“I’m going to take you to bed, love,” he said gently, and a hot tide of pleasure surged through her body at his words. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, the time for protests gone. She loved him, and now she realized exactly what that meant; she loved him too much to preserve any distance between them.
He carried her to her bed, and this time he was slow, gentle, taking his time to kiss her and caress her, arousing her to fever pitch while he kept tight control over his own body. Then he eased inside her, and Claire cried out as he filled her. Her nails dug into his back; her hips arched wildly toward him. Max’s control broke, and he gave a hoarse cry as he grasped her hips and began driving into her. That same wild, ungovernable need exploded between them, just as it had the first time. They couldn’t get enough of each other, couldn’t get close enough. Their joining was as elemental as a storm, and as violent.
In the silent aftermath Max held her close, his hand on her stomach. It had happened again, and he couldn’t regret it. This woman was his; he could never let her go. She was tender and loving, sensitive and vulnerable and easily hurt. He would gladly spend the rest of his life protecting her from those hurts, if she would only stay with him.
Claire watched with wide, unfathomable eyes as he rose on his elbow and leaned over her. He was very male, and never more so than when he was nude, the power of his body exposed. She put her hand on the brown tangle of hair that covered his chest, stroking gently. What was he thinking? He was serious, almost stern, his sea-colored eyes narrowed to brilliant slits, and he was so beautiful that he took her breath away.
“I may have made you pregnant tonight,” he said, his fingers sliding over her stomach. Claire inhaled slightly, her eyes widening. His hand slid down even farther to touch her intimately and explore her in a way that shot rockets along her nerves, making her arch and twist against his fingers. He leaned even closer, his mouth finding hers. “I want to make you pregnant,” he groaned, the thought so erotic that his body was hardening again. “Claire, will you have my baby?”
Tears streaked silvery trails down her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered, reaching up to hold him with both hands as he rolled onto her. He thrust deeply into her, and they stared into each other’s eyes as they made love, moving together and finding incredible magic. If she could have his child, she would never ask anything more of life. She moved under him. She felt; she loved; she experienced; and she cried.
He lay on her, still deep within her, and kissed away her tears. Incredible contentment filled him. “Claire,” he said, holding her face still in his hands, “I don’t think anything but marriage will do.”
CHAPTER 11
Claire felt as if her heart had simply stopped beating. Everything inside her went still, waiting for that moment when time would begin again. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Then, with a little jolt, her heart resumed its function, freeing her from the temporary paralysis. “Marry?” she asked faintly.
“My mother will be in ecstasy if you make an honest man of me,” he said, tracing her lower lip with his finger. “She’s quite given up on me, you know. Marry me, and have my children. I find that I want that very much. When I saw you holding Jed tonight, I thought how perfect you look with a baby in your arms, and I want it to be my baby.”
There was nothing about love in his proposal, but Claire found that there didn’t have to be. She could accept the fact that he didn’t love her. She would take whatever he offered her and do anything she could to make him happy with his decision. Perhaps she should have more pride than to settle for anything less than love, but pride wouldn’t gain her anything except an empty bed and an empty life. Happily ever after was a fairy tale, after all.
“All right,” she whispered.
His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and he eased away from her to lie beside her, hugging her against him. His free hand absently stroked her satiny shoulder, and his handsome face was thoughtful. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
She wished he hadn’t asked that; it touched on a wound that hadn’t healed, reminded her of pain that still lingered. She didn’t want to think of the past, not now, when she had just agreed to take a step into the future, a step that terrified her with its enormity. If Max were just an ordinary man perhaps she wouldn’t feel so uncertain, but Max was extraordinary in every way, and she was filled with doubts that she would ever be able to satisfy him.
“It seems I have to, doesn’t it?”
“I never intended to hurt you. I wanted only to get the business part of things over with, so I could concentrate on you. I’ve wanted you pretty desperately from the first,” he admitted wryly. “You wreck my self-control, but that’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Her head found the hollow of his shoulder, nestling there comfortably. “Why is it obvious?”
He gave a short laugh. “Bloody hell, you can’t believe I normally go about attacking women on a table in the foyer? You kissed me back, and I went mad. I couldn’t think of anything but being inside you. It was like being picked up by a storm, unable to do anything but go along for the ride.”
It had been like that for her, too, an explosion of the senses that obliterated everything else in the world except that moment, this man. The memory of that first lovemaking would make her blush for the rest of her life, because she hadn’t known she was capable of such passion. Since then she had come to expect that inner burning whenever he touched her.
She sighed, suddenly so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. Max kissed her then untangled himself from the bed and got up. Claire opened her eyes, watching him in bewilderment as he sorted out his clothing and got dressed.
“If you weren’t half-asleep already, we’d make wedding plans,” he said, bending over to tuck the sheet around her naked body. “But you’re tired, we have to work tomorrow, and all my clothes are at my apartment, so it’s best that I leave.”
There would be a thousand-and-one problems to work out, some small and some not so small, but she couldn’t think of them now. She was drowsy, her body satisfied, and though she was disappointed that he wouldn’t be spending the night with her, she realized that it wasn’t practical. He kissed her, his hand stroking over her body in blatant possessiveness.
“I hope you like big weddings,” he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered. “Why?”
“Because I have hundreds of relatives who would die of terminal dudgeon if they weren’t invited to my wedding.”
She chuckled, snuggling deeper into the bed. Max kissed her again, so reluctant to leave her that he considered saying to hell with work and climbing back into bed with her. She was so warm and rosy and relaxed, and he knew it was from his lovemaking. There was nothing quite like the feeling of certainty that he had left her satisfied, and his emotions ran the gamut from pride to possessiveness to wonder. Under all that lay his own bone-deep satisfaction. Beneath her cool, self-possessed mask was a passionate nature. Other people saw only the mask, but she burned for him with a sweet fire that left its scorch marks on his heart and branded him as hers.
She was asleep, her breathing soft and even. With one last look at her, Max quietly turned out the light and left the bedroom. Soon they would be sharing a bedroom and a name, and his ring would be on her hand.
When she woke the next morning, Claire had the confused feeling that it had all been a dream, a wonderful, impossible dream. Had Max actually asked her to marry him, or had her imagination conjured up the fantasy? Then she moved, and the startled realization that she was naked brought back clear memories of the night before. He had made love to her; then he’d asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. Panic twisted her stomach. What if it didn’t
work out? What if they got married and he decided that she didn’t suit him, after all? What if she failed to satisfy him, just as she had failed with Jeff? What if he already regretted asking her? Men sometimes said things in the heat of passion that they later wished had never been said.
The phone rang beside her, startling her, and she almost dropped the receiver as she grabbed it. “Yes? Hello?”