worked his jaw, but no words came out.
“Hunter, seriously. I’m lying.”
“You’re not pregnant?”
“I am not pregnant.”
“If you were, would you tell me?”
“I’m not.”
“Because we’d get married.”
“Hunter. It’s a game.”
“Will you take a pregnancy test?”
“No.”
“I let you phone Jack.”
She stood up and rounded the table to him, bending over and putting all the sincerity she could muster into her eyes. “I’m sorry I said I was pregnant. I’m not.”
He searched her expression. “You scared me half to death.”
She smiled at that, reaching out to pat his cheek. “Not ready to be a daddy?”
He snagged her wrist and pulled her down into his lap. “Not ready for you to keep that big of a secret.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I’d tell you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He kissed the inside of her wrist. And then his gaze dipped down to her stomach.
She followed it and realized her movements had opened the robe. Her cleavage was showing, and the length of one thigh was visible nearly to her hip.
But Hunter wasn’t looking at her thigh. His gaze was fixed on her stomach. His big, warm hand moved to press against the robe. It stayed there, and electricity vibrated between them. Then he slipped his hand beneath the robe to cup her soft stomach.
Arousal bloomed within her, radiating out to tingle her limbs. Her lips softened. Her eyelids went heavy. And she molded against his body.
He drew her head down, kissing her softly on the lips, trailing across her cheek, to the crook of her neck, to the tops of her breasts, burrowing down and inhaling deeply.
“I can’t fight it anymore,” he rasped, tipping to look up at her. “I can’t.”
“Then don’t.” She shook her head as she stared into the molten steel of his eyes. “Because it’s killing us.”
He bracketed her hips with his hands, lifting and turning her, so her legs went around his waist.
She ruffled her hands through his hair, kissing his hairline, his forehead, the tip of his nose.
He tugged the sash, and her robe fell away.
Then he smoothed his hands along her waist, wrapping around, splaying on her bare back, pulling her close over the rough fabric of his slacks. She bent her head and kissed his lips, slanting her mouth over his.
He met her tongue with his own, and she savored his taste, content to let it last forever. But his hands slipped down, ratcheting up her arousal.
She whimpered.
“I know,” he breathed, kissing her harder and deeper, letting his hands roam free, along her thighs, over her breasts, between her legs.
Her breathing turned labored, and she fought a war within herself. Part of her wanted him, right here, right now. Another part wanted to wait, to make it last. He felt good. He felt right.
She arched her back, pressing herself against his slacks.
He braced his forearms beneath her bottom, and came to his feet. She clung to his neck, anchoring her legs around his waist.
A few short steps, and they were there. The high four-poster. He set her down, then laid her back, pushing away the robe until she was completely naked.
She watched his hot gaze linger on her, not even considering adjusting her spread-legged pose. He traced a line between her breasts, down her belly, over her curls, into her center.
She closed her eyes, held on to the image of the unbridled arousal on his face.
She heard him stand.
Heard the rustle of his clothes.
The slide of his zipper.
The creak of his shoes.
“Sinclair?” he whispered, and she opened her eyes to see him standing naked above her.
She stretched out her hands, and he came down beside her, covering her with the weight of one thigh, smoothing her hair back from her face, kissing her gently on her cheek and on the tip of her shoulder.
“You are astonishingly, outrageously beautiful.” His tone was reverent.
His words made her shiver.
He was beautiful, too. But more than that, he was Hunter. He was tender and funny, smart and determined—everything she could possibly dream of in a man.
“I want you so bad,” he confessed.
Her throat closed up. She was beyond words, but she managed a nod of agreement.
“Do you remember?” he asked.
She nodded again, finding her voice. “Everything,” she rasped. “Everything.”
He inched a hand up her ribcage, finding the soft underside of her breast. He smoothed his thumb over the peak, drawing a lazy circle, pulling her nipple to a pebble. “I remember it, too.”
Then he proved his knowledge, finding secrets and hollows, making her purr and moan.
She reached for him in return, running her fingertips over his chest and abdomen. He sucked in a breath as she brushed his erection. He let her test the length and texture, before trapping her wrist and calling a halt.
He pushed her arms over her head, where they had to behave. Then he kissed her mouth, and her neck, and her breasts. He released her hands, as his lips roamed free, testing and suckling. She tangled his hair, moaning his name, everything inside her tightening and heightening.
But he kissed his way back. And merged with her mouth. He moved atop her, linking his fingertips with hers, pressing them down against the softness of the comforter. Her knees moved apart, and their bodies met, slick and hot and impossibly sweet.
He eased inside her, slower than she could bear. She thrashed her head and squeezed his hands, her kisses growing deeper and more frantic. Then she instintively flexed her hips, and he pushed the final inch to paradise.
He set a rhythm, speeding up and slowing down. She felt the fire of passion build within her. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her focus contracted to the spot where their bodies met.
The
