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She lightly slapped his hand away. “The view is getting chilly since you stole all my covers.”
“Let me warm you up.”
She smiled at him then. Damned if her smile couldn’t light up the darkest night. “Hmm. You know, that’s an excellent idea….”
And then, before he had a chance to take the lead, her warm, soft hand closed around him. The feel of her gripping him was so perfect, so exactly right, that a low, pleasured moan escaped him.
She was still smiling—a much naughtier smile than before. “How about … like this?”
“Oh, yeah …”
She put her other hand—the one that wasn’t doing incredible things to his suddenly rock-hard erection—on his chest. Gently she pushed him over until he lay on his back. Then she canted up over him. That cinnamon hair brushed his chest. The scent of her swam around him. She whispered, “And like this …?”
He could only nod as those long fingers of hers stroked him, slow, knowing strokes.
How did she do it?
The woman drove him wild.
She worked him, milking him with her hand, and she kissed her way down the center of his chest. When she took him in her mouth, he was absolutely certain he was going to explode.
Somehow he managed to hold back as her soft lips closed over him, as the wet cave of her silky mouth surrounded him, sucking. He rolled his head on the pillow and groaned low in his throat and tried not to reach for her….
He could only hold out for so long. The moment came too quickly when he couldn’t take the sweet sexual torture she inflicted for one second more.
So he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her up to face him.
“Hey.” She grinned down at him. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Maybe not. But if you don’t stop, I will be.”
Her fingers tightened on him again. “Fine with me.”
He groaned. “Wait.” And then he swore. “Have mercy….”
“Oh, Fletcher. I love it when you beg.”
“Kiss me. Now.” He lifted his head off the pillow, straining for that soft mouth.
She gave him those warm, full lips, and he kissed her, urging her to open, which she did without even token resistance. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled, wild for her by then, wanting only the hot, perfect feel of her body closing around him.
He sought her, found her. She was slick and swollen with arousal, already wet for him. She could take him. Now. When he needed her so desperately.
He nudged her smooth thighs apart and slid inside with a pleasured moan.
Oh, the way she fit him. No one. Ever. Had fit him like that.
She wrapped those fine legs around him and she moved with him, rocking, taking his rhythms and giving them back to him, answering the questions he hadn’t even known to ask.
She whispered his name, husky and low. “Fletcher …”
“Yeah,” he said. “Cleo …”
And then he was rising, going up and over, spilling into her, and she was holding him, meeting him, crying out with her own release.
There was that frozen, straining moment as the pure pleasure took them. Then they both went limp.
He lifted up to his elbows and looked down into her flushed face. Her satiny throat was dewed with sweat. He bent his head and licked her there, tasting her.
“Fletcher,” she whispered, breathless—and insistent. He lifted his head enough to meet her eyes. She looked … what? Disbelieving? Shocked?
He stared down at her, baffled. What the hell could be wrong? “What’s the matter?”
“We forgot the condom,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
Cleo thought he looked totally stunned—as stunned as she felt. “I can’t believe we did that,” she whispered. “Damn.” He blinked. Shook his head. “Neither can I.”
“We’ve got to be more careful….” She waited for him to agree.
And he did. Kind of. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe …” She pushed at his shoulders. “Fletcher, what do you mean maybe? There’s no maybe about it. We have to—” He put a finger against her lips. “Easy.” She pushed his hand away. “Fletcher, this is serious.”
“We could look at this from another angle, you know”
“Another angle? I don’t think so. We messed up. We can’t afford to—”
“Wait.”
“But I don’t—”
“Go with me here, just for a minute.”
She stared up at him, bewildered. He really was acting strangely. “Go with you … where?”
“You did tell me you wanted kids, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah. But—”
“Having sex without a condom is a good way to make that happen.”
She gaped up at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.”
“Yeah. I heard it. I can’t believe you said it, but I definitely heard it.”
“Are you telling me you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want a baby, after all?”
“No. No, that’s not what I said—or at least, not what I meant. What I meant was, I don’t want a baby like this.”
“Like what?”
She couldn’t believe the look on his face. Did he find this amusing? She accused, “I swear, all of a sudden you are grinning at me.”
“Yeah. So?”
“It’s not funny. I don’t want to be like my mother—or even like your mother, though that is no judgment on either of them, it’s truly not. I want my kids to grow up with their father in the house, you know? I want—”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She glared up at him and demanded, “Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
She pushed at him again, hard enough that he rolled off her. Then she sat up and grabbed for the sheet at the bottom of the bed, yanking it up to cover herself. “Listen. Listen very carefully. I don’t want to be a single mom. I don’t want that for myself or for my kids.”
“Fine. Let’s get married.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Would you, um, say that again?”
He put up a hand. “Wait.”
“But—”
“No. I mean it. Wait right there.” He slid from the bed, went to his knees, yanked open the bedside drawer and took something out of there.
“Fletcher, have you completely lost your mind?”
He shoved the drawer shut. “I think I might have.” He put his fist to his chest and loudly cleared his throat. “Cleopatra. Marry me.”
She clutched the sheet harder and stared down at him—naked on his knees. Proposing to her. “I … what?”
“I said, marry me.” He held out his fist and opened his fingers. A gold-embossed red jewelry box sat on his spread palm. A ring box.
Her stunned gaze tracked from the box to his face and back to the box. She blinked, thinking this truly could not be real. But when she opened her eyes again, he was still on his knees, still holding out that little box. “You’re serious … aren’t you?”
He grinned all the wider. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Give me your hand.” Numbly she did. He set the little red box in it. Then he wrapped her fingers around it. “Marry me, Cleo.”
A marriage proposal. From Fletcher. It was the last thing she’d ever expected to get from him. “But … why?”
He rose and sat on the bed beside her. “Well, first of all, because you’re the perfect wife for me.”
She swallowed. “I am?”
“You are. I knew it from that first day, when you came to my office to tell me you wouldn’t, under any circumstances, put KinderWay in my casino. Cleo, you’re wonderful with Ashlyn—as I knew you would be. You’ll make a great mother. That’s of major importance. And then there’s the fact that you know and understand the world I live in—after all, you grew up in my world.
“And then there’s your honesty. I look in those amber eyes and I know you’ll never lie to me. I can trust you. And every time I’m near you, all I can think about is getting you naked.” He tugged on the sheet she still clutched to her breasts. She didn’t let go. She still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Come on,” he urged. “Say yes.”
Marriage.
Fletcher wanted to marry her.
A gleeful voice inside her head was loudly shouting, Yes!
But she didn’t say the word out loud. Not yet. She was a practical woman at heart. She might make a bold leap, but she’d get a few questions answered first.
“Fletcher?”
“Anything.”
“I could never marry a man who wasn’t one hundred percent true to me. If I married you, I’d have to be the only woman in your bed. Ever.”
He frowned. “Haven’t we already had this conversation?”
“That was about being lovers, a promise for as long as it lasted between us. This is for much, much more. This is … forever. Because that’s how long I would want our marriage to last. It would be you and me, just you and me. Can you promise me that?”
By then, he was scowling. “I’m no virgin. I’ve had my share of lovers. But I would never betray my wife.”
She set the red box beside her on the bed and she reached out to smooth the scowl from his brow. “Please. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. But I had to know….”
He caught her hand and kissed it. “I’ll be a faithful husband. Say yes.”
“I, um, one more thing.”
“What now?”
“Well, you’ve yet to mention love….”
“Love,” he repeated, looking a little bit stunned.
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes, refusing to waver. “Love.”
He dropped her hand—but only long enough to pick up the red box and remove the biggest, brightest princess-cut diamond she’d ever seen. He took her left hand. It happened to be the hand she was using to hold up the sheet, which dropped around her waist. Neither of them noticed.
She was starting to put it together. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
His expression grew severe. “The ring and the proposal, absolutely. Forgetting to use a condom—no. That was a mistake. The truth is, I got carried away.”
“Oh, Fletcher.” Her heart was pounding so hard the sound rang in her ears.
“Are you listening?”
“Oh, yes. I am.”
“All right then. I love you, Cleo. Passionately. Completely. To distraction and beyond …” He slid the platinum band on her finger.
And she grabbed for him. “Oh, Fletcher. I love you, too—and yes. Yes, yes, yes!”
