Adjusting her cleavage one last time, she set her hand on the knob, gave it a twist and opened the door.
Matt entered from the bathroom at the same instant, towel-drying his hair, and unaware of her presence. Until she inhaled sharply at the sight of his nudity and the stabbing ache of desire that seized her. He looked up slowly, the towel stopped in midrub, and he stared at her for what surely was an eternity. Or maybe only a second. She couldn’t tell, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The moment simply hovered there between them, as insubstantial as a whisper, as significant as a promise. And then, by unspoken agreement, each allowed the other’s gaze to drop and then to wander at will…and with pleasure…over the body in front of them.
He was quite incredibly beautiful, Peyton decided. Damp curls dusted his chest with a defining vee of golden brown, only slightly darker than his skin. His torso was long and lean, supported by muscular thighs and calves, and his arousal was unabashedly prominent. Her eyes blinked reluctantly back to his face and caught the corner of his mouth edging into a smile.
“I think,” he said huskily, “that I’ve been outmaneuvered.”
She moistened her lips, swallowed a sudden shyness. “Well, not yet, but I’m about to give it the old college try.”
His eyebrows lifted, quizzed her. “It might be easier if you came a little closer.”
So he wanted her to take the final steps. She supposed that was fair. Quashing the impulse to adjust her neckline one more time, she inhaled a breath of courage, walked forward and stopped in front of him, just out of arm’s reach. It wasn’t uncertainty that held her there, it was anticipation. Like waiting for the first rising of the curtain before a play. She wanted to savor the moment, breathe in the scent of him, drown in the longing that swept through her in a flood of emotion. The electricity all but crackled in the air around them, that inexplicable spark of chemistry that couldn’t be ignored. She’d never felt it with anyone else. The intensity, the total lack of self-consciousness, both were new to her. It was as if she saw the world in shades of gray until she got close to Matt and he brought it to blazing, vibrant color.
He held out his hands, palms up, inviting her to take the last step. Without hesitation, she did. She placed her hands in his and his confident warmth folded in around her. He moved forward as she did, meeting her halfway, his lips descending as hers lifted, and the ensuing kiss was wildly sensual…and sparked an exquisitely sweet fire. Her need for him grew instantly ravenous, and her hands would have escaped his then and wandered unimpeded over his body, except that he held her fingers laced with his and away from any other touch. His chest grazed her nipples, causing them to pebble with longing. His thighs pressed into hers, wrinkling the black silk in erotic pleats against her skin. His mouth moved over hers in demanding possession, exciting her with the play of his tongue.
And all the while, he held their hands extended slightly out and away, forcing her to feel his body only with her own, the fusion of their lips, the roughened texture of his skin brushing against the smoothness of hers, the strength of his muscular build contrasting with her womanly curves. There was more. So much more. Peyton couldn’t process it all. With Matt, the sensations were almost too intense, almost too pleasurable, almost too much. Almost. She was hot and breathless and achy. She was eager, ardent and ambitious. She could no more control the feelings than deny them. It might be hormones, or chemistry, or pure unadulterated lust. Whatever it was, she had a comet by the tail and nothing could persuade her to let go.
She wasn’t quite sure how they reached the bed…whether he carried her or she walked, but she felt the edge of the mattress pressing against her legs, and a moment later she was sinking into its cushion, pulling Matt down with her. Or maybe he pushed her back, using their clasped hands as leverage. Her body had become so finely tuned to his touch, it was as if his thoughts were conveyed through his skin into hers, and merged with her thoughts in fluid accord. Although his weight pressed her into the mattress, covered her, possessed her and promised a sensual fulfillment, she had no concept of heaviness, felt—still—as if he would never, could never, be close enough. His chest against her breasts. The silky feel of chest hair teasing her nipples. His rough-soft legs tangled with hers. His sex hot and hard against her. His desire as fiery as her own. They were two, but very nearly one. They were two, but of one mind. They were two, intent on one sexual communion.
Earthy. Intense. Passionate. And beautiful.
Somehow, her hands escaped his capture—or perhaps he set them free—and traveled the slope of his back, the curve of his hips, the muscled strength of his thighs. The lusty caress of his fingers at her breast…her waist…her hips ignited small fires in its wake. His lips tasted her, taunted her, begged her, left her mouth to trail kisses down to the hollows of her throat, the sweet spot in the curve of her shoulder. He dipped lower, sought out the mounds of her breasts, the peaks of their rosy willingness. His tongue laved her to the edge of ecstasy, until she was tense with pleasure and need. His hand stroked her inner thigh until the light, almost nonexistent touch drove her mad with longing.
His breath felt as gentle on her skin as a whisper, as tantalizing as a forbidden wish. She was a banking storm, heavy with wanting, ready for release, when she twisted beneath him and maneuvered on top. Then she delivered his punishment, repaying him with long, wet kisses that brought him arching against her. She ignored his body’s request for release as he had ignored hers, and tortured him with slow circles of her tongue as she moved down, discovering the territory she had explored only once before, claiming it now as her own. She neither knew nor cared if he thought her overly aggressive or wanton. She knew only the demands of this fierce, electric energy they created together. She wanted only to investigate every nuance and delight in its stunning pleasure.
At some point, Matt took command again. It could have been years later, for all the sense she had of time passing. Or a single moment. His possession was exquisitely tender, wonderfully gentle, and yet pierced her heart with its intensity. Their heartbeats, their breathing, their bodies found a common rhythm, and the passion was all that mattered, its consummation the only treasure sought.
A sigh escaped her throat. A sigh of deep pleasure. A sigh of desperate longing. And, as if he’d been waiting for it, Matt captured it on her lips, returned it, and allowed the tempest that was surrender to engulf them.
“This is a first for us,” he said some long time later.
Exhausted and yet reenergized, she shifted in the crook of his arm. “What? Making love as a married couple?”
“Making love without having an argument first.”
“What do you think happened downstairs?”
“That was foreplay,” he said, his voice rumbling beneath her head. “Didn’t you know?”
A soft smile touched her lips. “I thought that was seduction. An endeavor you rejected, I might point out.”
“And which, typically, you continued until you won your point.” His fingertips absently stroked the flesh of her arm. “Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”
“No,” she lied. “Has anyone ever said that to you?”
“No.”
“You’re stubborn, Matt.”
“That’s highly suspect coming from you, Pug.”
The nickname wrapped them in an intimacy she had never anticipated and she was surprised at how much she liked it. “I’m just the only one brave enough to tell you the truth.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. My sisters can be painfully blunt with me. Especially Miranda.”
“My sister is blunt with me, too, but that doesn’t mean her opinion isn’t biased. Your sisters are the same way. They love and admire you and, therefore, they don’t tell you the truth.”
“Maybe they really don’t believe I’m stubborn,” he suggested.
“Or maybe they just know you’re too stubborn to admit they might be ri
ght.”
His sigh rippled beneath her, whispering across the top of her hair. “If you’re spoiling for another fight, I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment. I’m not up for another argument again quite so soon.”
“Okay,” she said contentedly snuggling in closer to his side. “I’ll wait.”
It felt good to be with him, good to be talking this way, as if they were friends. Lovers and friends. “I think this is the first time I haven’t been mad at you since we met.”
“Well, there was that one other time.”
“I think I was mad then, too, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll refer to this as the second time. Do you think that means we’re becoming friends?”
“Friends who just had incredible sex?”
“Married friends who just had incredible sex.”
“Married friends who just had incredible sex and are going to be parents.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, overwhelmed anew by the choices they’d made. “You know what? We’re doing this all backward.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever done that before,” he said, sounding oddly surprised by the statement. “Working backward instead of forward, I mean.”
She turned her head to look up at him. “I don’t think I have, either.”
“Ah, a trait in common. We are making progress.”
A yawn caught her and the haze of sleep hovered not far behind it. “I should go to bed,” she said. It was one thing to lie beside him after sex, her bare body relaxed and sated next to his. It was another thing to sleep beside him until morning. That was a whole different level of intimacy and Peyton didn’t want to risk being asked to leave. So she slid her legs away from his, preparatory to getting up, but he easily retrieved them, forming a sensual hook of his left leg, and sliding them back across the sheet.
“Stay,” he whispered huskily, holding her gently, persuasively against his side. “Please.”
It was the please that did it.
She stayed.
Chapter Eight
Matt parked the Mercedes and sat quietly for a moment after turning off the engine. Then his gaze swung to Peyton in the passenger seat. “I think we should tell them today,” he said, his expression somber, his voice huskily sincere. “At the reception.”
“No.” She vetoed the idea too promptly, too sharply. “Today is Nate and Miranda’s wedding day.” Softening her tone, she thought she managed to sound reasonable, thoughtful. Sensible even. “We’re not going to announce that we’re pregnant today.”
“It’s time, Peyton.”
She knew that. They’d kept the secret for six weeks now. She was halfway into the fourth month of the pregnancy. Her clothes no longer fastened at the waist. In another month, she wouldn’t be able to disguise the hard, round bulge that would replace the flat planes of her stomach. In another month, she’d have to face the raised eyebrows, the whispers and speculation behind her back, the happy congratulations that would remind her what a fraud her marriage really was.
But she didn’t have to face it today.
Not today.
“It’s Miranda’s day, Matt. Not ours. Let her have all the glory this once. I don’t want our news to steal even one minute of it.”
“We’re not stealing anything from Miranda. She’ll be happy for us. Nate will be happy for us. The whole family will be happy for us.”
“But it’s their day, Matt. Let everyone just be happy for Miranda and Nate today.”
“Happiness isn’t quantitative, Peyton, with only so much allotted for each occasion. This is the last time my family will be together in one place for a long time. It’s the best opportunity I’m going to have to tell them all at once.”
“You can tell them separately. They’ll be just as happy. But today, the focus is on Miranda and Nate and I think that’s exactly the way it ought to be.”
His frown announced itself with a chilly sigh. “I don’t want to have to make a long-distance telephone call in order to let my parents know they’re going to have a grandchild. You didn’t want to tell them earlier in the week because you thought they should have time to get used to the idea of our marriage. You wanted to get to know them a little first. You wanted them to get to know you. Now, they’re leaving in the morning. When else will I have a chance to tell them?”
“Offer to take them to the airport and tell them then. Or tell them tonight after Miranda and Nate have left the reception.”
“That’s not the way I want to do it.”
“None of this is the way you wanted to do it, Matt.” She was edgy and more than a little rattled by his sudden resolve to make the announcement. For weeks now—six to be exact—she’d been cocooned in a lovely little fantasy world. A world in which she and Matt were lovers, honeymooners, left mostly to themselves at Danfair. A world in which she never mentioned the baby and neither did he. A world in which she pretended for lovely, uninterrupted interludes that it was the passion—that alluring, mystical, irresistible spark—that had brought them together, that kept them sharing a bed, that seemed to grow more heated and powerful with every moment they spent together. It was a world in which, for six weeks, she could pretend everything was perfect.
Under the circumstances, of course, nothing could be perfect. But still, she believed they had made real progress in their relationship. They were still too cautious with each other, still uncertain about the boundaries in this temporary marriage, and yet, there were moments—quite a number of them, actually—when she felt they were forming a true friendship. And she wasn’t ready to give up that illusion.
Not yet.
Not today.
She found a smile for him as she reached across the console and took his hand. “Not today, Matt,” she said. “Please?”
He looked down at her hand, ran the pad of his thumb lightly along her skin. “They’re not going to be upset with you, Peyton, if that’s what you’re afraid of. They’re not going to think less of you.”
Was it her imagination or had his voice laid a definite stress on one word? You. They’re not going to be upset with you. They’re not going to think less of you. “I know,” she said. “Your parents have been so wonderful to me already. I honestly can’t see them getting upset about anything.”
“They save their energy for better things.” He looked at her, a sadness in his eyes that she was coming to recognize as a part of him. He was a wonderful man, loved and respected by family and friends. He was the kind of man people in trouble turned to first. He was the can-do guy, the person who could get something done, the man who ran a foundation that truly made the world a better place. And yet, the sadness remained, a mystery she couldn’t quite get her mind around, the answer to a question she didn’t know how to ask.
“I want to tell them, Peyton,” he repeated. “Today.”
The fear rose unbidden and formed a lump in her throat. She didn’t know why she felt afraid of acknowledging publicly what she acknowledged privately every day. The baby was a fact, already a part of her life, already occupying a place in her heart, already changing her irrevocably. She knew, somehow, that the announcement would bring a change in Matt…and that’s what bothered her. “Wait,” she said. “Please.”
The look he gave her settled the fear, eased her tension. “We’d better get inside,” he said, opening his car door. “We don’t want to miss the wedding. You know Miranda. Her wedding will start precisely as scheduled, with or without us.” He was out of the car then, coming around to open her door, offering his hand in assistance.
Peyton took it without reservation, feeling lucky—so very lucky—to be with him.
Regardless of the circumstances…and no matter how long it lasted.
THE WEDDING WAS SMALL. Just family and a few close friends. Not at all the huge gala affair anyone who knew Miranda would have predicted. But Ainsley thought it was perfect, down to the last detail. Miranda had changed since Nate and his children had come into her life. She seemed less regimented, more flexib
le, simpler. And happy. Ainsley had never seen her sister wearing such a pure glow of happiness.
Pressing her shoulder into Ivan’s arm as she sat beside him on the church pew, she absorbed the warmth of him, the delicious vitality of him. Happiness was contagious, she believed. Just look at her siblings. Miranda and Nate. Matt and Peyton. Andrew and Hayley—her latest successful match—who in the past six weeks had become almost inseparable. All four Danvilles had fallen in love with their perfect match. Thanks to her, Ainsley Danville Donovan, baby of the family, and apprentice matchmaker. Of course, she’d had a little help along the way. Ilsa. The twins. But it had been Ainsley who first saw the possibilities, and she felt she deserved to take full credit for that, if nothing else.
“Counting your blessings?” Ivan whispered, his head bending close to hers.
She nodded, smiling up at him, unable to believe anyone else in the whole world could be as happy as she. And yet, as she watched Nate slip a wedding ring onto Miranda’s left hand, heard the promises they exchanged, she thought it must be possible. Because there was her sister, looking as if she’d just discovered paradise.
Ainsley had known for a long time that she wanted to be a matchmaker. She’d known in her heart she’d be good at helping people find the true treasure they sought. She’d known deep down that helping others find love was her life’s calling, as meaningful in its way as her parents’ humanitarian mission. Love was important. Finding a life partner gave new energy to every other purpose. Just look at Andrew. At Christmas, he’d had a broken ankle and the mistaken belief that love was something to be avoided. Then on New Year’s Eve, he’d been introduced to Hayley in a whole new light and now, on Valentine’s Day, his photographs reflected new depths of awareness and sensitivity that even Ainsley hadn’t suspected he could reach. He’d actually documented his fall into love, photographing Hayley almost exclusively, including her even in his signature landscape portraits. Love could change the world. Ainsley believed that with her whole heart.
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