The Texas Tycoon's Baby(50)

Groaning low in his throat, he slowed the kiss down, gently nipping at her, weaving his fingers through her hair in a lazy exploration that sent waves of heat through her. Her blood pounded, marching toward the low center of her body, where it gathered, demanding.

“Mina,” he said against her lips, and she couldn’t let go of how that made her feel—as if she was wanted more than any woman could’ve ever felt wanted.

As he held her on his lap, brushing her hair back from her face, she saw in those eyes how much he did love her, had maybe always loved her.

He leaned over and blew out the candles on the table, one, then the other.

She longed for him to kiss her again, but he took her by the hand instead, leading her to the lantern over the stove. He doused that, too, then brought her to her bedroom, where moonlight rolled through the open curtains at her window.

Around them, the sunrise paintings breathed soft, dim hues, the splash of them echoing inside of her, coloring her with a desire so strong that she could barely stand it.

His whisper dominated the semidarkness. “I’m never going to let you down again, Mina. I’m going to make up for all the times I disappointed you, starting now.”

But she was going to disappoint him, and it seemed inevitable, even now, when she was trying so hard to show him that she hadn’t meant to lie—had only had his best interests at heart…

An ache split her, and it had nothing to do with her desire for him. It started in her chest, as if prying her apart in two directions.

Was he going to call her a liar when she revealed the baby to him? Was he going to put everything in generalities again and tell her that, even though she’d only been looking out for him, there was no reason to ever keep such important news from someone you loved?

He ran his hands down her arms, up again, as if memorizing every inch of her. Then, with deliberation, he reached to the back of her dress, looking for a zipper.

Not finding it there, he skimmed a hand to her side, discovering it, laughing low—an intimate laugh that made her turn fluid.

He unzipped that dress, and the sound resembled what he was doing to her, too: dividing her, taking her apart.

As he peeled the material away from her torso, she churned with need, not only because of the air hitting her bared skin, but because she was getting more and more revealed, even if her body didn’t scream “pregnant!” just yet.

Still, she didn’t know what to do—stop him?

No. She wanted to keep going. Oh, she wanted it so badly.

Couldn’t she just tell him everything after they made love?

Definitely. She would definitely do it then, in the afterglow, when the news couldn’t be anything but beautiful and right.

Leaving her dress bunched at her hips, he coaxed off her bra. She didn’t have the willpower to put a halt to it.

And when his hungry gaze devoured her exposed breasts, she felt such a rush of emotion for him that she couldn’t do anything more than give in all the way.

Then he turned her around, her bare back to his chest. Cupping her breasts, he rubbed her with his thumbs, bringing her to even harder peaks.

She wanted to cry out, but all she could do was make little sounds of utter enjoyment.

“I love every curve of you,” he said. “Every inch.”

He kissed her neck and she shivered.

After he backed away from her for a moment, she heard the rustle of clothing, the crinkle of packaging.

It didn’t take but a minute for him to return, and this time he was naked, except for a condom that he must’ve gotten from his wallet. She could feel him against her, hard and ready.

And she was as lost as lost could be.

He pushed her hair aside, kissed the bump on the back of her neck, then trailed down her spine, planting another kiss. Another.

“I love,” he said, his hands braced on her material-shrouded hips, “the dimples you have just above your derriere.”

Gasping, she thought just how much she wanted to worship him, too.

To show him how she would always be devoted to him, no matter what.

She turned around, pulling him up to a stand, then pushed him toward the bed. He fell back onto it, all muscled male beauty on the light field of her covers.

“I love so many things about you, too,” she said, bending down, hovering over him on her hands and knees, her dress still around her hips, the material dragging over him. The sensation of silk over his bare thighs must’ve gotten to him, because he went even harder.

She sat on his thighs, her dress covering him. Then she rested her palms on his biceps. “I love your arms, because they look like they could carry anything.”

“They can carry you.”

Yes, she wanted them to carry her everywhere, to places she’d never been before. Places only he could take her.