She chuckled, then had to cover her mouth to keep from waking the baby. With a grin of his own, Marc grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the bedroom door.
Once they were safely inside, he twirled her around and pushed her up against the hard, flat panel, covering her mouth with his own. His arms on either side of her head boxed her in, his body pressing her flat and sending a flare of heat everywhere he touched.
For long minutes, he kissed her, their breaths mingling, his tongue thrusting, parrying, drawing her into his passionate duel. She lost her breath, her vision, her sanity, her entire world shrinking to the single pinprick of reality that was Marc's solid embrace.
When he lightened his hold enough to let her gasp for air, she blinked like a newborn foal and let her head fall back against the door while he continued to nibble at her loose, tingling lips.
"This isn't what I had in mind when you said we'd be sharing your rooms," she managed-barely-after filling her lungs with a gasp of much-needed oxygen.
"Funny. It's exactly what I pictured." He murmured the words against her skin, moving to suckle the lobe of her ear around her small hoop earring.
Somehow she didn't doubt that. But letting his mother think they were sharing a room and actually sharing a room-a bed-were two completely different things.
"I was going to sleep on the chaise in the other room. Or slip into one of the guest rooms when nobody was looking. This … "
She moaned as his tongue darted out to lick a line of electricity from her collarbone to the hollow behind her ear. The sensation shot through her like a shock wave, turning her knees to jelly.
"Not smart. Not smart at all," she wheezed, unsure of whether the words were actually coming out of her mouth or simply echoing through her rapidly liquefying brain.
Shifting to wrap his arms around her and lift her against his body-one hand at her back, the other cradling her bottom-he turned and strode directly to the bed.
"I think it's positively brilliant," he replied, and then dropped her to the mattress like a sack of potatoes.
She certainly didn't feel like a sack of potatoes, though. Not when he followed her down, covering her from chest to ankle with his hot, heavy bulk.
This time, when he kissed her, she didn't think to protest where all of this might be leading. Maybe because she knew where it was leading. They both did.
Or maybe because his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, drove every other rational thought straight out of her head.
With deft fingers, he untied the knot of her dress's bodice behind her neck, lowering the gauzy yellow material to reveal her braless breasts. He cupped them together, kneading, brushing the tight nipp**les with his thumbs until she moaned and wiggled beneath him.
He returned her moan with one of his own, then let his hands slide around her waist to the rear zipper. She rose slightly and waited for the gentle snick-snick-snick-snick to stop, for him to tug the full skirt past her hips and thighs. Lifting himself up, he pulled the dress completely off, then divested her of her strappy sandals, as well.
She lay there in only a pair of thin, silken panties. They weren't the sexiest thing she'd ever worn, but she thanked heaven she was past the "granny panty" phase of pregnancy and new motherhood.
Judging by Marc's expression, he approved. For long minutes, he stayed propped on one strong arm staring down at her with eyes that had gone dark and primal. A shiver stole over her at that look, at the way it made her feel.
Not helpless or vulnerable by any means. Instead, she felt powerful. That she could incite that level of heat and lust in him continued to amaze her.
It had been that way in the beginning, and for most of their marriage, but she wouldn't have expected such intense desire to still be there after all they'd been through. That it was felt a bit like a miracle, even though she had no idea how the passion they shared in the bedroom could possibly translate to their future everyday lives.
His fingers delving beneath the elastic waist of her underwear dragged her up from the quagmire of her inner thoughts, and she was more than willing to grab hold of the life rope he offered.
She let him snake the panties down her legs, laying her bare, and then wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him down for a deep, soulful kiss. With a groan, Marc ground the bulge of his still-trapped erection against her hip.
Shifting beneath him, she welcomed him into the cradle of her thighs, crossing her legs behind his waist. He groaned again-or maybe it was a growl-and pressed even closer.
There was something between them, Marc thought. Something compelling and meaningful and not to be taken for granted. And he realized suddenly that that's exactly what he'd done-he'd taken his relationship with Vanessa for granted.
He'd married her, and brought her home, and simply assumed she would always be there. How could she not be happy in a house roughly the size of Buckingham Palace on an estate that boasted a tennis court, movie theater, two swimming pools-one indoors, one out-a riding stable, gardens, walking paths, a pond … everything anyone could ever want. Add to that the fact that he had more money than Midas and Croesus combined and he'd thought there was nothing he couldn't offer her, no reason any woman would ever walk away from him.
He'd never been one to delve too deeply into his or anyone else's feelings, but these past few weeks had him thinking differently. Feeling things he'd never felt before and wondering things he'd never thought to wonder about.
Maybe money wasn't everything. Maybe situating Vanessa in his family's mansion and giving her carte blanche with his primary bank account hadn't been enough for her.
But wasn't that a good thing? Didn't it mean that she hadn't loved him for his money alone? For what he had or what he could give her?
He wasn't sure what to think of that, since he was rich and intended to stay that way.
What he did know was that some sort of bond obviously still existed between them.
It wasn't just the sex-although that alone was outstanding enough to give him pause. But whatever it was, still buzzing and humming whenever they were together, it warranted a few hours of serious consideration.
Was there a chance they could reconcile? Try again, start over, build something better and stronger than they'd had before?
But even if they could, should they?
It was too much to contemplate rationally at the moment, given that his mind was currently preoccupied with more immediate and infinitely more enjoyable pursuits. But he did need to think about it. Decide if what he thought he was feeling was real.
Because what he thought he was feeling was love. Love. Longing. Devotion. And a desire to once again make things with Vanessa permanent.
He groaned as her tongue swirled inside his mouth and her ankles tightened at the small of his back. The heat of her naked body burned through his clothes and suddenly he wanted them gone.
With her still clinging to him like plastic wrap, he reached between them to tug at the buttons of his shirt, his belt, the front of his slacks. She shifted when necessary, giving him the space to shrug out of his clothes with jerky movements, but never actually letting go.
Once he was as naked as she, he edged her higher on the bed, careful not to bump her into the headboard while he held her to him with one arm and rearranged the overstuffed pillows with the other. He propped a couple under her rear, lifting her so that she looked down on him and the short strands of her copper hair fell around his face, as well as her own.
Grasping her chin, he held her in place while he nibbled her lips, tracing patterns over her waist and back with his fingertips. Her skin was like the smooth perfection of an alabaster statue, all elegant dips and curves. Only where statues were cold and lifeless, Vanessa was anything but. She was passionate and beautiful, and the only woman he'd ever made love to here, in this bed.
Before their marriage, he hadn't bothered to bring women home with him, at least not in order to sleep with them. It had been easier and less complicated to limit any intimacies to their apartments or the occasional hotel room. Even with those he'd dated seriously.