The Mogul's Maybe Marriage

“If I marry you, Ethan, it can’t be because of what happened at the Eastern. It can’t be because of…this.” She looked down, managing to convey both their bodies, the crumpled clothes between them. “It can’t be about…about sex. I won’t go to bed with you until after we’re married. We both need that break. That separation. We both need to be certain that we’re getting married for the right reason—for our baby.”

He understood what she was doing. Despite her finding the courage to meet him tonight, she was unnerved by their passion, by the animal need that had drawn them together, that hummed between them, even now, like the echo of a gong.

But that was why he’d been drawn to her in the first place, wasn’t it? The freshness of her innocence. The honesty that she’d brought to bed with her. That was what had intrigued him, made him realize that she was different from every other woman he’d ever had. It had been a pure bonus to discover that there was more to Sloane than a beautiful face, a gorgeous body. Her passion for her work had been like a decadent dessert after a sating meal—stunning because it was unnecessary. Unexpected.

If only Sloane still wanted him, after she learned the truth about his Hartwell genes. If only she kept her promise to marry him after the fourteenth week, after the testing that would disclose whether Ethan was as cursed as his own parents had been, twice. He couldn’t let himself think about that, though. Couldn’t think about losing Sloane.

Better to play the role she was expecting. Better to pretend that he knew there would always be a happy ending. Better to give in to the passion that he could barely restrain when she was anywhere near.

He raised her wrist to his mouth. His lips hovered above her trembling pulse, barely touching her throbbing flesh. He heard the moan that she caught at the back of her throat, and then he darted out his tongue to taste her. He clamped his fingers around her arm when she jumped away in surprise, and he used the motion to pull her close to his chest.

“You’ll change your mind,” he said. “After a few weeks? Months? How long do you think it will take to plan a wedding?” He leaned down and whispered against her lips, “I promise. You will change your mind.”

She shook her head, her eyes gone round. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“You will,” he said. “You already have. And when you admit that, you’ll have to tell me. You’ll have to ask for what you truly want.”

She shook her head, her throat working, but no words rose to the surface.

He pulled back, settling for planting one last kiss in the palm of her hand. “Remember this,” he said. “Remember now. You will.”