Fiona Brand - His Not-So-Blushing Bride - Marriage with Benefits / Improperly Wed / A Breathless Bride

She dropped her fork. Now he was being ridiculous. “What, exactly, am I supposed to take from that?”

“Well, you could deduce that I cooked you dinner because I wanted to.”

“Why? What’s with the parrot and dinner and this—” she waved at the gas torches flaming in a circle around the patio and pool “—romantic setting? Are you trying to get lucky or something?”

“Depends.” His half-lidded gaze crawled up inside her and speared her tummy. “How close am I?”

Why couldn’t he answer the question instead of talking in his endless, flirty Lucas-circles?

Oh, no.

His interest in her was real. As real as the hunger in his expression after kissing her. As real as the evidence of his arousal while dancing last night. Clues she’d dismissed as … what? She didn’t even know; she’d just ignored them all so she didn’t have to deal with them. Now she did.

Firmly, she said, “We can’t have that kind of relationship.” The kind where she gave him a chunk of her heart and he took it with him when he left. The kind where she’d surrender her hard-won self-reliance, which would happen over her dead body. “We have an agreement.”

“Agreements can be altered.” That dangling wineglass between his fingers raked up her nerves and back down again. He couldn’t even be serious about holding stemware.

“This one can’t. What if I got pregnant?”

Dios. With fingers trembling so hard she could scarcely grip the glass, she drained the remainder of her wine and scouted around for the bottle. There’d be no children in her future. Life was too uncertain to bring another generation into it.

“Well, now that’s just insulting. What about me suggests I might be so careless?”

“Arrogance is your preferred method of birth control?”

They were discussing sex. She and Lucas were talking about having sex. Sitting by the pool, eating dinner and talking about sex with her fake-in-name-only-going-away-soon husband.

“I’m not worried, darlin’. It’s never happened before.”

She stood so fast the backs of her knees screeched the chair backward until it tipped over. “Well, that’s a relief. Please stand back as I become putty in your hands.”

He followed her to his feet without fanfare, no more bothered than if they were discussing what color to paint the bathroom.

In one step, he was an inch away, and then he reached out and placed a fingertip on her temple. Lazily, he slid the fingertip down her face, traced the line of her throat and rested it at the base of her collarbone with a tap. “What’s going on in there? You’re not afraid of getting pregnant.”

“Stop touching me.” She cocked a brow and refused to move away from the inferno roiling between Lucas’s body and hers. He was the one who should back down, not her. Last night, she’d run from this confrontation and look where that had gotten her. “Nothing is going on other than the fact that I’m not attracted to you.”

Liar. The hot press of his fingertips against her skin set off an explosion way down low. But wanting someone and being willing to surrender to the feeling were poles apart.

“I don’t believe you,” he murmured.

He wasn’t backing down. His hands eased through her hair, and unmistakable heat edged into his eye.

“What, you think you’re going to prove something by kissing me?”

“Yep,” he said and dipped his head before she could protest.

For a sixteenth of a second, she considered all possible options, and then his lips covered hers and she went with dissolving into his arms. It was all she could do when Lucas kissed her, his mouth hot and the taste of his tongue sudden and shocking.

His fingers trailed sparklers through her hair and down her spine, molding her against the potent hardness of his body. Clicking them together like nesting spoons, foretelling how sweetly they would fit without clothes.

He angled his head and took her deeper, yanking a long, hard pull from her abdomen. A burst of need uncoiled from a hidden place inside to burn in all the right places. It was real, and it was good. He was good.

So good, she could feel her resistance melting away under the onslaught of his wicked mouth. But she couldn’t give in, and, Dios , it made her want to weep.

If only he’d kept a couple of those layers hidden. If only she had a way to insulate herself from someone like him. The intensity between them frightened her to the bone, because he had the unique ability to burrow under her defenses and take whatever he wanted.

Then he’d leave her empty, and she’d worked too hard to put herself back together after the last disastrous attempt at a relationship.

She broke away, wrenched out of his arms and rasped, “All that proves is you’ve practiced getting women naked.”

His face was implacable and his shoulders rigid beneath the fabric of his slate-gray button-down. He cleared his throat. “Darlin’, why are you fighting this so hard? At first I thought it was because you’ve been around so much misery, but there’s something else going on here.”

“Yeah. Something else, like I don’t want to. Is your ego so inflated you can’t fathom a woman not being interested in you?”

He laughed. “Hon, if that’s how you kiss a guy you’re not interested in, I’ll lick a sardine. Pick a different card.”

How dare he throw her own phrase back in her face.

“This is funny to you? How’s this for a reason? You might very well be the hottest male on the planet, but I am not willing to be your latest conquest, Wheeler.” Her hands clenched into fists and socked against his chest. For emphasis. And maybe to unleash some frustration. He didn’t move an iota.

For who knew what ill-advised reason, he reached out, but then he wisely stopped shy of her face. “Is it so difficult to believe you intrigue me and I simply want to unwrap the rest of you?”

“Yeah. It is.” She crossed her arms to prevent any more unloading of frustration. His chest was as hard as his head. And other places. “You’re feeling deprived. Go find one of the women who text messaged you earlier in the car and scratch your itch with her, because I’m not sleeping with you.”

A smile curved his mouth, but the opposite of humor flashed through his steely gaze. “In case it’s slipped your mind, I’m married. The only person I’ll be sleeping with for the next six months is my wife.”

Panic spurted at the back of her throat. Upon meeting her for the first time, he’d kissed her hand—how had she not considered that his old-fashioned streak didn’t end there?

Of course, he’d also flat-out told her he wouldn’t sleep with another woman while she wore his ring. “Your wife just turned you down flat.”

“For tonight anyway.”

His supreme confidence pricked at her temper. So he thought he could seduce away her resistance?

“For forever. Honestly, I don’t care if you sleep with someone else. It’s not really cheating.”

The sudden image sprang to mind of Lucas twined with another woman, the way he’d been with her on the bed, his mouth open and heated against the tramp’s throat, then kissing her senseless and dipping a clever hand under her clothes.

Her stomach pitched. Ridiculous. She didn’t care what he did. She really didn’t.

“I care,” he said, his silky voice low.

“Why? This isn’t a real marriage. You aren’t in love with me. You barely like me.”

“We’re legally married. That makes it really cheating, whether I’ve had you naked and quivering in my arms or not. Have I made my position clear enough?” Fierceness tightened his mouth and scrunched his eyes and had her faltering.