"Tell me what you're thinking," he demanded.
She slowly lifted her gaze from Jack, her eyes a dark green tumultuous sea of uncertainty. She took a deep breath, as though gathering up courage, then blurted out, "Tell me you still want me, Peter. Not because I'm Jack's mother. Me … the person I am. Everything you now know about me."
It stunned him that she was in any doubt. Hadn't all his actions proved how much he wanted her in his life? Yet clearly she was apprehensive about his answer, tending almost frantically to their son, lifting him up to her shoulder, rubbing his back until he burped, then transferring him to her other breast. Only when Jack was resettled did she brave another look at him.
His mouth curved into a self-mocking smile as the strength of his feelings for her tore at his chest. "You asked me once if I was a jealous man. I said I wasn't but I find myself jealous of my own son, wanting to be as close to you as he is."
Another wave of heat scorched her cheeks.
If it was embarrassment, he didn't care.
He was laying out the truth, being straight with her.
"Even after you walked away from me, I couldn't stop wanting you, Erin. My mother said you had to have a beautiful mind to have written the books she'd read. It drove me into buying them, reading all of them. And I agreed with her. It made me want you all the more. I set up the movie deal in the hope that it would win you around to wanting me again."
He heaved a sigh to relieve the tightness in his chest. Her gaze was clinging to his. No anguish in her eyes now. More an urgent intensity, begging for more.
"Then there was Jack. Which completely threw me. You'd so decisively shut me out, even when I had the right to know we'd made a child." He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, hands gesturing futility as he shook his head. "I won't even try to explain what I felt then. I know I shamelessly used Jack to get you, and right then I didn't care if you wanted me or not. I was going to have both of you and I would have done anything to force that end."
"I'm glad you did, Peter," she inserted with startling vehemence.
"Glad that I invaded your life and carried you off?" he queried.
"Yes. I didn't want to be alone. I just didn't know how to … how to fix things between us. I got it all wrong. I know I did. These past two months … everything you've done … I was such a fool for giving you the kind of ego that ended up blighting other relationships I've had. You're not like that at all. The day in the park … I thought you were a big man in every sense, and I should have trusted my instincts. You are. And your family … your family has been a revelation to me. They're interested, they care … I like being part of it."
The relief at hearing her speak her mind and heart so openly was mountainous. "Then I haven't done wrong by you."
"No." Her eyes glowed with eloquent appeal as a rather tentative, shy little smile softened her face. "You are my prince, Peter."
It took an extreme act of will to remain in the chair. Jack was still feeding. He had to hold himself in check for a while yet. But he could spill out what he felt in words.
"Remember that first night out on the balcony of my apartment?"
"Vividly."
The intense emotion in her voice encouraged him to reveal his own. "You wove a spell around me that I can't break, Erin. I want you so badly I can barely sit here and wait for our son to be satisfied. I want to hold you, kiss you, touch you, make mad violent love to you, but I also want to feel the same passionate response that you gave me in the past."
She stared at him, as though caught in a spell herself. Her lips parted, releasing a rush of breath. Then life returned to her eyes-a brilliant sparkling life, as though a volcano of joy had erupted inside her.
"Press the call-button for the nanny, Peter," she said, detaching Jack from her breast and lifting him to her shoulder.
"He's had enough?"
"Enough for now."
There was no wail of protest from their son and Peter was not about to query Erin's decision. If it meant what he thought it meant … he moved swiftly from his chair, pressed the call-button, watched Erin rise from the rocker and head straight to the cot where she had left her veil and bra. He strode to the nursery door, opening it for the nanny to enter as fast as possible, waiting beside it. His heart was pummelling his chest. His hands clenched. The fight for control was so close to being a losing battle.
The nanny arrived.
Erin passed over Jack with the instruction, "He still needs to be burped." As soon as her hands were free, she grabbed her veil and bra. With her bodice still hanging down from her waist, she used the towel to cover her naked breasts, flashed her glowing rainbow smile at Peter, and said, "I'll get redressed in my suite."
Her suite.
Just along this hall, feet moving fast, Erin opening the door, flinging the wedding finery on the floor, turning to face him. He kicked the door shut. She was in his arms. He rubbed his cheek against the black silk of her hair, breathed in the heady scent of her. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling his head down. Their mouths met in a wild onslaught of needy kisses.
A break to catch their breaths.
"You've got too many clothes on, Peter," she said, excited eyes teasing his. "If you help me out of this wedding dress, I'll help you lose them."
A joyous laughter bubbled from him. He whipped her around, pulled the zipper down from her waist, pushed the skirt over her hips. She stepped out of it, looking incredibly sexy wearing white lace French knickers and a lacy garter belt attached to the fine silky stockings she wore. For a moment, his eyes feasted on the graceful curves of her back, the lush roundness of her bottom, her lovely long legs. Every muscle in his body was taut, screaming to leap into action. He couldn't wait for her to undress him.
His coat joined her clothes on the floor. His hands were tearing at his tie when she came to him, undoing his shirt buttons, fingers moving swiftly, unfastening his trousers. Neither of them cared about any sensual finesse in getting naked. This was not a journey of discovery. Urgency was uppermost. She wanted him. He wanted her. And the need to come together was a driving force that could not be contained.
He carried her to the bed. They sprawled on it together. She wrapped her legs around him, lifting herself in wanton invitation for him to plunge straight into the sweet, warm depths of her.
He did.
"Yes-s-s-s," she cried out, the intensity of her pleasure coursing through him, making him wild to give her more.
They moved as one, rocking each other, pushing the excitement higher and higher. It was glorious. It was bliss. His woman, wanting him, needing him, loving him, giving herself with uninhibited passion and revelling in taking all he could give her. He felt the convulsive spasms and the gushing flow of her climax and plunged as deep as her arched body allowed, holding himself there, loving the sense of her melting around him.
Her hands stroked down his back, sliding over his buttocks, fingers digging in. "Go on, Peter," she urged. "I want to feel you come inside me."
He did.
Incredible ecstasy.
He kissed her, and her mouth was gentle and loving, her hands in his hair, tenderly caressing. They stayed entwined, joined as one, even when he rolled on his side, her head snuggled to the curve of his neck and shoulder. How long they lay in this contented intimacy he didn't know. Time was meaningless. He was happy simply to hold her, to know that she was happy, too.
"I guess we should be getting back to the marquee," she said on a rueful sigh.
He'd forgotten their wedding party.
Did it matter that they would be missed, guests commenting on their absence?
No.
Yet he and Erin had the rest of their lives to be together. Tonight was the night to show and share their happiness with everyone.
"Yes, we should," he decided. "I want to dance with you, Erin."
"I'd like that … our bridal dance."
He heard the smile in her voice.
It was okay to move.
They would be moving in unison again very soon.
The photograph released to the media the next day was of the bride and groom dancing. They were gazing into each other's eyes, smiling. No-one who looked at that photograph was in any doubt that Peter Ramsey and Erin Lavelle were happy with their marriage.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Los Angeles, fourteen months later …
THRONGS of fans waved and screamed from the roadside as the limousine rolled slowly forward in the long queue of limousines delivering stars of the big screen to the theatre where the Academy Awards ceremony was to be held. Erin remembered the same intense excitement flowing from the crowd of spectators who had turned up at the premiere of The Mythical Horses of Mirrima, four months ago.