Susan Fox - Reclaiming His Wife

As it had when she had got pregnant?

Unwillingly her mind skittered back to that time. Usually she would have been horrified at the thought of conceiving an unwanted child, at using no protection, but she had let him that night, too ensnared by the bitter-sweet aftermath of their quarrel to retain any measure of common sense. Getting pregnant was the last thing she had wanted, but Nature had had other ideas, opening her womb to his seed and forcing her—despite her worries, her resistance and the threat of breaking up—or perhaps, as he had suggested, because of all of those things—to accept that her body had selected this man as its mate and master, and that her genes would be melded with his, no matter what the cost.

Hurting, angry with herself, with him, and with the forces of nature—or whatever had destined that she should be marooned here with him—she pushed herself up out of the water and grabbed the big fluffy towel from the arm of the chair just within her reach, foam cascading down over her glistening nakedness.

Keeping her back to him, quickly she proceeded to dry herself, her slim shoulders tense from the uncomfortable knowledge that he was watching her. She could sense his dark, almost tangible gaze travelling down over each vertebrae of her slender back to her tapering waist and tight neat bottom.

‘My robe?’ Unable to see it anywhere as she finished drying herself, she thrust her feet into a pair of open-toed mules and, with the damp towel draped around her, made a move towards the door, realising she must have left it upstairs.

‘No you don’t.’ Jared’s hard command stalled her. He was already getting to his feet. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold.’

He was back within a couple of minutes, striding over to warm the garment in front of the fire.

‘Here.’

Discarding the towel, wishing he wasn’t so close, Taylor slipped her arms into the robe he was holding out for her. The sleeves were still cold, but the body of it was nicely warm and she gave a delicious little shudder as she pulled it around her. However, on reaching for the belt, her fingers almost entwined with his and quickly she withdrew them, standing stock-still as his arms looped under hers so that he could tie the sash around her tiny waist.

He was looking over her shoulder, concentrating on what he was doing, while Taylor could hardly trust herself to breathe. She could hear his slow and steady breathing, feel its warmth against her hair, could envisage the thickness of those heavy lashes veiling his eyes. He smelled nice too, she noted, not daring to inhale too deeply that potent and very masculine scent that was all his own. But when a slight turn of her head brought her cheek into shocking contact with the rough texture of his jaw, something inside her snapped and all the resolve in the world couldn’t hold back the sound that escaped her like a soft purr, or stop her from sinking back against him.

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