Heidi Rice - One-Amazing-Night Baby!

As her own chest rose and fell, he imagined the tips of her breasts tightening to the beads he loved to roll around his tongue. Sweet heaven, he could taste them now.

He was about to gather her in when she dodged around him. She stopped on a pastel-striped rug in the middle of the large room, her back to him, head lowered, hands fisted at her sides. ‘I was surprised last night, my first night here, when you didn’t try anything. You’re making up for it now.’

Legs braced apart, he crossed his arms, enjoying her unease, her anguish, knowing it brought him closer to his goal. ‘You had a big day yesterday. I wanted to give you time to settle in.’

Her reply was openly cynical. ‘A whole twenty-four hours? How magnanimous.’

Arms lowering to his sides, he set off to join her. ‘I might have considered giving you another day, but your costume has affected my thought patterns. I seem to have regressed back to using my primitive brain. I’m registering only two things.’

He ground into her back and let her feel what he meant.

Domination. Desire.

Jaw resting against her crown, he let his palms sail down her arms, ultimately securing her in place right where he needed her. These weeks had been an eternity without her in his bed.

He was about to taste the satin sweep of her shoulder when the purr in her throat turned into a growl. She broke away to face him, cheeks flushed pink, eyes dark with the same depth of passion that surged through his own veins. He felt the smile touch his eyes. This would be easier than he’d first thought.

‘Cooper,’ she begged, an ache in her voice. ‘I can’t think straight when you do that.’

He found a soothing tone. ‘Let me do the thinking.’

Her hands shot up—stop signs. ‘I do not intend to let you use those methods to persuade me to marry you. It’s not fair.’

Sorry. Not a shred of guilt.

She must have seen that her pleas fell on deaf ears. Her voice squeaked as she backed up. ‘We’ll be late for the party.’

He grinned. ‘What party?’

He’d told her this— them —was obviously meant to be. She might not be what he’d set out to find; he was not her ideal match. But damned if they couldn’t make up for it in other ways. She couldn’t argue with him if his mouth was covering hers.

Wary eyes stuck on his, she reversed up towards the opened door. ‘This is crazy.’ Her hand blindly found the handle. ‘I’ve made a decision. These jungle outfits have to go.’

His hand went to his loincloth. ‘All you had to do was ask.’

She jumped. ‘No! I only meant this isn’t going to work. We’re going to that party, no matter what you say or think, but I’m not parading around close to naked in front of anyone—including you. I won’t do it.’

When she practically stamped her foot, Cooper scrubbed his chin. Damn, she was stubborn.

He savoured the vision of his Jane one last time, then ripped the wig from his head and rough-housed his scalp. Best anyway. Aside from the animal instinct, he wasn’t the Tarzan type.

He passed her and crossed out into the hall. ‘You stay here. I’ll get the other costumes. We’ll change, go to the party, and get home to bed by a decent hour.’

She hid behind the frame. ‘We? Bed? No, Cooper. This door has a lock, and I’m not afraid to use it.’

He smiled. As if that would keep him out.

But he’d feed her fantasy. In fact, a better strategy might be to withhold his affections. Give her time to realise just how much she wanted to revisit their night—again and again. She already knew his take on the situation: they should get to know each other more. Sharing a bed was the obvious place to start. Once he had her there, everything else would fall into place.

With that in mind, he constructed a suitable reply. ‘I meant we should go to bed at a decent hour so you can get your rest. Perhaps we could get up early for a dip?’ She’d seemed interested in the heated pool yesterday, when he’d shown her the grounds.

‘How early is early?’ she wanted to know, still on her toes. ‘I’m on a timetable all week. Sunday’s my day to sleep in.’

Ah, at last. Something they could agree on. ‘How’s eight sound?’

Her face pinched. ‘I’m thinking more late morning.’

She unclasped the heavy beads hanging around her neck and they fell into her cleavage. His loincloth flexed, but he set his jaw. He’d decided slow and steady would win this race.

‘I usually stay up late to watch the mysteries on cable Saturday night,’ she explained, rescuing the beads from between her breasts—as if that action wouldn’t aggravate a man in his condition.

Then he realised what she’d said. Mysteries were by no means his favourite. There were great alternatives. ‘I prefer Union.’

‘Civil war movies?’

He blinked at her. How did that connect? ‘I mean football.’

Her expression didn’t budge. ‘You like football?’

‘Most guys like football.’

‘I’m not a guy.’

Obvious. So was her unimpressed state. Easily fixed. ‘When you want to watch Agatha and I want to watch the Wallabies, there are plenty of televisions to go around. Two upstairs, three downstairs.’

She arched a brow. ‘You watch a lot of TV?’

If he said he did, she’d only say she didn’t. Watching television was the last thing on his mind.

He snatched a look at his wristwatch. ‘Look at the time.’

She straightened. ‘Leave the costume on the handle,’ she said, closing the door, ‘and I’ll see you downstairs in five. I hate being late.’

‘YOU’RE a late person, aren’t you?’

Sophie frowned at the analogue clock on the dashboard as Cooper navigated the western suburb streets. Eight-forty-five. Penny’s invitation had said seven.

She watched lamppost shadows chase over Cooper’s classically chiselled profile as he replied. ‘Only in so far as time is concerned.’

Sophie refrained from exhaling heavily. Late people drove her insane.

‘Don’t you have to meet with clients and be in court at specific times?’ she asked. ‘Surely you can’t be late for appointments?’

‘I compensate.’

‘How? You make excuses? Buy gifts?’

He flicked her a got-it-covered look. ‘I set my electronic reminder to go off thirty minutes before time. I also set my watch seven minutes early.’

Uh-huh.

‘You don’t get mixed up?’

He turned the wheel. ‘Never.’

She thought about pointing out how crazy it all sounded, but if she had a right to be herself, she guessed he did too. This trial wasn’t supposed to be about who was right or wrong, but rather the grey area in between—what worked as individuals as well as a couple. Not that she had any real faith that two people as different as they were could find enough space ‘in between’ to make a go of marriage.

Given their current highly sensitive states, wearing next to no clothes—particularly animal print—wouldn’t work. Although feeling Cooper’s loincloth pressed up against her hadn’t been unpleasant. In fact, his fiery hands on her arms, his hot breath on her neck, had felt deliriously good.

So good she’d almost surrendered.

But if they became intimately involved again, she wouldn’t be able to see the forest for the trees. He’d charm her into marriage and then, for better or worse, she’d be stuck. Divorce was an out, she supposed, but how would she fare in court? Cooper was a respected expert in divorce and custody issues. No. Best not to go there.

If they married, Cooper would still carry on with his life his way. No one and nothing could stop him. But she wanted to make her own choices too. Could she ever hope to do that married to a man like Cooper? She had intelligence and options. She didn’t need to get married—and certainly not for convenience’s sake.