Ally Blake - Happy Mother’s Day! - Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother

‘No?’ He kissed her again, flicking his tongue into her mouth. Then what was it? When had he last felt like this? As if this were what he had been created for? Yet with this vitality came an odd and debilitating weakness—a feeling that she had him in her power—and Gianluca sought to wrest it back again, for no woman ever had supremacy over him.

He slid his hand further down, feeling her squirm beneath his fingers as he let it drift down to her thighs and then let out a small groan of dismay. ‘You’re wearing tights!’ he accused hotly. ‘Why not stockings?’

‘Because they’re impractical,’ she breathed. ‘And they can sometimes show, if you’re not careful. Tights are much more suitable for a dress like this.’

‘Not with legs like yours,’ he murmured. But it interested him to think that she was wearing the biggest turnoff known to man. Which suggested that she had not come out tonight with seduction in mind. Either that, or she was playing a remarkably disingenuous game.

He brushed the silken ebony hair back from her pale skin and stared into the blue eyes. ‘Shall I play a game with you?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Shall I take you now? Here? On the floor? Or up against the wall? Do you have any objections to that, cara?’

Aisling shook her head. Was he trying to shock her? To remind her that this meant nothing more than one night? Her knees weakened as she clung to his broad shoulders. Everything about him was designed to make her want him. The lean, hard body and the muscular shaft of his thigh which was pushing against hers. Only the clinical words jarred—but not enough to make her push him away.

‘Shall I?’ he murmured, skating a provocative little circle at the top of her thigh. ‘Or shall I make you wait?’

But the way he was stroking her was making her tremble. ‘No. Don’t. Anything but that.’ She shook her head as she moved her body distractedly against his. ‘Please don’t make me wait.’ Because it seemed like an eternity since he had last held her like this.

His mouth was at her throat and he smiled with triumph at her eager capitulation. He could feel the pulse of her beating against his lips, her silk-covered breasts pressing against him, and he felt himself growing hard.

And suddenly he didn’t want to wait, either. Couldn’t wait. Not when she was writhing into him like that. Sensual little witch. Even with the tights. With an unexpectedly violent tug, he began to jerk down the side zip of the dress, but he felt a resistance and when he lifted his head to see that it was stuck, he swore in heated Italian. ‘Do something,’ he clipped out. ‘Let me rip the whole damned thing off!’

She stared down at it, hot breath spilling out—tempted to tell him to go right ahead. But years of living from handto-mouth could not be overcome in a moment of passion and Aisling stayed his hand with her own. ‘No!’ she protested. ‘These are the only clothes I have with me. And how can I possibly walk out of here in a ripped dress?’

‘I will send out for a new one,’ he stated arrogantly.

But his words only increased her resolve. She wasn’t some little wannabe—eager to be fobbed off with Gianluca’s charity in the form of a replacement wardrobe. She could buy her own clothes, thank you very much. She shook her head and began to fiddle around with the zip. ‘No. Let me.’

Gianluca’s eyes narrowed for a moment in anger and then he began to laugh. ‘Ever the practical!’ he mocked, but he watched as she freed the zip, and then carefully stepped out of the dress.

‘I’d better go and hang this up,’ she said.

He stared at her incredulously. Was she aware that no woman had ever broken the sexual mood quite so unashamedly with such a mundane little request? And yet the sheer ordinariness of the situation somehow took him aback.

Women usually did perform for him, he realised. He only ever saw them at their best—all painted and perfumed and ready for love. He couldn’t think of another female who would have worn tights and turned down his offer of another outfit—nor one who would so coolly put the care of her dress before an aroused man. Yet appearances mattered to Aisling, he realised—and part of him reluctantly admired her resolve. Wasn’t it one of the reasons why her business had been so successful? Why she had been able to shake off the shackles of her past?

‘The wardrobe’s through that way,’ he said—pointing towards the bedroom at the far end of the corridor and indicating that she should proceed him. Because he wanted to watch her from behind. Wanted to watch the high, taut thrust of her buttocks as they moved against.

‘Wait a minute,’ he murmured.

‘What do you—?'Aisling closed her eyes. ‘Gianluca!’ she breathed, because he was crouching down to roll down her tights, and kissing the inside of her thighs as he did so. And now he was massaging her ankle with the pad of his thumb and unbuckling her high-heeled shoes. It felt like the most erotic thing which had ever happened to her as he eased the shoes off and put them together neatly, followed by the peeled-off tights, which he placed on top of them. And then he looked up at her, his black eyes glittering, his breath decadently warm against her knees.

‘Go and hang your dress up,’ he instructed as he stood up.

And Aisling knew that this was all part of the fantasy they were acting out. One night of erotic make-believe which she had agreed to—and she had her own part to play. She couldn’t pretend to be some little untutored innocent—even if the dark look of promise in his eyes was making her feel a bit that way.

So she walked down the corridor as unselfconsciously as possible.

‘Lentamente … slowly,’ he commanded huskily as he ran his eyes over her small shoulders, the narrow curvature of her waist—swelling out to the slim bell of her hips. The dark hair fell down her back like a gleaming curtain as she walked with a certain natural grace—yet she did not strut, as a lot of women would if they were being watched by a man.

But when she reached the bedroom, Aisling’s stomach began to knot with nerves. It was like something usually featured in one of those brick-sized glossy magazines you found lying around at the hairdressers’—with a bed the size of a soccer pitch and a disconcerting amount of mirrors.

She sensed rather than heard him enter the room behind her and she forced herself to examine the room as if she were a prospective buyer—anything to buy her time to suppress the debilitating nerves which were suddenly making breathing very difficult.

There was a giant TV screen and electronically controlled blinds, which Gianluca immediately clicked to float down, so that the room was bathed in some surreal, subterranean light.

‘Now.’ He walked up behind her and lifted the silken curtain of her hair to nuzzle at her neck. ‘Are you going to turn around and kiss me?’

She was trembling uncontrollably as she did so, aware that she was almost naked and he was not. ‘There’s a slightly unfair distribution of clothes around here,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘Then even it up a little, mmm?’

Her fingers were shaking as she unknotted his silk tie, but he took it from her when she was done and tossed it aside, his black eyes alive with mockery. ‘I’ll send everything out to the laundry,’ he promised. ‘Because I don’t want to waste precious minutes while you press my suit with your need for neatness and order!’

Was he making fun of her again? But somehow it didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered apart from what lay ahead. And suddenly Aisling wanted to kick all her usual values into touch—just for that one night. She began to tug at his silk shirt and when a button flew off he gave a low laugh of pleasure—so she tugged even harder and another bounced onto the polished floor.