Yvonne Lindsay - Ultimatum - Marriage / For the Sake of the Secret Child

“I didn’t get much sleep because your cat insisted on sleeping with me.”

“You should have locked him out then.”

“I did, but he yowled and scratched at my door until I let him back in. Then he lay on top of me purring for the rest of the night.”

“I tried to coax him downstairs to sleep with me earlier but I’m afraid he insisted on lying in wait for you outside your door.”

“Stubborn creatures, cats,” Jake said.

“Disloyal!” she snapped.

“They know what they want, and they never give up.”

Jake’s hard glance sought her face and then raked her body, causing confused emotions to course through her. Then he smiled. “I have a feeling he’s going to make a real nuisance of himself while we’re married. Funny thing—I sort of enjoyed his company last night. I didn’t feel like sleeping alone.”

If Gus was winning him so easily maybe there was a chance for her ….

A chance for what, you fool? This isn’t a real marriage. Jake’s lost lots of money and his reputation is in shreds. He blames you. Daddy’s been indicted because of him. You can’t forget any of that—ever!

And yet people dealt with crises and moved on, didn’t they?

“I’m all right now, so you can go,” she whispered, struggling to stand.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

The warmth of his hands lingered so caressingly on her arms that she was almost seduced into allowing herself the pleasure of his touch. Then she remembered how he’d cut her at their wedding and left her alone all last night. Shakily, she drew herself up taller and pushed his hands away.

“I know you don’t like me,” she said.

“Is this your perverse way of seeking a compliment?”

“No! Of course not!”

“I think it is, so I’ll have to dream one up.” He scratched his dark head.

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought his quick smile endearingly tender.

“You make it sound like that’s very difficult to do.”

His hand touched the back of her waist gently and then brushed her fingertips. “Not so difficult as you might think. It’s impossible to hate you, cher … knowing that you are carrying my child,” he murmured.

He squeezed her hand. “You were very beautiful yesterday. Okay. Enough compliments.” Then he threw his dark head back and laughed. “Be a good girl. It’s early. Quit looking for trouble. Take a shower and comb your hair. You’ll feel better, and maybe you won’t be so set on bringing out the worst in me—which is fairly easy for you to do—as I’m sure you know.”

Thirty minutes later a freshly showered Alicia walked into the kitchen and was surprised to find her husband sprawled at the table in crisp, pressed jeans and a white shirt, looking much too relaxed and handsome with his cup of coffee as he read the paper.

He’d eaten, washed his dishes and cooking utensils and put them away. So why was her husband, who preferred to avoid her, still hanging out in his tidy kitchen? Surely he wasn’t eagerly waiting for his temporary bride to appear.

Sunshine streamed through the windows, filling the mostly white room with golden light. He looked so content with his dark head bent over his paper, for a second she could almost forget how angrily he’d loomed beside her at their wedding yesterday before vanishing on their wedding night. She could almost imagine herself a happy bride.

Then their reality slammed her anew. He was her sworn enemy. Kindness from him was not to be counted on or treasured. It was to be distrusted. Thus, when he looked up at her with an amiable smile on his dark face, she frowned.

“What?” He sat up straighter and finger-combed his dark hair. “Am I guilty of some awful new crime or do I just have a crumb on my lip? Or nose?”

As he brushed his mouth and nose with his napkin, she laughed in spite of herself.

“No.”

“You want me gone so you can have the kitchen to yourself? Well, I won’t be bullied out of my own house.”

“I assumed you’d be at the office, avoiding me again … like last night,” she said.

“Right,” he said, “we’re the weirdo newlyweds who did some very interesting variations on sex—positions that are probably still illegal in some states—on this very table, but now we are supposed to have an aversion to sex.”

Maybe because he was so preoccupied with sex or the lack of it, she remembered lying naked on the kitchen table in this very room, crying out his name in the heat of her passion. She’d loved him that night, incoherently. With his every touch, with every flick of his tongue, he’d awakened a fire inside her she hadn’t known existed, and the embers of that fire still hadn’t gone out.

As he stared at the table, she began to sizzle.

Sensing an advantage when she blushed, he moved his hand back and forth across the smooth finish of the tabletop in the way he might stroke a woman. “You know you could change your mind about that. I won’t object.”

“But you don’t even like me.”

“I’m a man.” He ran his hand along the tabletop again, caressing it. “I can compartmentalize. Let’s just say my body likes yours, and it wonders … upon occasion … rather frequently—hell, all the time—how yours feels about mine. If you want the truth, I don’t think I slept a wink last night. I kept thinking of you in your bed and me upstairs sleeping with a cat.”

She moved to set a kettle boiling on the stove. “You make us sound like we’re no better than animals.”

“You’re in my house, cute as hell … available. I wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t tempt me.”

“Even though you hate my father?”

“ He isn’t here. With any luck he’ll be sent to a place where he can’t hurt any more people.”

Fortunately, the tea kettle whistled. With hands that shook she pulled an egg out of the fridge and placed it in the middle of a pot. As she poured boiling water over it, the egg cracked. She set the pot on the stove top anyway. She was almost glad he’d reminded her of her father’s plight and the satisfaction he took in it. The knowledge helped her build up her defenses.

“I’m just being honest,” he said. “There’s a bit of the wild in us all. Why else do we have to spend years and years civilizing our young? Why else did we behave like we did that night? On this very table?”

“Stop ….”

“You brought out the beast. I think you liked it, too. In fact, I know you did.”

She wet her lips with her tongue and was too aware of his avid eyes glued to her moist lips. For six weeks she’d been a virtual prisoner in her apartment, hated by all. Loneliness and the desire for companionship had built into an almost palpable need. If he stuck around in the same room where she’d been so crazy to have him, saying he wanted her, she wasn’t sure how well she’d control her attraction for him.

“Can we please please change the subject?” she pleaded.

Newspapers rustled as he set his paper aside. “You mean … from sex?” he murmured thickly.

Afraid he’d see her flushed cheeks again and understand just how much he affected her, she kept her back to him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he muttered. “Sure. Hey, here’s some good news for you that has nothing to do with sex. Nowhere in this newspaper did I see any mention of our marriage. Looks like we’re still flying under the radar. When people find out, I’ll be bombarded at the office. No telling who else will fire me.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your life. If you’ve finished your own breakfast, you don’t have to stay here just to entertain me, you know,” she whispered.

“I wanted to discuss a few more things—other than sex.”

The word sent more tingles through her. “Grrrr.”