The Rich Stranger by Bronwyn Jameson

Author:Bronwyn Jameson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2005-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Nine

Rafe knelt on the mattress beside the sexy sprawl of her naked body. “Are you sure, Catriona?”

She took a long time to answer. A long time while he took in the spill of her hair and the loose abandonment of her limbs. A hellishly long time with the scent of her desire in his senses and her eyes fixed low and still on his body.

Impatience growled through his blood, but Rafe waited.

He’d played on her vulnerabilities when he challenged her with the wager. He’d crowded her when she needed time to think, coerced her with the win-win nature of the deal, coaxed her with all she stood to win even if she lost that last spin. And then he’d rushed her to the altar before her head stopped spinning.

Suddenly he couldn’t rush her any further. He wanted her willing now and tomorrow and the next day back home in Sydney. He wanted her willing for as long as he wanted her, however long that might be.

“You know there’s no going back.”

Her lids fluttered for an instant as if his words had scraped a nerve. But her redirected gaze met his with the openness that had attracted him to her from the very start. No coyness, no chicanery, just Catriona about to tell it like it was. “I said yes to not using a condom. That doesn’t mean I’ll fall pregnant. That’s not something you or I can control.”

“Is this a good time?”

“We’re both naked.” Her gaze slid back to the part of him that wasn’t used to being naked in this situation. “I’d say that makes it as good a time as any.”

Rafe laughed, short and gruff, as he stretched out beside her on the rich cream sheets. His knee brushed against the side of her thigh, accidentally the first time. Deliberately the second. He propped himself on an elbow so he could look down into her face. “I meant a good time in your cycle. For conception.”

Her nostrils flared and her eyes darkened and jittered. Rafe felt it, too—the slam of reaction that was more than lust. Unsettling, unusual, uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” She shifted restlessly. One hand lifted, then dropped back against the bed. “I hate talking about this. I feel…”

Her voice trailed off as if she couldn’t find the right word. Rafe sympathized. Easy to describe the hard tension in his groin. Not so easy to identify the weight bearing down on his chest.

“Can we forget about the conception part?” Direct as always, but her voice sounded raw and edgy. “Can we just do this?”

Now was the time to grin and tease her. To regain that sexy byplay of before by framing some lazy comeback about how he never “just did it.” Except the smile wasn’t happening and the line sounded superficial and shallow—the kind he’d drag up in any situation, for any woman.

This wasn’t any woman. This was his wife gazing up at him, moistening her lips with apprehension. His wife whose hand shifted nervously against the sheet at his side.

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