What she needed was him. This stranger she’d married. Needed him around her, beneath her, on top of her—inside her.
Later she never knew if it was her own frantic uncertainty or Will’s common sense that came to the rescue. She only knew he drew away, leaving her feeling bereft. Deserted.
In a voice that sounded like a rusty hinge, he said, “Sorry. Why don’t you sleep awhile? Maybe later I’ll drive you down to my favorite watering hole.”
She wanted to grab him by the shirttail and cry, Come back here, dammit, and finish what you started!
Which was a clear indication that pregnancy also affected the brain. So she rolled over onto her stomach and pretended to sleep.
Six
Will leaned against the door, eyes closed, and waited until his breathing returned to normal before going back downstairs. He didn’t trust Emma not to see something that might not be obvious to someone else.
At least, he hoped to hell it wasn’t obvious.
Nothing that pulling his shirttail out wouldn’t take care of.
A simple case of lust, that’s all it was. Lust shouldn’t even be a problem when the woman he lusted after was his own wife…. What he needed was a long, cold shower followed by a long, hard ride.
He’d never thought of himself as a predator. They had a business agreement, that was all. He would look after her the way any decent man would under the circumstances. In this case marriage had seemed advisable just to prevent any awkward occurrences down the line. He was protecting the company name and coffers—not to mention one of his closest friends.
In Diana’s case, her baby would have a father on the record, and she wouldn’t have to worry about supporting them until she was on her feet again. No, not even then. He’d already made up his mind to ensure her future security. He had more money than he would ever need and no one to benefit from his years of hard work other than the few private charities he supported.
The one thing he hadn’t bargained on was this “personal interest,” for want of a better term. If he had to analyze it, he’d say it was comprised of equal parts of liking, respect and lust.
Lust alone would be bad enough, but combined with the rest, it was about as safe as nitroglycerine.
He was headed down the stairs when Tuck whispered loudly from below. “Hey, boss, are you awake? If you’re done up there, how about riding some fence. Just got a call from Wiggins—he says some of our stock’s broke into his west pasture.”
Saved by the bell, he thought ruefully, collecting his hat and cell phone on the way out.
Supper that evening turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable social event. Evidently, word had spread that Will Bradford had brought home a bride. Neighbors from miles away came bringing gifts of food, potted plants, whisky and two kittens that needed a home.
Diana leaned back in her chair at the supper table in the large, log-walled dining room with its massive rock fireplace, and thought, how remarkable—how truly astounding it was that even on a temporary basis, she was a part of all this. Her marriage might not be a real one, but there was nothing at all awkward later when the men migrated into the parlor while the women sat around the kitchen table, munching on leftovers and gossiping as they put away the food and dealt with the dishes.
Emma presided, after trying unsuccessfully to ease Diana into the position of hostess. There was no real hostessing to be done. All the women knew one another, and of the five, including Diana, three were pregnant. With the exception of Emma, it was a young group. Charlie and Wilma Wiggins were the nearest neighbors. Wilma, eight months along, with the broadest, warmest smile despite a serious over-bite, leaned closer and patted Diana on the hand.
“Listen, honey, you might think you’re sleepy now, but wait till you spend a few nights walking the floor with a colicky baby. Believe me, I’ve got two more at home, and not a one of ’em but what didn’t wear me plumb out! See this patch of gray hair?” She grabbed a streak of white among the faded red curls. “This was Zac. And this?” She touched its counterpart at her left temple. “This was Zeb. Would you believe I’m only seventeen?” She rolled her eyes, and everyone laughed.
Talk turned to tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day play at the elementary school and moved swiftly through local politics and various ailments, pregnancy-related and otherwise. Everyone chimed in with a story of having to lose weight, cook for a husband with cholesterol problems or manage the inevitable heartburn of late pregnancy.
“Oh, honey, you haven’t seen anything yet,” said Wilma as she scooped up one of the kittens and settled it on her lap. “You gonna keep ’em both, aren’t you?”
“I’m not even sure if Will’s apartment has a no-pets clause.”
“Then move. No time like the honeymoon to get a man used to following orders.”
There was a general outburst of laughter and scoffing remarks. Diana said, “Evidently, you don’t know Will Bradford. He’s the original immovable object.” It was the sort of thing wives said about their men. Everyone knew they were only joking, still Diana felt as if she had just betrayed her marriage.
It was Emma who got her off the hook. “That man. I declare, him and Tack is a pair, all right.” She handed Diana a yellow kitten and rose to turn off the sputtering coffeemaker. “Stubborn as a pair of rocks.”
“Yes, but even rocks can be moved with the right equipment,” one of the women—Gail, she thought—quipped. “Obviously, Diana’s got the right equipment.”
Everyone laughed. Diana blushed, and Emma glanced at her thoughtfully and said, “Why not leave them kittens here? We need a couple of good mousers.”
And so it went until one of them men stuck his head inside the kitchen and said, “Honey, anytime you’re ready.” After that, there was a general shuffling as people collected coats and Emma and Diana cut several slices of cake and wrapped them to go.
“Go ahead, you better take it with you,” Emma insisted. “We’re headed into town tonight, too, me and Tack, and there’s no point in leaving too much temptation in Diana’s way.”
“Ask me, she’s got more than enough temptation,” said Debbie Truett, with a sly glance at Will, who had just stepped away to answer the phone.
Emma Gilbert put on a red wool coat and collected a shiny black purse. “Tack’s shut up the barn and I’ve started the dishwasher and locked the back door. We’ll be back by the middle of the morning.”
This, as the housekeeper had informed her earlier, was their night on the town. Bingo, square dancing and a motel in honor of St. Valentine’s Day.
Before the last of the taillights disappeared, Will joined her at the glass-topped front door. Slipping an arm around her waist, he said, “Reminds me—I didn’t get you a valentine.”
“Good, because I didn’t get you one, either.” She’d have been embarrassed to give him anything involving a mushy sentiment that didn’t apply in their case.
“Had a good time, did you?” he asked after a few moments passed in surprisingly comfortable silence. Both kittens had finally grown tired of chasing an empty spool and were curled up in a box, asleep.
As if she’d been doing it all her life, Diana leaned her head against his shoulder. “I did. And you know what? It’s the strangest thing, but I feel like I’ve known them all my life. They’re all so nice.”
“Hmm. Did you have a good nap today?”
She could feel the heat rising to her face. At the advanced age of twenty-eight, with two or three boyfriends and one full-fledged affair behind her, she had no more control over such things than she’d had at fourteen. “I slept like a log,” she lied.
“Good. Because I’m afraid I’ll need to head back to town first thing tomorrow. You might as well stay here—I’ll be back as soon as I check out a few things at the office.”
Lifting her head, she stared up at him. “Has something happened?”
“I’m not sure. Something’s cropped up with the audit.”
“Who called?”
“Jason
Windover. He said Seb’s kind of spooked, but he hated to interrupt our honeymoon. You remember Jason from our reception, don’t you?”
“Dark curly hair, blue-green eyes and a terrific smile?”
Will’s eyebrows climbed several degrees. “You noticed all that, hmm?”
“I noticed everyone there. Want me to describe them all to you?”
He grinned, and his arm tightened momentarily, then fell away. “Not particularly. Maybe I’d better warn you, they’re all confirmed bachelors.”
“So were you,” she reminded him, and then wished she hadn’t.
“Well, yeah…” He caught the tip of her nose between thumb and forefinger and tweaked it ever so gently. “In my case it was a TKO.”
“A what?”
“A technical knockout. Don’t you watch boxing?”
“The daughter of a couple of peaceniks watch boxing? Perish the thought.”
But the irony of it had struck her long ago. Her father, a card-carrying member of the love generation, protesting for peace and eventually turning into an abusive husband and father.
She shuddered, and Will’s arm tightened around her. “You’re bushed. You need a glass of milk or something before we go up? Maybe another piece of that coconut cake? You’ve only had three slices.”
What she needed was to delay the moment until she could align her defenses again. Tonight had been too pleasant, too relaxing. Too disarming. And with Emma and Tack gone, they were alone in the house.
“You go on upstairs. I want to make a couple of phone calls.”
Forty-five minutes later Will replaced the phone and stared unseeingly at a photograph of Windrunner, an eight-year-old stallion, father of more than half the new crop of foals.
What the hell was going on? He’d left Eric to oversee the outside audit. Eric Chambers was young, but as vice president of accounting, he was more than up to the job. Odds were that he’d be taking over as CFO one of these days when Will himself decided to retire.
It hadn’t been Eric who’d called, it had been Jason Windover. According to Jason, Eric—trying to convince himself nothing was wrong—had mentioned the discrepancy to Seb. Seb had put it down to inept auditors, but had confided his own growing unease to Jason, who, as a retired CIA agent had some experience with such matters.
“Look, Will, this doesn’t involve me, but if you want my advice, you’ll get back to town and check it out for yourself. We both know Seb has a few problems of his own to deal with at the moment. He might not be the most objective man when it comes to any mess Wescott left behind.”
It was common knowledge that Sebastian had never seen eye-to-eye with his father about much of anything, yet that hadn’t stopped him from joining the family business. Now, along with trying to reconcile a mixture of grief, guilt and unresolved anger, he had his father’s illegitimate son to deal with.
Will himself had taken measures to see that Diana’s baby would never become that sort of problem. Seb might suspect, but he could never be sure, which was the best they could hope for, under the circumstance.
Whatever was going on at Wescott Oil, Seb didn’t need anything else on his plate right now. After promising to fly in first thing in the morning, Will replaced the phone and spent the next half hour thinking over the possibilities. He knew damned well the books were in good shape. As chief financial officer, he ran a tight ship, everything documented and accounted for. If there was a blip on the radar screen, the only thing he could come up with was a mathematically challenged auditor.
While he was in town, he’d give Seb a call about another matter—maybe get his mind off the dark stuff and onto something lighter. Both he and Jason had a few reservations about Dorian Brady—hell, half brother or not, he was still a stranger. But they’d agreed tonight that if Seb wanted the guy inducted into the club, neither of them would stand in the way. No one else was apt to blackball him.
Standing, he flexed the stiff muscles of his back—it always took him a few days to switch from city mode to ranch mode. The two lifestyles used different sets of muscles.
By now Diana would be asleep, otherwise he might be tempted to talk it over with her. In which case one thing might lead to another…and then another…
He wasn’t ready to broaden their relationship. His brain knew it. Hell, he had self-imposed rules about those things. Trouble was, his body was a slow learner. Good thing, he told himself, that underneath that elegant, understated beauty of hers lurked an iron will and a stubborn refusal to be taken over. He admired that in a woman.
However, whether or not she liked it, he was going to be looking after her for the next several months. Once the baby came they could renegotiate.
Earlier he’d gone online and found any number of interesting sites for pregnant women. One of the things he’d learned was that in the early months, and often right up to term, most women experienced an increased sexual interest. Again, something to do with hormones.
It had hit him like a ton of bricks. One minute he was studiously clicking away, reading about folic acid and calcium, physical and emotional changes, and the next, he was fully aroused. Libido fully engaged, and hell—he wasn’t even pregnant.
His personal noninvolvement policy notwithstanding, he wanted her. Worse still, he was fast coming to suspect he might want more than just a sex partner. Which might be a problem, because once she no longer needed him it would be a case of, Thank you so much, sir, but now that Junior’s six weeks old, I’m moving back to Pennsylvania and taking a position that offers day care, so toodle-oo. Been nice knowing you.
“When hell freezes over, lady,” he muttered now. They’d both said a bunch of words in the Judge’s office, and Will didn’t recall any escape clauses.
Not that one couldn’t be found. Hell, half the people he knew were divorced at least once. But that wasn’t his idea of what marriage was all about. He’d had no control over what had happened to his first marriage, but this time he was here, on the scene. In control.
In the kitchen he poured himself a glass of milk, downed it in three gulps, then headed upstairs. Opening the master bedroom door, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the pale sliver of moonlight before approaching the bed.
She slept on her side with one fist curled under her chin. In the silence, he could hear the soft, puffy sound of each breath.
You don’t know it yet, lady—hell, I just figured it out, myself. But this is it. You and me. Me and you and whoever that is taking up space inside your body. That makes a solid us.
A few minutes later, after a quick detour to the bathroom, he carefully lifted the covers and slid in behind her, easing up to her warmth. The puffing sound stopped, and he held his own breath.
Then it came again and he edged closer, fitting his body around hers and placing his arm carefully around her waist. Not a smart move, he thought, making no move to leave.
There was no need to set an alarm. He’d be awake at six, at which time he would ease out of bed without disturbing her—Diana. His wife. After leaving her a note, he’d grab a bowl of cereal and a pint of coffee and jog on out to the hangar. By eight-thirty he’d be in Royal, ready to tackle whatever the auditors thought they’d uncovered.
Diana opened her eyes. Something—a sound?—had disturbed her. She’d been a light sleeper ever since her mother’s illness had been diagnosed, often lying awake for hours in the night, worrying, listening for sounds of distress—searching for answers.
Pregnancy didn’t help. All those daytime naps…
Heat. Hot flashes were one thing, but the weight around her waist was no hot flash. Neither was the warm current of air that stirred the hair on top of her head.
Realization came instantly, and with it, a rush of arousal that was shocking in its intensity.
She knew the very moment he came awake. Felt his chest grow still, felt another part of his body come awake.
“Diana?” The sound barely registered on the black velvet silence.
“What are you
doing here?” Her own whisper sounded harsh in the darkness.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Then why are you in my bed instead of your own?” She could hear her own heart. The more she listened, the harder it pounded—and the faster.
“Actually, I, uh—I needed to tell you something, but you were asleep.”
“So tell me.”
“I’m leaving early, but I should be back before dark.”
“I already knew that. Not when you were coming back, but we talked it over, remember?” She tried to be angry with him, but how could she possibly do that when his arm was holding her cupped to his hard body—when his breath was stirring against her hair.
When his arousal was moving against her with alarming eagerness.
“If you’re leaving, it’s probably time for you to get up,” she said, shifting in an effort to escape his seductive warmth. “I’ll just go back to sleep.”
His hand brushed the lower edges of her breast. “Too early. Can’t fly out until daylight.”
“Well, but can’t you—”
“Nights are longer now. Longest night of the year, in fact.” They were both whispering, not that there was anyone to overhear them.
“That’s next week. I think. Will, this is going to complicate our—our arrangement.”
“Our arrangement?” His thumb and fingers captured her nipple and tweaked it gently. “Don’t you mean our marriage?”
She flopped over onto her back and glared up at the darkness. His warm palm, dislodged from her breast, settled on her stomach. “Our so-called marriage is a business arrangement,” she whispered fiercely. “You know that—we both agreed to it, so how could you possibly think I would…that I’d want to—”
“Make love?” He nuzzled her ear, sending chills down her side. “Don’t you want to?”
How could she deny it when there was nothing on earth she wanted more? Tomorrow would be time enough for regrets.
Turning in his arms, she lifted her face to argue, and that was all it took. A few hours ago he had kissed her so thoroughly her toes had curled. Now he was going to kiss her again, and she was suddenly starved for the taste of his mouth. Some kisses were like Chinese food. It was impossible to get enough.
The Millionaire's Pregnant Bride (Texas Cattleman's Club: The Last Bachelor Book 1) Page 9