Sandra Hyatt - His Ring, Her Baby / His Bride for the Taking - His Ring, Her Baby / His Bride for the Taking

“What question was that?”

“You came here to help get over your grief, didn’t you? That’s why Linda’s so concerned about you.”

No need to tell him about her in-laws. It was none of his business. “Linda worries too much.”

He got to his feet and strolled toward the pool. “So what will you do when they sell the motel? Go back to Sydney?”

She didn’t know what she was going to do. “I’m working on something now,” she fibbed, not wanting him to know how desperate she felt. She turned the conversation away from her. “Anyway, why are you out here? I thought you’d be enjoying the party.”

He stood looking down at her, watching the moonlit water lap at the top of her breasts, his strong features holding a certain sensuality that made her shiver. “I needed some fresh air.”

Pretending his husky voice didn’t perturb her, she eased backward in the water, slowly moving around, trying to look unaffected by him.

“I guess you’ll be heading home soon then,” she said, hoping against hope that he’d take the hint.

“I’ve booked a room for the night.”

She stopped moving. Had he expected to share it with someone? Her? This was his friends’ motel, but he would be discreet, she knew.

All at once she became conscious of feeling a tiny bit cold but she didn’t want to get out of the pool in front of him. He’d seen more than enough of her tonight.

He frowned. “You’re getting cold. Come on, I’ll help you out of there.” All action now, he went and picked up her towel from the chair.

Her heartbeat started to skip. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll just swim around some more then go back to my apartment. No need for you to wait around.”

His frown deepened. “I’m not leaving you here alone, Vanessa. You could get a cramp.”

“I won’t.” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, but suspected she did. “You really should be going back to the party.”

A very masculine look suddenly entered his eyes. “I should?” He paused. “Why?”

She drew an unsteady breath. “Er … why?” Her throat closed up. Her mind froze. She couldn’t think of a thing to say that didn’t give away how much he was affecting her.

Then a mask came down over his face. “Come on, Vanessa. Get out of the pool.” Clearly remote now, he opened the towel and held it up for her.

She wavered.

“Vanessa?”

She stared at him, then told herself he was only concerned for her welfare, nothing else. It was either that or she’d never get out of the pool.

She dared not look at him as she concentrated on moving through the water toward him. Her foot found the first step and she began to rise out of the pool. She could feel his eyes on her as the water sluiced down over her swimsuit, each step up exposing every inch of her body to him.

She reached the top step and looked up.

Their eyes locked.

The air stilled between them.

He moved closer. “Let me,” he murmured, standing in front of her, slipping it around her shoulders.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Um … you might get wet.”

“I don’t mind.” He pulled the edges of the towel tight at the column of her throat, bringing her closer, against him.

Their bodies touched.

Sizzled.

She felt him all the way down to her toes.

Suddenly she saw tiny flames in his eyes and an ache that had been growing all night throbbed through her veins. She wanted to touch the full curve of his mouth with her own just once, to taste its warmth, its strength.

He lowered his head and she trembled, and with a silent sigh, closed her eyes as his mouth covered hers. Her lips met his and he kissed her … and kissed her more … long and slow. Oddly enough her lips felt as if they were welcoming him home. He tasted both familiar yet unsettling, firm yet gentle. A heady mixture of the known and unknown.

He drew her closer, cupping the back of her head and deepening the kiss. Then groaning a low sound that seemed to wrench from deep inside him, he pulled her hips tightly against his arousal, letting her know what he wanted. She leaned into him, reveling in the sexual heat which spread like bushfire from his body to hers. She decided then and there that he felt as good as he looked. And she moved closer still. Need was everything. She needed more than the taste of his mouth. More than the feel of her breasts against his hard chest. She needed to feel him inside her. For the first time ever she understood why they called it consummation.

She wanted to be consumed by him.

Without warning, he broke away, breathing heavily, his eyes smoldering for her. A pulse leaped along the hard line of his jaw. “Vanessa, go,” he rasped.

She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I—”

“Go.”

She didn’t need to be told a second time. Whirling around, she ran back to her apartment as fast as her legs would take her. When she finally closed the door behind her, she sank to her knees and brought her hand to her mouth. Dear God, what had she done? Everything she’d believed about herself and the type of woman she was had just been proven wrong.

She had betrayed Mike.

Worse. She’d kissed another man and found something in that kiss she’d never found in the two years of loving her husband.

Lust.

She had wanted to melt in Kirk’s arms and have him carry her off to bed and a night of whirlwind passion and blessed satiation. Except that Kirk hadn’t given her the chance, had he? No thanks to her, she thought with self-deprecation.

So shouldn’t that make her happy?

Yes.

Why, then, did she have an inexplicable feeling of emptiness? As if she’d lost something important she’d never really had.

Kirk had a raw feeling in his gut as he let himself into his motel room. The party was over for him in more ways than one. The woman he was so attracted to … the woman he’d wanted to make his own … was not only a grieving widow but a mother as well.

Why the friggin’ hell hadn’t someone thought to mention it yesterday? He wouldn’t have come here tonight. He wouldn’t have gotten involved. Now he had the taste of Vanessa Hamilton in his mouth.

And the imprint of her body on his clothes.

Dammit, the last thing he wanted to see right now was his reflection in the mirror. He was wet all the way from his blazer and shirt down to the front of his trousers, the dampness touching his skin through the material. His pulse quickened. Just looking at himself reminded him what she’d felt like in his arms. Soft and willowy, her curves flush against him.

Not that he’d forget in any hurry.

Just like he wouldn’t forget she was a young widow with a small child. No question now why she’d been fighting his advances. She was still getting over the death of her husband. And he intended to leave her to it.

Of course all that begged the question.

If she hadn’t felt anything for him, what exactly had she been fighting?

Vanessa had a very restless night, so the next morning the last thing she wanted to hear when she picked up the office telephone was her mother-in-law’s voice on the other end of the line. Guilt immediately washed over her. She’d been married to this woman’s son—and she’d kissed another man last night.

“How is my little Joshua doing?”

Vanessa shuddered. The thrice-weekly phone calls were getting too much. And he wasn’t her Joshua at all.

“He’s fine, Grace,” she said, keeping her tone neutral.

“We miss him.”

“I know you do.” They could at least agree on that.