Debbie Macomber: The Manning Brides: Marriage of Inconvenience / Stand-In Wife

“Rich … no.” She braced her hands against his chest, wanting to use that leverage to break away.

“Yes,” he countered with a groan. His arms circled her waist, and he lifted her effortlessly from the floor, adjusting her hips against his own so she was aware of what she was doing to him—of the need she’d created in him.

Jamie slipped her arms around his neck, inclined her head and kissed him back. She felt sensual, wanton … and a little scared.

A low, rough sound rumbled from deep within his throat.

“Rich … please, oh, please, we’ve got to stop.” Her heart was reeling with excitement but she was terrified of where this might lead. Terrified that, after tonight, she’d never be able to live with a marriage that wasn’t a marriage.

“Not yet.” He pressed his lips to her neck, running the tip of his tongue across the smooth skin of her throat and up the underside of her jaw. Jamie threw back her head. A ribbon of warm pleasure braided its way down her spine.

She buried her fingers in his hair and sighed, feeling breathless and hot. So breathless she could barely gulp in enough air. So hot. Hotter than she’d ever been.

He lifted her higher, leaning her against the kitchen counter. His hands worked the buttons of her blouse, sliding it from her shoulders. Her bra closed in the back, and he reached for and found the clasp.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, caressing her thighs, stroking them as he spread delicate, moist kisses across her neck.

“I … don’t know.”

“Funny, I do,” he countered with a lazy, sexy laugh. “You want me.”

Jamie couldn’t disagree. She could barely speak as a powerful coil of need tightened within her.

“Deny it.” His tongue moistened a trail from the hollow at the base of her throat to her trembling chin.

“I can’t.”

“Me, neither.” He swept her from the counter, shifting her weight until she was completely in his arms. He carried her as if she weighed nothing at all and headed out of the kitchen. He paused to turn off the light.

“Rich.” She had to say something before it was too late. “We’ll regret this in the morning.” Even as she spoke, she wound her arms around his neck.

“Maybe.” He didn’t bother to deny it, but it didn’t stop him, either.

Her bedroom was dark. Moonlight splashed through the open drapes, and Rich slowly lowered her onto the bed.

There was no turning back now.

They were silent afterward, their breathing labored, their chests heaving. Rich wished Jamie would say something. Anything. She didn’t, and slowly reality returned, inexplicably linked with the glory of what they’d shared.

Rich kissed her softly, gently, with none of the urgency he’d felt earlier. He slid his fingers into the silky length of her hair and sighed with satisfaction. He kissed her again, reveling in her warm, sweet taste. He longed for her to tell him she experienced no remorse over their lovemaking. He’d been so angry, such a jealous idiot, and one thing had led to another. Before he could stop it, they were making love. She’d warned him, claimed they’d be left with regrets, but he felt none. Only a powerful sense of honesty.

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