One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  “You’ve made it so different to what I had imagined…expected…”

  “Good different?”

  “Oh, yes! Yes!” she cried so fervently, hope soared again, gathering a sense of triumph in the tactics he’d used to wipe out her fears and doubts.

  “I want our marriage to work, Erin.”

  “So do I,” she said with no lessening of fervour.

  “Then it will,” he said confidently.

  He wanted to crush her to him. Only the fact that Jack might have woken up and be yelling with hunger held him back. He hugged her arm, bringing her closer to him as they walked on, their bodies touching, and he burned with the need to have her to himself all the way to the nursery.

  The nanny had Jack cradled against her shoulder, patting his back. Erin whipped off her veil, draped it over the cot-rail, unzipped the wedding dress, lifted her arms out of the cap sleeves, let the bodice hang from her waist, unclipped a white lacy bra, removed it, slung it over the veil, moved quickly to the rocking chair—all this with her back turned to him. She picked up a towel which had been laid on the armrest of the chair, arranged it over one shoulder, then sat down, holding out her arms for their son.

  The nanny gave him to her and Jack instantly latched onto one bared breast, sucking as though his life depended on it. Which it did, Peter thought, wishing that the bond between him and Erin were so simple. Her face was flushed. Was she embarrassed by his watching her breast-feed their child? He hadn’t done it before, careful not to impinge on space and time which she might consider very personal and private.

  He dismissed the nanny, saying they’d call her when they were ready to leave, and settled in another chair. Of course, there’d been another reason for staying out of the nursery at feeding time. As he had suspected it would be, he found watching Erin suckling their son almost unbearably erotic, tiny hands kneading her milk-laden breast, the absorption in the physical link between them. It was weird to feel jealous of his son, but he did, probably because it had been so long since he had known such an intimate connection with Erin.

  “Is he always this hungry?” he asked, his voice gruff with too many raw emotions.

  “Yes.” She flicked him a look that seemed oddly desperate.

  It disturbed him too much to let it pass. “Is my being here worrying you?”

  “No.” She shook her head vehemently.

  She kept too much to herself. He realised now that it was habitual, ingrained from her childhood, her defence against the emotional upheaval of her parents’ broken marriage—her road to self-survival, self-sufficiency—but understanding why it was so did not ease his frustration with it.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he demanded.

  She slowly lifted her gaze from Jack, her eyes a dark green tumultuous sea of uncertainty. She took a deep breath, as though gathering up courage, then blurted out, “Tell me you still want me, Peter. Not because I’m Jack’s mother. Me…the person I am. Everything you now know about me.”

  It stunned him that she was in any doubt. Hadn’t all his actions proved how much he wanted her in his life? Yet clearly she was apprehensive about his answer, tending almost frantically to their son, lifting him up to her shoulder, rubbing his back until he burped, then transferring him to her other breast. Only when Jack was resettled did she brave another look at him.

  His mouth curved into a self-mocking smile as the strength of his feelings for her tore at his chest. “You asked me once if I was a jealous man. I said I wasn’t but I find myself jealous of my own son, wanting to be as close to you as he is.”

  Another wave of heat scorched her cheeks.

  If it was embarrassment, he didn’t care.

  He was laying out the truth, being straight with her.

  “Even after you walked away from me, I couldn’t stop wanting you, Erin. My mother said you had to have a beautiful mind to have written the books she’d read. It drove me into buying them, reading all of them. And I agreed with her. It made me want you all the more. I set up the movie deal in the hope that it would win you around to wanting me again.”

  He heaved a sigh to relieve the tightness in his chest. Her gaze was clinging to his. No anguish in her eyes now. More an urgent intensity, begging for more.

  “Then there was Jack. Which completely threw me. You’d so decisively shut me out, even when I had the right to know we’d made a child.” He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, hands gesturing futility as he shook his head. “I won’t even try to explain what I felt then. I know I shamelessly used Jack to get you, and right then I didn’t care if you wanted me or not. I was going to have both of you and I would have done anything to force that end.”

  “I’m glad you did, Peter,” she inserted with startling vehemence.

  “Glad that I invaded your life and carried you off?” he queried.

  “Yes. I didn’t want to be alone. I just didn’t know how to…how to fix things between us. I got it all wrong. I know I did. These past two months…everything you’ve done…I was such a fool for giving you the kind of ego that ended up blighting other relationships I’ve had. You’re not like that at all. The day in the park…I thought you were a big man in every sense, and I should have trusted my instincts. You are. And your family…your family has been a revelation to me. They’re interested, they care…I like being part of it.”

  The relief at hearing her speak her mind and heart so openly was mountainous. “Then I haven’t done wrong by you.”

  “No.” Her eyes glowed with eloquent appeal as a rather tentative, shy little smile softened her face. “You are my prince, Peter.”

  It took an extreme act of will to remain in the chair. Jack was still feeding. He had to hold himself in check for a while yet. But he could spill out what he felt in words.

  “Remember that first night out on the balcony of my apartment?”

  “Vividly.”

  The intense emotion in her voice encouraged him to reveal his own. “You wove a spell around me that I can’t break, Erin. I want you so badly I can barely sit here and wait for our son to be satisfied. I want to hold you, kiss you, touch you, make mad violent love to you, but I also want to feel the same passionate response that you gave me in the past.”

  She stared at him, as though caught in a spell herself. Her lips parted, releasing a rush of breath. Then life returned to her eyes—a brilliant sparkling life, as though a volcano of joy had erupted inside her.

  “Press the call-button for the nanny, Peter,” she said, detaching Jack from her breast and lifting him to her shoulder.

  “He’s had enough?”

  “Enough for now.”

  There was no wail of protest from their son and Peter was not about to query Erin’s decision. If it meant what he thought it meant…he moved swiftly from his chair, pressed the call-button, watched Erin rise from the rocker and head straight to the cot where she had left her veil and bra. He strode to the nursery door, opening it for the nanny to enter as fast as possible, waiting beside it. His heart was pummelling his chest. His hands clenched. The fight for control was so close to being a losing battle.

  The nanny arrived.

  Erin passed over Jack with the instruction, “He still needs to be burped.” As soon as her hands were free, she grabbed her veil and bra. With her bodice still hanging down from her waist, she used the towel to cover her naked breasts, flashed her glowing rainbow smile at Peter, and said, “I’ll get redressed in my suite.”

  Her suite.

  Just along this hall, feet moving fast, Erin opening the door, flinging the wedding finery on the floor, turning to face him. He kicked the door shut. She was in his arms. He rubbed his cheek against the black silk of her hair, breathed in the heady scent of her. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling his head down. Their mouths met in a wild onslaught of needy kisses.

  A break to catch their breaths.

  “You’ve got too many clothes on, Peter,” she said, excited eyes teasing his. “If you help me o
ut of this wedding dress, I’ll help you lose them.”

  A joyous laughter bubbled from him. He whipped her around, pulled the zipper down from her waist, pushed the skirt over her hips. She stepped out of it, looking incredibly sexy wearing white lace French knickers and a lacy garter belt attached to the fine silky stockings she wore. For a moment, his eyes feasted on the graceful curves of her back, the lush roundness of her bottom, her lovely long legs. Every muscle in his body was taut, screaming to leap into action. He couldn’t wait for her to undress him.

  His coat joined her clothes on the floor. His hands were tearing at his tie when she came to him, undoing his shirt buttons, fingers moving swiftly, unfastening his trousers. Neither of them cared about any sensual finesse in getting naked. This was not a journey of discovery. Urgency was uppermost. She wanted him. He wanted her. And the need to come together was a driving force that could not be contained.

  He carried her to the bed. They sprawled on it together. She wrapped her legs around him, lifting herself in wanton invitation for him to plunge straight into the sweet, warm depths of her.

  He did.

  “Yes-s-s-s,” she cried out, the intensity of her pleasure coursing through him, making him wild to give her more.

  They moved as one, rocking each other, pushing the excitement higher and higher. It was glorious. It was bliss. His woman, wanting him, needing him, loving him, giving herself with uninhibited passion and revelling in taking all he could give her. He felt the convulsive spasms and the gushing flow of her climax and plunged as deep as her arched body allowed, holding himself there, loving the sense of her melting around him.

  Her hands stroked down his back, sliding over his buttocks, fingers digging in. “Go on, Peter,” she urged. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

  He did.

  Incredible ecstasy.

  He kissed her, and her mouth was gentle and loving, her hands in his hair, tenderly caressing. They stayed entwined, joined as one, even when he rolled on his side, her head snuggled to the curve of his neck and shoulder. How long they lay in this contented intimacy he didn’t know. Time was meaningless. He was happy simply to hold her, to know that she was happy, too.

  “I guess we should be getting back to the marquee,” she said on a rueful sigh.

  He’d forgotten their wedding party.

  Did it matter that they would be missed, guests commenting on their absence?

  No.

  Yet he and Erin had the rest of their lives to be together. Tonight was the night to show and share their happiness with everyone.

  “Yes, we should,” he decided. “I want to dance with you, Erin.”

  “I’d like that…our bridal dance.”

  He heard the smile in her voice.

  It was okay to move.

  They would be moving in unison again very soon.

  The photograph released to the media the next day was of the bride and groom dancing. They were gazing into each other’s eyes, smiling. No-one who looked at that photograph was in any doubt that Peter Ramsey and Erin Lavelle were happy with their marriage.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Los Angeles, fourteen months later…

  THRONGS of fans waved and screamed from the roadside as the limousine rolled slowly forward in the long queue of limousines delivering stars of the big screen to the theatre where the Academy Awards ceremony was to be held. Erin remembered the same intense excitement flowing from the crowd of spectators who had turned up at the premiere of The Mythical Horses of Mirrima, four months ago.

  It amazed her that so many people cared enough to wait hours to catch a glimpse of their favourite celebrities. Even children had nagged their parents into coming to see her, simply because she was the author of stories they loved. Before she’d married Peter, she’d hated feeling like a performing monkey in a zoo, but under his guidance, she’d learnt not to mind being stared at.

  Just be yourself. Whatever buzz other people get out of seeing you doesn’t have to touch what you are inside, Erin. Think of it as brightening their day. Like a rainbow. That’s not a bad thing to do.

  She’d even done a few interviews to promote the movie, managing them quite well because she’d followed his advice of saying only what she wanted to say and side-stepping the questions aimed at getting out of her personal stuff that she didn’t want to give.

  Take control away from them if it’s not going the way you want.

  Peter was so good at it. She’d learnt an enormous amount from him about how to deal with situations that had made her shrink inside herself or want to run away from in the past. Having him at her side made a huge difference. She wasn’t alone. And he was an extremely intimidating protector—too big a man for anyone to get offside with him.

  She remembered the conversation they’d had when he’d queried her decision to be reclusive—his wry comment, “Billionaires get to be performing monkeys, too. The difference between us, Erin, is that I’ve learnt to live with the zoo and not let it control me.”

  The criticism had stung. “I just don’t like it, Peter. Being paraded around like a trophy, people sniping at you because you’re lucky to be successful at what you do, and wanting you to give them the formula as though you can reduce your creativity to easily copied bits and pieces.”

  “But you like control,” he’d replied seriously. “Withdrawing is the most negative form of it. Negative for you, too.”

  She hadn’t liked his perception of her decision not to court attention. It made her sound like a coward when what she’d been doing was avoiding the feeling of being a victim of other people’s interests.

  But he hadn’t thought her cowardly. There’d been understanding in his eyes as he’d told her, “I was born to it, Erin. I had parents who taught me how to deal with it, how to let it flow past me and not let it tear at my sense of the person I am inside. I wasn’t suddenly hit with celebrity status and all that goes with it the way you were. But if you let me help you, I can and will widen your world and make it easier for you to ride through all that you hide from so it doesn’t affect anything that’s really important to you.”

  Her prince…rescuing her from her ivory tower…and he had.

  She turned to him now, smiling her appreciation of the person he was, loving him.

  He smiled back, gesturing to the window of the limousine on his side of the passenger seat. “You’re okay with this wild bunch of spectators? Not nervous?”

  “It’s a grand occasion. I don’t mind them sharing it with us.” She squeezed the hand that was holding hers. “Besides, I always feel okay when you’re with me.”

  He laughed. “We definitely click on that point, my darling.” His eyes simmered with desire as he added, “You’re going to knock their eyes out when we walk the red carpet.”

  She laughed, perfectly happy to have been his doll this time. He’d insisted on having her dress especially designed and made for her—a gorgeous emerald-green satin gown, to which he’d added a fabulous emerald necklace with earrings to match.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve made me look like a star.”

  “You are a star, Erin. Always will be to me.”

  She believed him. Everything he did for her made her feel special, loved and cherished as she had always craved to be.

  The limousine came to a halt. The door on Peter’s side was opened.

  “Showtime!” he tossed at her with a grin, and stepped out, ready to take her arm as she emerged from the back seat.

  There was a sea of cameras, photographers yelling for their attention, television people wanting a quick on-the-spot interview. Erin smiled through it all.

  They were ushered into the theatre to take their seats beside Zack Freeman and his lovely wife, Catherine, who were already there. Erin had become friends with both of them during the making of the film, and it was great to share the excitement of being here with them.

  The people, the dresses, the amusing comments of the Master of Ceremonies, the thank-y
ou speeches after each award was given out…Erin enjoyed all of it, though she couldn’t stop her nerves from getting quivery when the nominations for Best Animated Movie were being read out.

  Clips from each movie were shown and her heart swelled with pride as she watched hers—the warrior king of Mirrima, summoning his winged horses to rescue the men who’d been trapped by the evil enemy on a mountaintop. The horses looked fantastic, their gorgeous wings fully spread as they soared towards the mountain. It was a beautiful movie, and it would still be beautiful, even if the award went to one of the others.

  “And the winner is…”

  She held her breath.

  “…The Mythical Horses of Mirrima. Creative director, Zack Freeman, producer, Peter Ramsey, author and screenplay writer, Erin Lavelle.”

  All three of them erupted from their seats in wild jubilation—hugs, kisses, excitement running rife. Erin was grateful she had the two men holding her arms in support as they walked to the stage. Her legs were shaking. Zack, who’d done it all before, accepted the award and made a lovely thank you speech, saying, with a nod of appreciation to her, that he’d been privileged to be given a great story, because without one, a great movie could not be made.

  Someone in the audience started shouting, “Author, author…”

  The cry was taken up around the whole theatre and the Master of Ceremonies beckoned her forward, offering her the microphone. Erin was paralysed.

  “Go on” Peter urged.

  “I haven’t got anything prepared,” she said in sheer panic at the thought of taking this huge spotlight with not only a glittering crowd of stars watching her, but probably millions of television viewers around the world, as well.

  “Speak from your heart. You can’t go wrong,” Peter assured her, giving her a gentle push forward.

  Her feet somehow floated over to the podium. Her trembling hand managed to clutch the microphone. Her mind was in a frenzy, reciting, Speak from your heart, like a mantra.

  “Thank you. Thank you very much,” she said as she tried to find the right words. The audience quietened down and finally other words came to her. “It’s a marvellous thing for an author to see her story come to life in such wonderful colour and movement, and for that I will always be grateful to Zack Freeman for his creative artistry. But most of all, I want to thank my husband, Peter Ramsey, who was the driving force behind making it happen. I haven’t told him this, but while I was writing The Mythical Horses of Mirrima, he was very much in my mind and I based the character of the warrior king on what I thought of him. I love this movie…”