around him.
He sought her, found her. She was slick and swollen with arousal, already wet for him. She could take him. Now. When he needed her so desperately.
He nudged her smooth thighs apart and slid inside with a pleasured moan.
Oh, the way she fit him. No one. Ever. Had fit him like that.
She wrapped those fine legs around him and she moved with him, rocking, taking his rhythms and giving them back to him, answering the questions he hadn’t even known to ask.
She whispered his name, husky and low. “Fletcher …”
“Yeah,” he said. “Cleo …”
And then he was rising, going up and over, spilling into her, and she was holding him, meeting him, crying out with her own release.
There was that frozen, straining moment as the pure pleasure took them. Then they both went limp.
He lifted up to his elbows and looked down into her flushed face. Her satiny throat was dewed with sweat. He bent his head and licked her there, tasting her.
“Fletcher,” she whispered, breathless—and insistent. He lifted his head enough to meet her eyes. She looked … what? Disbelieving? Shocked?
He stared down at her, baffled. What the hell could be wrong? “What’s the matter?”
“We forgot the condom,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
Cleo thought he looked totally stunned—as stunned as she felt. “I can’t believe we did that,” she whispered. “Damn.” He blinked. Shook his head. “Neither can I.”
“We’ve got to be more careful….” She waited for him to agree.
And he did. Kind of. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe …” She pushed at his shoulders. “Fletcher, what do you mean maybe? There’s no maybe about it. We have to—” He put a finger against her lips. “Easy.” She pushed his hand away. “Fletcher, this is serious.”
“We could look at this from another angle, you know”
“Another angle? I don’t think so. We messed up. We can’t afford to—”
“Wait.”
“But I don’t—”
“Go with me here, just for a minute.”
She stared up at him, bewildered. He really was acting strangely. “Go with you … where?”
“You did tell me you wanted kids, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah. But—”
“Having sex without a condom is a good way to make that happen.”
She gaped up at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.”
“Yeah. I heard it. I can’t believe you said it, but I definitely heard it.”
“Are you telling me you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want a baby, after all?”
“No. No, that’s not what I said—or at least, not what I meant. What I meant was, I don’t want a baby like this.”
“Like what?”
She couldn’t believe the look on his face. Did he find this amusing? She accused, “I swear, all of a sudden you are grinning at me.”
“Yeah. So?”
“It’s not funny. I don’t want to be like my mother—or even like your mother, though that is no judgment on either of them, it’s truly not. I want my kids to grow up with their father in the house, you know? I want—”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She glared up at him and demanded, “Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
She pushed at him again, hard enough that he rolled off her. Then she sat up and grabbed for the sheet at the bottom of the bed, yanking it up to cover herself. “Listen. Listen very carefully. I don’t want to be a single mom. I don’t want that for myself or for my kids.”
“Fine. Let’s get married.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Would you, um, say that again?”
He put up a hand. “Wait.”
“But—”
“No. I mean it. Wait right there.” He slid from the bed, went to his knees, yanked open the bedside drawer and took something out of there.
“Fletcher, have you completely lost your mind?”
He shoved the drawer shut. “I think I might have.” He put his fist to his chest and loudly cleared his throat. “Cleopatra. Marry me.”
She clutched the sheet harder and stared down at him—naked on his knees. Proposing to her. “I … what?”
“I said, marry me.” He held out his fist and opened his fingers. A gold-embossed red jewelry box sat on his spread palm. A ring box.
Her stunned gaze tracked from the box to his face and back to the box. She blinked, thinking this truly could not be real. But when she opened her eyes again, he was still on his knees, still holding out that little box. “You’re serious … aren’t you?”
He grinned all the wider. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Give me your hand.” Numbly she did. He set the little red box in it. Then he wrapped her fingers around it. “Marry me, Cleo.”
A marriage proposal. From Fletcher. It was the last thing she’d ever expected to get from him. “But … why?”
He rose and sat on the bed beside her. “Well, first of all, because you’re the perfect wife for me.”
She swallowed. “I am?”
“You are. I knew it from that first day, when you came to my office to tell me you wouldn’t, under any circumstances, put KinderWay in my casino. Cleo, you’re wonderful with Ashlyn—as I knew you would be. You’ll make a great mother. That’s of major importance. And then there’s the fact that you know and understand the world I live in—after all, you grew up in my world.
“And then there’s your honesty. I look in those amber eyes and I know you’ll never lie to me. I can trust you. And every time I’m near you, all I can think about is getting you naked.” He tugged on the sheet she still clutched to her breasts. She didn’t let go. She still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Come on,” he urged. “Say yes.”
Marriage.
Fletcher
