“If you’re worrying about the ‘too much’ comment, then don’t.”
For a moment he forgot himself and looked down, right into her eyes. Not teasing like her husky-voiced comment, but serious, intent, burning. He drew back slightly and then let himself go in one long hard drive that took him all the way inside and he couldn’t contain the long, deep sound of satisfaction that rose from his throat.
Sweet, oh God she was sweet.
Tomas couldn’t stand it—not the enraptured look on her face or the softening of her lips or the do-that-again challenge in her eyes. He had to look away, refocus. To remind himself that she wasn’t sweet. Sex was sweet. Being enclosed in that velvet female sheathing, the silky slide as he withdrew and drove back again, the hot friction of flesh against flesh, of male against female. This sex was so sweet because it had been so long and he’d almost forgotten the intensity of the pleasure. It was okay to enjoy it, to let himself go a little, to ease back so he could touch her breasts and flatten his hand against her belly and imagine that this was about making a child.
Only sex. And if it succeeded, never again.
Conversely his mind railed and bucked against that possibility. This was so good he wanted to do it again and again and again. Abruptly he pulled back, almost all the way out, then thrust himself in to the hilt. Too good to contemplate never doing again and that was all right, too, he justified, because tonight he could do it again and again. He could because it was necessary to make the child he needed.
It wasn’t about this rapidly escalating rapture, not about the gut-wrenching explosion of pleasure when his hand slid lower and thumbed her slick plump heart until she came apart in a shuddering cry that kept on going and going as he changed angles and drove into her until his own climax roared through him like a cyclone, rough and whirling and eddying through his rigid frame with uncontrollable force.
He could justify that he couldn’t disconnect immediately, not while his heart thundered and his blood roared and his mind clamored with the image of his seed spilling deeply into her fertile core.
For a minute his whole being succumbed to the intensity of that image and he slumped forward, his nose buried in that sweet hot spot where her neck joined with her shoulder. Their heartbeats raced one against the other and he knew he should move but he couldn’t, not until she took a slow, shuddering breath that echoed right through him.
They were that close.
Too close, and when her mouth touched the side of his face with the kind of tender intimacy he’d vowed to avoid, he suddenly found his strength. He was on his feet and into the bathroom before her kiss had cooled on his cheek. Shower controls turned to maximum, he stepped under the torrent and let the cold water savage him for a count of ten. Then he spread his legs and planted his arms against the cold tiles and let the water pound out the torpor of sexual satiation.
Somewhere at the back of his mind he imagined it might also pound away a nagging sense of dissatisfaction. Not with the sex—jeez, but that had been unbelievably satisfying. No, it was something deeper, probably tied up with those earlier chills of fear, but even after ten minutes or so of water-torture he couldn’t put a finger on the cause.
And he couldn’t stand here any longer, not without turning blue. Adjusting the temperature mix, he rolled back his head and let the warmth hit him full in the face. Then he raked his wet hair back from his face, turned off the taps and reached for a towel.
Bare-assed, he padded back to the bedroom, his muscles tightening reflexively with every step. She’d turned the lights out, he realized, but enough light filtered in from the city outside for him to make out the figure curled up on the bed. Motionless. Asleep.
He exhaled a long, audible breath. No need for post-coital conversation or cuddling. She’d left plenty of the bed for him, enough of a buffer zone that he could crawl in under the covers and spread out in his usual fashion without any contact. That didn’t help him relax. As the minutes passed he grew tenser, more wide-awake and so attuned to the silence that he swore he could hear each ticking minute on the noiseless bedside clock.
Possibly because he was concentrating so hard on anything besides the soft sound of Angie’s breathing.
Damn her, how could she be so relaxed? Had what they’d done been so exhausting…or so meaningless that she could roll over and go to sleep within minutes? He turned restlessly and shucked off the eiderdown quilt. So, okay, he’d been gone more than a few minutes, but still….
Did she think that was it? One time lucky? And what about her earlier invitation. Do you want to taste me?
His body reacted instantly, extravagantly, as if she’d whispered the incendiary words into his ear right then. Turning impatiently on his side didn’t help. Not when he could see the rise and fall of her breasts under the pure white sheet. I can hardly wait, she’d said.
Well, hell, he’d waited long enough. They only had this one night. What a waste to spend it watching her sleep when he was obviously up for making certain.
It was okay to smooth her hair away from her throat and taste her there, he figured. It was okay to kiss his way over her shoulder and whisper “wake up, Angie” when she stirred restlessly and rolled onto her side. Fine to kiss his way down the length of her naked spine and to learn the multitude of curves and valleys that made up her generous body. And when she stretched sleepily and pressed back into him with a lazy sigh, how could he not reach around to cup her breasts and rub her nipples and wake her by stroking her slick, wet heat?
When she rocked hard against him and murmured “already?” he took her like that, in a long, lazy joining, and again in the predawn quiet when the pace was slow and sensuous with enough time to recognize his earlier bout of fear for what it was.
Not performance anxiety or any sense of disloyalty to the wife he still loved, but fear that he would enjoy this—enjoy her—so much that he would never want it to end. That he’d want to twist his fingers into her chain and drag her mouth down to his, to swallow her cries of release whole and absorb them into his body.
That he would want this to go on and on and never end.
Angie woke to the glare of morning sun streaming through the window and the low sound of conversation. Frowning slightly, she pushed up on her elbows and strained her ears. Not the TV she realized, shoving her hair back from her face, but real voices in the adjoining room. Before she had a chance to identify words out of the indistinguishable drone, her attention diverted to the scent of food and her nose twitched and her stomach growled. Between no dinner and the…um…strenuous night, she was famished.
As she swung her legs out of bed she stretched her arms and back. And winced. Oh, yes, it had, indeed, been a most strenuous night. Satisfying in many ways, promising in many ways, even if she hated the many times he’d refused to meet her gaze, the times he’d chosen the darkness of closed eyes over the emotional connection of their joining.
Even if the notion that he’d needed to wash the scent of their lovemaking from his body still rubbed raw against her heart.
Slowly she started for the same bathroom. Vaguely she realized that the voices had stopped, and when she heard the thump of a door closing, she stopped dead. Surely he wouldn’t just leave? Surely. But her heart shifted with uncomfortable doubt as she resumed her trip toward the bathroom. Just shy of the door, a sixth sense made her swing her gaze back…and there he was, standing in the doorway between bedroom and sitting-room, watching her.
He, she noticed immediately, was dressed. Unlike her. Ridiculous, after all they’d done in the night, to feel so exposed. He’d seen pretty much everything, from much closer than the width of a hotel bedroom.
“I ordered breakfast,” he said evenly.
A good start, she thought. Excellent really, since she would have bet on much awkwardness this morning.
“I’m famished, but I just need a quick shower before I eat.” She smiled broadly, in appreciation of him ordering breakfast, and still being here to share it. “Will
you save me something?”
“I’ve already eaten. With Rafe.”
Angie stiffened. That explained the other voice. Yet…“You invited your brother to breakfast?”
“He invited himself.”
Aah, now that made more sense. And explained the closing door.
“Does he know…?” She gestured between them, indicating the meaning she couldn’t put into words. That I’m here, in your bedroom, naked?
“No, and that’s the way I’d prefer we kept it.” He shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other. “Look, I just rang the airport. My pilot’s ready to go. I have to get moving.”
“Well, I’ll have my shower and breakfast and go straight down to work, I expect.” She managed a carefree shrug, but since she was standing naked in the full morning light, she couldn’t quite bring herself to stroll over and casually kiss him goodbye. Which is the comeback she would have liked, to prove that though her heart had just taken a plummeting nosedive, she could handle this. He’d told her not to expect too much. She knew this would be a long haul, this getting past his hurt and distance to the man inside.
Last night she’d taken the first step, and that was only the start.
Despite his gotta-go message, he still hadn’t moved from the doorway, however, and Angie discerned he had more to say. Ever helpful, she raised her eyebrows, inviting him to spit it out.
“Call me,” he said, “as soon as you know something.”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
He nodded stiffly.
And Angie couldn’t help herself, the words just kind of bubbled out. “Do you think I will have to call? Do you think last night was a success?”
Which, in retrospect, was a ridiculous thing to ask. She’d read the literature. Even at the right time of month, with all the planets in alignment and karma beaming down from the stars, a certain percentage of women didn’t conceive. It wasn’t as if she’d ever tried before. She didn’t know, for sure, that she was the perfect candidate she’d promoted herself as the night before.
And her ridiculous questions had obviously made Tomas as uncomfortable as a ringer with a burr in his swag, because now he couldn’t meet her eyes. He stared toward the window and beyond, his expression so tricky and un-readable that she longed to climb inside his head.
“If you are—” his gaze shifted back to her face “—will you want to keep working?”
“I told you. My job here is temporary.”
“You know Rafe will give you another job at the drop of a hat. Alex, too.”
“And what about you? Do you have a job for me on Kameruka Downs?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re joking.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I wouldn’t—” He stopped abruptly, lips a tight line.
“Because you don’t want me around?”
“Because there’s no job for you there.”
The pain she felt was, no doubt, her heart bottoming out of that slow-fall plummet with a sickening crash. “I’ll let you know the result, once I know,” she said, painfully aware that she was still standing here, having this momentous conversation, stark naked.
Tomas started to turn, paused. “Angie…thank you.”
For being such a sport? For not pushing the job issue? For not making this morning-after a train wreck?
It was her turn to nod tightly. “You’re welcome.”
And then he was gone, probably bolting as fast as his boots would take him, to the airport and the company plane that would transport him back to his territory.
Kameruka Downs, where she was no longer welcome.
Seven
For two weeks Angie hummed through life in a cheerful glow of hopefulness. When she closed the door on that hotel suite—after an indulgently long shower and an extravagantly big breakfast—she closed the door on all doubts and despondency. She left them there in the dark, shut away from the shining light of her optimism.
Only sex? Bull! She’d felt the connection, the specialness, the rightness of their lovemaking.
As for Tomas…well, she could make allowances. He’d been even more nervous than Angie, and he didn’t have the crutch of a lifetime of fantasies for support. She’d seriously unsettled him with that revelation, and she’d unnerved him more with the emotion she couldn’t completely contain when they’d finally come together.
Plus, in his own words, it had been a while.
Her mind had drifted back to that comment with vexing regularity. A while, as in, not since Brooke? Could he have been celibate that long?
Knowing Tomas…yes. Because that’s how he would honor his vows, yet that thought caused a churning storm of conflict in Angie. The very qualities that drew her to this man—his steadfastness, his loyalty, his constancy and conviction—could also be the downfall of any hope of a future with him.
He loved Brooke. He probably believed he would never love again. Yet Angie knew deep in her heart that she was his woman, and she used that confidence to staunch the rebellious doubts as she worked through two weeks without any calls from or contact with Kameruka Downs. He was busy, she reminded herself. This was his busiest time of year with the cattle business. Besides, she was to call him, she reassured herself, whenever her hungry gaze drifted to the phone late at night.
Then her hand would cradle her belly and her heart would skitter with a mix of nerves and excitement as she contemplated the prospect of Tomas’s baby growing there. And she would fall asleep with a smile on her lips and optimism warm in her heart.
This morning, when she visited the bathroom, fate and the female cycle rudely snuffed out that light.
Naturally it was Monday and she couldn’t slink back to bed. Predictably it was a stinking grey Monday, the kind that decides to dump its wet load of misery on a woman’s shoulders when she’s running to catch the bus. And because she was in no mood for company, Rafe came to wander aimlessly around her workspace as soon as he arrived at the office.
That happened to be about five minutes after she’d tossed her rose-colored glasses in the bin beside her desk, along with the pregnancy-test kit she’d bought ahead of time and stored in the back of her filing cabinet. She knew the second Rafe’s miss-nothing eyes settled on the discarded box.
Why had she given in to that silly fit of hormonal pique? Why hadn’t she just left the kit where it was? She hadn’t needed to trash the damn thing!
A small frown lined her boss’s forehead. “Is that what I think it is?”
“That’s none of your business.”
His gaze lifted at her sharp tone. “It appears to be unopened.”
“How observant.” It was hard not to sound snarky when Rafe—dammit—was pushing aside papers to perch on the edge of her desk.
“Do I take it this is bad news?”
She clicked her mouse and stared hard at the computer screen.
“Because I always thought it was bad news when the lines turned pink.”
Eyes narrowed in irritation, she swung back to face him. “In your situation, that would be good news…or have you forgotten the baby you’re supposed—”
“So, you did do it.”
“What?”
“You and Tomas. That night in the suite. I wondered.”
Yet he hadn’t said a word. She wondered—
“I didn’t say anything in case nothing came of it,” he said, finishing her thought. He glanced back at her bin. “Is that what the unopened test means?”
“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.”
And because she couldn’t stand the sharp perceptiveness of his gaze—or the flicker of sympathy in his eyes—she turned back to her computer. Tapped at a couple of keys before she realized she hadn’t opened a document. The computer beeped back at her, something that sounded like you dolt. And she was the stupid, idiotic queen of dolts for imagining she could do this, for thinking that one night would instantly provide a baby, and for wanting it so much. Dammit,
and now she had to put up with her boss sitting there looking at her with pity and—
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, and she whirled on him in a flash of fury.
“What are you doing about it? You, also being part of this pact. Why should it be up to me? And how about Alex—has he set a date yet?”
“Last I heard, he and Susannah are still in negotiation.”
Which meant no date, no marriage, no baby, since Alex had decided that marriage had to come first. “And you?”
“I’m still considering my options.”
“Too much choice?”
Instead of grinning or winking or chipping in with the usual Rafe-line, he looked at her steadily. “Or maybe I can’t find the right woman to make a baby with.”
The right woman, the right mother, the perfect candidate. Angie’s heartbeat sounded thick and loud in the sudden quiet. “Do you think Tomas found the right woman?”
“Do you?”
Yeesh, but she hated questions tossed back in her face. Twelve hours ago she knew the answer, unequivocally, but now? Had so much changed? Or was this only a wet-day hormone funk? She stared at the blankness of her computer screen a moment, and the only answer she found was the truth. “I want to make more than a baby with him. I want to make him live and laugh and love again.”
Rafe grinned. And winked. “Attagirl.”
Angie scowled back at him, but somewhere inside she felt the tiny flicker of hope. “Fat lot of good it will do me.”
“My brother needs someone like you. Someone with the balls—”
“Thank you very much!”
“—to keep pushing and prodding so he doesn’t hole up in his shell like a hermit crab. He needs someone who loves him enough to not give up.”
“You think?”
“He needs you more than he needs this baby, Ange.”
Holy Henry, she hoped so. Yet, if Rafe believed it—if he could sit there and recite with such conviction the belief engraved deep in her heart… “Do you suppose your father thought the same thing?” she asked slowly. “That he was using the will clause to push Tomas to find someone else?”
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