From Boss to Bridegroom (16 page)

And glorious it was. She let her palms travel over broad shoulders, down iron-hard biceps. She explored the steely expanse of his back, the rise and fall of muscle, the tautness of tendon.

That was when he started to lower the zipper down her spine and she was only too willing to have it done. Only too willing to let the little black dress fall around her ankles.

Their pace picked up even more then and off went what remained of Rand's clothes and then hers, until they were both unfettered by anything.

His hands came to her breasts, teasing, toying with them. Hands that felt new and familiar at once, lighting embers inside her that made a moan of pleasure echo in her throat.

Then as quickly as those hands had reached her breasts they were gone again as Rand scooped her
up into his arms and took her to the bed. He laid her down on it, lying beside her to capture her mouth with his once more, to cover one straining orb with one blissfully adept hand again in a kneading, thrilling caress.

He abandoned her mouth to leave a trail of soft kisses along the side of her neck, on the sharp ridge of her collarbones, down to that same burgeoning breast his hand had made ready for more.

Her back arched and there was no hiding the fact that he'd just lit fire to those embers inside her as his tongue circled the tight kernel of her nipple. As his teeth tugged. As he drew it farther into the warm wetness of his wonderful mouth.

While he was at that his hand went on traveling. Down the flatness of her belly. To her hip. To her thigh and back up again to stop at the juncture of her legs.

Lucy's shoulders rose completely off the mattress and her head fell back at that first touch, that first tender entry of stroking fingers.

But in this, too, she would not be outdone and so she let her own hand follow a path down his lean, hard body, grasping the hot, thick, sheathed length of him, savoring the power, the feel, the intimate knowledge of this man who had awakened so much in her.

He rose above her then, insinuating himself between her welcoming thighs, finding just the right spot and slowly pressing himself into her with agonizing care until she held him fully.

All on their own her hips reached up to him, accepting, relishing the union of his body with hers, eager for every sensation, every nuance, every flex of his muscles above her.

When he pulsed those first few pulses, Lucy gave herself over to him entirely, matching his pace, his rhythm, meeting him thrust for thrust on a magic carpet ride of the most perfect pleasure. Pleasure that grew and grew, that swelled within her like a beautiful balloon, filling her, completing her, lifting her higher and higher until every nerve, every muscle, was stretched to its limit. Until the balloon reached its holding power and burst into glittering glory that held her suspended for one timeless, extraordinary moment.

Only as she began to float back to earth by tiny increments did Rand tense above her, within her, melding them together in one final climax that was as magnificent to behold as it was to feel.

And she did behold it. She watched his bulging biceps and massive shoulders strain as they lifted his striking upper body skyward. She watched his handsome face freeze in a mask of pleasure that almost looked like pain. She watched him held in that moment of ecstasy as powerful wave after powerful wave washed over him, engulfed him, satiated him just as he had satiated her.

Then he, too, relaxed, muscle by muscle, settling atop Lucy in an exquisite weightiness, breathing heavily into her hair.

Minutes passed but she didn't have any idea how many before he propped himself up with a forearm on either side of her head and kissed her again, a rich kiss that threatened to start everything all over again for her.

Except that the kiss didn't last long before he ended it to look down into her eyes, to study her face as if committing it to memory.

“Tell me you're okay,” he said in a passion-raspy voice.

“I'm definitely okay. I'm better than okay.”

That made him smile a satisfied smile. “Good. Me, too,” he said on the gust of a sigh.

He rolled to his back then and pulled her to lie close beside him, to use his chest for a pillow.

“You're not like anyone else, Lucy,” he said quietly and she could tell he was drifting off to sleep.

“Neither are you,” she whispered back, unable to fight the lure of slumber herself, held there in the perfect cocoon of his arms.

But as drowsiness began to drug her, Lucy realized that the trouble with allowing herself this night was that she knew it would be over when she woke up.

And this one night had opened a floodgate of longing for more than just one night.

More of Rand and more of the things she knew she couldn't have…

R
and was awake before dawn the next morning as usual. What was different was that Lucy was beside him, that it felt like paradise, and that he had no desire to get up and charge into his day the way he did every other morning.

No, all his desires were aimed in another direction, but she was sleeping so soundly, so peacefully, he couldn't bring himself to disturb her.

What he could let himself do, though, was enjoy the sight she presented.

Sometime during the night she'd rolled to her other side, away from him. Now she was lying with her back to him, her head resting on his outstretched arm.

The top sheet and blanket had slipped down to offer him a peek at her smooth porcelain skin, perfect shoulders and the beginning dip in the small of her back, a spot he wanted badly to kiss right at that moment.

He resisted, knowing that would surely wake her, and instead pulled the covers up around her shoulders to keep her warm.

Her hair was a wild mass of curls all around her head, spilling over onto his biceps, and he reached his free hand to a mahogany coil of it, caressing it as if it were satin, committing the texture to memory, letting it coil from his knuckle to his fingertip.

He wasn't sure how long he was lost in that simple study of her hair. But it was long enough to make him wonder at himself.

It wasn't like him to be content with something like that. Content with lounging in bed. Content with watching someone else sleep. But he
was
content and he began to realize that the reason for it was that the someone else he was watching sleep was Lucy. And even when he told himself he should probably slip his arm out from under her, ease himself out of bed and go home, he couldn't make himself do it.

Sure he should. After all, it was Sunday. He usually called the ranch to talk to his family then. This Sunday he was particularly curious to learn if his father had received the anonymous note he and Lucy had sent about Emily. Curious to know the reaction
his mother—if she really
was
his mother—had to the note.

But not even curiosity and family obligations could budge him out of that bed. Not when he was so happy just lying there, picturing what other Sunday mornings must be like there in Lucy's homey little town house.

He imagined that Max probably got up pretty early, too. That the little boy would be itching to wake Lucy, just the way Rand was—although for entirely different reasons. He pictured Max climbing into bed with his mom in hopes that he might jostle her out of sleep. Or maybe bringing his dinosaurs in and playing with them until he accidentally-on-purpose roused her.

She'd be patient with her son, Rand was certain of that. She'd probably grab him and hug him and laugh about him not letting her sleep in. Then she'd go downstairs and make him breakfast and the two of them would begin their day together.

But what would that same scenario be like if he was in it? Rand wondered, letting his mind wander a step further. What if he was in bed with Lucy when Max came in, holding her as she slept after a night of lovemaking like the one they'd just shared?

Maybe he and Max would nudge Lucy from slumber, teasing her, playfully ganging up on her until she opened those beautiful blue eyes of hers and bathed them both in that smile that was as sweet as warm honey. And maybe he and Max would go
downstairs ahead of her and set the table, waiting for her to join them so that the
three
of them could begin their day.

Rand was astonished by how appealing that second fantasy was. All the more astonished because it wasn't something he would consider appropriate unless he and Lucy were married. And he wondered what had gotten into him to think such a thing.

But in truth he knew.

Lucy had gotten into him. Into his blood. Into his heart. Into his images of the future.

And that gave him pause.

Lucy and a future together? Was that really what he was thinking about?

It was, he realized.

She might not be a permanent fixture in his office, but that didn't mean she couldn't be a permanent fixture in his life.

Although he had to question whether or not it was a good idea.

Sure, it felt good to mentally place himself in Lucy's home, in Lucy's bed, in Lucy's and Max's Sunday mornings. But what about the rest of the time? he asked himself. What about Monday through Saturday when he was working abnormally long hours and preoccupied with cases and clients and trials? That was a whole different story.

That was the reason he'd avoided making any commitment to any woman, let alone to a woman with a child. The resentment and neglect he'd felt
during his father's single term in the Senate when Joe had been away from home so much was something Rand had never allowed himself to forget. Something he'd sworn he would never inflict on anyone.

So what was he thinking now? That he would?

No. He wouldn't take on a wife and child the way things were. He still believed that was unfair.

But there was another possibility that occurred to him: he could make adjustments.

Wary of that notion, Rand mentally tiptoed around it.

Was he ready to make an adjustment like that?

He wasn't sure. But if he wasn't, if he didn't, what was the alternative?

Losing Lucy. And
that
wasn't easy to swallow. Especially not when lying there with her, wanting her again, wanting not to leave her, also made him realize that he didn't want to lose her.

It hadn't occurred to him until that moment just how much his life before Lucy had been lacking. How increasingly empty, shallow and unsatisfying it had seemed. That that was why he'd felt the way he had.

Yes, he'd been as busy, as harried as he had been since he'd set out to be a lawyer in the first place, but where early on that had made him feel fulfilled, somewhere along the way it had stopped accomplishing that.

Then Lucy had walked through his office door and he'd fallen victim to her beauty. To her special charm,
her keen intelligence, her wit, her confidence. And he'd been rejuvenated. Not to mention turned on.

Now the thought of having her walk back out was unbearable.

So that left him with a choice, he thought. Either return to the way things were, to the ruthless determination to succeed without finding any joy in it when he did, or make a change. A big change. A change in favor of family.

Was it possible that after all these years of a high-powered, high-speed, workaholic lifestyle he had arrived at a point where family—having a family of his own—could suddenly be what he wanted? Could it be the key to his happiness?

That idea took some getting used to.

But once he had, he decided that it wasn't just
any
family that was the key to his happiness. It was the family that included Lucy and Max. The family in which Lucy would be his partner. Making the change was worth it for her.

Because the bottom line was that being with Lucy, making a life with Lucy and Max, had somehow become more important to him than work or money or acclaim or power. How else could he explain that when he weighed the life he'd been living and the discontent he'd been feeling against the contentment he felt at that moment, against the way he felt about Lucy, about Max, there wasn't a question that being with them won out?

Suddenly he knew that he was willing to do whatever it took to accomplish that.

Being a part of their lives would be better than any day's work, better than winning any high-profile case, better than anything he'd ever done before.

No wonder his father had been willing to give up a Senate seat to come home to his family, Rand thought then. As a child he'd been glad about it but had taken it for granted. As an adult he'd wondered how his father had done it, how he'd given up something he'd worked so hard to accomplish, something that meant so much to him.

But now he understood it. He understood what was genuinely of value, what
he
genuinely valued, and that was family. That was Lucy. That was Max.

The sun was barely up and he knew it was still too early to wake Lucy but he couldn't resist anymore. He couldn't just lie there having had the revelation of his life and not share it with her. He couldn't just lie there and not put into motion what he now knew was the answer to everything.

But what he could do was slip out of bed, go downstairs and make a pot of coffee, he told himself. Then at least he'd have a nice way to lure her out of her dreams.

And when he did, he had no doubt that she would fulfill all of his….

 

The smell of hot coffee was not something Lucy usually woke up to, and her first thought was that Max had done something he wasn't supposed to.

Her second thought was that maybe her aunt had come over.

It was only her third thought that recalled last night and the man she'd spent it with. She couldn't help the Cheshire-cat smile that stretched her lips even before she opened her eyes.

“Good morning,” Rand said softly, beckoning her from sleep.

“It feels awfully early,” she responded, still with her eyes closed.

“It is awfully early.”

“Why aren't you asleep?” she asked much the way she might have inquired of Max.

“Couldn't sleep anymore,” Rand answered with wholly adult mischief in his voice.

Lucy finally opened her eyes as Rand sat on the edge of the mattress. He was definitely a nice sight to wake up to. His hair was sleep-tousled, his face was shadowed with beard, he'd put on his slacks but left his incredible chest bare, and he looked so sexy it was hard for her to think about anything but pulling him back under the covers with her.

“How are you doing this morning?” he asked then.

Holding the sheet across her bare breasts, Lucy eased herself up against the headboard. “Any day that I have someone serve me coffee in bed I'm doing pretty well,” she said, accepting the cup and taking a cautious sip. “How are you doing?” she countered, setting the cup on the nightstand to let the coffee cool.

“I'm doing stupendously.” He nudged her over and sat beside her on top of the covers. “I've just had the revelation of a lifetime and I couldn't wait any longer to talk to you about it.”

“The revelation of a lifetime, huh?” she said as if playing along with a joke. “I can't wait to hear it.”

But maybe she should have waited. Forever, she thought as he laid out for her what he'd been thinking. Because the further he got into explaining that he thought he'd come to the point where he was ready for a family, for her and Max to be his family, the more panicky Lucy felt.

“No!” she said before he had finished.

“No what? I haven't asked you anything yet.”

“No, don't go on. I don't want to hear this.”

“Why not?”

What he'd said had agitated her so much she couldn't remain sitting still. Taking the sheet with her to wrap around her naked body, she scooted off the opposite side of the bed and put as much distance between them as she could manage.

“You don't know what you're saying,” she insisted.

He was perfectly calm in the face of her storm, the preeminent attorney waiting to hear her argument. “I always know what I'm saying,” he said reasonably.

“I know you're attracted to me as a novelty—”

“A novelty? You're putting yourself in a category with blow-up dolls?”

“I'm putting myself in the category I belong in—single mother. Those women you avoid,
remember? Those women you don't even want as your secretary.”

“Lucy—”

“No,” she repeated, stopping him before he could go on because she didn't want to hear his reasoning. “You said yourself that you weren't sure you'd ever want to be a father because you can't give the kind of time and attention to a child that it deserves. You live a child-free life. A fast-paced, high-pressure life that has no place in it for kids. Look at your apartment, your clothes, your car—it's only a two-seater. Being around me and Max is nothing if not a novelty. But that doesn't make it something you could do with any kind of longevity.”

“You think you know me better than I do?”

“I know that a man ensconced in his own life—a life that makes the world adapt to it rather than adapting to the world—is not a man who would ultimately be happy with the demands of a ready-made family. It's not a man who can take on a ready-made family without that family sacrificing everything to him. It's a man who would eventually want out, want back into his well-ordered life.”

“We're not talking about me, are we? Now we're talking about the law professor who left you pregnant and in the lurch rather than alter his agenda in the slightest.”

“We're talking about what I know from experience with Max's father and with you.”

“I've adapted to several changes while we've been working together.”

“No, you haven't. You've juggled and rearranged my life to get what you've needed out of the bargain. I'm not complaining, I agreed to it all. But only because it was temporary. I can't have a whole lifetime of that. I've only spent a fraction of the time I should have with Max since the moment I met you. That's not the kind of parent I want to be to him. It's not the kind of parent I
will
be to him. I've set our course and it's a course where Max comes first and I won't let anything or anyone distance me from him.”

“The last thing in the world I would want is to distance you from Max. I'm not talking about taking you away from him. I'm talking about adding me to the mix.”

“Why? So he can start to see you as his father, fall in love with you, depend on you and then watch you bolt back to your office, to your other life when you tire of the demands of a family and want out?”

“Let me see if I have all this straight. You think I'm some kind of male prima donna who, on nothing more than a whim, would swoop in, take you away from your son while insinuating myself into his affections, and then drop you both like a hot potato at the first sign of a scheduling conflict or a smear of peanut butter on the arm of the sofa?”