by Lori Foster
He didn’t want it to end.
Yet … she didn’t know everything about him. She didn’t know the past that influenced him, the past that would forever dictate his future.
If that future was to include her, she’d need to understand a few things. Not that he’d bare the deep scars of adolescent hurt. Never that.
Those wounds were fifteen years old, but at inconvenient times, they still bled as if just inflicted. Too many nights they burned his subconscious, waking him from a sound sleep to find himself drenched in his own sweat, his brain exploding, his throat tight with acidic regret.
No, he wouldn’t dredge those up for anyone. But maybe he wouldn’t have to.
Untangling himself from Mercy’s sweet body, he moved to her side. Long damp lashes rested on her cheekbones, and her lips, rosy and full, parted to accommodate her deep breaths.
His heart swelled. She was so pretty, so innately female. He moved a heavy lock of sleek, midnight hair from her forehead. “Sleeping?”
Her slender throat flexed as she swallowed and shook her head. “No.”
She didn’t open her eyes, the little coward, and that amused him. Did she hide with regret at the hasty words, or shyness from their truth?
He bent and kissed her slack mouth. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Now she came alert, and her startling hazel eyes filled with alarm. Starting to rise on one elbow, she said, “Wait. Where are you going?”
Pressing on her shoulders, he got her flat on her back again. “Damn.” He looked at her breasts, slightly abraded from his whiskers. “I was about to shave in the shower when you showed up.”
Such an inane comment helped her relax. “I’m fine, Wyatt. You’d never hurt me.”
Not intentionally. But he knew better than most that there were all kinds of hurts. Some that lasted a lifetime.
He touched a red spot on her belly, another at the inside of her thigh. Sitting up, he moved her legs apart again to check for more beard rash.
Modesty had her sputtering in protest. “Wyatt …”
“With you,” he told her, staring at her soft, pink sex, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He put his fingers on her, slightly in her, and closed his eyes at the pleasure of it.
She flinched. “Wyatt.”
He had to get a grip. Just because a woman claimed love was no reason to ravage her. At least, not again, not so soon.
“Stay put. Just like this, Mercy.” He lightly stroked her inner thigh. “I like looking at you. I’ll be right back.” And without more explanations, he left the bedroom and went to the hall bath. So fast that he nearly cut his own throat, he shaved. After rinsing, he dampened a washcloth and went back to her.
It satisfied him to see that she was just as he’d left her, sideways across the bed. Her long hair hung over the edge of the mattress, her arms rested limp at her sides, and her legs were open, one knee bent.
His heart started punching in his chest. He looked at Mercy, and he wanted her. Hell, he thought of her and he got so hard he ached. Spending a lifetime with her, if she could abide by his requirements, would be as close to heaven as he’d likely ever get. It’d definitely be more than he deserved.
As he eased down beside her again, her gaze turned watchful. It was a fascinating combo, for her to trust him completely, but remain wary of what he might do to her sexually. It excited them both.
Without air-conditioning, the house was warm, and that combined with their vigorous carnal activity left little dots of sweat over the bridge of her nose. He used the cloth to stroke her face, then her throat.
Those amazing hazel eyes watched him. They were the first thing he’d noticed about her when they first met. The contrast of striking golden eyes and pitch-black, silky hair distinguished her from other women. But it was everything else about her, everything beyond the physical that kept him entranced.
“I don’t understand you.”
Wyatt smiled. “What’s to understand? I’m a man who adores your body and sexual appetite.” He bathed her breasts and saw her soft nipples tighten. When he slowly dragged the cool cloth down her body to her belly, she squirmed.
Spurred on by her response, he pressed it between her thighs and held it there. “Don’t fret, sweets. I’ll give you a few minutes to rest before we continue.”
Her eyes widened. “But … I thought you were exhausted!”
Knowing he confused her, that she wanted to know what he thought of her declaration, Wyatt laughed. “Before you flashed your beautiful body at me, I was. I pushed hard today to meet the deadline on a big job, and then I had a meeting. I’m pretty sure I nailed the contract for a new deal that’ll put me a lot closer to my goals. I’ll even be able to invest in another truck and some other equipment I wanted, and I can give the crew a much-deserved raise.” If things worked out right, he’d soon have four cement trucks and two dump trucks.
Eventually he wanted twice that many—but for now, progress was good. He and his men managed with what they had, and they always did top-notch work for a reasonable price. In the contractor business, being reliable and on time was a major plus. Most didn’t expect it, and were blown away when they got it.
Showing a familiar habit, Mercy worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “You know, I wanted to talk to you about that. About your business, I mean. I’ve been thinking, you really should let me talk to my brother—”
“No.” They’d had this conversation once already. He didn’t want to talk about her wealthy brother, or how he could expedite Wyatt’s plans. He would accomplish his goals on his own, under his own terms, and in the end he’d owe no one.
His tone must have been more curt than he’d intended, given how Mercy’s expression pinched into a frown.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He caressed her thigh. “You already know how I feel about a loan from your brother.”
“But it doesn’t have to be a loan. It could be an investment.”
“I’m not taking on investors.”
“Not just any investor, no, but this is my brother. You don’t know him yet, but he’s wonderful, I promise. Okay, a little intimidating, maybe, but you could trust him not to—”
“I said no.” Never would he give up control over any aspect of his life, not even to her doting brother. He’d lived too long with no control at all to risk losing it for any reason. “I mean it, Mercy. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
Though she didn’t move, he felt her emotional retreat and hated it. Her lush lips trembled until she tightened her mouth to still the telltale sign.
Well, shit.
After kissing her nose, he said, “I don’t want to do business with him, but I wouldn’t mind meeting him.”
That perked her up. She’d been after him to meet her brother for some time.
“Really?”
For too long he’d kept women at an emotional distance, doing his utmost not to get too involved, blocking any hint of feeling. But with Mercy, it proved impossible.
He really didn’t have any choice in the matter; he was already in over his head, and not being with her would hurt a hell of a lot more than loving her ever could.
He sat up and, with a casualness he knew left her off balance, cleaned away his semen from her sex. Her ragged moan was both embarrassment and interest.
Mercy might turn wild when he made love with her, but outside the bedroom she was a gentle woman with impeccable manners and lofty standards.
He adored the contrasts.
Belying his previous stance on the issue, he said, “Of course I want to meet your brother.” He tossed aside the cloth and settled between her thighs. “It’s only right to meet the family of the woman who loves me.”
Her eyes widened.
She was still wet, swollen, and sensitized. He eased into her, going as deep as he could, slow this time now that he’d taken the edge off his need.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “Tell me again.”
/>
“I love you.”
“One more time.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist. “I love you, Wyatt Reyes.”
“I’m glad.” He kissed her again. “Because I love you, too, Mercedes Jardine.”
TWO
FIFTEEN minutes after another amazing climax, excitement still made Mercy giddy.
Wyatt loved her.
He was finally ready to meet her family.
That should have been enough, and she did hate to push him, but really, what choice did she have? Now, after he’d proved so receptive to her emotional declarations, seemed like the best possible timing.
Shoring up her nerve, she turned to her side and rose on one elbow.
Lord help her, but the man was fine. He had the most gorgeous body she’d ever seen. It had been his body that had first drawn her, but his personality that had stolen her heart.
She put her hand on his abdomen, touching the layers of muscles there, and his eyes opened.
His mouth didn’t move, but she saw the smile in his green eyes as he looked at her. Before she could say anything, he asked, “You hungry?” And just that quick, he sat up and left the bed. “Because I’m starved. Let’s go figure out something for dinner. Or better yet, you can nap and I’ll come get you when I have stuff ready.”
Two seconds later, Mercy watched his sexy backside disappear out the door.
Well.
Insulted, frustrated, and a little hurt, she sat there and tried to decide what to do.
Did he suspect her intentions? But that couldn’t be. Wyatt was not a man to run away. If he didn’t want to talk about certain things, he said so—just as he had refused any discussion on her brother financially assisting him in any way.
Her hands knotted in the now-rumpled sheet. Damn it, Braxton had more money than he knew what to do with. Why shouldn’t he help the man she loved?
But Mercy knew it was in part Wyatt’s independence and stubborn streak that made her love him. If he weren’t so proud and sometimes arrogant, if he were anxious to partake of her brother’s wealth … well, he wouldn’t be nearly as appealing.
Too many times to count, she’d met gold diggers who considered her greatest appeal to be her relationship with her wealthy brother.
Pushing aside the sheet, Mercy got out of bed. Better that she be fully attired to have her showdown with Wyatt anyway. She’d feel more secure and in control that way, and Wyatt would be less likely to distract her with sex.
After sneaking around the hallway to retrieve her hastily discarded clothing, Mercy dressed and even fixed her hair and touched up her makeup. The final result was adequate. Except for the glow in her cheeks, no one would guess she’d just been thoroughly loved.
As she slipped into the hall, she could hear Wyatt whistling in the kitchen as if he hadn’t a care in the world. That thought was interrupted with the delicious scent of sizzling bacon.
Maybe she was hungry after all.
She smoothed her clothes, bit her lips to add a little color to them, and headed off to her confrontation.
She found Wyatt standing at the stove in unfastened jeans and nothing else. The jeans rode low on his hips, displaying plenty of sleek, tanned skin. She took in the sight of his wide back, the deep groove of his spine, and tight, narrow hips.
Mercy sighed. Even his big bare feet looked beautiful to her.
“How can I help?”
Glancing over his shoulder at her, he gave her a once-over and raised a brow at seeing her fully dressed. “You can slice a tomato if you want.” He went back to forking the bacon.
Stubborn jerk. Forcing a sugary sweetness to her tone, Mercy agreed. “All right.”
Wyatt set out pickles and chips, grabbed some lettuce leaves, and then put bread in the toaster. “I hope BLTs are okay. I was too hungry to start the grill.”
“It smells wonderful. So … when do you want to meet Brax?”
“Your brother?” He shrugged. “I don’t care. Whatever’s convenient.”
“How about over dinner?”
“Here?”
She would love for Brax to see Wyatt’s home. Not that it was anything fancy, but it reflected the type of man Wyatt was—organized, tidy, promising …
He didn’t look thrilled with that idea.
Mercy cleared her throat. “Or we could go to a nice restaurant.”
Nodding, he said, “You pick a place and time, and then give me a little notice so I can clear my calendar, and I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
When he set the platter of bacon on the table, he also bent and put a kiss to the back of her neck. Voice low and husky, he said, “Want to say it again?”
Being a little stubborn herself, Mercy said, “Thank you.”
“No.” He gave her a disgruntled look. “You know what I mean.”
Why couldn’t she stay annoyed with him? It was too bad that he got past her temper so easily. “I love you.”
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Hearing you say that while you’re frowning at me like you want to kick my ass just struck me funny.”
Mercy couldn’t help but smile. “I do sort of want to bludgeon you.”
He feigned confusion and affront. “After I made you scream in pleasure three times? Damn, Mercy, you’re a hard woman to please. No wait. That’d be a terrible contradiction, wouldn’t it? You’re easy for me to please.” His smile turned smug. “Maybe because you love me?”
Her face went hot in a flash. “Wyatt.”
Mimicking her scandalized whisper, he said, “Mercy.”
He even looked charming while teasing her. Not that a little charm would get him out of a chastisement. “The dinner table is no place for talk like that.”
“If you say so.” He pulled out her chair. Once she’d seated herself, he asked, “What do you want to drink?” And then, back to teasing, he added, “Your throat has to be sore.”
Mercy swatted at him, but he ducked out of reach and didn’t come back until he had two cans of cola and a glass with ice for her.
They ate in silence until Mercy couldn’t take it anymore. Wyatt had just taken the last bite of his loaded BLT when she decided she might as well just say it and get it over with.
She sucked in a huge breath and blurted, “Will you marry me, Wyatt?”
The second the words left her, she cringed. She’d almost shouted them at him. And she was so tense that she had to look like she might pounce on him at any minute. She took another breath and tried to relax.
And waited.
Wyatt glanced at her, but he didn’t choke. He didn’t even look all that surprised by her proposition. He just … chewed. And swallowed. And sipped his drink from the can.
Mercy threw a pickle at him. “Well?”
He sighed. “I do love you, Mercy, when I never thought I would feel that way about anyone.”
Anyone—not just any woman? Her heart squeezed tight, but she didn’t interrupt him.
“I love being with you. God knows I love having sex with you. You keep me entertained, and when we’re out together …” He considered his words. “It might sound dumb, but I’m … I don’t know, proud to be seen with you. You’re this great class act, so pretty and intelligent, and you always dress great.”
The praise warmed her clear to her bones. She started to relax.
He gave her a startling, megadirect look. “But I don’t want to get married, honey. Ever.”
The contentment drowned beneath a surge of hurt; her heart sank. “Why?”
Pushing his plate away, Wyatt sat back in his seat. He looked aggrieved and put out. “Marriage … muddies things.”
“What things?” Oh God, she had to stop screeching at him like that. Hadn’t he just called her a class act? Class acts did not screech. “Explain that, please.”
One big shoulder rolled. “The second a woman gets married, she starts wanting ridiculous things. Picket fences
and mortgages.” He slanted her a look, and his voice hardened. “Kids.”
Now her heart pounded so hard it hurt. But she wouldn’t give up on her dream just yet. She couldn’t. “That’s silly, Wyatt. I have more than enough money of my own to handle a mortgage—”
His hand lifted, cutting her off. “And you already know how I’ll feel about that.” His stern frown didn’t bode well for her cause. “Unless I can contribute at least half, preferably more, I won’t be saddled with a mortgage. And you know I can’t contribute jack shit until I get my business financially sound.”
Very slowly, Mercy licked her lips. “Okay, so you don’t want a mortgage.”
“Or kids.”
What should she do? What could she say in the face of that implacable tone?
Praying his reservations were about money and not something more insurmountable, Mercy said, “If you wait to start a family until you think you’re financially ready, you never will—”
He shook his head. “You misunderstand, Mercy. One day I’ll get myself a house, and I might even throw up a damned picket fence. But kids? They’re not for me. Not now, not ever.”
Her stomach hurt. He sounded so final about it. Mercy desperately wanted to understand his reasoning so that she could maybe find a counterargument to dissuade him from his stance. “You don’t like children?”
“Other people’s kids, sure. Nothing wrong with little people. But I’m not going to be a father, Mercy.” He didn’t touch her, didn’t reach for her. “If you love me, if you want to be with me, you might as well get the idea of kids out of your head.”
Numbness rolled over her, broken only by a slight queasiness.
Finally Wyatt left his chair and came to crouch before her. He took her hands in his. “I do love you, babe. And you say you love me.” His stark expression broke Mercy’s heart. “Why can’t that be enough?”
What could she say? The truth?
No, she couldn’t. Not right now. Not with Wyatt on his knees.
She smoothed her hand over his hair, then rested it on his shoulder. “Yes, it’s enough.”
Relief stole his frown. He caught the back of her neck and drew her close for a long, deep kiss.
She didn’t lose her head this time. Not only had she recently been sated, but worry kept sexual thoughts at bay.