Luke grimaced. ‘I’ll need something stronger than tea if I’m going to ask you to marry me.’
Abby, who had evidently decided not to bother with her leggings, had been heading for the door when he spoke. But now, she turned, her mouth parting in stunned disbelief.
‘You can’t say something like that and not expect me to respond,’ she whispered, staring at him, and Luke pushed himself up on his elbows and regarded her inquiringly.
‘Well?’ he countered. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
Another knock sounded at the door, and Abby hesitated, torn between the need to open it and the equally—if not more—urgent need to return to the bed.
‘Damn you, Luke,’ she said helplessly, and, ignoring the other summons, she returned to the bed.
‘Is that any way to answer a proposal?’ he mocked teasingly, and Abby took his face between her hands and bestowed a hungry kiss on his mouth.
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But my answer’s the same, anyway. It’s yes, you wicked man.’
She trembled when he pulled her down onto the bed beside him and returned her kiss with interest. He covered her with his body, his tongue slipping possessively into her mouth so that she moaned with pleasure.
And whoever had been at the door evidently decided that tea wasn’t needed at the moment.
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