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But the doorknob turned easily beneath his hand. The bedroom was empty and he could hear water running in the adjoining bathroom. Tentatively he knocked on the door. “Elizabeth?”
“Just a moment.” Her voice sounded strained and muffled.
She didn’t sound as if she planned on camping in there for the night, so he lounged against the closest bureau and waited. It took a while, but finally the doorknob turned and she opened the door. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy, but she wasn’t crying, at least.
He straightened. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed. “Nothing. Thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful.” But her tone was lackluster and she looked at the floor rather than at him. “I’m very tired,” she said. “I’d like to go to bed.”
“All right.” He knew perfectly well she meant alone, but there wasn’t a chance of that. He walked back into the other room and locked the door for the night, then turned off the lights in the living area. By the time he returned, she’d slipped out of the pink dress and wore nothing but the silky undergarments he’d bought her.
She turned, startled, as he came back into the bedroom, but he ignored her reaction, crossing to the bath to turn out the lights. Then he rounded his side of the bed and casually began to undress, removing the tux jacket and unfastening his cuff links and studs.
“What are you doing?” Her voice had the same odd tone it had carried when she’d seen the roses.
Calmly he continued undressing, stepping out of his clothes until he wore nothing but his briefs. “Getting ready for bed. I thought you said you were tired.”
“I am.” She paused and made a helpless gesture with one hand. “I didn’t intend to sleep with you.”
“There’s only one bed,” he pointed out.
“No!” Her voice rose an octave. “I am not sharing a bed with you. Not for sleeping, not for…for any other activity, either.”
He’d had it with guessing what was going through her head. Slowly, deliberately, he began to walk around the bed to where she stood.
She took a step backward for every one of his until finally she was literally backed against a wall and he was directly in front of her. If she wanted to get away from him now, she’d have to crawl across the bed.
“I thought you’d like the roses,” he said. “I’m sorry if they upset you. Will you please tell me why?”
She hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it again. Finally she said, “Red roses are for lovers, for—for special relationships.”
Now he was the one to hesitate. Slowly, feeling as if he was walking down a tunnel without a single glimmer of light, he said, “You…are special to me. Not just because you’re going to have my child.”
Her eyes were shadowed in the light of the single bedside lamp she’d lit. She shook her head. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Rafe. If I weren’t pregnant, if I hadn’t come and sought you out, we’d never have seen each other again.”
He opened his mouth automatically to protest. Then he shut it abruptly. She might be right. Five months ago—hell, one month ago—he couldn’t have imagined himself feeling like this, couldn’t have imagined his life without her. She’d been there in the back of his mind for months, and now that she was in his life he wasn’t letting her go. Baldly, he said, “You’re probably right. If you’d stayed in Wynborough, we never would have seen each other again. But—” he reached out and slowly cupped the warm, soft flesh of her cheek in his hand, framing her jawline with his thumb “—you did come after me. You were smarter than I was. And I’m glad. I don’t want to be without you. Not because of the baby. Because of you.”
She swallowed. He felt the movement beneath his hand. “Rafe, I can’t—”
“Shhh.” He stepped closer, gathering her into his embrace, rubbing his chin over the top of her head and tucking her against his heart. “Don’t analyze it to death. Just accept it.”
Bending his head, he kissed her temple then her cheek, then tilted up her face with his thumb beneath her chin and brushed soft kisses over her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, finally nuzzling his way down to her mouth. She was warm and soft and pliant in his arms and he could feel her begin to tremble as she became aware of the arousal he couldn’t hide as his body reacted to the scents and feel of woman, his woman.
“I want you,” he said against her mouth. He bent his knees and kissed her throat, then trailed tiny kisses down the smooth flesh swelling at her breasts until the silky fabric of her slip stopped him. “May I?” he whispered.
She was leaning back against the wall now, her hands in his hair, eyes closed. Without opening them she nodded her permission, and his blood heated as he realized he’d convinced her to stay with him.
Slowly he reached down and found the hem of the slip, drawing it over her head. Her bra clasped in the front and he set his fingers at the little hook, gently snapping it apart and pushing it back off her shoulders, letting her pretty, pink-tipped breasts bob free. She was so beautiful. His throat grew tight at the realization that she was his now. He wondered if she knew he never planned to let her get away…but this wasn’t the time to discuss it. Slowly he raised his hands, cupping the soft, full globes in his palms and gently brushing his thumbs back and forth across the nipples.
She began to breathe faster, her head lolling back against the wall, and the lamplight slanted across her face, making her look mysterious and sensual and desirable. He bent again and placed his mouth right at the place where her breasts met in the center, licking his way down the swe
et crevice and then continuing on around the base of one pretty mound. He moved his hand and flicked his tongue over her flesh in an ever-decreasing spiral until finally, he was nearly at the peaked nipple. But he didn’t close his mouth over the enticing tip until she moaned and her hands came up to his head, threading through his hair to cradle his skull and guide him to her.
Victorious, he suckled the tight bud, lashing it again and again with his tongue, moving finally to treat the other nipple to the same attentions. Her fingers clenched and loosened and clenched again in his hair, and the unconscious actions fired his own arousal, pushing him heavily against the restraining fabric of his briefs and making him ache with the need to bury himself within her.
But he wanted this time to last. He wanted her to want him, to need the sweet invasion of his body as badly as he needed to immerse himself in her hot depths. And so he lingered over her breasts, suckling strongly then gently laving the puckered flesh until she was quivering before him, her hips shifting in small circles, tiny moans escaping her throat each time he increased the sweet torture.
Finally he allowed her hands to push him down, away from her breasts and he trailed his lips over the satiny flesh of her abdomen to the swell that contained his child. Turning his head, he slid to his knees and lay his cheek against her, savoring the sweetness of the moment. But she was too needy to be satisfied with such gentle actions and soon he explored the tender flesh below with his mouth until the edge of her panties, riding low beneath the fullness of her womb, made him pause.
