Marriage Without Love & More Than a Convenient Marriage(109)

“Why are you wearing that?” His voice barely made it up from the depths of his chest.

“I’ve grown out of all my nightgowns,” she said with aggravation. “Do you mind?”

“It’s criminal, Adara,” he admitted with a scrape in his throat, polishing the last of his drink. “We promised not to tease each other. Let me get you my robe.”

She tilted her head to a skeptical angle as he brushed past her. “I wasn’t trying to tease. But, be honest, are my legs okay? Because they seem swollen. No wonder everyone was appalled.”

Be honest, echoed in his head, but the whiskey was burning through blood that had abstained from alcohol the way the rest of him had been going without his wife. Fear, genuine fear of losing her—not this penthouse or their cruise ship or the other properties they owned—edged out conscience or logic. All he wanted was to hold on to her. Tightly.

“It’s been a long night. You should be asleep,” he told her when she followed him into the bedroom.

“I had a nap before we left,” she reminded, scowling as he shook out his robe and held it for her. “Does it strike you that we act less like a married couple these days than a nanny and her charge? You don’t need to dress me.”

He patiently continued to keep the robe suspended by the shoulders, inviting her to shrug her arms into the sleeves. “If I treat you like a child, it’s only to remind myself that’s why I can’t have you. You know I’m crazy about you.”

“But how could you be? Look at me!” She flashed open the shirt she’d been hugging over her front.

He shut his eyes, but not before he took a mental photograph of creamy skin, nipples dark and distended, lush, plump curves and a ripe round belly with an alluring shadow beneath that was not concealed by any satin or lace. She was naked and gloriously fertile.

This was why ancient men worshipped the goddess who provided their young.

“You can’t even look!”

“For God’s sake, Adara.” He hung the robe on its hook and moved into his closet to change, needing the distance or he’d bend her over the nearest piece of furniture and show her how badly he wanted her. “If I wanted to sleep with a stick, I would have married one. You’ve always had a nice round ass and I like it. Frankly, it’s better than ever in my opinion. See how hot I am for you?”

He paused in hanging his tuxedo pants over a rod and moved into the doorway, showing her his straining erection barely contained by his boxers. Every cell in his body was primed for her and this fight was only shredding what little control he had left. It didn’t help that he was also dealing with Nic’s threats, feeling his grip on Adara and their life together slipping away. He wanted to cement their connection with a prolonged act of intimacy, but it wasn’t possible.

Adara’s gaze went liquid as she roamed it lovingly down his form, wetting her lips as she stared at the shape straining against the molding fabric of his shorts.

“I could—”

“I told you, we’re in this together,” he muttered, turning away from her offer even though it was like wrenching muscle tissue from his bones. But every time he thought of the way she’d gone down on him to protect this pregnancy in the first place, and that he’d resented not having all of her, he felt like the biggest heel alive.

He was.

He finished stowing his clothes and stepped into his pajama bottoms, returning to the bedroom to find her buttoning his shirt up her front, not looking at him.

He sighed, but what could he say?

A few seconds later, the lights were out and that delicious ass of hers was pressed firmly into his lap, driving him insane as she wiggled to get comfortable.

“Can I have your arm?” She lifted her head.

He obliged, sliding his arm under her neck the way she liked. As she settled and sighed, he smoothed her hair back from her ear and rested his lips against her nape. His other hand splayed on her belly and he let out a breath as well.

She was still tense though and it made it impossible for him to relax.

“Don’t be angry,” he cajoled. “This is only for a couple more months.”

“Months,” Adara cried, nearly ready to burst into tears of frustration. Feeling his erection against her cheeks didn’t help.

“Weeks,” he hurried to say, even though they both knew it was eight.

“I’m dying.” She covered his hand with hers and drew his fingers into contact with the wet valley between her thighs. “See?”

It was something she couldn’t have even contemplated doing half a year ago, but they’d grown close and honest and sexual. Her body wasn’t as visual as his when it came to showing how aroused she was, but she wanted him to know how badly she was suffering. She expected him to pull away and scold her, but he surprised her by burying a groan against her neck and stroking deeply and with more pressure. He explored her with the familiar expertise that always drove her directly to the edge.