Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition (5 page)

He grasped her hips, began to thrust again, rocking against the exposed nub and going so deep she felt overwhelmed by the stunning sensations. She heard herself sob as pure pleasure exploded along her nerve-endings
and she hurtled into oblivion. Her cries matched his muffled shout as he followed her.

‘Damn.’ He groaned as he collapsed against her, sounding as stunned as she felt.

He let her down carefully. She wobbled as her feet touched the floor, and he gripped her arms to steady her.

‘Wow.’ She gave a breathy sigh, all her inhibitions lost in the intoxicating cocktail of passion and excitement frothing inside her. ‘So that’s what all the fuss is about.’

He lifted his head. His lips quirked in the half-light. ‘You didn’t know?’ he asked.

She beamed at him as she pulled her dress up, watched him adjust his own clothing. She supposed she ought to feel awkward—daft, even—but the euphoria flowing through her brain made it impossible. He’d given her something she’d thought she would never have, and she was overcome by the need to tell him how much it meant to her.

‘Just so you know, you’re the first bloke to pass the Meg Ryan Test,’ she said, flinging her arms round his neck. ‘I ought to give you a medal.’

‘I’ll take it,’ he said, his hands settling on her bottom, dragging her close. ‘But what’s the Meg Ryan Test?’

She drew back, giggled at his blank look. ‘You know?
When Harry Met Sally
? Meg Ryan? Billy Crystal? Classic chick-flick? She fakes an orgasm in a deli. The Meg Ryan Test is when a woman doesn’t have to…’ She paused, the direct look he was giving her making heat surge into her cheeks. ‘Because you know the male ego can be very fragile, and before I always used to…to pretend to…’ She babbled to a halt. Okay, now she felt ridiculously gauche. Why had she started this conversation anyway?

‘I understand.’ He smiled, the crinkles round his eyes
making her heart fly into her throat. ‘I’m afraid my chickflick knowledge is sadly lacking.’ He held her face in warm palms, skimmed his thumbs over her cheekbones. ‘But I’m honoured you didn’t need to fake your orgasms with me.’ The kiss he placed on her lips was a beguiling whisper of tenderness and affection.

She pressed her forehead to his. ‘You better watch out, you know,’ she murmured, aware she was grinning like an idiot again. ‘I’m in danger of falling madly in love with you.’

The minute she said the words she knew she’d made a mistake. He tensed, the teasing, good-humoured light dying in his eyes. He pulled her arms down from around his neck, stroked the inside of her elbow. ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom?’

She blinked, trying not to let the sudden change in tone and topic dampen her mood. How weird. For a moment there he’d looked guilty.

‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘It’s down the hallway.’ She pointed the way, forcing down uneasiness. ‘I’ll hunt up that coffee I promised you.’

He gave her a cursory nod. ‘Great.’

She stared after him as he walked away—his tall frame and broad shoulders making the narrow hallway look even pokier than usual.

Note to Louisa: never tell a guy you’re falling in love with him on a first date—she grinned to herself—even when it’s the truth. He’ll think you’re a basketcase.

She hummed a current chart hit as she freshened herself up and scoured her tiny galley kitchen for coffee. In the end she had to settle for herbal tea. He walked into the kitchen ten minutes later—looking so gorgeous she had to stifle a romantic sigh—and took the steaming cup of
rosehip and ginseng tea she handed him without complaint.

She blew on her own tea, felt the pleasant little skips of her heartbeat as his gaze fixed on her face. ‘We have a problem,’ he said.

Her throat thickened at the serious tone.

He placed his mug gently on the counter.

‘What is it?’ She forced the question out. It occurred to her she’d been tumbling into love with this man all evening and she knew next to nothing about him. Was he about to tell her he had a wife and five kids?

‘The condom broke.’

‘Oh!’ she said, relieved for a split second.

‘You’re on the pill, then?’

She sobered. ‘Well, no—not exactly.’

‘I see.’

‘But it’s okay. I don’t think it will be a problem.’

‘How so?’

She didn’t think telling him about her wildly irregular periods or the fact that she hadn’t had one in nearly two months would fit with the romantic mood, so she settled for, ‘My period’s due in the next couple of days.’ Probably. ‘I’m right at the end of my cycle. I won’t get pregnant, I’m sure.’

‘Okay. Good.’ He settled back against the counter, crossed his long legs at the ankles. ‘But I’d like you to contact me if there’s a problem.’

‘Of course,’ she said, not quite able to ignore the tingle of apprehension. Why would she need to contact him if they were dating?

He picked up his mug. ‘You know, Louisa, I’ve enjoyed myself tonight.’ His eyes swept over her. ‘You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re sexy, and you’re really very sweet.’

Sweet? Louisa gulped her tea as the feeling of rightness that had surrounded her all evening dimmed. Was she imagining things, or did that sound ever so slightly patronising?

‘You’re not at all what I was expecting,’ he continued. ‘All of which makes the confession I’ve got to make very hard indeed.’

Confession? Okay, she definitely didn’t like the sound of that. ‘What confession?’

‘First things first,’ he said, putting his cup down on the counter. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘You don’t have a clue who I am, do you?’ It didn’t sound like a question, but she answered it anyway.

‘Of course I do,’ she said, sending him a saucy smile over the lip of her cup. ‘You’re Luke—Jack’s squash partner.’ And my very own Prince Charming, she would have added, but she didn’t want him to think she was a stalker. Any more declarations of undying love would have to wait until they knew each other a bit better.

To her dismay, he didn’t return her smile but looked down at his feet. ‘Hell. I thought as much,’ he muttered.

She clenched her hands round her cup, tried to ignore the cold feeling creeping over her. Something was wrong. But what?

When his gaze met hers it was deadly serious. ‘I’m Luke Devereaux, the new Lord Berwick. You featured me in your Most Eligible Bachelors list this month.’

‘You’re..? Oh, I see.’ But she didn’t see. Her cup rattled and she plopped it down, spilling red-tinted water onto the counter.

They’d only had one rather blurred paparazzi shot of him for the magazine, but now she could see the resemblance. Still her mind wouldn’t quite engage.

‘What a bizarre coincidence,’ she said dully.

She should be overjoyed, she supposed. The man of her dreams had just turned out to be one of the most soughtafter bachelors in Britain. But she didn’t feel overjoyed. She felt as if she’d just walked into a room full of people stark naked. The man standing across from her wasn’t the charming, gorgeous, regular guy she’d thought he was all evening any more. He was a stranger.

The assessing look he was giving her, as if he was trying to gauge her reaction, wasn’t helping to calm her nerves any.

‘It wasn’t a coincidence,’ he said, and dread settled like a block of ice in her stomach.

‘It wasn’t?’ What exactly was he trying to say?

His eyes flicked away from her face. ‘I accepted Jack’s dinner invitation this evening because I wanted to meet you. I wasn’t happy about your article. It’s caused me a lot of trouble in the last few weeks and…’ He paused, looked back. ‘I had every intention of telling you so.’

She gripped the edge of the counter to stop her hands shaking. ‘I don’t understand.’ The look of regret on his face made an icy chill rise up her neck. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

He dragged his hand through his hair. ‘When you started flirting with me I thought you knew who I was. So I played along, and then, well…It got complicated.’

She held up her hand, wanting him to stop. What was he telling her? That this whole evening had been some kind of set-up?

‘Why would you do that?’ she said on a broken whisper. And then suddenly she knew the answer. ‘You wanted to make a fool of me.’

And he’d succeeded—big-time. She’d fallen apart in his arms, told him she was falling in love with him—she’d
even told him about the Meg Ryan Test. She’d given him everything she had to give and all the time he’d despised her. Tears of anguish seared her throat but she gulped them back. The rollercoaster of emotions she’d been on all evening—the excitement, the adrenalin, the anticipation of something wonderful happening—had just plunged right off the rails into a pit of anguish and uncertainty.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ he said impatiently. He stepped towards her. She shrank back.

‘What was it like, then?’ she whispered. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds as if you have a very low opinion of me, and what I do, but you seduced me anyway.’

He lifted his hands, palms up. ‘You’re overreacting,’ he said, frustration edging the words. ‘I’d forgotten all about the article by the time we got up here.’

‘Well, bully for you. Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’ His brows lowered dangerously. ‘And as it happens I had a right to be annoyed. You could at least have had the courtesy to contact me and ask me if I wanted to be on your list.’

Her mouth hung open. He couldn’t be serious? Was he actually implying that this whole sordid mess was her fault? ‘That’s beside the point and you know it. You should have told me who you were immediately.’ The truth of what he’d done hit her like a punch to the gut and she wrapped her arms round her waist. ‘You seduced me to get even with me, you jerk.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ he returned. ‘And anyway, I wasn’t the only one doing the seducing. I didn’t hear you complaining when I was stroking you to your first orgasm.’

That did it. ‘You smug, patronising—’ She picked up her cup and hurled the liquid at his head.

He ducked, and her Mickey Mouse mug shattered against the kitchen cabinet, spraying him with rosehip tea. ‘Calm down.’ He scraped his fingers through his hair, sprinkling pink droplets onto his white T-shirt.

‘Get out of my flat,’ she said, her voice shaking. The moment of violence had passed, leaving her feeling weak and exhausted and as shattered as her favourite mug.

How could she have been so idiotic?

‘Fine—if that’s the way you want it.’ He marched out of the kitchen, grabbing his jacket from the floor as he strode down the hallway.

She followed him out, hurling a few choice epithets after him, but her heart wasn’t in it.

As soon as the front door slammed she slumped back against the wall. The very same wall where less than ten minutes ago Luke Devereaux had brought her to an earthshattering orgasm. Make that two earth-shattering orgasms.

Fat tears seeped out as she bit into her lip and choked down the hiccoughing cries. She couldn’t hold them back for long, though. Her legs collapsed beneath her as huge, soul-drenching sobs raked her body. Her back slid down the wall and she clasped her arms tight around her shins, burying her head against her knees in a vain attempt to hide from her own stupidity.

How could she have been such a complete and utter fool? How could she have plunged headlong into love in the space of a single evening with a guy who didn’t even exist? And why, now she knew what an utter fraud Luke Devereaux really was, did her heart still feel as if it were being ripped right out of her chest?

The present

‘Y
OU
insensitive, insufferable jerk.’ Louisa sneered, her shoulder muscles rigid and her insides roiling with indignation and shame. She steadfastly ignored the open wound still festering underneath that she thought she’d cauterised months ago.

She’d shed enough tears over Luke Devereaux. She wasn’t about to let him get to her again with his crass comments about her sex life. ‘Do you seriously think that giving me an orgasm that night somehow makes up for the appalling way you treated me?’

He sent her a sideways look, then flipped on his indicator to pass a lorry. ‘All I’m saying is that the sex was as good for you as it was for me, so stop pretending otherwise. And you didn’t have one orgasm, as I recall, you had several. I treated you just fine,’ he finished, with enough arrogance to increase her strop to fever-pitch.

Righteous anger surged up her throat. How typical of him to miss the point completely.

‘Sex isn’t just about mechanics, you know, Devereaux,’ she snapped. ‘It’s about feelings. If I had known who you were, that you wanted to punish me and humiliate me, you
would never have hit the jackpot at all. So you can stop slapping yourself on the back about it.’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘The sex was hardly a punishment for either of us,’ he said, with enough strained patience to make her want to hit him again.

She twisted her fingers, kept them anchored in her lap.

‘Things got out of hand,’ he said, his voice thin with irritation. ‘I know that. But you enjoyed it, so I don’t see why you’re still sulking.’

‘You wouldn’t, you complete…’ She couldn’t think of anything bad enough to call him.

‘And if you hadn’t pried into my private life in the first place, we—’

‘I never pried into your private life in that article,’ she interrupted him, a tiny trickle of guilt making her bristle.

She’d once blithely compromised the privacy of others. It wasn’t something she was proud of. She’d learned the hard way never to cross that line again—had left the gossipy rag
London Nights
because of it. She was not about to be lectured on journalistic ethics by someone who didn’t know the first thing about them.

‘There was no gossip or innuendo in that piece.’ She’d made sure of it. ‘The Most Eligible Bachelors list is just a bit of romantic fun for our readers. The men we feature usually adore the attention. If you’re paranoid, that’s your problem—not mine.’

‘You put me on that list without my consent,’ he barked back, his fingers clenched so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles had whitened. ‘You started a stampede of debutantes, paparazzi and tabloid reporters to my door when I was trying to keep a low profile. If you don’t think that’s disrupting my private life you’re deluding yourself.’
He braked and swung the car off the M40 and onto the suburban streets of West London.

Mr Cool and Detached seemed to be in quite a snit.

‘Tough,’ she said, ignoring the now much more persistent prickle of guilt.

She had nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t her fault he’d appeared out of the blue to inherit one of the largest private estates in the country. It also wasn’t her fault he was handsome, rich in his own right and unattached. And it definitely wasn’t her fault that after only a few months in society he already had a reputation for being elusive—evasive, even. If he didn’t think that was newsworthy, he was the delusional one, not her.

And anyway,
Blush
hadn’t given a single column inch of copy space to any of the rumours about his past, or how he had ended up as Berwick’s heir when they weren’t related. The magazine she worked for had ethics. It was not a scandal sheet. She’d worked for one before and she knew the difference.

‘I’m not responsible for the behaviour of the tabloid press or the paparazzi—or your groupies.’ She paused for effect. ‘And that article certainly didn’t give you the right to lie to me and seduce me so you could teach me a lesson.’

He swore under his breath and then, to her astonishment, braked in the middle of the tree-lined avenue, wrenched up the handbrake and clicked on the hazard lights. He turned, pinning her with his icy gaze, barely leashed temper radiating off him.

Nerves stampeded up her spine. Okay, she hadn’t meant to get him quite that annoyed.

‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ he said, the words low and dangerous. ‘What happened between us was unstoppable. A force of nature. We’d been coming on to each other all
evening.’ His voice deepened as his eyes blazed. ‘When I pulled your clothes off, when I stroked you to orgasm, it didn’t have a thing to do with revenge, or punishment, or seduction, or any other damn thing except relieving the heat that had been building between us for hours. Do you really believe I was thinking about some magazine article when you were so tight, so hot around me I could feel your heart beating? When I came so hard inside you I burst the condom and got you pregnant?’

‘I…I…’ Louisa shut her mouth to stop the stammering. ‘There’s no need to be crude,’ she croaked eventually, and realised she sounded like a prude.

But what else could she say? She wanted to cling on to the belief that his seduction had been a carefully calculated, coldly methodical form of revenge. The alternative—that he’d been as carried away as she had, and the magazine article had had nothing to do with it—was far too dangerous to contemplate.

She didn’t want to be drawn to this man. She didn’t want to be enthralled by him. And she definitely didn’t want to acknowledge the uncontrollable sexual chemistry between them. She’d been defenceless and at his mercy once before—and her common sense was telling her not to risk putting herself in that situation again even if her body was screaming exactly the opposite. What did her body know anyway? It had betrayed her once before and look what had happened!

‘It’s not important why you made love to me,’ she said, struggling to regain her composure. She folded her arms, trying to deny the scorching heat that his tirade had ignited all over again. ‘The point is it was a mistake. And we’re not going to repeat it.’

He shook his head, gave a huff of disbelief. The look
of incredulity on his face shattered all her illusions without him having to say a single solitary syllable.

He took off the handbrake, stabbed the hazard lights button and drove off, muttering something that sounded like, ‘If you believe that, then you really are delusional.’

Louisa ignored him, too tired and frankly too distraught to debate the point. Arguing with him was like arguing with a lump of wood anyway. Frustrating and completely pointless.

She stared out the car window, barely registering the redbrick gingerbread houses of Chiswick as they whisked past. Exhaustion and confusion overtook her. Marvellous—she wasn’t only tied to this dominating, overwhelming man by the baby growing in her womb, but by an elemental passion that still had the potential to flare out of control.

And she now knew he didn’t care if it did. But then why would he? He had nothing to lose. His heart—if he even had one—had never been at stake.