by Anna DePalo
Once upon a time, she would have disdained the aristocrat and not appreciated the executive. But tonight, she’d thrilled to his barest touch and trembled at his heated gaze.
She hadn’t been able to help herself.
“I’m giving in to the pull between us,” Sawyer said, adding with a note of self-mockery, “We are married, after all.”
“An arrangement,” she felt compelled to point out.
“One for which we can change the rules at any time.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then flattened her hand on his tuxedo shirt, right over his heart.
She felt a flutter, and then another. He was vital and uncompromisingly male.
It was a warm night, the heat of the day fading only a little. Beyond the high wall of the garden, traffic along the nearby avenue stirred the air.
Sawyer eased down the zipper at the back of her dress, and she did nothing to stop him. As her dress sagged against her, and her small satin handbag dropped to the ground, he surveyed her with golden eyes.
She shivered and her nipples hardened further.
“You’re irresistible,” Sawyer breathed.
She wet her lips. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”
“Oh, I was paying attention, all right,” he responded, tracing the tattoo that had been exposed near her breast. “This rose has been driving me crazy ever since I first saw it.”
At her inquiring look, he added, “While we were dancing at Belinda’s wedding reception.” He nodded at her now crumpled dress. “Where did this emerald concoction come from?”
“A lucky last-minute find.”
“An inspired choice,” he modified. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you all evening.”
He bent and covered her nipple with his mouth—a kiss that had her body rising up to meet him as the breath left her lungs.
She held on to his shoulders for support as her head swam. The hard bulge of his arousal pressed against her, exciting her further. This was Sawyer. Sawyer. Her longstanding nemesis. And yet, he made her blood sing, and it was all so delicious. It was a forbidden melding of the proper and the naughty. The oh-so-respectable Earl and Countess of Melton well on their way to coupling outside, unable to keep their hands off each other.
“Sawyer, no. Not here,” she said throatily when he finally raised his head to steal a kiss. “Someone at a window might see us.”
Her concern was not unfounded. Sawyer’s town house sat near several tony white-glove apartment buildings.
“It’s dark,” he responded gruffly. “And the trees here provide plenty of cover.”
“If the media ever get wind of this, you’ll never live it down.” She added after he stole another kiss, “I can see the headline—‘Media Baron Victim of His Own Press.’”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Sawyer said, but he nevertheless swung her into his arms. “Where to, your ladyship?”
She linked her arms around his neck. “If we’re going to be respectable, then I suppose a bed.”
Sawyer nodded, and then strode with her toward the house. Minutes later, he kicked open the door to his bedroom.
But instead of laying her on the bed, he set her on her feet and backed her against one of the bedposts. “Let’s finish where we were unfortunately interrupted the last time.”
Tamara shivered as a vivid image flashed through her mind of their last romantic interlude in his bedroom.
Sawyer undressed her swiftly, following every inch of exposed skin with kisses, and she thrilled with excitement.
Tamara’s mind whirled. Familial expectations and everything else receded into the background, and all that mattered was her and Sawyer and what was happening between them in this room.
When he knelt before her and gave her an intimate kiss, the breath left her lungs.
“Oh.” She grasped the wood behind her for support, and then as he continued to move his mouth against her, she slid against the cool, notched bedpost pressing against her.
Her climax hit her suddenly and unexpectedly, her back arching, her mouth falling open.
Seconds later, Sawyer straightened, his eyes glittering.
She belatedly realized she was naked while only Sawyer’s tie was undone.
He quickly rectified the situation, however, by stripping, and she watched with hooded eyes as he revealed an impressive physique. His erection sprang free of his underwear, and he was finally completely and gloriously naked.
She wet her lips. “I didn’t think you buttoned-down types were so…”
He gave her a slow, sexy smile.
Instead of taking her then and there, however, he surprised her by removing the pins from her hair and setting aside the tiara he’d given her earlier in the evening.
She hadn’t worn it with any other jewelry, wanting to showcase her one special piece. It had been an unorthodox move, but one that had felt right.
“Hair down this time, Goldilocks,” he said.
“I thought you hated the fact that I always let my hair down,” she quipped.
He smiled, obviously catching her double meaning. “Maybe I’m loosening up, or maybe I’m a fan of your hair.”
Deliberately, he arranged the flowing waves of her hair over her breasts, and then drew the pad of his forefinger over a nipple.
She gasped at the exquisite sensation.
And then he kissed her again. He linked his hands with hers and raised her arms above her head, and guided her instinctively until they both fell on top of the bed.
Sliding his hand down her thigh, he pulled her leg up over his hip, spreading her.
She kissed him hungrily, her fingers flexing on his back.
“I’ve been told you work well with your hands,” Sawyer teased gutturally between kisses. “Show me.”
And she did, drawing her palms over him and tangling her fingers in his hair, all the while making love to his mouth until they were both moaning and panting for more.
When Sawyer finally slid inside her, expanding and filling her, she sighed into his mouth with sweet relief.
“Ah, Tamara,” he breathed.
She urged him forward, heedless of everything but the primordial urge to copulate.
And he satisfied her, tirelessly, until a sheen of sweat covered his skin, and his unadulterated male scent filled her nostrils.
She gasped, climaxing as he pressed her in just the right spot, and calling his name again and again.
And still he kept going.
She came once more, and then with a shout, Sawyer threw back his head and took his own peak.
Spent, he rolled to the side, taking her with him, and she nestled against him.
Her last thought, before she drifted off to sleep, was that sex with Sawyer had been strangely like finally coming home.
Twelve
He felt great.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken so relaxed and…satisfied.
Sawyer grinned to himself as he came down the town house steps dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt left open at the collar. His hair was still damp from his shower.
He would have suggested to Tamara that they shower together, but she’d already been in one of the adjoining bathrooms when he’d woken, and then she’d slipped downstairs while he’d been dressing.
Fortunately, it was Sunday, so he wasn’t expected at the office or a meeting. Instead, he knew his chef would have laid out a traditional English breakfast.
He could begin the day in a relatively leisurely manner, though he’d still consulted his BlackBerry upon rising, and his laptop would be waiting for him within easy reach at the dining-room table.
When Sawyer encountered Richard on his way to the dining room, the butler said with his occasional formality, “Good morning, my lord.”
Sawyer smiled easily. “Good morning, Richard. Another hot day, won’t you say?”
“Indeed.” The butler added, “Her ladyship is already taking brunch in the dining room.”<
br />
“Excellent. By strange coincidence, it happens to be exactly where I’m headed.”
Sawyer was careful to keep his expression bland, but he nevertheless thought he detected a knowing glimmer in the butler’s eyes.
When he stepped inside the formal dining room, his eyes immediately connected with Tamara’s.
Though the dining room was done in yellow and blue, with brightly striped wallpaper above the wainscoting, Tamara added light to the room.
She was wearing a shimmery sleeveless top, in a coppery color that played off the red of her hair.
“Good morning,” he said.
She’d taken a seat near his usual one at the end of the table, and had already helped herself to eggs, toast and coffee.
“Good morning.” She seemed to hesitate.
He looked at her thoughtfully. Perhaps she was feeling her way past any uncertainty on the morning after?
Well, he’d have to rectify matters. Before taking his own seat, he bent toward her, and when she looked up automatically, he brushed his lips across hers.
At that moment, André, the chef, brought in a dish of eggs and bacon for him, still warm from the kitchen, saving them from further conversation.
Sawyer helped himself to a scone from a plate already on the table. He was famished, and he smiled to himself when he thought about why.
“Tea?” Tamara inquired.
“Yes, thanks.”
Usually, André poured his tea for him. He liked it strong, with a little sugar and no milk.
“Thank you for bringing in breakfast, André,” Tamara said as she reached for Sawyer’s cup and then a tea bag. “It is delicious. You’ll have to share your recipe for these lovely scones.”
André smiled. “Thank you, madam.”
Sawyer lifted his eyebrows. Of all his household help, his chef was the most reserved and formal. The fact that Tamara had quickly developed a rapport with him spoke volumes.
Sawyer couldn’t remember the last time he’d complimented his chef. He paid the man well to prepare his food, and had come to expect as a matter of course that André would perform to his usual high standards.
Seemingly oblivious to his surprise, Tamara poured hot water and added just the right amount of sugar to his tea, and then placed Sawyer’s cup and saucer on the table next to his plate.
After Sawyer had taken a bite of his eggs, she nodded at his laptop. “I’m surprised you haven’t surfed the news sites already.”
“I checked my BlackBerry before coming down,” he responded, and then felt his lips twitch. “But thank you for your concern that I not neglect my work.”
Normally, he would be engrossed by his laptop, Sawyer admitted to himself, but this morning, he had more enticing distractions. Namely, his wife.
He could think of many pleasurable ways to spend the day with her, but he acknowledged that at least some of those should involve something other than a bed.
Nevertheless, he let his eyes caress her face.
Tamara cleared her throat. “Speaking of your work, I suppose we should talk about where we’re heading from here.”
There was no need for her to elaborate. His quest to control Kincaid News had been the motivation behind their marriage of convenience, but they’d arrived at a new status after last night.
“Perhaps we should take things as they come,” he hedged with care.
His motivation was becoming tangled, he knew, but he didn’t want to examine it. He wasn’t clear anymore on how much he was pretending.
He knew the terms of his handshake agreement with Kincaid, but truth be told, last night he hadn’t been thinking about the possibility of a pregnancy. Instead, he’d been ruled solely by his desire for Tamara, and the pleasure of making love with her.
Want was merging with need and leaving obligation behind.
Tamara regarded him carefully. “We didn’t use any protection.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t on the pill or any other contraception?”
She shook her head. “There was no reason to be. Tom and I—”
“—weren’t intimate,” he finished for her. “Yes, I know.”
Sawyer was glad he’d gotten rid of the sad-sack musician. He wasn’t Tamara’s equal. Sawyer thought that instead she needed someone that was—well, him.
More importantly, last night he could have made Tamara pregnant. The thought of a child—his and Tamara’s—filled him with profound feeling. He discovered he wasn’t averse to the idea at all—far from it—and not only because of his pact with Kincaid.
Still, he knew that for now he had to focus only on overcoming Tamara’s trepidations. He’d accomplished the first step of getting Tamara into his bed. He could concern himself later with getting her to agree to dispense with contraception altogether.
“We’ll use something from now on,” Sawyer said, and then shrugged. “It isn’t likely that last night will have…consequences.”
“And if there are consequences?” Tamara asked after a pause.
He reached out and ran his hand along Tamara’s forearm in a reassuring caress. “We’ll work it out.” He tried to lighten the mood. “You know, newlyweds have children all the time.”
“We aren’t like other newlyweds,” she disavowed. “We have a business arrangement.”
Sawyer felt an unaccustomed prick. “It certainly felt as if we were newlyweds last night.”
She looked away, and a pink flush tinged her skin. But when her eyes came back to his, her chin rose. “I spent my life avoiding you—this.”
“Likewise,” he teased, “but I found that sleeping with the enemy was fantastic.”
She arched a brow. “Recharged your batteries, did I?”
Sawyer laughed, glad to see the spirited Tamara back. “Face it, sweetheart. Our charged relationship makes us fantastic in bed.”
“Fishing for a compliment?”
He flashed a grin. “For acknowledgment.”
He watched her eyes flash, but when she opened her mouth to respond, he laughed and stole a kiss before she could say anything.
Still, when he straightened, she said doubtfully, “This is a bad idea.”
He arched a brow.
“Us, as lovers.”
Actually, he thought that being Tamara’s lover was one of his most outstanding ideas ever.
“Our parents made poor matches.”
Too true, he thought with a grimace. Still. “That doesn’t have to apply to us.”
“How can it not? We’ve talked about this. Our parents’ marriages failed because of incompatibility. The only difference was that my mother wasn’t a wealthy American heiress, but a starry-eyed girl from Texas who’d just begun to model.”
Sawyer’s lips tilted upward. “After last night, I can certainly relate to the urge to give in to desire.”
“Exactly, and I’m afraid we’ll let—” she waved one hand around “—physical attraction cloud our judgment.”
“What a delightful prospect.” He looked at her with hooded eyes. “Let’s retire upstairs right now and put that proposition to the test.”
“Really,” she insisted meaningfully.
He sighed and sat back in his chair. “I’ve met your mother, Tamara, and you two are hardly alike, except—” he paused meaningfully and swept her a look “—you’ve certainly inherited her model looks and figure.”
“Is that my appeal?”
He caught Tamara’s guarded expression, which belied her flippant words.
She was afraid of getting hurt.
There it was again—that damned vulnerability that had done him in last time.
Still, he felt strangely tender and protective. “You’re beautiful.”
And she was. Her green eyes were very expressive of her feelings, and her dark-red hair reflected her firecracker personality.
He’d been around many beautiful women in his life, but there was something special about Tamara.
There’d always been somethin
g special about Tamara, he thought, if he’d cared to acknowledge it.
Tamara looked at him, wide-eyed, her eyes like glistening pools. “Oh…”
“Do you want me to show you?” he asked, her emotional response making him want to push aside his laptop and breakfast, lay her down on the table and demonstrate how beautiful he found her. “You can look as artsy and antiestablishment as you want, but it won’t change that you’re a beautiful woman.”
The air between them became charged with meaning.
“It won’t change that you’re the daughter of a model from Texas who married a British viscount and media mogul,” he went on. “You’ve also inherited your mother’s features and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Tamara looked startled at his insight, almost as if she’d never admitted as much to herself.
But she recovered quickly. “Just like your title and hereditary obligations don’t change the fact that you’re in many ways as American as your name? You’re passionate as much as any headstrong American heiress.”
He nodded in self-deprecating acknowledgment. “Well said.”
She smiled reluctantly, sharing in his humor. “Thank you.”
He pushed back his chair and stood. “We’re mutts, you and I. Both British and American. In that way, we’re more alike than our parents ever were.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He walked to the door and flipped the lock, and then turned back to survey her.
“Since we’re done with breakfast,” he said, though neither of them had eaten much, “I thought I’d demonstrate my passionate side again—strictly for the purpose of confirming your assessment, of course.”
She looked startled, and then laughed. “Of course.”
He moved toward her, undoing the buttons at the top of his shirt.
Tamara pushed back her chair and stood, a small laugh escaping her. “Someone could—”
“—interrupt,” he finished for her. “Splendid. Let’s start the gossip mill going about what a wonderfully intimate relationship the Earl and Countess of Melton have. After all, that’s been the plan all along, hasn’t it?”
Frankly, he didn’t give a damn about the plan. His only thought right now was what they could do with a dining-room table.