Anne Mather - Jack Riordan's Baby

And, God, he was ready for her, he thought, stretching beside her and seeking her moist mouth with his lips. She was all he wanted, had ever wanted before three miscarriages and her refusal to let him near her had got in the way.

He was sorry when she turned her head to one side, preventing him from prolonging the kiss. Apparently Rachel wasn’t interested in foreplay. Or else, like himself, she was eager to consummate their reunion. There was no denying he couldn’t wait to be a part of her again. Even his wildly beating heart couldn’t deter him.

Her bra had a front fastening; so convenient, he thought gratefully, releasing it easily. Her breasts spilled into his hands, but when he would have taken one swollen nipple into his mouth she shook her head.

‘Please, Jack,’ she said, taking his face between her palms. ‘Just—do it.’

Jack was more than willing. But after he’d moved to kneel between her spread thighs he remembered he had no protection. ‘I—I don’t have a—’

He gestured meaningfully, but Rachel didn’t seem concerned. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered huskily, arching her body towards him in a tantalising invitation he couldn’t resist. ‘For pity’s sake, Jack—’

He needed no second bidding. And, despite the fact that it had been more than two years since he and Rachel had last made love, they fitted together perfectly. He slid into her in one smooth, easy motion. Her tight muscles closed about him hotly, slickly, and Jack’s head swam with the undiluted pleasure of it all.

‘Oh, baby,’ he breathed, burying his face in the scented hollow between her breasts, and although until then she hadn’t put her arms around him, now they came almost convulsively about his shoulders, holding him against her.

For a short while he was content to lie there with her, to feel the intimacy of man against woman, skin against skin. He felt himself stretching her and filling her, and his racing pulse gradually slowed its mindless beat.

But Rachel was restless, shifting beneath him, urging him to take what she’d so generously offered. So he began to move, slowly at first, withdrawing almost to the point of separation before sliding into her again.

He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, felt the restraint he was putting on himself tighten almost to breaking point. She was so desirable, so willing, and the fear that somehow, some way, this was going to be denied him, drove him to quicken his pace.

Yet there was no way this wasn’t a benediction. He loved her sinuously, sensuously, arousing her almost in spite of herself, crazy as that seemed. But she wrapped one leg and then the other about his hips and he knew she couldn’t control what was happening any more than he could.

He felt her muscles tighten about him only a moment before her climax shook her slender frame. He thought she might have cried out, though she stifled the sound against his chest. And Jack found his own release only seconds later, the rippling waves of her orgasm a potent stimulus he couldn’t deny. For the first time in years, he spilled his seed inside her, feeling the shuddering warmth draining out of him, draining him, so that although he knew he must be crushing her, he didn’t have the strength to roll away…

RACHEL WAS IN the kitchen with Mrs Grady when Jack came downstairs the next morning.

He’d wakened to find himself alone in the big bed and, judging by the fact that the other side of the mattress had been stone-cold, he suspected his wife had slept somewhere else. Someone, probably Rachel, had thrown the coverlet over his lower limbs—in deference to Mrs Grady’s sensibilities, no doubt. But the candles had all guttered out, and, like any venue after a party, the room had felt stale and lifeless.

He’d thrown all the windows open before taking his shower, determined not to read too much into Rachel’s absence. Then, because he wasn’t planning on going into the office today, he’d dressed in a black tee shirt and his oldest pair of jeans. The jeans were tight, and worn in obvious places, so he left the button at his waist unfastened. He knew he felt better than he’d done for months—relaxed and rested. An unfamiliar condition for him these days.

Rachel was standing with her back against one of the limed oak units, a mug of what he guessed was coffee in her hand, talking to Mrs Grady. Unlike him, she didn’t look either relaxed or rested, though Jack thought she could never look less than stunning. In a rose-patterned see-through voile shirt that tied at her waist, worn over an ivory vest and loose taupe trousers, she looked cool and elegant. Her straight blond hair was loose and brushing her collar, and his first thought was how sensuous it had felt against his skin the night before.

His entrance silenced the two women, however, but Jack refused to be deterred. ‘Good morning,’ he said into the sudden vacuum. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

‘Of course not, Mr Riordan.’ It was Mrs Grady who answered, and Jack noticed Rachel avoided his eyes. ‘I expect you’ll be wanting breakfast. What can I get you?’

Jack wished Rachel would look at him, but after a brief glance in his direction she left him to speak to the housekeeper and went to stand in front of the huge porcelain sink, staring out at the garden at the side of the house. It wasn’t unusual for her to ignore him. God knew, he’d gotten used to it over the past couple of years. But after last night he didn’t understand her attitude, and as Mrs Grady busied herself taking eggs from the fridge, Jack crossed the room to stand beside his wife.

‘Hi,’ he said, his voice dangerously husky. ‘I missed you when I woke up.’

Rachel took a sip of her coffee before replying. Then, ‘Did you?’ she said, without looking at him. ‘I suppose you’re used to sex in the morning as well.’

Now, why had she said that? As Jack stared at her with narrowed eyes, Rachel cursed herself for allowing her own inadequacies to colour her speech. For God’s sake, the last thing she wanted was to think about sex with Jack. Or say anything to remind her of how perfect their lovemaking had been the night before.

It was hard enough just looking at him. Jack had always been a good-looking man—‘drop-dead gorgeous’ was what Karen had said—and even with a night’s growth of stubble on his chin Rachel had to agree with her. She assumed he had his Irish heritage to thank for his dark hair, which was usually too long and often unruly, and for his green eyes, as pure and clear as a mountain lake—what irony! And his strong, sensual features, which were too hard-boned to be really handsome.

The whole added up to a man with a tenacity of purpose even her father had admired. The fact that he was also tall and lean and moved with the sinuous grace of a big cat gave him the kind of sexuality few women could resist.

The miracle was that he’d married her. They’d fallen in love and theirs had been a fairy-tale romance. Rachel had believed that nothing and no one could come between them. But she’d been so wrong.

‘Did I miss something?’

Jack’s voice had an edge to it now that Rachel couldn’t mistake. She had to tell him, she thought. It wasn’t fair to let him go on thinking they were together again. But the temptation was there to put it off for the time being. She knew she’d need only to say the word for them to spend the rest of the day in bed.

But she couldn’t do that. Jack was like a drug, and it had been hard enough to wean herself off him the first time around. ‘I’m sure you know what I mean,’ she said, deliberately casual. ‘I know you’ve been sleeping with—with other women, Jack. You haven’t lived like a monk all these months.’