by Heidi Betts
He circled the budded nipple before pulling it into his mouth, at the same time using the pad of his thumb to tease and torment the tip of her other breast.
She arched her back, pressing into the sensations he stirred to life, straining for relief as the pressure built and pulsed through her, gathering force at her very core.
Misty pulled her legs up, wrapping them around his waist, and he slid into her easily in one fluid stroke. Her muscles clutched at him automatically, making her gasp as pleasure washed over her like an ocean wave.
Her fingers played along his back, his shoulders, the planes of his chest. His jaw tightened, the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief as his hips flexed, pounding into her again and again.
The world ceased to exist, narrowing to a pinpoint of space and time where only the two of them existed, in this room, at this moment. All other thoughts and concerns disappeared. The air filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and moans of intense pleasure.
Cullen’s hands stroked down her sides, one coming to flex and rest on her hip while the other delved into the folds of her slick, swollen sex. His thumb sought and found the bud of her desire, and pressed, shooting lightning bolts of pure ecstasy through every pore and cell of her body.
Her back arched, her heels dug in, and her nails curled into his shoulders as she came with a long keening cry. Leaning in even closer, Cullen continued to thrust, continued to rub and tease her so that the spasms rocking her body went on and on. And then he stiffened, pouring into her with a heartfelt groan.
When her heart had stopped pounding in her chest like a marching band on parade, Misty opened her eyes to find Cullen staring down at her with those stark blue eyes. He held himself above her, away from the mound of her belly, his arms straining with the effort.
And then he grinned, leaning forward to press a firm, satisfied kiss to her mouth before rolling to his side. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll take that kind of meal over boring old meatloaf any day.”
Even as her eyes drifted closed, her lips curved in agreement. “Mmm.”
Pulling the sheets and comforter loose from beneath them, he covered them both to their chests and snuggled up to her.
They were on their sides, with him pressed behind her, spoon fashion. His arm was curled around her waist, his lips brushing her neck and shoulder.
Dragging in a deep breath, she tried not to let it stutter back out as she exhaled. She didn’t want him to know she was crying. If he realized, he would want to know why and would pressure her with questions she didn’t have answers to.
His fingers played absently along the taut, bare flesh of her protruding stomach, which only made her heart lurch and her throat clog with emotion.
He was such a good man, and there was nothing she wanted more than to lie here with him every night for the rest of their lives. To know that she belonged to him…with him…that a future together shone brightly before them.
But she didn’t, and she knew what she had to do.
No matter how much it might hurt.
Twelve
W hen Cullen arrived home from work the next day, he found himself whistling as he took the front steps two at a time.
That’s what a good woman could do for you, he decided. Make you feel like skipping even after a long, hard day. Make you eager to get home and do more than pop a single serving frozen meal into the microwave or crash in front of the TV for a few hours before crawling upstairs to bed.
It bothered him that she wouldn’t marry him, there was no doubting that. In fact, if he were honest, he’d have to admit it was more along the lines of crushed.
He’d never asked anyone to marry him before. Never cared enough about any woman to ask.
But he cared about Misty. And he cared about their unborn child.
He wanted her to be his wife, dammit. But he’d asked…at least a hundred times. And she’d turned him down…at least a hundred times.
He didn’t know what more he could do to convince her, short of tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her off somewhere to perform Chinese water torture until she gave in.
Which left him with only one final option: take what he could get. She wouldn’t agree to marry him, but she seemed happy enough to live with him here in New York.
So that was what they’d do. It might not be ideal, and his family might not offer their one hundred percent approval, but it could work.
They could live together and raise the baby together. Just one big, happy family, even without the sanctity of marriage.
His gut clenched at the idea; his fingers tightened on the front door handle.
He’d always been the playboy of the family, with pretty women hanging on his arm and his every word. His bed had only been empty when he wanted it to be.
So why did it suddenly feel imperative that he tie the knot, not just shack up with Misty?
Because they were having a child together?
Because she was the one woman for whom he was willing to give up all other women?
He honestly didn’t know. He’d asked himself the same questions numerous times but still didn’t have the answers.
But vows or no vows, they could still make it work. They would make it work. He would see to it.
Pushing the door open, he stepped inside the town house, cocked his head and listened for signs of Misty. He often found her in the kitchen, throwing together something for dinner. Or in the sitting room, reading a book.
He set down his briefcase and shrugged out of his suit jacket, then made his way down the hall. He didn’t smell anything coming from the kitchen, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in there.
When he reached the back of the house, however, the room was empty. No pots or pans heating on the stove, no place settings laid out on the kitchen island.
He checked the living room next, and then the den. His brows knit as the first niggling sense of concern started to tickle at the base of his spine.
It probably shouldn’t worry him that Misty wasn’t downstairs when he arrived, but it did. Only because she always had been before. And because she was pregnant and had had complications before.
These days, he seemed to carry a pocket of constant fear and concern with him everywhere he went. Concern for Misty’s health and safety. Fear that something could happen to send her to the hospital again and that she might lose the baby.
He tamped down those worries on a daily basis, not wanting her to know that impending fatherhood had turned him into a writhing mass of raw nerve endings and quivering gelatinous goo.
She was fine, he told himself, but hurried up the stairs to the second floor, just in case.
“Misty?” He called her name, expecting an immediate response. Instead, his query was met with silence.
Perhaps she was in the shower. Or taking a nap. He understood that pregnant women got tired easily and needed extra rest.
When he got to the bedroom, he found the door ajar and quickly stretched out an arm to push it open the rest of the way.
Instead of finding Misty in bed, he saw her standing beside the king-size mattress, folding clothes and packing them neatly inside her open suitcase.
Cullen stood in the doorway, frozen in place by the sight before him. The blood in his veins turned thick and sluggish. His brain strained to function, but failed.
“Hey,” he forced past his tongue, which felt twice as large as normal inside his mouth.
Her movements halted and she slowly turned her head, meeting his gaze. The sadness in her eyes slammed into his solar plexus like a fist. But what drove the air from his lungs and made the room spin around him was the determination written plainly on her face.
“What are you doing?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.
She turned back to her task, finished folding a pair of black slacks and tucked them into the luggage. “I’m packing.”
“I can see that. Where are we going?” he asked, striving for levity, praying his susp
icions weren’t valid.
“We’re not going anywhere,” she said. “I’m going home.”
Oh, God. “This is your home.”
“No, Cullen,” she said softly. “This is your home. My home is in Nevada.”
That was enough to get his blood pumping again, followed by a quick surge of panicked annoyance. He strode across the room, reaching her in three long strides, and grabbed her arm before she could pick up the next item of clothing.
“Your home is with me,” he told her firmly. “Where we live is irrelevant.”
“Cullen…”
She pulled her arm away, and he let her go. Her lashes fanned across her cheeks as her gaze floated to the floor, then back up again.
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work. I appreciate everything you’ve done and everything you’ve tried to do these past weeks.”
Her fingers rubbed absently along the edge of the suitcase while she struggled to keep her eyes locked with his.
“And you know I won’t try to keep you from the baby—that isn’t even an issue. But I can’t stay here any longer, pretending to be something I’m not…pretending we’re something we’re not.”
“No one asked you to be anything but who you are.”
She shook her head, sending her brown and blond hair swinging around her shoulders. “You want me to be your wife, when I am definitely not Elliott material. Your grandfather wants me to be a socialite instead of a dancer, when I’m well past the age of being molded into someone I’m not.”
A fine sheen of perspiration broke out along his skin, slid down his back and turned his palms damp with apprehension. He could feel her slipping away from him, and was damned if he knew how to stop it.
“To hell with what Granddad wants,” he growled brutally. “To hell with what I want, for that matter. What do you want?”
Her breasts rose as she drew a deep breath, then gave a heartfelt sigh. “I want to go back to the way things were. I’m not sorry about the baby,” she said, laying a protective hand on her belly, “but you have to admit it’s complicated our lives. I won’t complicate your life any longer, though. That’s why I’m leaving.”
Complicate his life? Didn’t she know she made his life better? That she was like a rainbow after a summer storm…a roaring fire on a cold winter day…his soft place to fall when everything else around him was a whirlwind of stress and confusion?
She’d been the one constant in his life, from almost the moment they had met. Always welcoming him with open arms, ready and willing to listen and accept him as he was.
How could she not know that?
How could she not know he loved her?
The truth slammed into him, stealing his breath and nearly sending him staggering backward.
He loved her. It was so simple. So obvious, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it sooner.
He didn’t just find her attractive, wasn’t only interested in her body. And he didn’t want to be with her simply because she was pregnant with his child.
He wanted that child, but he wanted her, too. Wanted her as his wife, his lover, his partner from now until the day they died.
It was no wonder he hadn’t been able to give her up over the years. Regardless of the other women who’d passed through his life or the number of times he’d told himself he should break things off with Misty, he never could, and now he knew why.
He had been in love with her all along. Deep down, in a place even he hadn’t known existed.
“Misty.”
His voice broke on her name, but he wasn’t embarrassed. He was shocked, amazed…ecstatic. He wanted to grab her up and squeeze her tight, swing her around and shout at the top of his lungs about his newfound revelation.
“Why now?” he asked instead. “I thought you were happy here, that we were happy here, and you were enjoying getting to know my family. What happened to change your mind?”
Her gaze skittered away from his own and she turned back to her packing. This time he let her go, more eager to hear her answer than hold her undivided attention.
“Nothing happened,” she said. “I just realized that I’ve been here longer than I planned and need to get back to the studio and my classes.”
He didn’t believe her, but wasn’t going to press the point. It didn’t really matter, anyway.
“What if I told you I love you?” he blurted out almost desperately.
Her movements halted, a pair of panties hung limply from her fingers. As though in slow motion, her body twisted around until she was facing him once again. Her eyes were wide, the muscles in her throat convulsing as she swallowed hard.
“What did you say?”
He stepped forward. His face split, he was sure, with a goofy grin. His hands closed on her upper arms, his thumbs stroked her in a reassuring caress.
“I love you, Misty. I think I always have.” He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek and comb his fingers through her hair. “You were never just a mistress to me. From the moment I met you, I knew you were more than that. I may not have been willing to admit it at the time…”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Hell, I may not have been willing to admit it now, except that I’m scared to death about losing you.”
His fingers flexed on her bare skin. “I don’t want you to go,” he told her simply. “But if you feel you have to…if Nevada is where you really want to be, then I’ll go with you.”
“Cullen—”
“I’ll leave EPH if I have to. Or find a way to work for the family long-distance. I don’t care, as long as we’re together.”
She shook her head, blinking rapidly as her gorgeous green eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“I can’t, Cullen,” she said, her voice clouded with emotion. Twin drops of moisture formed on her lashes before spilling over to streak down her cheeks. “I love you, too, but I don’t want to be the reason you eventually come to hate me.”
His heart kicked into a gallop. He was so delighted by her admission of being in love with him, too, that at first he didn’t catch the rest of her pronouncement.
When he did, his smile slipped and he started to get that sick, slick feeling in his gut again.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, thoroughly perplexed. He couldn’t imagine anything she might do or say to ever cause him to hate her.
“I’m not the right woman for you. You need a wife you can be proud of, one your family will approve of. Not a mistress you felt obligated to marry just because she got pregnant.”
She sniffed, valiantly wiping the tears from her face only to have more fall in their place. “I know you feel responsible for me and the baby, and that you want to do the right thing by us because it’s what your father and grandfather have raised you to do. But I won’t be another duty you feel compelled to fulfill, and neither will this child.”
Cullen could only stare at her, stunned by her words. He did think of her and the baby as his responsibility, but because he loved them, not because he felt trapped or obligated. Where would she have gotten the idea that—?
His crossed brows began to lift, the corners of his mouth moving from their downward tilt into a lopsided grin.
“Bridget,” he breathed, not sure whether he should be furious or amused.
Shaking his head, he said, “Bridget filled your head with stories about how my father and then my brother and I were raised, didn’t she? Told you all about Granddad and how overbearing he can be, always drilling into us that an Elliott takes responsibility for his actions. Am I right?”
She started to nod, but he didn’t need even that much confirmation.
“I love my cousin, but the next time I see her, I swear I’m going to wring her neck,” he muttered.
“Listen to me, Misty.”
He ran his hands up her arms, over her shoulders, until they came to rest on the slope of her long, slim neck. His fingers dug gently into the base of her skull, his thumbs framing her jawline.
“I love
you. I love our baby. You are not an obligation to me, a duty. You are a gift. A blessing I didn’t even know I needed until you came into my life. And I’ll thank God every day for the rest of my life that you did. I never want to spend another moment apart from you.”
Closing his eyes, he lowered his head until their foreheads touched, then he opened his eyes again and stared directly into those deep emerald pools he hoped he would be lucky enough to gaze into for the rest of his life.
“Marry me, Misty. We’ll live anywhere you want, do anything you want. Just marry me. Please.”
Misty inhaled a deep, ragged breath, her heart beating so hard behind her rib cage, she knew he must be able to feel it against his own chest. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks, but they’d transformed into tears of happiness rather than tears of sadness and regret.
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Cullen meant what he said. He didn’t think of her as a responsibility to be handled with a stiff upper lip.
And most importantly, he loved her. As much as she loved him.
Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth, hoping her voice would work—now, when she needed it more than ever.
“I remember the first night I met you, when you came backstage after the show,” she said softly, touching his handsome, familiar face, so dear to her, with the tips of her fingers. “I knew from that very moment that my life would never be the same.”
Pressing her mouth to his, she let her eyes slide closed for a brief moment before opening them and whispering against his lips, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
He pulled back, only slightly, and she watched the smile form on his face, growing wider until pleasure filled his gaze from the inside out.
“Finally,” he breathed, then wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight.
“You’ve made me a very happy man,” he said just above her ear. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”
She laid her cheek on his shoulder, her nails curling into the material of his tailored brown suit jacket. “You’re sure it doesn’t bother you I’m five years older than you are, or that everyone will know you married an ex-showgirl?”