‘I don’t mean that I wanted to keep it a secret to punish you. But you were so cold that night. I felt like you...hated me. What if you hated our baby, too? What if you hated me even more for having him? I honestly felt like my only option was to keep him secret and raise him on my own.’ A tear slid down her cheek, and finally her wet eyes lifted to his face. ‘I’m so sorry for what I did to you—to you both.’
‘Don’t.’ His voice rumbled from the depths of his soul. ‘Don’t apologise to me. I blamed you when I first found out, but how can I blame you now?’
He moved closer, needing to comfort her the only way he knew how. He brushed his lips over hers and felt her shuddering breath as she exhaled. ‘I’m the one who’s been in the wrong. I was wrong to go to you that night, wrong to push you away so hard afterwards, saying whatever I needed to make you realise how wrong I was for you. I was wrong not to contact you afterwards. You weren’t a child, but you were so much younger than me, and considerably less worldly.’ His hands splayed over her cheeks, drawing her closer, his lips on hers now. ‘I’m sorry.’
She sobbed. He caught her anguish with his mouth, then he kissed her, slowly at first, gently, his mouth apologising to her. But then her small groan ignited something deep in his soul so, without his intention, his kiss deepened, conveying urgency and need, his hands moving to her hips, lifting her to sit on the edge of the bench, his hands curving over her bottom, holding her pressed to arousal, his kiss a demand and a promise. The spark that had ignited between them earlier that morning had caused a full-blown explosion now.
He continued to kiss her as his hands began to roam her body, and hers did likewise, pushing at his shirt, her fingers working the buttons slowly but determinedly, undoing the top two before she made a sound of frustration and simply lifted it from the waistband of his trousers. Her fingertips explored the muscular ridges of his abdomen, following the lines there until she reached his hair-roughened nipples and touched them so tentatively, he wanted to let out a guttural oath.
It was like the breaking of a dam, the beating of a drum that couldn’t be contained. He lifted her from the bench, wrapping her legs around his waist, carrying her from the kitchen without breaking their kiss, and her hands continued to roam his body hungrily, each touch like a promise of what was to come. He needed her in a way that made no sense, yet it also made all the sense in the world.
She pushed at his shirt as they entered his study. He was rarely in Sydney so the space, while beautiful, was devoid of the clutter in his Singapore office. He carried her to the large white sofa, laying her down and following after her, his body weight on hers, his kiss dominating her as his hands found the hem of her dress and pushed it upwards, just as he’d wanted to do when she’d shown it to him on the rack. He’d imagined her wearing it, imagined himself removing it. A heady rush of achievement flooded his body.
This would be the silver lining to their marriage—the one thing they could build a relationship around. He pushed at the dress, lifting away to remove it from her completely, and then he stopped. He didn’t kiss her again, even though he wanted to, because there was something he wanted to do so much more desperately.
He wanted to look at her. To see her. See the body he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to fully appreciate the night they’d made love, yet still remembered well enough to see the changes made by a child, a few years. Despite her slim frame, her breasts had grown rounder, her hips too. He cupped her breasts possessively, as though he had every right, as though she were his in every way, his mouth finding hers once more, his fingers teasing her nipples, making her arch her back and moan in a way he understood on a primal level.
‘Yes,’ he promised, though she hadn’t said anything. She didn’t need to. ‘Soon.’
Her fingertips stilled for a moment, then gained momentum, moving up his back, dragging down, her nails pushing into the waistband of his trousers and curving into the top of his bottom, dragging him closer to her, lifting her hips at the same time, as though trying to unite them.
‘Too many clothes,’ she said breathlessly. It was a sentiment with which he one hundred per cent concurred.
‘Way too many.’
He pushed to standing, his eyes burning into hers as he stripped himself of fabric completely before dispensing with her underwear. Once again, he could only look—the sight of her was so intoxicating, like a drug he’d never known he was craving. The curls of hair at the top of her thighs, the fullness of her breasts, their creamy skin and the pinkness of her nipples. She had matured into a woman’s body, and he wanted, more than anything, to make her his.
A voice in the back of his mind was shouting at him, reminding him he’d already acted on his own selfish impulses where Annabelle was concerned, taking her because it had suited him, regardless of what had been right for her. But this was different, wasn’t it? They were getting married. They already had a child together.
His arousal was straining so hard, it was painful; he could feel heat building up inside him, begging to be released.
Any woman would have done.
That wasn’t true. He’d needed Annabelle that night, just as he needed her now. He didn’t know why she had this power over him, but she did. That didn’t absolve him of his obligations, though, his duty to do the right thing by her. If anything, it made it so much more imperative that he did so.
She wasn’t just the mother of his child, she was still Lewis’s sister, and he owed them all more than just the animalistic indulgence of his urges.
‘Please,’ she whimpered, her fingertips moving to her breasts, cupping them so he swore under his breath, the temptation almost too much to bear.
‘God, Annabelle, I want this.’
‘Me too.’ She pushed up to sitting, reaching for his hand and yanking him back to the sofa. He went even when he knew he should have fought her. He sat and she lifted herself up to straddle him, her cheeks pink, her eyes fevered.
‘But we can’t do this,’ he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief at what he was saying. His arousal begged him to reconsider.
‘What?’ she murmured, as though she’d misheard him. Her hand dropped between them, cupping his masculine strength, the pad of her thumb brushing over his tip. He dropped his head back, his eyes squeezed shut as a bead of moisture escaped.
‘We should wait. Until we’re married.’
‘What?’ This time it was higher-pitched, rife with disbelief. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’
Her beautiful body jack-knifed off him, her eyes showing surprise, then hurt.
He stood, moving towards her, but she lifted a hand, stilling him. ‘Don’t. Just let me... You’re saying you don’t want to sleep with me?’
And, despite the seriousness of that mom
ent, his lips curved in a sardonic smile. ‘Does that look like what I’m saying?’ He gestured to his rampant erection, and felt a flood of warmth at the innocent blush that spread over her cheeks.