Page 30 of Reasons Of the Heart

'Other commitments? Spending a few more days with me isn't a commitment, Fran. Hell, I have enough re­sponsibilities in my own professional life to ensure that I evade them as much as I can in my private life.'

A more straightforward proposal of dishonourable intentions Fran couldn't imagine and she felt strangely reassured. In effect it was a promise to let her dictate the terms of their relationship which, combined with the powerful feeling of inevitability which he had engen­dered this morning, proved unbearably tempting. But there were cross-currents between them that tugged dangerously at her senses. What if she stayed and, God forbid, fell in love with him? Every cautious bone in her body went brittle at the idea of trusting her happiness to someone else.

'I... should go back to Auckland.' She was disgusted to hear her tongue change must into should.

'Why?' He was leaning so close, hanging from tense fingers, that she could feel his breath fluttering on her lashes. 'You told us at lunch that your partner is doing all the paperwork, and that you've had the plans drawn up for weeks. In another few days Simpson will have squared Ian's estate, unchallenged, and you can leave with a full statement of your assets to show your bank manager. Stay until then, Princess...'

At what point had the snide insult become an endear­ment? Fran wondered as she put a hand flat on his chest to stop herself falling forward into the blue void of his eyes. His chest rose quick and hard against her hand, her fingers sliding through the patch of hair revealed by the opened neck of his shirt.

'I... I can't...' absently, concentrating on the vi­brations under her fingertips.

'You can...' The words formed against her lips, his tongue stroking its velvety roughness against their parted warmth, then plunging inside with a sudden-ness that made her head reel. The muscles of his arms bulged as his hands clenched convulsively against the wire at the inward sway of her body against the open trap of his. The slender, capable hand on his chest slid up around the rigid column of his neck, pulling him down to her, her other hand curving around his hard waist, fingers reaching down to splay against the muscular jut of his buttocks. Ross gave a soft groan in her mouth and arched hungrily into her softness, the powerful thighs sup­porting the potent thrust of his hips. Fran responded just as hungrily, realising dimly that his refusal to put his arms around her was a deliberate enticement, a sexual challenge that was impossible to resist.

She pushed a thigh between his, and he caught and held it against the centre of his body, letting her feel the rigid proof of his arousal. Yet still he didn't put his arms around her. With a hot surge of mingled power and frustration Fran pushed her rounded breasts against his chest, crushing the taut peaks with a shudder of maso­chistic pleasure, her mouth widening beneath the silken search of his tongue. Both hands were now clinging to his waist, sliding up under the sweatshirt to find the damp, ridging muscles of his back. Suddenly he tore his mout

h away. 'Stay.'

Francesca stared at him with storm-grey eyes, feeling the small tremors that rippled through the powerful male body. The handsome face was flushed, the sensuous mouth full, the blue-hot flame in his eyes both frighten­ing and exciting her. She had never dreamed she could make a man look like that: pleasure-racked from the mere touching mouths and bodies. Hanging there against the wire, he looked as if he was being tortured and she supposed that in way, he was... and she was the tor­turer. Guiltily she stepped back, but he caught her at last, his fingers white with the marks of the wire, cupping her face, the strain of his gentleness evident in the husky grating of his voice.

'No... stay.' He laid a finger against her mouth and moved it back and forth against the swollen fullness. 'In your own time, Frankie. I won't rush you, I won't hurt you...' And he gathered her delicately into him, his kiss deep and soft and infinitely sensuous. There was none of the tension of moments before, but passion aplenty, smooth and swift-running, freed of the turmoil of Fran's mental resistance. They were so engrossed they didn't hear the tentative electronic tuning from the barn de­velop into a hard-driving rhythm. Fran was listening to an inner music, far more lyrical. The sound vibrating the timbers of the barn concealed other noises, however, and Fran was highly embarrassed when her eyes flut­tered open and she saw Jason and Tessa, hand in hand behind Ross, regarding them with twin expressions of amusement.

'Ross—' She squirmed, trying to push him away.

'Don't get skittish on me now, Princess—' His voice

was velvet with sensual threat.

'Unhand the lady, thou blackhearted villain!' Jason grinned, causing his brother to spin around, keeping firm hold of the woman in his arms. 'A gentleman would heed a maiden's protest.'

To Fran's further embarrassment Ross didn't let her go. He scooped her around in front of him, pulling her back against his chest and linking his arms under her breasts so that they presented a united front to his brother.

'Ah, but the lady doth protest too much, and any man worth his salt knows what that means!' The chauvinistic teasing made Fran struggle to break his implacable grip, but her struggles ceased abruptly as Ross bent his head to murmur throatily in her ear, 'You'd better stay put, Princess. If you move away from me now you're going to embarrass the hell out of both of us.' He eased his hips forward to show her why and Fran felt a slow, tingling blush sweep through her body as an unmistak­able hardness was cradled in the cleft of her buttocks. His arms tightened briefly, increasing her breathless-ness, before relaxing as he felt her lean obediently back against him.

'Isn't he terrible?' Tessa shook her head cheerfully, embarking on what was obviously a well established family game. 'I mean, women flock to his practice be­cause he has this reputation for being empathetic as well as a damned good doctor. But it's all a sham. He only pretends to believe that women are real people with functioning brains as well as bodies, but underneath he harbours these savage sexist fantasies...'

'Thank God you two are going to be married soon!' Ross muffled his laughter in the warm brown curls on Francesca's head. 'My professional advice, Jase, is barefoot and pregnant. It's the only way to control that beady-eyed obsession with dethroning the naturally dominant partner...'

'But Ross, I thought you knew, men can't get pregnant,' Tess shot back. 'There has to be another way. Fran, you really must do something about this character masquerading as a doctor. He doesn't even know the facts of life, for heaven's sake.'

'You mean about women being the naturally domi­nant partners? I know, I know. He really is incredibly thick,' said Fran, entering into the fray, only to be thoroughly trounced when Ross made a tiny rocking movement against her and said in a low voice, for her ears alone,

'Why, thank you, darling, I'm glad you're impressed.'

She was so flustered she missed the next few moments of lightly insulting banter, and yet it was a confusion she enjoyed. Wrapped in his arms, Fran felt warm and secure and very much at home, wryly aware of how drastically her opinion of him had changed in the short time she had known him. She guessed that women would indeed flock to his practice. Ross was a trifle arrogant, it was true, but it was an arrogance born of confidence in himself and his abilities, and tempered by a lazy charm that was a natural outgrowth of his warm and loving upbringing. It would be a point of pride with him to be the best at what he did, and to treat the whole woman rather than just her condition, Fran had known, and disliked, obstetricians and gynaecologists who used-aloofness and medical jargon as a subtle form of intimi­dation on their patients. But Ross, with his tolerance and humour, would put a woman at her ease, enable her to express her questions and fears about her treatment without being made to feel that she was imposing on a busy man's time. Ross would earn his patient's respect instead of demanding it by virtue of his position...

Fran jumped as a reverberating boom from the barn was followed by a high-pitched electronic whine. Jason winced and said something that was drowned out by another ear-shattering sequence of chords.

'What?' Ross raised his voice to a shout.

'I said,' Jason yelled, 'why don't you invite Tess and I over for a spa this evening in your quiet haven? We'll bring the food if you provide the booze. How about it?'

'Anything to escape the new wave of the future,' Tessa laughed, hands over her ears, nodding towards the barn.

'Perhaps we can make a few waves of our own,' Jason leered, and was teasingly slapped for his pains. 'Shall we bring togs, Fran, or have you both carried on your skinny-dipping tradition?'

'Togs, please,' said Fran primly, ignoring Ross's sen­suous chuckle, although she had a suspicion that even if she wore a suit of armour, one look from those sexy blue eyes and she would be naked before him, body and soul!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Source: www.allfreenovel.com