She knew she’d overreacted, but she’d been worried. Couldn’t Slade understand that? And, dammit, couldn’t he have gotten dressed? Did he did have to stand around like that, in unbuttoned jeans with his chest bare? Did he have to display those muscled arms and shoulders? That hard chest with its silky whorl of dark hair that tapered down over his ridged belly and vanished under the waistband of the open jeans?
Lara shut the door to her room and leaned back against it while Michael snuffled against her throat.
As for whatever advice a woman named Helga might provide…Who cared?
Certainly, not she.
Her only concern was for Michael, and he was exhausted. She knew it was from the endless hours of their journey yesterday but she told herself it was because Slade had worn him out with that game.
She sang to him, rocked him in her arms. When his lashes drifted to his cheeks, she held him until she was sure he was sound asleep. Then she made him a bed on the floor, secured him within an enclosure of pillows and blankets, and blocked the open bathroom door with the chaise longue.
Showered and dressed, she carried the sleeping baby downstairs and built him another safe bed in a corner of the living room. Once she was sure he wasn’t going to awaken, she followed the scent of brewing coffee to the kitchen. She knew where the room was, even without the coffee to guide her. Slade had insisted on showing her through the house last night, even though she’d made it perfectly clear she didn’t give a damn what it looked like.
“I don’t give a damn, either,” he’d said coldly. “You can like the place, hate it—your opinion of my home isn’t important. I just don’t want you falling down the steps and breaking your neck, if you get up during the night.”
As it turned out, she hadn’t gotten up. Her sleep had been plagued by dreams but she’d slept straight through until morning, so soundly that she hadn’t even heard Slade enter her bedroom.
Slade, in her bedroom, standing over her. Watching her.
The idea made her feel breathless. And that kept her anger humming.
Slade was sitting on a high-backed stool at a white marble breakfast counter, reading the paper. His hair was wet, probably from a shower, and curled lightly around his ears and the nape of his neck. He’d put on a T-shirt, thank goodness, but it was as tight and as faded as his jeans. His feet were bare, and she almost laughed because she’d half expected to see him wearing boots.
Lara frowned.
Laughter would not be helpful. Anger. Anger, was what she needed. Not laughter, and certainly not this sudden, dizzying wave of heat that swept from her breasts to her belly as she imagined coming up behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders and, when he turned, kissing his mouth.
This man—this gorgeous male specimen—was her husband.
She must have made a sound, some little murmur of self-despair, perhaps, because just as she was about to flee, Slade looked up, turned and saw her. For a heartbeat, she regretted that she’d plaited her hair into a braid, that she’d pulled on a shapeless T-shirt and a pair of old jeans she’d stuffed into a small suitcase at the last minute, but his gaze slid past her, as if she weren’t really worthy of his notice, and she felt her anger return.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said, with all the sarcasm she could manage.
Slade didn’t seem to notice. “Not at all,” he said politely. “Where’s Mike?”
“Michael,” she said pointedly, “is asleep.”
“Is he okay alone?”
She gave him a pitying glance as she walked to the stove and poured herself some coffee.
“I wouldn’t have left him, if I didn’t think he was.”
“There’s sugar and cream, if you want.”
Lara looked at him over the steam rising from her mug. “Thank you,” she said coolly, “but I prefer it black.”
“So do I.”
“Is that supposed to make me jump up and down with joy?”
“I only meant…Look, don’t you think it’ll make things easier, if we know a little something about each other’s habits?”
“No,” she said sweetly, “not particularly.”
Slade drew a deep breath, then let it out. “Okay. Okay, we’ll stick to a safer topic. Tell me about Michael. I mean, I don’t know much about kids—”
“Indeed.”
“—but, for instance, does he generally nap in the mornings?”
“No. But he’s exhausted.”
“Yeah.” Slade propped his elbows on the counter, wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. “Well, that was a lot of travel time we put in yesterday.”
“It was this morning that tired him. All that rough play, with you.”
“You think?” He grinned at her over the rim of his mug. “He loved that game I invented.”
“So you may think, but he isn’t used to that kind of roughhousing.”
“Well, he’s going to get used to it. We had a great time.”
The scene she’d walked in on flashed into Lara’s mind. Michael and Slade together, Michael giggling and laughing. Her throat tightened, and she gave him a pitying smile.
“Once I buy him some toys,” she said, “you’ll see that he prefers quieter pastimes.”
It wasn’t true. Her baby loved to play tickle, and I See, but none of that mattered half as much as making sure Slade understood he was an outsider. If only the man didn’t have such thick skin. Right now, he looked completely nonplussed.
“Well, he’ll have the chance at both. Quiet stuff, with you, and rougher stuff with me.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of toys…I got him some things.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I ordered some stuff.”
The words were tossed off in a manner that was loose and easy, but she could see the proud glint in his eyes.
“Stuff?” she said, cautiously. “What kind of ‘stuff?”
“Oh, some blocks. A wooden train. A couple of stuffed animals—I saw how much he loves that bear and I figured, a lamb and a dinosaur couldn’t hurt.”
“A dinosaur?” Lara said faintly.
“The purple one. Helga said kids love ’em.”
“Helga,” she said, even more faintly.
“Uh-huh. And…” He eased from the stool, folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. “And some other things. A crib. A playpen. A high chair. Oh, and a stroller…you know, stuff you mentioned yesterday.”
Lara thought back to the crib and playpen, the high chair and stroller she’d had to leave behind. She thought of the pleasure she’d had, selecting them, and of how casually Slade had replaced them.
“You bought Michael all those things, without consulting me?”
“Well, yeah.” His smile slipped just a little. “You were asleep, so—”
“I can see,” she said tightly, folding her arms, too, “that sleeping is a mistake.”
“Look, I knew Mike needed things. So I phoned Ted.”
“Ted.” Lara smiled stiffly. “Is that, perhaps, short for Theodora?”
“Ted Levine. My partner. He has two kids. So I asked him to give me the name of the best store in Boston to buy baby stuff.” He didn’t add that he hadn’t told Ted the reason he needed baby furnishings. “It’s info for a new neighbor,” he’d said briskly, when Ted had questioned him. How could you explain, over the phone, that you had suddenly acquired a wife and a son?
“You ordered these things sight unseen, over the telephone?”
Slade’s smile disappeared completely. “You don’t like what I bought, you can return it, okay? I just thought—”
“Oh, I know what you thought, Slade. You figured you could lock me out of my son’s life, that—that you can play with him and buy him presents and shove me into the background.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Didn’t you expect me to figure it out? Didn’t you—”
The angry tirade caught in her throat. He was right; what she was accusing him of was crazy.
Michael loved her, not the things she’d bought him. He was her baby, not something she’d won in a lottery.
Besides, how could she have an argument with a man who looked like a bum? That damp hair. The bare feet. The tight T-shirt and faded jeans—and they were tight, too. Didn’t the man own anything that didn’t cling to him like a second skin? And why hadn’t he shaved? She didn’t like the sight of stubble on a man’s jaw. Definitely, he looked like a bum.
Who did she think she was fooling? He looked sexy. Sinfully sexy, the bad boy of the girlhood dreams she’d mercifully forgotten. This was her husband, she hated him—and he was sending her pulse galloping into three-digit numbers.
“Didn’t I what?” Slade said.
“Nothing. Nothing! Forget I even…” Lara puffed out a breath, counted to ten and started over. “Here’s the bottom line. We’re going to have to work out some ground rules.”
“For what?”
“For—for everything. Just look at what’s happened since I woke up this morning. You fed Michael. Played with him.”
Slade threw out his arms. “Arrest me, Officer. I’m guilty.”
“You bought him things—”
“And convinced the store to deliver them in—” he glanced at his watch “—in another hour.” The words dripped smug self-congratulations.
“You should have consulted me,” she said stiffly.
Slade hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay. I can see that.”
“And then—and then there’s the way you barged into my room, without knocking.”
“Michael was crying.”
“So you said. But, in the future—”
“In the future,” Slade said softly, “it may not be necessary for me to ‘barge’ into your room.”
Their eyes met. There was no mistaking his message. Lara started to reply, thought better of it and cleared her throat.
“And then—and then there’s your reliance on the new Dr. Spock.”
“Huh?”
“Dr. Spock. Otherwise known as ‘Helga.’” She put her hands on her hips and smiled thinly. “To think that you turned for advice to a—a bimbo…”
“Helga? A bimbo?”
Color rose in Lara’s face. “I don’t care what you do, or who you do it with, but—but to ask advice from a—a Scandinavian blonde—”
“Whoa.” Slade held up his hands. “Sugar, you need to get your facts straight. Helga’s not a bimbo. She’s not even blond. She’s—”
“I am not interested in her pedigree.” Lara thumped her chest with her fist. “I’m simply telling you that I know what my son needs and what he doesn’t need. Do not, in the future, go to your—your lady friends for advice about Michael.”
“Amazing,” Slade said softly, “how you’ve leapt to so many interesting conclusions.”
“You’re so transparent, Slade. You think, if you wave the names of your—your harem under my nose, I’ll—I’ll—”
“You’re jealous.”
“Me, jealous of your women?” Lara laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“There are no ‘women.’ No harem.” His smile was slow and sexy. “I always concentrate on one lady at a time, darlin’.”
“Well, I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned—”
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, Lara. You and I are married. We’re going to be good parents to our son.”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“You’re my wife.”
“Not by choice.”
“My wife,” he said. He stepped away from the counter and clasped her shoulders. “Why would I need another woman, when I have you?”
Lara’s heart skipped a beat. “Let go of me, Slade.”
“Why?” His gaze dropped to her lips, then lifted. “I’m not hurting you. I’m just touching you. A man’s entitled to touch his wife.”
“I’m not—I’m not your wife.” Why was her pulse racing? Could he tell? Could he see it in her temples, in the hollow of her throat? “Just because you have a piece of paper that says we’re married doesn’t mean—”
“Woman,” he said softly, “you talk too much.”
He kissed her. It happened fast; she had no time to prepare herself for the brush of his lips against hers.
“That’s what I mean,” she said in a shaky voice. “Just because of that piece of paper, you think you can do whatever you—”
He kissed her again. This time, it was more than a whisper of mouth against mouth. His lips clung to hers; his hands tunneled into her hair, and he kissed her until she began to tremble.
“You want rules?” His voice was thick as honey, his eyes pools of smoke. “Okay, Sugar. Here they are. I’m going to be faithful to you. You’re going to be faithful to me. No other women, no other men. You got that?”
Lara slicked the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. “Somehow—somehow, I have a lot of difficulty, imagining you leading a celibate existence.”
He smiled, and the promise in the smile turned her knees to water.
“You’re a bright girl, darlin’. Surely you know the difference between fidelity and celibacy.”
“Slade.” Lara linked her hands around his wrists. “Let go.”
“We have a lot of things to work out between us.” He bent his head, kissed her again, lightly, gently, then nibbled at her bottom lip until she moaned and lifted her hands to his chest. “But if there’s one place we’re not going to have trouble,” he murmured, “it’s in bed.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me, Sugar. Don’t lie to yourself.” He leaned back against the counter and drew her into the V of his legs. “There’s never been a night in my life like the one we spent together.”
Lara shut her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that night.”
Slade laughed softly. “That’s fine.” He slid his arms around her, gathered her against him. “I don’t need to talk about it, either. I just want to relive it.”
“If that’s the reason you insisted on this marriage, you made a mistake. I won’t sleep with you, Slade. I’m not—”
“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear, Sugar. This is going to be a marriage. My son—our son—is going to have a real home. He’s going to have parents who love him.”
“I already love Michael. But I’m not going to pretend I feel something for you when I don’t.”
“Love, you mean?” Slade gave a harsh laugh. “Remind me to tell you about love sometime, darlin’. About my old man, and how many times he must have had a woman purr that lie into his ear.” His arms tightened around her. “Stop hating me and start thinking, Lara. We’re married. We have a child we love, and better sex than most people even dream of. Be honest, admit it and we can make this thing work.”
“That’s a great speech but you’re wasting your breath. I am not going to—”
She cried out as he spun her around and pinned her against the wall with the weight of his body. He caught her wrists in one hand, drew them high over her head.
“I may not have known you take your coffee black but I know you’re a woman who needs a man’s attention. That’s fine. In fact, that’s better than fine because I’m a man who can’t do without a woman. And since there’ll be no fooling around outside of this marriage, there’s only one place either of us can go.”
“How romantic.” Lara felt tears welling in her eyes and fought them back. His words hadn’t hurt her; why would they? She didn’t expect him to feel anything special for her. All they’d ever had between them was sex. “You know something, Slade Baron? You’re disgusting!”
“I’m honest, which is a lot more than you are.”
“Honest?” She laughed. “Oh, right! You expect me to believe you’ll be faithful and on the first day of our marriage, you’ve already been on the phone to your precious Helga.”
“Helga?” Slade started to laugh, then thought better of it. He had the feeling he was ahead of the game; this was no time to try to make correction
s. “Okay. You’re right. Will it make you feel better if I tell you I won’t, ah, I won’t turn to Helga for advice anymore?”
“You could tell me you won’t breathe her name anymore and it wouldn’t change anything.”
“Helga is nothing to me. Nothing.”
“Don’t lie. You couldn’t wait to call her. And you couldn’t wait to—to dangle her name in front of me.”
“My God.” Slade took a breath, exhaled it, then lowered his forehead to Lara’s. “Listen, if it’s all right with you, let’s start over again. You come into the kitchen. I’ll say good morning. You’ll pour yourself a cup of coffee…”
“You boasted about Helga the second I saw you, when you were—when you were lying around in your bed half-naked, as if I could possibly give a damn about seeing you with your clothes off!”
“Will you just shut up for a while and listen?”
“I won’t. I won’t! You think you can have everything your way. You forced me into a marriage I didn’t want, and now you tell me I’m supposed to—to amuse you in bed and to—to tolerate your lovers—”
Hell, Slade thought, a man couldn’t argue with a woman with an idea caught between her teeth any more than he could argue with a horse with a burr under its tail.
“Just shut the hell up,” he said, and crushed her mouth beneath his.
For a heartbeat, Lara held herself rigid in his arms. Slade didn’t seem to notice. His mouth moved against hers, hot and hungry. His hands slid down her spine and curved around her bottom.
“Kiss me,” he whispered, “open to me, Sugar, and let me taste you.”
And, with a groan, she did.
He gave a growl of triumph, lifted her into him until she felt the hard pressure of his arousal. She gave a little cry, curled her fingers into his shirt and rose toward him.
His hands swept her T-shirt out of her jeans, moved onto her skin. His fingers were warm and rough; she shuddered with pleasure as he rode his hands up her ribs and cupped her breasts.
“You’re mine now, Lara. All mine. There’s no plane to catch, no way to sneak off and leave me with nothing but memories.”
He pressed his lips to her throat, nipped at the flesh. Her head fell back and he licked her skin, inhaling her fragrance, drowning in her taste. She was like honey in his arms, sweet and yielding, and he couldn’t wait, couldn’t slow down; he had to have her now. His hands were strangely unsteady as he fumbled at the closure of her bra, and when her breasts tumbled free he shoved her shirt up, bent his head and closed his lips around her nipple. Her cry made his blood pound even more fiercely.
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