“That does feel pretty damn good,” she whispered and that was almost too much. A simple, straight comment that struck him with the same erotic force as the tight clasp of her body closing around him, drawing him deeper, sinking him into her core.
Not just pretty damn good but pretty damn perfect. Pretty damn unforgettable. That’s what he wanted for this first time. He wanted to obliterate everything from her sensual memory except him. He wanted momentous where in the past, with every other woman, every other lover, he’d only wanted to satisfy. And for a brief instant of still and silent intensity, their eyes locked and it stunned him how much he wanted…and how much that wanting shook him up.
Sweat beaded on his brow, traced the line of his backbone as he slowly started to move, as he willed himself to set the same torturously slow rhythm he’d used hundreds of times before. He knew how to please a woman, how to drive her wild, how to hit every sweet spot.
How could this time feel infinitely sweeter…more intense…and so damn different?
Because it’s only your naked flesh moving in hers, with no barrier and nothing to diminish the pleasure. Because of the expression in her eyes, the soft humming noise in her throat, the grip of her fingers as her hands fluttered under yours.
Because this is Catriona, your wife.
And he couldn’t hold back any longer. He released her hands, freed his so he could palm the stretch of her body beneath his, so he could reach between them, between her soft folds to find the supersensitive spot and stroke it with sure pressure.
So he could watch the explosion of heat in her eyes, so he could know that he’d given her the same pleasure that he felt building as he drove harder, deeper, stronger. As he flexed his hips with a last full thrust and let his release come, more powerful than he’d imagined possible, a wild spasm that rocked through his body and reflected in the splintered depths of her eyes as she came again, and he spilled himself deep within her body.
Cat woke slowly. The smile came easily to her lips, the stretch not so easily to her shattered body, and her mind took another ten minutes to get within cooee of cognizance.
Her first random thought was, Crikey, it’s bright! Eyes squinted against that brightness, she rolled onto her side and checked the bedside clock.
For several ticks, the time displayed made no sense. It couldn’t be after ten. She never slept this late, even on holidays.
But she had, and the reason why struck suddenly and with devastating force.
Because of a very late night…a very late wedding night.
Her heart thumped loudly in the morning silence. She was alone, she knew, even before she rolled her head on the pillow and inspected the vast stretch of her king-size bed. Even before she lifted up on her elbows and listened to the enveloping quiet that extended beyond her bedroom door.
But she hadn’t dreamed up amazing wedding-night sex in her jet-lagged sleep. With her left thumb she touched the gold band on her ring finger. A borrowed wedding band, and that fact chimed, loud and significant, through Cat’s sluggish consciousness.
Borrowed because of the whole rushed nature of the event. She barely remembered the moment when he put it on her finger. She barely recalled the vows or where they’d taken them.
How could she be married? How could she have a husband?
How could she have slept so long and so soundly that she didn’t even know if he had stayed in her bed or retired to his own? She hadn’t heard him leave…but then she didn’t recall anything much of afterward. The incredible force of her last climax, the relaxed weight of his body on hers, stroking the cooling sweat over the long planes of his back. Sifting her fingers through his hair and smiling against his throat when he’d murmured something about waking him when she was ready to “just do it” again.
She’d probably fallen asleep with him still there within her arms. Still in her body.
Heat crept through her veins, remembering. Regret stole through her mind, remembering how she hadn’t woken him again.
Would he have expected that? Would he have expected more from her than that once? More times, more variety, more participation? More—
She cut herself off with a sharp mental slap. Rafe Carlisle’s critique of her sexual performance didn’t matter. Rafe Carlisle as her husband did. She’d married him to regain control of Corroboree, to secure its future in her family. Her hand lifted and paused above her lower abdomen as a whispery flutter of hope stole through her body.
Hope that she could secure that future with a baby…a baby he also needed.
Except they had a lot to work out, to get straight, before any baby came along, and this time Cat would not trust a handshake deal. She’d married Rafe for his money, and he needed to protect his interests as much as she did. With a written contract.
She needed to find him and get this sorted out.
That decision to act sat well with Cat—much better than lying in bed with the morning half-gone. She tossed the bed-covers aside, and—despite the obvious emptiness of the suite—made a quick dash for the closet and the hotel robe inside. The Rafe Carlisles of this world could be as content and arrogant as they liked with their nakedness. The Catriona McConnells needed their robes.
What about the Catriona Carlisles?
That out-of-nowhere thought stopped her short, one hand on the closet door. She sucked in a deep breath—so deep it turned her slightly dizzy. But she gathered herself and shook her head and uttered a grim “No way.”
Marrying him didn’t include taking his name. She didn’t want that kind of link. She didn’t want anything beyond what he’d promised in the casino. Not even great, toe-curling, spine-tingling, world-altering sex. She didn’t want anything she would miss once he was gone. She wanted—
“Blast.”
With a pained grimace she eyed the clothes in the closet—the ones Bridget had ordered on her behalf after yesterday’s shopping extravaganza. She’d forgotten all about returning them; she’d forgotten about everything sensible and practical from the moment he appeared in her doorway.
Well, today was another day, and Bridget could take the clothes back.
Cat slid the robe from its hanger and pulled it on. And when she turned, heading for the bathroom, her eyes snagged on the one dress that wouldn’t be going back to the store. The green fabric hung limply from the edge of the chaise, where it must have caught when he tossed it so glibly. A frisson of déjà vu crawled over her skin, a reprisal of that moment in the night when she’d thought about him discarding her.
The morning after, for example.
“Don’t be so silly.” Impatient with herself, she picked up the dress and flung it into the closet, then jammed the door shut. He’d probably gone to do the business that brought him to Vegas. She didn’t expect his attention. She didn’t want a big-deal morning after. She was practical, capable, independent Cat McConnell. After her shower, she would find Bridget and arrange to have the clothes returned. The ring, she supposed, would have to go back to the concierge, as well.
Twisting it on her finger, she realized it felt tight. Too tight. She lifted her hand and studied her fingers. They looked a bit swollen. Her feet felt the same, no doubt from the flying and not enough exercise.
Okay, so after her shower, and after she found Bridget, she would go for a long walk. Find a shop that sold cheap and comfortable footwear.
Their flight home from L.A. wasn’t until tonight. She had plenty of time, time she would put to good use walking and thinking through what terms to include in their contract.
Rafe had gone downstairs to the jewelers on an impulse. Lying beside her in the bed watching her sleep, fighting the desire to wake her the same way he’d put her into such a sound sleep, he’d caught sight of the ring on her finger. And the beat of desire in his veins changed in nature. Suddenly he’d wanted to wake her with more than a platinum-strength erection. He wanted to surprise her with a ring, her own ring, a symbol of last night’s significance.
He hadn�
��t counted on being away long. He hadn’t counted on the decision of which stone, which setting, which ring, proving so damn difficult. He’d chosen jewelry for women on countless occasions, but this was different. He wanted it to be special. Unique. A gift she would accept from him without the arguments of yesterday over the clothes.
In the end he couldn’t decide, and that sat uneasily on his shoulders as he made the return trip. So did an unfamiliar tension over the gift he had bought—a diamond necklace he’d selected because he liked the idea of giving her everything pretty and missing from her hard and frugal life. Because he liked the idea of sliding the cool stones around her neck while she lay naked and sleeping in her bed. Anticipation settled the nervous churn in his belly as he thought about stripping off and slipping into her bed and spending the rest of the day warming them up.
When he opened the door to an empty suite, the swoop of disappointment was intense. But as he walked from room to room looking for a note—a note she apparently hadn’t left—his mood shifted from disappointment to discontent. Logic suggested she’d gone for a walk, maybe even looking for him, and that she would be back soon.
He gave her ten minutes.
Then he called the floor concierge and discovered that, yes, she had gone out. But only after searching out Bridget with a request to return the clothes. That rankled. So did her continuing absence past midday, especially when his speculation over her whereabouts turned to Drew Samuels.
Prowling the sitting room, he tossed up whether to call and ask the cowboy if he’d happened to have seen his wife today. And that turned his mood downright dirty. Not a good time for her to return, but that’s when the door opened.
She didn’t see him until she’d closed it behind her and crossed the entry foyer. Then she came to an abrupt halt, eyes wide with surprise when they lit on his still figure across the room. If he’d thought the sight of her, home and obviously unharmed, would ease the moody tension in his gut, then he’d been wrong. Dead wrong.
“Bridget said you were looking for me earlier,” she said, recovering quickly, “but I thought you’d have gone out again by now.”
He could have asked why the hell she’d have thought that, but he was too busy taking in her outfit. Her jeans, her shirt. A couple of generic plastic bags hung from her hand and slapped softly against her leg as she skirted the dining table into the sitting area.
“You saw Bridget? Was that to check if she’d returned the clothes I bought for you?”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction, probably in response to the frosty tone of his voice. “She saw me by chance, actually. Down in the lobby. Is something the matter?”
Where did he start? Rafe wasn’t used to feeling so out of sorts, so close to losing his cool. So rattled by the irrationality of his mood. She was back, right? She’d come to no harm. So, why couldn’t he just leave it? Why couldn’t he concede that nothing was wrong except his pride over the clothes issue.
And, okay, some justifiable concern over her absence.
“I didn’t know where you were,” he said tightly. “I’ve been cooling my heels here, waiting for you to get back.”
“I thought you’d be a while dealing with your business.”
“My business?”
She paused behind one of the crimson velvet sofas. A wary frown shadowed her eyes as they connected with his. “I assumed that’s where you went this morning. To do whatever business brought you here to Vegas.”
“I did that last night, Catriona.” His gaze dropped to her hand—the naked hand—resting on the back of the sofa. He felt every muscle bunch with tension. “Where’s your ring?”
“My hands are swollen. I had to take it off.”
Rafe couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t like himself for wanting to argue, for wanting some kind of aggression that was completely foreign and over the top. And he was so caught up in the confusion of his own responses that it took him a long moment to twig to her stillness. To the cooling narrowness of her gaze.
“Was I your business in Vegas, then?” she asked slowly. But she didn’t wait for an answer. She gave a slight shake of her head, as if she should have known all along. “All that rubbish about needing to pay me back for getting you out of that plane and taking you in—”
“That wasn’t rubbish, Catriona.”
“But you brought me here to Vegas meaning to marry me? That was your business?”
“If you put it like that…” Rafe shrugged. “Yes.”
“Then don’t you think we should have been a little more businesslike? Don’t you think we should have ironed a few things out before we swapped wedding rings?”
“Things?”
“Terms. Conditions.”
“I thought we agreed to our terms last night. I’ll pay off your debts. You’ll have my baby.”
“That’s it?” Her voice rose on a note of disbelief. “Don’t you think that’s a bit sketchy on detail?”
“What do you need to know, Catriona? I’ll pay you a monthly allowance, plus wages for a nanny and whatever help you need to run your station.”
“Help? What help?”
“A stationhand. Any extra—”
“I don’t need a stationhand. I can do my own work. I like it that way!”
“I’m sure you do.” Eyes narrowed, Rafe met her mulish expression with unflinching directness. “But what about when you’re pregnant? When your belly is way out here, and you can’t lift a bale of hay or ride a horse. What about when you’re feeding the baby and—”
“Okay, I get your point,” she cut in, her voice as tight as hay wire. “But that’s a case of if I get pregnant. If I have a baby.”
“That’s why I married you.”
“In case I’d forgotten?”
Her eyes glittered with more than irritation, more than mulish pride, but in his current mood that’s all Rafe wanted to see. “I just wanted to make sure,” he drawled, “that we’d got that condition clear.”
“Hard not to, given last night.”
“Are you complaining?” he asked, deadly soft. “Because I didn’t hear you complaining last night. I heard you moaning. I heard—”
“I didn’t mean your sexual prowess. I wouldn’t be fooling anyone if I complained about that!”
Rafe’s gaze narrowed. “Now, why doesn’t that sound like a compliment?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard every compliment I could come up with a hundred times before.”
“How do you figure that, Catriona?”
“I figure that because you’ve likely slept with half the women in Sydney!”
“That many? Just as well I did the blood tests, then!”
Their gazes clashed, blazing with the anger of their exchange and with the knowledge of all they’d shared in the night. “Just as well I’m a sucker,” Cat all but hissed after that searing second, “and took your word for it!”
Something glinted hard and sharp in his eyes. Anger? Hurt? Disbelief? Before she could pin it down, he turned and stalked away. He stopped by the piano, the taut lines of his body reflected in the highly polished wood. Then he hit a couple of keys, a delicate tinkling of sound at odds with the stark atmosphere.
At odds with the harsh note of laughter that escaped his throat as he turned back to face her. “Do you really think I’d have lied to you about that?”
Cat shook her head. Expelled a long breath and with it a piece of her white-hot outrage. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was uncalled for. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me, Catriona. You disappointed me.”
She deserved that. She’d disappointed herself by giving in to the temptation to read up on him on the Internet. And she’d disappointed herself again, just now, by allowing her emotions to derail and overturn a discussion that deserved better.
Inhaling deeply, she concentrated on steadying the churn in her stomach. The uneasy knowledge that she might not be able to get this discussion back on track. But she had to try.
“You mentioned a nanny. For after—if I have a baby. Does that mean the baby will live with me?”
“If that’s what you want. Yes.”
“Of course that’s what I want,” she said quickly. “But what about you? You’re the one who needs the baby. Won’t you want to raise your child as a Carlisle? Won’t you want to—”
“I’m having this baby because I have to, Catriona, not because I see myself as father material.”
“You won’t want to be part of his upbringing?” Cat’s heart was beating hard. “You don’t want custody?”
“While we’re married, that won’t be an issue.”
While they were married—what did he mean by that? Cat moistened her dry mouth. “What kind of marriage are we talking about?”
“The kind where we both keep our independence. That’s what you want, right?”
“Yes,” she agreed cautiously. “But won’t that make it a little hard to have that baby? If I’m living at Corroboree and you’re in Sydney?”
“That’s the arrangement after we conceive.”
Her heart skittered with a panicky sense of foreboding. “And until then…? You can’t expect me to live with you in Sydney.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Why not? “I hate the city. It makes me crazy.” Agitated, she lifted her arms, shopping bags and all, then let them drop again. “You didn’t mention living in the city when we cut this deal.”
“True.” Hands in pockets, he leaned negligently against the piano and appeared to consider this. “We need to arrange a compromise.”
“What kind of a compromise?”
“You’ll stay with me one week a month, act as my wife.”
“I don’t know how to act as your wife.”
Slowly he straightened, eyes glittering with a different kind of heat. “You did fine last night.”
“That was sex, Rafe. I don’t imagine you want that twenty-four hours a day.”
“Don’t you?”
Cat’s heart danced a tango beat of fear and anticipation as he started to move closer. Blast it. She didn’t want to back away. But she didn’t trust him, either—him or the heat drifting through her blood and seeping into her skin.
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