She stretched out languorously on the lounger and sighed. Who’d have thought this would be so difficult? It wasn’t as if they were strangers to one another physically, and the past few weeks had proven they could work well together—paint a believable facade.
“That’s the third time you’ve sighed in the past couple of minutes. What’s up?” Brent interrupted her thoughts.
Amira forced a laugh. “I think I’m finding this relax and chill out time more difficult to get into than I thought,” she covered quickly.
“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Brent said as he rolled halfway over to face her. “We should probably head back to the house and get this wedding stuff out of the way. Then maybe you’ll be able to relax.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Because God only knew she was struggling right now.
Just as she straightened to sit up in her chair and gather her things from beside her, a huge wet drop of rain landed smack between her shoulder blades. She squealed in shock.
“We’d better hurry,” Brent said, leaping to his feet in one sensuous glide of man and muscle. “That cloud’s about to burst.”
He’d no sooner spoken than the cloud did just that, drenching them and their gear within seconds with pelting drops of rain. Brent bent and dragged his towel up off the wet sand and grabbed Amira’s hand, tugging her back toward the house. Caught off balance she stumbled, landing heavily in the soft sand and pulling him after her.
“Look at us, full of sand. We’ll need to go around the back.” She laughed breathlessly as they got back up and scrambled across the beach, kicking up more sand as they went. “There’s an outdoor shower near the pool. We can wash the sand off before we go inside.”
“What about our stuff?”
“Hey, it’s soaked now. A bit more water isn’t going to hurt it. We can pick it up later.”
They ran across the lawn, and she gestured to the right-hand side of the house.
“That way. There’s cover.”
They skittered to a halt just inside the portico that housed the outdoor shower. An intricate latticework of trellis between narrow pillars provided a measure of privacy from the poolside. Not that anyone was there to watch them.
“Here, you go first, I’ll grab some fresh towels from the pool house,” she said after reaching over and turning on the shower faucet.
She was back in a moment. She ducked under the roof and put the towels she’d collected on the shelves just inside the door. Outside, the rain continued to bucket down. She turned to face Brent and almost wished she’d waited outside in the rain until he was done.
He stood beneath the showerhead, his arms up against the wall above him, the long deep triangular shape of his shoulders and tapered muscled back bared for her scrutiny. His trunks clung to the outline of his backside—hugging the gentle curve of his butt cheeks. Rivulets of water ran over him, and she wished she had the courage to reach out and track their path as they wended their way down to his waistband.
“I—Ah, I’ve brought the towels.”
“You want to get under the shower with me?”
Amira swallowed. Did she? Oh Lord, yes—more than anything. But would she be moving too fast again? Before she could overthink the situation, he put out his hand to her and she moved forward, sliding under the showerhead and letting the warm water pour over her scalp and through her hair. Brent filled his hand with soap from the soft soap dispenser on the wall and smoothed the slightly spice-scented liquid across her back and down to her waist before sliding around to the front and moving back up to her shoulders again.
She closed her eyes as the water ran over her face, but they flew open again just as quickly as Brent loosened the ties of her bikini bra.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re bound to have sand stuck in there. You want to be comfortable when you dry yourself, don’t you?”
Words failed her as his fingers completed their task, and her bikini top fell on the tiled floor beneath them.
Ten
“Amira, turn around.”
His voice was low and deep, and without thought she slowly turned to face him. Her breath hitched again at the expression on his face.
“You always were too beautiful for words,” he said softly, before reaching out a finger to trace the areola of one nipple with a featherlight caress.
Her skin tightened at his touch, an almost unbearable wave of need swamping through her body—wishing him to touch her again.
“Brent?”
The sound that escaped on his name was both a plea and a question. In answer he bent his dark head to her breast and caught her nipple between his lips. As he stroked his tongue around the hardened peak, her legs threatened to buckle. His strong arm slid around her waist, pulling her to him, holding her against that part of his body that left her in no doubt as to how much he wanted her right this minute. And, oh, did she want him. It felt so right to be in his arms, to feel the power of his muscles beneath her fingertips. They fit together as if they’d never been apart, her body clamoring for his touch, her mouth watering for the taste of him.
He transferred his attention to her other breast, his tongue darting over the surface, lapping at the water that ran over her skin, sending sensation spiraling through her body.
She had to touch him, feel him. She slid her fingers beneath the waistband of his trunks and eased them away, far enough so she could push her hands inside to caress the hot hard shaft of his passion for her. He flinched slightly at her touch, a low growl sounding deep in his throat.
He pulled away from her slightly, meeting her gaze with a heated stare.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Ye—”
“Before you answer,” he interrupted, placing his lips against hers and stealing her response before she could finish, “be very sure of what you’re going to say, because if you say yes, I won’t be able to stop.”
A thrill of excitement rippled through her. Stop? Oh no, she didn’t ever want him to stop.
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, flicking her tongue across the seam of his mouth for emphasis. “Yes, I want this. Yes, I want you. Yes, I don’t want you to stop.”
Brent’s body shuddered in response to her reply, and he took her lips with his in a kiss that was as fierce as it was mind-numbingly intense. He pressed her against the tiled wall of the shower and swiftly undid the side ties on her bikini. She parted her legs slightly to let the wet fabric fall away, to expose herself to him, to his touch.
His fingers danced over her curls, softly, gently. So gently she wanted to scream at him to take her. But then she felt his hand cup her and a shimmer of pleasure made her groan out loud.
“How long? How long since you’ve felt like this?” His hand shifted, his fingers parting her, stroking at the entrance to her inner heat.
“Forever.” She could barely enunciate the word.
She hadn’t been with another man since the last time she’d made love with Brent in the week before their aborted wedding. She knew no man could ever measure up to this. To him. Her legs quaked as he slowly slid one finger into her honeyed depths.
She didn’t want to think. She only wanted to feel. And feel she did as he withdrew his finger to move a little higher, to circle the swollen bud of sensation that begged for his touch before sliding back inside her again. He’d always known exactly how to bring her pleasure. Exactly how to send her hurtling into a realm where sensation ruled.
“I want you inside me,” she moaned, pressing herself hard against the palm of his hand.
He had her so close already, but she wanted him inside her when she came. Somehow she managed to push his wet trunks down over his hips. He kicked them away from his legs and then lifted her against the wall. She hooked her legs around his hips. She could feel his pulsing heat against the core of her, feel the hardness of him as he positioned himself at her entrance.
He hesitated, and she groaned in frustration.<
br />
“Protection,” he muttered.
“It’s okay. I’ve got it. I’m safe,” she ground out as she uttered a silent prayer begging forgiveness for her lie.
And then he was inside her. Gloriously filling her, driving harder and faster until her inner muscles clenched against him, until he probed that special place that sent her mindlessly screaming over the edge. She felt him pump against her, once, twice more, then his hoarse cry told her he’d let go and joined her on the ephemeral cloud of pleasure and sensation that rippled through her again and again.
The low afternoon sun was trying to break through the clouds by the time Amira woke. She watched as Brent slept on. She smiled quietly to herself. After their time in the shower, they’d managed to make their way upstairs, amazing really when she considered how boneless he’d left her after that first time. And it had been the first of several as they rediscovered one another, sometimes slow and painstakingly gentle, other times fast and desperate, as they’d been in the pool shower.
Her heart swelled as she watched him—committing each line of his face, the fall of his hair across his forehead, the sensual fullness of his lower lip, to her memory. Her hand lay across her belly. Had they done it? Had they begun the miracle process to create a child? She certainly hoped so, because once she told him they could no longer marry he’d be angry. So angry he might never want to see her or talk to her again. But if they’d made a baby, she’d have a special part of him forever.
She rolled over on the bed of the master suite and looked at the clock. Nearly five. No wonder she’d woken. She was starving. She slid from the bed and padded naked through the room to get a robe from her own wardrobe.
“Where are you going?” Brent raised a sleepy head from his pillow.
“Just to put something on and get something for us to eat.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t get anything to eat?”
“No, don’t put anything on.”
Brent sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. He crossed to where she was standing in only a moment. He bent to kiss her, his hand possessively snaking around her waist and pulling her against him.
“I’ll help you.”
Laughter burbled from Amira’s throat. “Help me? Distract me is more like it.”
She spun out of his arms and flew down the carpeted hall and then swiftly ran down the stairs, Brent hard on her heels. He caught up with her in the kitchen, trapping her faced against the kitchen bench. She could feel his arousal against her buttocks. Despite herself she couldn’t help but squirm against him.
“Distraction, did you say?” Brent said, his breath hot against the side of her neck.
She was helpless in his embrace—helpless to refuse what he promised with the slide of his tongue along the cord of her neck. When he gently kneed her legs farther apart and pulled her hips back to him to position himself to enter her once more, she gripped the kitchen countertop and fought back the moan of pleasure that built from deep inside.
How could she not have been driven mad missing this intensity between them? This insatiable need to be together, connected as one. As Brent’s hands slid up over her hips and around to her belly, skimming the surface of her skin until they cupped her full breasts, his fingertips and thumbs teasing and pulling at her nipples, she acknowledged that she’d never stopped loving him and never would.
A shaft of heat speared through her body, from breast to deep in her belly. She pushed back against him, matching his rhythm, urging him on faster and harder until he groaned, his body pulsing deep inside her, and her climax spiraled out to claim her every sense, her every emotion.
Weak with satisfaction, she leaned forward on her arms, bracing herself against the counter. She’d never be able to enter this kitchen again without remembering this moment. Brent coaxed her body upright, turning her around to face him.
Brent battled to get his heart rate under control, reminding himself that while sex was one thing, his self-appointed task was quite another. It would be all too easy to allow his mind to be as seduced by their near-insatiable desire for one another as his body had been. He had to keep the upper hand—to remember what she’d done to him and what he’d vowed to make her pay for. He had to remember how carelessly she’d put the Fulfillment Foundation in jeopardy.
He reached out a hand and smoothed Amira’s tumbled golden locks from her face, cupped her chin and lifted it to present her for his kiss.
“You okay? That was…” His voice petered off, lost for words to describe the overwhelming need he’d had to possess her.
He’d thought the edge would have worn off a little now; instead, each time, it only whet his appetite for more.
“Yeah, it was…” She smiled. “I’m fine. What about you? Hungry?”
He kissed her again. “Always, but some food would be a good idea too.”
He leaned back against the bench as she went to the fridge and pulled out a plate of gourmet cheeses and placed it on a tray on a side counter. She added some sliced fruit she’d obviously also prepared earlier, as well as a loaf of French bread and some crackers. A small jar of relish completed the tray.
“There’s some wine in the fridge and glasses in the cupboard over there. You take care of those, and I’ll take the tray upstairs. This can tide us over until dinner later on.”
“Sure,” Brent replied, grabbing the bottle of chilled Marlborough grown and bottled chardonnay from the fridge door and snagging two wineglasses from the cupboard.
Later on sounded just fine to him, because it meant something else came before, he smiled to himself as he followed Amira back up the stairs to his room.
By the time the launch arrived to take them back to the city on Sunday they’d eventually gotten around to finalizing their guest lists for the wedding and all the minutiae that Amira insisted were important. More than once Brent had had to quell the pang that he was setting her up for major disaster. It was what he had set out to do all along, he reminded himself. One way or another, it was going to happen, and with it he’d remove her power to devastate others’ lives along the way.
He was surprised to see Amira had arranged separate cars to take them back to their respective homes.
“You don’t want to come back to my place?” he asked.
Amira ducked her head, not quite meeting his eyes when she answered. “I’m sorry, not tonight. I’ve got a really early start in the morning.”
“Yeah, me too,” Brent said. But still he had the sensation that she was hiding something. It irritated him that he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that was.
Across the street from the wharf, Brent espied a particularly persistent photographer who’d dogged their every step in the past few weeks.
“Look, he’s here already.” He nodded in the general direction where the photographer lurked. “Let’s give him the scoop he’s been waiting for, hmm?”
With that he pulled Amira to him and wrapped her in his arms. Her lips softened beneath his, opening for the sweep of his tongue, all reticence gone under his touch. God, he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, of the velvet of her mouth. When he broke off the kiss, his blood pressure had gone up several points and his breathing was ragged.
“If I didn’t have an early flight to Sydney in the morning I’d be finishing off on the promise of that kiss,” he growled against her lips.
“I’ll just look forward to when you come back then, shall I?” Amira patted his cheek and gave him a swift peck before turning to get into the waiting limousine that would take her home.
Brent stood a while longer, watching as she was driven away, still intensely aware of the imprint of her against his body. His return home wasn’t all she had to look forward to, he told himself grimly as he handed his bag to the driver waiting to take him home.
Eleven
Amira watched the color change on the indicator stick of the home pregnancy test she’d bought. Her heart raced as she laid it next to the other
three she’d already lined up on her bathroom vanity. She sank to the floor, her legs tucked under her, as the reality of the series of positives rammed home.
Pregnant. With Brent’s child.
She laid her hand against her stomach as if she could already feel the differences taking place inside her. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She hadn’t believed it could be so easy—that the time they’d spent together on the island at Windsong had so swiftly brought the results she’d wanted. At some time in that sinfully hedonistic weekend they’d hit the jackpot. She hadn’t wanted to believe it had happened so quickly. She wouldn’t even let herself begin to hope when she missed her first period after that weekend. It was only now, after missing her second period, she’d begun to dream it could be true.
In the past month she and Brent had spent a great deal of time together, forging what she believed had been a new closeness. A closeness that to her was all the more bittersweet because she knew it couldn’t last, despite her wishes to the contrary. They’d dined together most nights, slept together most nights—spending time together just for the sheer joy of it.
And now she had to rip all that apart and tell him she wouldn’t be marrying him in two weeks’ time. The tears increased in frequency as a sob ripped from her throat. She should be happy—ecstatic, even—she reminded herself. Sometime before the end of December she’d be a mother, well before her thirtieth birthday as demanded by Isobel’s will. Her dreams for the Fulfillment Foundation would be realized.
Even so, she felt so dreadfully empty inside. Bereft. How on earth was she going to summon the courage to tell Brent the news that their wedding was off? She was cutting it fine. Two weeks to the wedding. What if she’d had to stand him up again on the day? Her stomach pitched uncomfortably, making her draw in a steadying breath.
Slowly the tears dried, and a sense of calm began to settle on her shoulders. First things first, she had to get official medical confirmation of her pregnancy. She pulled herself to her feet and swept the test results and their packaging into the bathroom waste bin. It would be tricky getting an appointment with one of Auckland’s leading obstetricians without having the media get a hold of the information and effectually blowing her secret into the stratosphere of gossip.
Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband Page 10