by Sandra Brown
"Very nice," Ria said lightly. "Wonder what the citizens of our fair city would think of their mayor-elect if they could see these hedonistic sleeping quarters?"
His chuckle was rich and deep and stirring against her ear. His hands were moving up and down her arms. "They'd probably like me better."
"They probably would. Especially the women."
"Then you like it?"
She faced him. "It really doesn't matter, since I won't be sleeping in here."
Crossing his arms and his ankles, he propped himself against the doorjamb. "Ria, when I talked you into living with me for the duration of our marriage, I might have forgotten to mention one tiny detail."
Her tummy went weightless, knowing what was coming. "What?"
"This is a large house, but it only has one bedroom."
"Fine. I'll sleep on the couch."
"Not on my couch, you won't. I wouldn't hear of letting my pregnant wife sleep on a couch."
Ria raised her chin a notch. "You browbeat me into agreeing that we should live together to make this marriage look on the level. But it was our understanding that we wouldn't be sleeping together."
"That was your understanding," he said in a disturbingly quiet voice.
She squared her shoulders. "Before I stay here, some kind of sleeping arrangements must be made."
"They've already been made." He moved away from the door and reached behind him to close it. "I take the left side of the bed."
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
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"You aren't serious." For an answer Taylor removed his suit coat and tossed it into the nearest pillow-laden chair. Ria stared at him with dismay. "I can't believe this. Do you intend to use force?"
He merely frowned.
"That's the only way you'll get me into bed with you."
"Now, Ria, don't go saying words you'll have to eat." His grin would have bared fangs if he'd had them.
He had already taken off his vest and was working on the buttons of his shirt. Ria nervously moistened her lips, trying not to notice how dexterous his strong, lean fingers were.
When all the buttons were undone, he slowly pulled the shirttail from his waistband. The Chippendale men could take lessons from him on how to disrobe alluringly. The shirt parted to reveal a muscled chest covered by a blanket of dark curly hair that Ria remembered all too well. That impressive chest had played vital roles in recent fantasies.
"Look, Taylor," she said quickly when he dropped the shirt and lowered his hands to his belt, "what happened on Christmas Eve—"
"Was fantastic. Why pretend it wasn't? And why not enjoy it again?"
"Because it didn't mean anything."
"So?"
"That's … that's animalistic."
"Riiiiight." He only laughed at her exasperation. "A healthy case of lust is good for the body, mind, and soul."
"I don't think so. Look what happened to me the last time I indulged it."
No longer smiling, he demanded, "Don't you think the baby is significant?"
She sucked in her breath sharply. "Yes. If I hadn't, I would have gotten rid of it as soon as I suspected I was pregnant."
"The baby, if nothing else, makes what happened on Christmas Eve special." His expression softened. "I'm a man and you're a woman, and you can deny it till Doomsday, Ria, but we're physically attracted to each other. There doesn't need to be any more justification than that for us to make love."
He stepped forward; she took a cautious step backward.
"When in doubt, the laws of Nature prevail," he said. "Just like on Christmas Eve. It would be stupid for us to live under the same roof, liking each other, even a little, wanting each other, I believe a lot, and not take advantage of the situation."
"But it's temporary."
"That makes it even better. We're not under any pressure to make the marriage work, only to enjoy its fringe benefits."
She'd run out of space for her retreat. The bed, with its leather and fur enticements, was catching the backs of her knees.
"We know exactly where we stand with each other," he went on. "Most couples who get married aren't that lucky."
"You can rationalize anything."
"Then consider it from a practical point of view. This is my wedding night. I want to spend it like a groom. As a bride, don't you feel entitled to some recreational sex?" He drew her against him and ducked his head to nuzzle her exposed throat. "We can continue arguing if you want to, but in the long run"—he nibbled his way up the cord of her neck, then positioned his mouth directly above hers—"you'll lose."
His hard, long, hungry kiss left her weak and needy. She wrapped her arms around his neck for support, and for gratification curved her body against the front of his.
"Hm, that feels good." Cupping her hips, he pulled her tighter against him. He took the combs from her hair and buried his nose in the waves tumbling over his face.
Unfastening the single button on the jacket of her suit, he slipped his hands inside and covered her breasts. He was sensitive enough to feel her initial, shrinking reaction.
"Tender?" he whispered. She nodded. He opened the jacket and gazed at her full breasts, filling and spilling over the lace cups of her demi-bra. He kissed the rounded top curves gently, then reluctantly raised his head.
"No, it's okay," she said quickly.
Deep in his throat he made a yearning sound. His lips made impressions in the soft, giving flesh. Moving his head to one side, he kissed her nipple through the lace. "Ria, say it was good."
"Christmas Eve? Yes, it was good."
"Sometimes I thought I'd dreamed it."
"I carry proof that you didn't."
"Yes, you do." He moved his hands down to her abdomen, covering it protectively. Then, holding her stare, his smile changed into an expression of intense desire. Seductively, he ground the heels of his hands against her mound and let his fingers conform to the tapering shape of her body. "I want you again. Now."
Speechlessly, breathlessly, Ria nodded.
There were whispers in the dark from seeking lips and from naked skin against leather, against mink, against lemon-scented sheets.
"No, leave the pearls on."
"But that looks positively wicked."
"It sure as hell does."
Soft laughter.
"You're beautiful, Ria. Very."
"So are you."
"Me? I'm all hairy."
"Uh-huh."
"You're all smooth and silky. I didn't take nearly enough time looking at you on Christmas Eve."
"You got around to touching everything, though."
"I intend to tonight too."
"Hm, Taylor."
"Is that uncomfortable?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"Do you like it?" Silence. "Ria?"
"Yes, yes, I like it."
"If I suck them, will it hurt?"
"No."
A soft hiss of pleasure. "You're so sweet."
"Don't stop, Taylor."
"I won't."
"And don't wait, either."
"I thought—"
"Please."
And much later champagne was poured over her body. It funneled from her belly into the V of her thighs. Its icy bubbles glistened in the tight, glossy curls before warm lips sipped them up one by one.
After that, when he asked her, "More champagne?" her entire body blushed. He laughed. "I'll drink it from a glass this time."
"I wasn't complaining about the last time."
He muttered a curse, bent over her, cupped her face between his hands, and kissed her fervently. "That was my special way of toasting my bride." He kissed her again. "God, you're gorgeous."
She declined the champagne, having sworn off alcohol because of the child she carried. But he poured himself a glass and, leaning against the pillows unselfconsciously naked and semiaroused, lazily and possessively gazed at her.
"We should have a v
ery attractive kid," he said.
"Dark hair, for sure."
"And tall."
She ran her hand up his thigh. "Nice long legs."
"Nice long … never mind."
"That too"—she giggled—"if it's a boy."
Grabbing a handful of her hair, Taylor drew her head up for another scorching kiss. When they fell apart he said, "I wonder if he'll be a he."
"Do you think it's a girl?"
He shrugged. "It won't matter to me."
"Me either." She ran her hand over her stomach and said reflectively, "I just want him to be healthy and happy."
"He will be," Taylor gently assured her. "Will he have blue eyes or green? Which are dominant?" Ria said nothing. Taylor rubbed her cheeks with the backs of his fingers and traced the frown that had formed between her brows. "What?"
Sighing, she rested her cheek against his thigh. "I was just thinking that we don't know what kind of genes he or she will inherit from my parents. My real parents."
"To have produced you, they must have been ideal physical specimens of superior intelligence. At least one of them had a stubborn streak and a short temper." He playfully tugged on a strand of ebony hair. "My guess is that you have some Indian heritage, with your hair and cheekbones." He traced the high cheekbone with the tip of his index finger.
"No doubt. I used to daydream about them." She had never confided in anyone about her parents, and wondered why she found it so easy to talk about them to Taylor. "In my fantasies, my mother was an Indian princess and my father an Irish adventurer with fierce green eyes. But the parents I imagined were reminiscent of characters I had read about in historical romance novels, not contemporary people. And I imagined that there was a disaster that took their lives and made me an orphan."
"How do you know that didn't happen?"
"Mom and Dad told me that my parents were alive; at least they were at the time I was adopted."
He ran his hand over her head and down her back. "Who named you Ria?"
"Mom and Dad."
"Have you told them about the baby?"
There was a brief pause before she said, "No."
"About me?"
Coming to a sitting position, she said, "Forgive me, Taylor, but yes, I did. I told them that I'd met someone and that it was very likely we'd be getting married."
"What was their reaction?"
"They were excited about the prospect of a son-in-law. I think they were afraid I was a dyed-in-the-wool feminist career woman who scoffed at marriage, hearth, and home."
"They weren't too far off."
She made a face at him. "Mom wanted to start planning parties and organizing a large church wedding. I forestalled her by saying that you were a public official and wanted to get married with as little fanfare as possible. I hated lying to them, but—"
"But this way we can let them know we're married, yet wait and set our anniversary in accordance with the baby's birthday."
She stared down at her hands. "Why hurt them needlessly?"
He tipped her chin up. "Exactly."
"Thank you, Taylor."
He set his empty champagne glass on the nightstand and kissed her. "It's late, and tomorrow is a workday."
"Yes, we'd better get some sleep."
"Like hell," he said with a growl, lifting her to straddle his lap. "We'd better get on to phase two."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"How was your day?"
"Fine. Yours?"
"Fine."
Awkwardly they faced each other. Taylor had just come home and found Ria in the kitchen. He still had his briefcase in his hand. She was wearing an apron and holding a long-handled spoon.
They had overslept that morning. In their rush to get to work, there hadn't been time for them to be embarrassed over their night together. They had taken quick showers. Ria had panicked when she upended her suitcase and discovered that half of what she needed to get dressed had been left at home—at her home. Taylor's favorite necktie had been misplaced and couldn't be found. Ria burned her finger on her curling iron. After drinking a cup of tepid instant coffee made with tap water, Taylor had raced out the back door, shouting over his shoulder that he would see her later.
Now it was later. They were standing face-to-face, under no pressing deadline, and each was curious yet hesitant to know the other's opinion of their first twenty-four hours as Mr. and Mrs. MacKensie.
"Something smells good," he said, setting his briefcase on the kitchen table.
"Pot roast."
"I thought we'd go out."
"You don't like pot roast?" Ria asked anxiously.
"I love pot roast," he rushed to say. "I just don't want you to think you have to cook every night."
"I don't." She waved her hand negligently and pushed back a strand of hair. "I wanted to make up for breakfast this morning. Or the lack thereof."
"I don't eat breakfast anyway."
"You don't? Oh, well, good. Neither do I. Especially these days." She laid a hand on her tummy. "But you left for work without having any morning coffee. That's cruel and unusual punishment."
He forced a smile at her forced joke. "How long before dinner?"
"Half an hour."
"I've got time for a shower, then?"
"Yes. Don't rush. Dinner will keep until we're ready for it."
"Okay." He picked up his briefcase again and headed for the door. But there he paused, his back still to her. Slowly he turned around. "Ria?"
Her head snapped up. "What?"
The briefcase hit the floor. In no longer than it took for him to lunge across the kitchen, Ria was in his arms and they were kissing madly. Ria threw her arms around his neck. The spoon dripped gravy down his back, but neither of them noticed or cared. He pulled her up hard and high against the front of his body. They were laughing and struggling for air by the time they broke apart.
"Then you're not sorry you married me?" she asked. "Now that you've had time to think about it for one whole day?"
"Are you kidding? I haven't come home to pot roast since my mother died."
"Is that the only reason you're glad?"
He rubbed his middle against hers. "Stupid question, Ria." They kissed again. "Let's start over. How was your day?"
"I took off early, then went by the house and packed my car with another load."
"I should paddle you for that. You didn't carry anything in, did you?"
"No. By that time I was exhausted."
"You shouldn't have bothered to cook dinner."
"I rested first. Oh, maybe I should warn you that I'm having a van deliver all my plants here tomorrow."
"We might have to move out. There won't be room for all of us."
Smiling happily, she asked, "How was your day?"
"In a word, a bitch."
"That's two words."
"I've married a smart-ass, hey?" Grasping that particular part of her anatomy, he bent his head and gnawed at her neck until she begged for mercy. "We had a closed-door city council meeting today. There was a row about a pending tax hike. At the office, a set of specifications had been lost and the client raised hell with us until they were found." He planted a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. "And in the midst of all that chaos, all I could think about was that soft little hiccupping sound you make when you come."
"Taylor!"
"Taylor!" he mimicked. "If you don't want me to think about it, then stop making the sound."
"Or stop coming."
He said with a snarl, "I dare you not to."
One kiss led to another, until more than the oven was warming up the kitchen. Finally Ria pushed him away. "Go take your shower. I'll have a drink waiting for you when you get out."
Over dinner they discussed their new marital status and what ramifications it would have on their lives. "Did you tell the people at work?" he asked her.
"Yes. They were all surprised."
"All but Guy."
Taylor's indifference didn'
t fool Ria. He was as curious about Guy and his reaction to their marriage as she was about Lisa Burton's. "I guess it's no longer a secret to him whose baby I'm carrying."
"If he has any doubts on that subject, send him to me."
She enjoyed Taylor's jealousy, even if it was more for the baby than for her.
"Prepare yourself to get a few phone calls tomorrow," he said as he helped himself to more pot roast. "My secretary is delivering a press release to the newspaper and radio stations in the morning, announcing my marriage to Ms. Ria Lavender."
Ria set down her fork and looked at him worriedly.
"I hope this doesn't jeopardize your being sworn in as mayor."
"I won the election fair and square."
"I know, but there might be some eyebrows raised."
"I think everyone who voted for me will be pleased and proud about their choice. They'll be relieved that I'm no longer a swinging single, which, as you know, was a campaign issue. Our marriage justifies the confidence they placed in me." Ria had picked up her fork again, but was only shifting the food from one side of her plate to the other. "Okay, spill it."
She met his eyes levelly. "In your office that day, you accused me of wanting to ruin your career. I hope that doesn't happen after all."
He reached for her hand. "It won't."
"When they find out about the baby—"
"Everyone will be delighted. The whole city will probably make a big fuss over him. He'll be the most celebrated kid ever to hit town." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "And about that accusation, I didn't mean it. I was still trying to pick myself up and dust myself off."
"You didn't believe me when I first told you that the baby was yours."
"Yes, I did."
"You did?"
"Right away."
"Why?"
"Any woman who would worry about besting someone in a battle over a shrimp would never lie about something as important as a baby." He lifted her palm to his mouth and kissed it. "Go rest. I'll clean up."
"That doesn't look like resting to me," he told her half an hour later, when he went into the den and found her leaning over a drawing board. Between his shower and dinner he had moved her things from the car, depositing clothes and shoes in the massive closet in the bedroom and setting up her drawing board in this room, as she'd asked him to.