The Millionaire's Proposal (12 page)

Searing heat settled in the pit of her belly. As her husband, he took liberties she found too pleasurable to deny him, or herself. While his soft, warm lips kept hers occupied in a series of provocative, heady kisses, he skimmed a hand up her rib cage and filled his palm with her breast through her silk blouse and lacy bra, squeezing gently, then flicked his thumb over the sensitive tip. A tiny moan rumbled in her throat, startling her with the undertones of hunger and need it evoked.

She wanted Ford, but she didn’t want to want him!

He must have sensed her shift in mood, because he brought their kiss to an end. By the time he lifted his head, a satisfied smile curved his mouth. “
Now
I feel married,” he said, a teasing light in his eyes.

And she felt dazed, and on the brink of surrendering to dangerous emotions. She glanced away, ashamed at her lack of control when it came to Ford.

His fingers touched her jaw in concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

She summoned a smile to match how weary she felt. “I’m just tired.”

His hands settled on the waistband of her skirt, his thumbs brushing along her slightly curved, firm belly, sending tingles skittering along the surface of her skin. “The baby?” he asked.

Slipping from his unnerving embrace, and away from his tempting touch, she rubbed her forehead. “It’s been a very long day, Ford.”

“Grace . . .” He let out a low, frustrated sigh. “I know we started off on the wrong foot, and I know you’re not happy with this situation, but I’m willing to make the best of our marriage. Will you agree to just try and compromise? For the sake of our child?”

She wanted to ask him if that kiss had been for the sake of their child, but bit back the petty remark. Her emotions and hormones were askew, her heart unsure of what she’d gotten herself into by marrying Ford—a man she’d known all her life, but a stranger she wasn’t quite sure she trusted nonetheless.

“I’d do
anything
for this baby,” she said, meaning every word, and giving him a silent promise to try and meet him halfway on marital issues. She grabbed her chemise, robe and toiletry bag. “I think I’ll take a nice warm shower, and turn in for the evening.”

He gave her a smile that was boyishly charming. “Would you like help scrubbing your back?”

That treacherous heat unfurled in her belly. “No, thank you.”

“Can’t blame a husband for asking, especially on his wedding night,” he said, backing toward the door. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be in my office down the hall working.”

Then he was gone, leaving Grace to spend her wedding night alone.

“G
ood morning.”

Grace turned from her task of making herself a second mug of hot tea to go with the toast she’d just ate, the greeting she’d been about to return dissolving on the tip of her tongue.

Her
husband
strode very deliberately across the kitchen’s hardwood floor toward her, giving her only a handful of seconds to register the fact that he’d just gotten out of the shower. His dark hair was damp and finger-combed away from his face, and he only wore a pair of soft, faded jeans that enhanced his athletic body. His feet were bare, his chest gloriously naked with dew drops of water still clinging to the light furring of hair that sprinkled its way down to his belly, whorled around his navel, and disappeared into the waistband of his low, hip-riding jeans.

The man had no right to look so sexy, so appealing, so downright tempting and gorgeously male! Especially first thing in the morning.

She dragged her gaze upward, too late in realizing he’d closed the distance between them. Without preamble or warning, he slid his fingers into her unbound, disheveled hair, lifted her mouth to his, and kissed her. Unlike last night’s slow seduction, there was nothing sweet or chaste about this possession. His strong, masculine body crowded her against the counter, his tongue took advantage of her gasp of surprise, and his fresh, mint-tasting mouth did deliciously wonderful things to hers.

She groaned deep in her throat and surrendered. It was all she
could
do.

Too soon, he let her go, stepping away from her as if they hadn’t just shared a very passionate kiss that left her dizzy and breathless . . . and wanting more.

“Uh, Good morning,” she finally managed, her voice husky.

The corner of his mouth quirked, and his gaze slid down the length of her, a slow, lazy perusal that missed nothing and visually stripped away her robe and chemise beneath. How did he do that—make her feel as though his hands had stroked where his gaze had just lingered?

“It would have been an even better morning if I could have woken up with you in my bed,” he said.

Sensual images of tangled sheets and entwined limbs filled her head, just as the rogue intended, no doubt. It dawned on her that her husband wasn’t going to play fair about their sleeping arrangements.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she regarded him primly. “Do you plan to execute sneak attacks like that all the time?”

“Absolutely.” He reached for a coffee mug in the cupboard, while looking over his shoulder at her. “Or are you going to place restrictions on how many times I can kiss you, and when or where?”

Where
 . . . as in location, or
where
 . . . as in what body part? A shiver touched her feminine nerves, and she mentally shook the stimulating thought from her mind.

Setting the mug on the counter next to the coffee pot, he cast her a patient look. “I’m not demanding my conjugal rights, Grace, but you can’t expect us to live under the same roof, and me be able to resist that mouth of yours, do you?”

The mouth in question still tingled from his kiss. The thought of giving Ford carte blanche to indulge his whimsical need to kiss her sent her pulse tumbling into oblivion . . . along with her refusal. She couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation, or that she was considering his request!

“I really don’t think it would be a good idea-”

“I
can’t
resist you, Grace,” he interrupted, pouring steaming coffee into his cup. “I want the right to kiss you, whenever I want to.”

She shook her head regretfully. “Ford-”

“What happened to compromise, Grace?” he chided, making her feel a twinge of guilt for being so difficult over something that shouldn’t have been a big issue or problem in their marriage. “Considering making love to you seems to be off limits for the time being, you can’t expect me to go
completely
without physical contact. I have needs and urges like any other married man when it comes to my wife. I’m not asking you to share my bed, though I’d welcome you there any time and the invitation is always open. I only want the privilege to kiss my wife.”

He made his argument sound so simple, so innocent, and she was being so difficult. It wasn’t as though his kisses were a hardship to endure, and they did give her as much pleasure as they brought him. Certainly the affection and tenderness that came with kissing could only enhance their relationship without the demand of more physical intimacies.

“All right,” she agreed. “Kisses only.”

He moved back toward her, and her heart thumped in her chest, though she didn’t try to avoid him—there was no sense in trying. He touched a finger to her bottom lip, the violet hue of his eyes darkening to velvet. “Anytime I want them?” he asked, his voice low and rumbling.

Her stomach dipped and she forced herself to nod.

“Anyway and anywhere I want them?” His head tilted, moved closer to hers.

She nodded again, at the same time lifting her mouth toward the heat and promise of his. The anticipation of feeling his lips on hers became excruciating, and exciting.

His lashes fell half-mast. “Fair enough,” he murmured in satisfaction, his breath caressing her lips.

Closing her eyes, she waited . . . and felt a sting of disappointment when he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Her lashes blinked open and she frowned, but he didn’t notice. He was taking a sip of his coffee, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t turned her inside out with wanting, then left her unsatisfied.

He propped a hip on the counter next to her. “How are you feeling this morning?”

She added more hot water to her mug of tea since it had cooled during her discussion with Ford, concentrating on the task. “Refreshed.” And aroused, darn him! Having given him the right to kiss her, anytime, anyway, and anywhere, she’d forever be in a state of awareness, anxiously waiting for when he’d plan his next sensual assault on her senses.

“Do you experience morning sickness?”

The genuine concern and curiosity in his voice surprised her. “Sometimes.” Affecting the same casual attitude as him, she warmed to their subject, and his interest. “I find tea and toast usually curbs the nausea.”

He nodded, and took a drink of coffee, lingering over the taste as his gaze seemingly searched the territory her robe and chemise covered. “Has your body changed much?”

Her face flushed at his bold question, but she was pleased that he wanted to share as much of this experience with her as possible. “My . . . breasts have gotten larger, and much firmer. And they’re extremely sensitive.”

“I noticed that last night.”

She sipped her tea, needing the warmth to calm the flutters in her belly. “And my zip up pants and skirts are beginning to feel a little snug. At this rate, I’ll be out of my regular clothes and showing in another month.”

“I can’t wait to see that,” he said softly. Unmistakable yearning deepened his voice, and he quickly cleared his throat at that display of emotion. “You glow with happiness when you talk about the baby, you know.”

She rested a hand protectively over her belly, admitting that she did feel an awesome, happy glow that seemed to radiate from the inside, out—and she hadn’t even heard the baby’s heartbeat or felt it move yet. “I never thought I’d be given the opportunity to have a child of my own.”

“Our child,” he corrected mildly. “And I’m glad I could give you a baby. In fact, I’ll give you as many as you want. After this baby is born, we can bend the rules a bit on our sleeping arrangement and work on number two.”

His teasing tone prodded a tentative smile from her, but she had no idea what the future held for them, and refused to commit to anything beyond the present. “How about we just take it one baby at a time?”

“You sure about that, Mrs. McCabe?” he said mischievously. “We could have months to practice . . .”

“I’m sure.” Needing a quick change of subject, she asked, “Would you like some breakfast?”

“I’m a self-sufficient husband.” Finishing off his coffee, he set the empty mug in the sink. “I don’t need a huge breakfast in the mornings. A cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal is all I need. You go sit down and relax.”

Grace took a seat at the small oak table situated in a connecting breakfast nook. The floor to ceiling windows overlooked a newly built barn, corral, and an expanse of green pasture. “Don’t expect me to allow you to pass on those atrocious eating habits to our son or daughter.”

“Then I guess that gives you the next six or seven months to reform me.” He joined her at the table with his box of cereal, a large bowl, and a carton of milk. “I’m very reformable, ya’ know.”

She sipped her tea, wondering about the different ways he’d reformed over the years and how he’d struggled to make a new, successful life for himself. So why would he return to the town that never once supported him? The question niggled her mind, but it wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on right now.

Instead, she focused on another subject she wanted to clarify. “Ford . . . did you mean what you said yesterday about keeping the cottage?” She’d thought he’d want to sell her house, considering his own place had room enough for ten, but he’d surprised her with a comment about using the cottage for a retreat.

“Of course I did.” He filled his bowl with the sugar-coated flakes, and drowned them in milk. “It’s obvious you love the place, and I think it would make a nice get-a-way for yourself or both of us if you’d ever like. And our son or daughter would certainly love playing in that lake.”

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. Though she’d only lived in the cottage for a few years, she’d grown to love the cozy place.

“I don’t intend to take anything away from you, Grace. We’ll move whatever furniture and knick-knacks you want into our house.” He glanced around the kitchen while chewing a bite of cereal. Swallowing, he said, “I certainly wouldn’t mind a woman’s touch in the place. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d handle the decorating. I’ve got the bare essentials right now, but there’s a whole lot of room for improvement.”

He’d taken her on a brief tour when they’d first arrived yesterday afternoon, and though the furnishings were sparse, the structure was soundly built and it was evident no expense had been spared on the craftsmanship, fixtures, or cosmetic appearance. “It’s a lovely house.”

His gaze met hers. “It’s more than I ever thought I’d have.”

Finished with his breakfast, Ford stood and took his empty bowl to the sink and rinsed it out. His gaze glanced out the window in front of him, then he looked back at Grace. “You didn’t get to see much of the outside of the house yesterday. Would you like to take a morning stroll after breakfast and see the rest of the place?”