Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition (11 page)

Luke eased out a breath, the vicious ache in his groin throbbing harder as he pictured himself untying the bow and letting those ripe breasts sway into his waiting palms.

He swung away from the window, forced himself to walk back to his desk and sit down. He adjusted his jeans in a pointless attempt to accommodate the erection pressed against the fly.

The broker was still talking to him. ‘Look, sorry…’ he interrupted, then hesitated. He’d worked with this guy for five years and he couldn’t remember his name. ‘Patrick,’ he said at last, hoping the mild guess was correct. ‘We’ll have to pick this up tomorrow. Something has come up.’

He winced. Something had come up all right, and it didn’t feel as if it was going to be going down again any time soon. He finished the call, drummed his fingers on the desk, thought about giving Louisa her privacy for about five seconds, and then shot straight back over to the window.

She was drying herself in slow, careful strokes. First those mile-long legs—bringing the towel up the inside of her thigh and making the breath catch in his throat. Then she glided it down her arms and finally brought it to rest under her breasts. She held the heavy orbs in her palms for a few seconds—that felt like a lifetime—and his heartbeat slowed to a dull throb as her thumbnail scraped across the scarlet Lycra. Even one storey up he could have sworn he saw the nipple peak against the clingy fabric.

He scrubbed open palms down his face. This was humiliating. He felt like a twelve-year-old boy, hiding under the covers to ogle his first nude centrefold magazine, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her and end the torment. She’d throw a fit if she knew he was spying on her. But just as the thought registered she lifted her head, her hands still plumping up those delicious breasts, and stared straight at him.

The saucy smile that spread over her face held all the self-satisfied allure of Salome dancing the
Seven Veils.

‘Why, you…’ he rasped, his tongue numb from the shock.

She winked at him, flipped the towel over her shoulder and blew him a cheeky kiss before turning round and sashaying towards the terrace doors. His gaze glued itself to her perfectly rounded bottom, spotlighted in scarlet as it jiggled out of view.

Despite the pulsating ache in his crotch, and the thought of the ice-cold shower he was going to have to endure before dinnertime, he choked out a laugh.

He had to hand it to her. The crafty little siren had got him good.

Which meant he would be honour-bound to get her right back tonight.

Even if it killed him.

‘Y
OU’RE
going to cook?’ Louisa stared at Luke, unable to hide her astonishment. ‘But I thought…’ That they would be dining in the ballroom-sized dining salon she had spotted that afternoon—with his staff in attendance.

One dark brow lifted and his lips twitched. ‘It’s the staff’s night off,’ he said, doing his mind-reading thing again. ‘We’ve got the place to ourselves.’ He nodded down the corridor behind her as his silver eyes raked over the little black dress she wore. ‘We’ll eat in the conservatory. It’s more intimate.’

Oops, she thought, every one of her nerve-endings tingling alarmingly. When she’d planned her display by the pool she hadn’t realised she was going to be alone in the dragon’s den tonight.

He had yet to mention her stunt, which she’d taken as a great sign. Power had surged through her when their eyes had locked earlier. The thought that he had been forced to change his strategy had made the wild rush even more intoxicating. But now she could see she’d underestimated him. He didn’t seem fazed in the least.

He inclined his head in a shallow bow and held his arm out. ‘Shall we?’ he said, waiting for her to precede him.

As soon as she’d passed him, though, the hot weight of his palm settled on her lower back. Her pulse scrambled. Should she mention their no-touching agreement? Or would it be a sign of weakness so early in the game?

He had to let her go to push open the wide double doors at the end of the hallway. She bit her lip to hold back the sigh of relief.

As she stepped into the room she was momentarily distracted by the beauty of the airy space. A multi-faceted conservatory filled the open-plan kitchen with natural light given a redolent glow by the approaching twilight. She could see the gardens beyond, laid out in a dizzying collection of psychedelic summer colours. A raft of glass-fronted cabinets and grey slate work surfaces lined the walls and made the room look both inviting and glaringly modern.

Louisa gaped. She’d been expecting something older and less sophisticated, probably because she’d assumed the kitchen was a part of the house he would never see or use. ‘This is gorgeous,’ she said.

‘I’m glad you approve,’ he said, the husky rumble whispering across her earlobe. She spun round and nearly smacked into his chest. He steadied her, but his large palm stayed on her hip, holding her in place.

She stepped back, dislodging it. ‘You’re not supposed to touch me, or have you forgotten your promise already?’ Annoyingly, the accusation came out on a breathy murmur.

His lips twitched again. ‘After the show you put on for me this afternoon, you’re lucky I don’t spank you.’

He was teasing her, she knew that, but the heady thrill at the threat still shocked her. She hated to be under someone else’s control, had always rebelled against it. But now she had to admit his dominant nature excited her as much as it annoyed her.

‘Spank me if you want,’ she said defiantly. ‘But I expect to be fed first. I’m starving.’

His eyes darkened like a summer storm and she wondered if she’d gone too far. But then he gave an astonished chuckle. ‘Fine—food first.’ He drew her to him, gave her rump a firm pat. ‘Spanking later,’ he finished, and walked past her into the kitchen.

As his steps echoed on the slate flooring she could feel the sizzle on her buttocks and realised it was going to be a struggle to eat a single bite.

‘Now, let’s see what we’ve got to play with.’

She turned at the suggestive statement to see him bending over to check out the contents of the industrialsized refrigerator. Worn denim stretched lovingly across a very nice male behind. She gave a muffled groan. She must not fantasise about playing with that—not just yet anyway. Or she’d be the one who was toast, not him.

He stood up, holding a selection of salad vegetables and a shrink-wrapped package. ‘How about steak and salad?’

‘Sounds delicious,’ she said, barely able to stop from licking her lips at the sight of all that rampant maleness confined in the cosy domestic setting.

‘Have you had any cravings yet?’ he asked as he dropped the food on the kitchen counter.

Quite a few actually, she thought, noticing the way his T-shirt stretched across his chest as he pulled a drawer open. ‘Only for the usual,’ she said.

He stopped rummaging. ‘Such as?’

‘Chocolate muffins, chocolate ice cream and—well, just plain chocolate,’ she babbled. ‘I’m going to have to be careful I don’t end up weighing twenty stone before this is over.’

He tilted his head, swept his eyes down her frame,
lingered for a moment on her bosom. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, lifting his gaze to her face, his eyes shining devilishly. ‘I’ve got the perfect way to keep you in shape.’

Heat pooled low in her abdomen—and just like that the sexual tension rocketed right back up to fever pitch. This was going to be the longest night of her life—and she had only herself to blame.

He ripped the wrapping off the steak, placed the meat on the chopping board, ground some salt and pepper over it and then began to rub the seasoning in.

Her cheeks warmed. ‘Why don’t I set the table?’ she said.
So I can stop thinking about those long, strong fingers massaging naked flesh.

He glanced up, the expression on his face telling her he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘Is it too hot for you in here?’ he asked, making the casual enquiry sound like a dare.

‘Not at all,’ she said, determined not to fold. ‘I know—why don’t I chop the cucumber?’

Two can play at that game, buster.

She picked up the long, decidedly phallic vegetable and stroked the length of it. ‘Mmm, I adore cucumber,’ she said in a husky whisper. ‘Fresh, firm and so tasty.’ She fluttered her eyelashes and did her best porn-star pout.

He groaned. ‘Put the damn cucumber down and go and lay the table in the conservatory,’ he demanded, his tone strained. ‘The cutlery’s in the drawer by the fridge,’ he said, nodding across the kitchen.

She couldn’t resist a smug little smile as she walked into the glass atrium and heard the sharp raps of his knife on the chopping board as he decimated the cucumber.

Touché.

The profusion of flowers and climbing vines winding
around the trellis cocooned an iron gate-legged table and chairs and made the conservatory look like a fairytale bower.

She breathed in the heady perfume and sighed. ‘You should give your gardener a medal,’ she said absently as she put the silverware down. ‘The choice of flowers and plants on this estate is amazing.’

The chopping stopped. ‘I designed the gardens,’ he said.

She spun round. ‘Are you serious?’

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even spare her a glance as he walked over to the stove, laid the steak on the hot griddle. ‘I like gardening,’ he said eventually, above the sizzle of frying meat, but she could still hear the twinge of embarrassment in his tone.

What a surprise. Maybe Mr Macho had hidden depths after all.

She finished setting the table and sat down to watch him cook. He flipped the steaks over and sprinkled herbs on them, then tossed the salad and added dressing—all with the skill and efficiency of a professional chef.

Was there nothing this man didn’t excel at? And when had that relaxed confidence become sexy instead of intimidating?

Louisa’s mouth began to water, and it wasn’t from the captivating aroma of sautéed meat.

‘That was delicious,’ Louisa said, pushing her plate away. Despite the hum of arousal in her stomach, she’d made indecently short work of the steak and freshly dressed salad Luke had prepared.

‘Glad to be of service.’ Luke studied her as he took a sip of his mineral water—and she knew the brief respite was over. ‘If you’re still hungry I can probably dig up some chocolate ice cream,’ he added.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said, her throat dry.

He smiled, that slow, sensuous smile that did funny things to her insides—and she knew chocolate ice cream was the least of the temptations on offer. His eyes deepened, the twinkle of amusement gone, obliterated by something much more dangerous. ‘Ready for your spanking yet?’

She put his empty plate on top of her own and stood. Damn, her knees were wobbling again. ‘I’ll clean up first, and then we can discuss it,’ she said flippantly, pleased with herself when the plates barely rattled.

But he got up and lifted the crockery out of her hands. ‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘You’re going to need your strength, sweetheart.’

Oh, good grief, what was wrong with her? Her thighs had gone liquid now too.

He pulled her easily into his arms and she inhaled his scent—soap and man and something else equally delicious. Her nostrils flared as she felt the jolt of awareness right down to her toes.

She wedged her hands between them, but couldn’t muster the will to push him away.

His hands strayed down to her behind and he squeezed. ‘I hate to punish you, you know,’ he said, his voice rough as his lips nuzzled the hollow below her ear and his fingers stroked. ‘But sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.’

She edged back. ‘I’m starting to worry about this obsession you have with corporal punishment, Devereaux,’ she teased, loving the way the blue-grey of his eyes had darkened to a rich cobalt. ‘I hope you realise how kinky it is, even for someone born into the British aristocracy.’

He hauled her against him, giving a low chuckle. ‘I wasn’t born into the British aristocracy,’ he murmured, his
lips doing incredible things to her earlobe. ‘I was born a Vegas street rat. My mother worked the floorshow at Ceasar’s Palace.’

The vicious arousal dimmed as her mind locked onto the startling information. She wriggled back, stared at him. ‘Your mother was a showgirl in Vegas? You’re kidding?’

He looked at her blankly for a moment, cursed quietly, and dropped his hands as if he’d been burned.

Hell—had he just said that out loud?

Luke raked his fingers through his hair, registering Louisa’s inquisitive look and the sharp intelligence in her gaze. He’d been about to devour those full lips of hers in a few quick, greedy bites. And then he’d told her about his mother! Obviously the sexual frustration of the last few days had finally melted his brain cells.

‘Go out on the terrace. I’ll make us some coffee,’ he said tightly, feeling as if he’d stuck his head in a noose. He never talked about his background. Not to anyone.

‘Don’t change the subject,’ she said, prodding her finger into his chest. ‘You can’t drop a bombshell like that into a conversation and then expect it not to detonate.’

‘That wasn’t a conversation, it was foreplay—so anything I said doesn’t count. Forget it,’ he said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. ‘I’m not discussing this. It’ll ruin the mood.’ He grasped her wrist and pulled her against him. ‘If you don’t want coffee that’s fine. We’ll just pick up where we left off.’

But as he lowered his head to kiss her, she pressed her fingers to his lips.

‘If your mother was a Vegas showgirl how did you end up becoming Berwick’s heir?’ she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

‘Oh, for…’ He swore again and stepped back. He couldn’t believe this. They’d been on the brink of tearing each other’s clothes off and now she wanted to talk. She had to be the most infuriating woman ever. ‘I don’t want to talk about this, and I especially don’t want to talk about it now. It’s boring as hell, and we’ve got better things to do.’

Why was he having to point out the obvious? She’d been as eager as he had a moment ago.

‘There’s no need to shout, Luke,’ she said. ‘And you know I’m not sleeping with you tonight. So all this kissing is probably a bad idea anyway. It’ll only frustrate us both.’

He blinked, completely flabbergasted. ‘You’re not serious? Why the hell won’t you sleep with me tonight? And don’t tell me you don’t want to.’

Her cheeks pinkened but she looked him dead in the eye. ‘I already told you this afternoon. I want to know more about you before I take that leap again.’

She
was
serious. She’d turned him on to the point of madness and now she wasn’t going to follow through. ‘You know what you are, Louisa?’ He snarled the words, glaring at her. ‘You’re a bloody tease.’

If he was expecting remorse, he didn’t get it.

She didn’t even flinch at the insult. ‘That is so typical of a man.’ She splayed her hand on her hip and glared right back at him. ‘It must be so convenient having that old double standard to fall back on every time you don’t get what you want.’

‘What are you talking about now?’ His head was about to explode.

‘You’re allowed to use sex as a weapon because you’re a guy, but if I do it I’m a tease.’

‘I never used sex as a weapon.’

‘Yes, you did,’ she said, stabbing him in the chest again to make her point. ‘What were all those smouldering looks about, then? The touching? The kissing? The innuendo?’

He grabbed her finger. Leaned down until their faces were nose to nose. ‘Yeah, but the difference is I had every intention of following through,’ he murmured, his voice low with menace. He knew he was bullying her, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted her and she wanted him. Why should they wait any longer?

She tugged her hand out of his. ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t going to follow through. I know where all this is leading. I’m not an idiot.’ She was visibly shaking now, those chocolate-brown eyes vivid with passion and temper. He hadn’t cowed her at all, he realised. The thought frustrated the hell out of him, but to his surprise the surge of admiration was stronger.

‘But I’m not having sex at your convenience,’ she finished. ‘I decide when I’m ready, and I’m not ready yet. And until you stop freezing me out every time I ask you a personal question you’d better prepare yourself for a long wait.’

‘That’s blackmail,’ he said, astounded at her gall.

‘Call it what you like,’ she said, not remotely offended. ‘But I’m not comfortable sleeping with a stranger, that’s all.’

His heart pounded hard in his chest as he stared at her. Seeing the stubborn line of her jaw and the resolve in her eyes, it dawned on him that she really wasn’t going to budge on this. She’d got him again. If he wanted to take this any further he was going to have to give her a little piece of himself. He swallowed heavily, looked away, out into the gardens of Havensmere. The gardens that he’d designed and nurtured for no reason he understood.