a million hours, desperate to find solace in her arms, her soft, sweet body. He spread her legs and thrust hard, finding himself at the mouth of her womb, buried as deeply as he could go. Wanting to bind her to him. To demand that she acknowledge this incredible connection they shared.
It was over soon. Humiliatingly so.
He visited the bathroom. So did she. After turning out the lights, they climbed into bed. It would have been a fitting end to the evening if he could have turned his back on her. But he was weak in the way only a man could be. He dragged her close and spooned her, already yawning.
They fell asleep without another word.
* * *
Fiona awoke at dawn, groggy and needing to pee. It took a moment for her surroundings to register. And then she remembered. The hotel. Hartley.
Panic struck as she assessed her nausea. Unbelievably, her stomach was at rest. Maybe she was turning the corner. It didn’t matter anymore, though, did it? Hartley would have to be told about the baby today, and then it was all over.
When she turned on her side to look at him, his eyes were open. He was on his back, arm slung over his forehead, staring at the ceiling.
“What do you want to do?” she asked. They had made plans to enjoy brunch, play tourist at the open-air market, spend a second night at the hotel, make love until they were satisfied.
Hartley didn’t even look at her. “I think we should check out of the room. Head home. Separately. We need to back up and take a look at what we’re doing. You’re right, Fiona. If I’m returning to work at Tarleton Shipping right away, I’ll have a lot on my plate.”
“You’re angry,” she said, her heart sinking.
He shrugged. “No.”
It was time for the truth. She sat up and wrapped the sheet around her all the way up to her neck. This wasn’t an easy conversation to have naked. “I need to tell you something,” she whispered.
Shivers racked her body. The nausea threatened to return.
Without warning, Hartley rolled out of bed. “I’m done with talking and listening, Fee. I’m calling a time-out. You in your corner. Me in mine. This relationship is too damn much work.”
The next thirty minutes passed in a haze of misery. They took turns showering. Room service sent up coffee and croissants. When both Hartley and Fiona were dressed and ready to go, they carried their bags downstairs and turned in the keys. Fiona’s overnight case held a satin gown folded up inside.
Hartley drove her home without speaking a word. He stopped at her sidewalk and left the motor running. There was no choice but to get out, yet something held her back. “Are you done with me?” she asked. “Done with us?”
His expression was inscrutable. “I don’t know.”
* * *
In the days that followed, Fiona lost herself in her work. It was a pattern that had served her well in the past. She felt the urgency of getting all her large commissions finished before the baby came. What did she have? Five months? Six? Babies could come early or late...
She had no idea how she would cope in the beginning. Caring for a newborn was a huge amount of work. And there would be no paid maternity leave for a self-employed artist.
Should she swallow her pride and ask for Hartley’s help? He must have thought his travel-the-world plan hadn’t interested her. Quite the opposite. It sounded like the most amazing honeymoon.
But preparing for the baby and getting her projects completed didn’t leave any time for a months-long jaunt.
And still she hadn’t told her baby’s father the truth. Though it wasn’t entirely her fault, she felt guilty. The longer she waited, the harder it seemed, particularly after the way their romantic weekend had ended.
Despite her distress over the way she and Hartley had parted and her worry about the future, each day brought new reasons to be excited about her pregnancy. Thankfully, she had made it through the worst of the morning sickness. It still caught her off guard at times, but not every day and not as badly as before.
Her breasts were bigger now. The little baby bump was growing more noticeable. Slowly but surely, her body was changing. Soon, telling Hartley would be a moot point. People would begin to notice her shape and draw their own conclusions.
Every morning she told herself today was the day. She would seek him out, give him the news and weather the explosion. After all, this baby linked them, no matter what. But every day she lost her nerve. Seeing the look on his face when he heard the truth would destroy her.
She wanted this baby. Desperately. Knowing that Hartley couldn’t or didn’t broke her heart.
Over a week after the gala, Maz
ie showed up unannounced on Fiona’s doorstep. Because she was working, Fiona nearly didn’t answer the bell. But her back was hurting, and she needed a break anyway.
She wiped her hands, peeked through the window and felt her heart catch with disappointment. It wasn’t Hartley. Of course it wasn’t.
Fiona opened the door. “Hey, Mazie. What’s up? Come on in. Please excuse the fact that I’m covered with paint. Neatness is not one of my gifts.”
Mazie tossed her keys in a chair and put her hands on her hips. Her usual sunny smile was nowhere in sight. “What have you done to Hartley?” She demanded an answer.
The pile of guilt smothering Fiona grew deeper. “Nothing,” she said weakly. “I don’t know what you mean.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling her face heat.
Hartley’s sister paced, her stance agitated. “Jonathan is worried about him. He says things are going smoothly at work, but Hartley is distant.”
“Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re all dealing with the fallout from his being gone. I’m sure it will take some time to get back to the way things were. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“That’s not all.” Mazie scowled, her expression stormy and anxious at the same time. “J.B. is throwing a big party for my birthday soon. I asked Hartley to bring you, and he gave me some weird evasive answer about how you were super busy. It was clearly a lie. What’s going on with you two?”
In another circumstance, Fiona might have confessed her pregnancy. She liked Mazie and felt close to her already. But to admit she was pregnant would bring a host of questions and problems. Mazie would rightly want to know why Fiona hadn’t told Hartley he was going to be a father—and why Fiona and Hartley weren’t living together.
Bombshell For The Black Sheep (Southern Secrets Book 3) Page 13