Jennifer Greene: The Soon-To-Be-Disinherited Wife

Hell, if she hadn’t made a fierce groaning sound of surrender, he probably could have experimented with a thousand more kisses just on her face and neck alone.

Exploring Emma was the most fascinating job he’d ever come across…although Garrett discovered that undoing Emma was an even more consuming occupation.

The pearl clip in her hair had to be jettisoned first, because he needed to be able to freely run his hands through her thick, lustrous hair. The better to hold her. The better to kiss her thoroughly. The better to explore the sensation of her hair sliding through his fingers.

As soft as the texture of her silky blouse was, her skin beneath it was a thousand times softer. He suffered the shock of discovering the wicked woman was wearing no bra beneath it. Imagine. His elegant never-break-a-rule Emma failing to wear a bra, and for that he did his best to reward her.

She seemed to appreciate his tribute, because the tips hardened and the soft white flesh swelled and tightened under the cup of his lips, under the wash of his tongue, under the caress of his palm. She sucked in breath after breath. Her hands by then were busy, too, pulling at any clothes she could reach, at his shirt, the buttons.

Heaven knew, he wanted his clothes off, too, preferably faster than yesterday, but he was determined to hold on to some control. He hadn’t even gotten her into the bedroom yet. The soft mattress, the darkness, was only a room away.

She’d had a traumatic day, and her ex still had to be on her mind. Before making love, he didn’t want anything on her mind-but him. And them. And what they brought each other.

Not that a guy couldn’t tease his lady before going for the end run. He slipped the blouse off her, whooshed it onto a chair, carefully unclipped each earring, kissing each ear at the same time, then stripped off her rings and wrist bangles. Those took more kisses, more time. She seemed impatient as if she wanted him to rush.

She made him rush, all right. The blood seemed to be shooting in his veins, starting with his head, aiming straight below his belt. Something was weird about her skirt. No snap. No button. Finally he got it, that the skirt had some type of fancy clasp-tricky and confusing for big hands to figure out, so it was a damn good thing he was inspired.

The long claret skirt fell in a swish to her bare feet.

Then the only thing she wore were white underpants-at least he thought the teensy scrap of lace was underpants. And, of course, the triple strand of pink pearls trying to hide between her breasts.

The lace went first. But that was as good as he was capable of being. His patience and control had been too tested.

The pearls were coming to bed with them.

Her arms wound tight around his neck when he lifted her. Her mouth had latched onto his and refused to let go. He couldn’t exactly see. Not that he didn’t know where the bed was. Not that he had any intention of dropping her.

Not that he gave a damn whether he could see or not.

He could feel. Her. Feel the weight of her, the textures of her. The beauty of her. Smell her hair, her skin; taste her breath, her mouth, her throat.

He lowered her on the bed, then annoyingly realized he was still wearing pants-and part of his shirt. He shucked both, then came back to her. Finally there was nothing between them but pearls. Bare skin rubbed against bare skin, his erection inspired to make her feel appreciated. She kept making these sounds, these soft, soft sounds of yielding, of yearning, of surrender.

Maybe she wanted to drive him mad. Maybe she could. Maybe she already had.

She gave so willingly. That was what got to him the most. She opened her arms, her legs, her trust for him. As self-contained as he’d always been, Emma had held herself tighter yet-and needed to. He’d learned toughness. She hadn’t. He could do cold. Not her.

At least not now, with him. She wrapped her legs snug and high around him, pulling him into her, her palms and fingers gliding all over him, arms, shoulders, back, wooing him deeper into her…and then deeper yet. That sensation of sliding into her was like none other in the universe.

He wanted to stay there, savoring the sensation, for another hundred years. At least for another second. But the need to claim her, to possess her, was a thousand times more powerful. Garrett could have sworn he didn’t have a single caveman urge…but it seemed he did. The need to make her his woman, to own her at that instant, was more compelling than any need for air or water. Nothing else would do but having her. Then. Right then. Fast and hard.

“Love,” she whispered helplessly.

“I do. Love you,” he whispered back.

“Love you. Love you, ” she whispered, and damnation, but that destroyed his last drop of control. They both rode that wave, high, fast, sweat-and-heat fast, silver-fast, climbing until both of them hit the mountain peak at the same time. Then spilled over.

He came and came and came, as if he hadn’t had an orgasm in years, as if he had some fierce primal need to fill her up with his seed, his life. She called out and then called out again, until they both finally sank against the pillows, whipped and breathing rough and hard.

She laughed suddenly, softly, as if she couldn’t believe the wild, wicked ride they’d just been through together. So did he, kissing her damp forehead, loving the feeling of her in his arms.

For a few minutes he was too beat to move…not that he wanted to. But eventually he realized that her skin was cooling and he shifted up on an elbow just to untangle the blanket and spread it over them. She didn’t budge beyond snuggling her cheek more intently into his shoulder.

He had to smile again.

She’d already fallen asleep. He strongly suspected that she’d sleep long and hard if he could ensure she wasn’t interrupted.

As crazy as it sounded, he felt as if his life started at this precise moment. Making love the night before had been extraordinary and wonderful…but just now she’d become his woman. Really his. In spite of impossible odds, he’d found the one woman, the only one, who’d ever made him believe in love.

God knows there were troubles ahead. His sister. The craziness of his work, trying to live in two places right now, not being settled. And then there were his faults-the workaholic thing. The self-centered, too-focused thing. The terror that he wouldn’t know how to love her the right way, that he’d learned only wrong things from his parents, his life.

But damn, there was time to sweat all of that, and tonight wasn’t it.

Right now he had her in his arms. All he wanted. All that could possibly matter.

Emma kept having the strangest dream-she knew it had to be a dream because she was naked except for a string of pearls.

The dream was the opposite of a nightmare. She was walking out of an ugly tunnel-a dark place where she knew she’d been trapped and anxious and never able to see sunlight. Yet in the dream, the answer was so simple. She followed the path out of the tunnel into another world, a beautiful world, where aspens shivered in the wind, revealing leaves of real gold. The sun bathed down warmth but was never so hot as to burn.

She felt strong and happy and loved…

And then she suddenly opened her eyes. Garrett had pulled a chair next to the bed, was sitting there with a mug between his hands, staring intently at her. “Hey, beauty,” he murmured. “I was starting to worry.”

“Worry?” she asked groggily.

“I’ve talked to London twice. Paris once. Switzerland three times. Handled over four million in securities and investments. Had breakfast-”

“Good grief. What time is it?”

“Take it easy.” A royal finger ordered her head back down to the pillow. “It’s only eight o’clock.”