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‘Let me demonstrate,’ he said, sliding a knuckle under her chin.
What the hell was he waiting for? He wanted this marriage, and he wanted her. But, more to the point, she wanted him with the same intensity. It was high time she admitted that.
Lifting her face to his, he slanted his lips across hers.
She opened for him instinctively, proving his point perfectly, but then the need and hunger overwhelmed him with startling speed.
She tasted of whisky and sweetness as his tongue tangled with hers—demanding, dominant, all-consuming. She kissed him back with passion and purpose, all the stress, the volatile emotions of the last few days, swept away on a furious wave of desire.
Her hands flattened on his stomach as he gripped her head, angling her mouth to take more. To take all. His abs trembled as her fingers fisted in the starched cotton to draw him closer.
He broke the kiss reluctantly, but he could see she had got the point when he searched her face—flushed and glowing in the muted light—and saw his own need reflected back at him.
‘Marry me, Lacey,’ he said, his voice husky.
She stepped back, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip. He waited, her answer suddenly meaning much more than he wanted it to.
She nodded, even as the wary tension remained.
‘All right, I’ll marry you,’ she said. The spurt of triumph was swiftly quashed, though, when she added, ‘But I would like separate bedrooms.’
No way.
He pursed his lips to stop the swift, knee-jerk response from shooting out of his mouth.
What was the matter with him? He never shared a bedroom—why would he wish to share one with her?
‘If that’s what you want.’ He pushed the irrational anger down and forced an assured smile to his lips. ‘I don’t see that being a deal-breaker. But I want to arrange the wedding as soon as possible.’ He wasn’t going to allow her time to change her mind.
‘Okay,’ she said. As she turned and walked away from him, the triumph surged back.
After all, her request did not preclude him from exploiting their volatile chemistry as soon as they were wed.
CHAPTER TEN
THENEXTMORNING,Brandon strode towards the mansion’s east wing, feeling drained and out of sorts—emotions he did not want to feel already playing havoc with his usual purpose.
Predictably, he’d had a virtually sleepless night—again—thanks mostly to their drive-by kiss last night in the library. And the realisation that, while Lacey had agreed to marriage, she still had the power to unsettle him far too much.
But then, he had been exhausted yesterday. It had been a horrendous day. He hated talking to the press at the best of times. And having to return to a house that held so many bad memories hadn’t improved his disposition either.
He passed the door to his father’s study and kept walking. But, even so, the familiar chill slithered down his spine, much as it had when he’d been a boy.
The news had never been good when he had been called to the austere room. His father had always had complaints, demands, criticisms and a host of other ways to show him how he was falling short as the heir to the Cade empire. Even now he couldn’t remember a single word of praise or affection.
He rarely stayed at the estate unless he had to, because being here reminded him of that insecure, far too obedient child who had taken all the constant criticism and internalised them far too readily.
His footsteps echoed on the polished parquet flooring as he forced himself to forget that boy. At last, he reached the far end of the corridor that led to the rooms Lacey and Ruby had moved into the previous day.
He stopped outside the door to their suite and detected the muffled sounds of a child’s laughter. His heartbeat accelerated, the familiar anxiety from so long ago clawing at his throat.
Don’t be an idiot, Cade. She’s a four-year-old child. And you couldn’t possibly be as much of a bastard as he was—even if you wanted to be, which you don’t.
The marriage Lacey had agreed to last night would smooth the way to forming a relationship with his child. Plus, the head groundskeeper had given him an idea about what to do with his daughter today. Even so, his arm felt as if it weighed several tons as he lifted it and rapped three times on the door.
The laughter cut off and the door swung open.
Lacey stood in front of him wearing a pair of yoga pants which accentuated her slender curves and a flimsy camisole top which clung to her breasts. With her feet bare, her face devoid of make-up and her short cap of curls rioting around her face, she looked as if she’d only just got out of bed.
