Baby for the Billionaire - By Maxine Sullivan Page 0,89

want to. He tugged at the belt anchoring her robe. It parted, revealing the paper-thin nightgown beneath. A brush of his hands sent the robe fluttering around their feet in a pool of vibrant aqua silk. Next he captured the two straps of her nightgown and drew them down her shoulders, baring her desire as he bared her. His clothing followed until all that remained between them was pure desire, a white-hot blaze that drove them toward the bed.

She sank into the mattress and lifted her arms to him, offering herself like some pagan goddess. He didn’t hesitate. He claimed what she gave so willingly, branding her with his weight and desperate urgency. He found her breasts and claimed those as well, teasing them to rigidness with his teeth and tongue. Her arms enfolded him, pulling him closer still. And he sank into her heat, feeling the lap of it surround him, hearing the roar of it burning in his ears.

“I need this. I don’t think I can survive without it. Not anymore.”

“I’m here,” she whispered in her siren’s song. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, you’re not.” Somehow it didn’t come out as an agreement, but more as a warning. “You’re mine now, and I protect and hold what’s mine.”

Amusement glittered in her witch gold eyes. “We’re not possessive, are we?”

“Only with some things.” He swept a hand from breast to thigh. Mine, his touch seemed to say. He couldn’t seem to help it, his need to cleave to her had grown beyond his capacity to control. He tried to explain how he felt, fumbling over the unfamiliar words. “Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to lose you. Now that I’ve had you, I don’t think I can go back to how it was before you were part of my life.”

“Then don’t.”

There was so much more he longed to say. To explain. But he no longer possessed the ability. So he told her without words. He knew what she liked, what brought her the most pleasure. And he gave it to her. Each caress built, one on the other, and she clung to him as though she’d never let him go.

She trembled beneath his questing hand—the elegant line of her spine, the velveteen swell of her breast, the sweet curve of her thigh. He cupped the downy center of her passion, feeling the gathering tension and delicate quaking of a woman teetering on the verge. He drew her legs around his waist and drove slowly into her, losing himself in the delicious warmth. Her sigh of pleasure slid over him, sank deep inside to the very core of him, to that final place of coldness. With each ebb and flow, they moved ever closer. The eruption came, more powerful and overwhelming than any before.

He took her. Made her his. Let go of the final fragments of his control. When he did, the last sliver of ice melted. And in its place came love, a love he’d never anticipated or asked for. Never even thought possible.

But come it did.

Nine

Naturally, Mrs. Locke chose the worst possible time to arrive on their doorstep, descending six weeks after the birth of the puppies.

The morning started out perfectly, with Annalise in his arms still soft and trembling from the aftermath of their lovemaking. She wrapped him up in a tangle of arms and legs that held him close to the urgent beat of her heart. Though she never actually said the words, every lingering touch, every golden look, every whispered sigh, spoke of love.

Somehow she’d created a magical circle, a bountiful place more comfortable and spacious and exquisite than all the rooms in his family home combined. And in that circle she’d seeded a fertile garden where Isabella thrived. It was a place where he could loosen his grip on the chains of his restraint and reserve and simply let go. In that magical place, Madam romped and Isabella would soon speak and he belonged as he’d never belonged before.

For the first time, Jack felt hope. For the first time in more years than he could count, he’d found his way home, and he had no intention of ever losing his way again. He thrust his fingers deep into Annalise’s silken curls and combed them back from her face. She smiled up at him, the words he longed to hear glittering in the brilliance of her eyes and trembling on the rose-petal softness of her lips, hovering so close he could practically hear the