Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition (7 page)

The balance of power had finally shifted in her favour.

It was the Friday evening before a Bank Holiday weekend, and the service station was crowded with holidaymakers—any one of whom would be able to witness Devereaux’s aroused state if she stepped back.

Despite the fact that her own libido was on full alert, Louisa enjoyed a sharp spurt of satisfaction at Devereaux’s predicament. Having three older brothers, it simply wasn’t in Louisa’s nature to let the moment pass without going in
for the kill. She moved closer and swivelled her hips, brushing herself against his erection, and heard him curse softly. She edged her palms up his chest, slid her fingers under the collar of his shirt. His broad shoulders tensed and he shuddered.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he muttered.

She caressed the damp skin of his neck, ran her fingers through the short curls at his nape, inhaled the pleasantly musky smell of his sweat—and savoured the sharp scent of victory. He was having a really tough time with this. She welcomed the quick thrill as she traced her nail across his cheek, pressed the pad of her index finger against his bottom lip and felt his now massive erection buck through their clothing.

She had him now. ‘I’m showing you who’s boss, big boy,’ she purred.

She saw the flash of challenge in his eyes, and knew that she’d just made a potentially catastrophic tactical error.

She dropped her arms, jerked away. But he dragged her back. He ground his hardness against the juncture of her thighs, bent over her and bit into the sensitive cord in her neck. She stifled a scream as molten heat blasted up from her core.

‘Don’t—there are people around,’ she choked, her hands trembling as she pushed against him. The burning between her thighs was so intense now she thought she might collapse. She didn’t want to play any more. She should have guessed he wouldn’t play fair.

She struggled, but he held her fast and whispered in her ear. ‘You started this, and when we get to Havensmere I intend to finish it. But until then you’ll do as you’re told, or we’re going to be stuck here all night.’

‘I’m not going to Havensmere. I told you that. And
anyway, you can’t keep it up all night. It’s not physically possible, is it?’

He drew back enough to give her a damning look. ‘I got hard just thinking about you for nearly a week after we made love that night, so where you’re concerned take my word for it. Anything’s possible.’

She ignored the reckless thrill at his words. So she turned him on? It was nothing to be proud of.

He shifted, holding her at a distance, but made sure her body masked his from the crowds passing by. ‘Put your hands on my hips,’ he said, his voice more strained than ever. ‘But don’t try any funny business or you’ll pay later. I guarantee it.’

His tense threat made her realise the ridiculousness of their situation. A giggle popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

‘Laugh all you want,’ Luke said sternly, but his lips quirked, and his eyes sparkled with humour. ‘We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m so deep inside you tonight you can hardly breathe.’

She swallowed, not finding the situation all that funny any more. ‘I’m not going to Havensmere tonight. I told you I’ve changed my mind. I’m going back to London.’

His eyebrows lifted, but he looked curious rather than annoyed. ‘Louisa, sweetheart,’ he said heavily, giving a longsuffering sigh, ‘we’ve already had this fight—remember? If we start replaying the ones we’ve already had, it’ll take us for ever to get to the important ones.’ He smiled at her, the soft, sensual curve of his lips making her stomach sink. ‘The baby’s going to be here in six months—time is limited.’

She couldn’t help it. She smiled back. She’d completely forgotten about his dry sense of humour and that heartmelting smile—both dangerously sexy and boyishly
charming, with a brooding quality that had made her want to coax it out of him every chance she got. In a flash of insight she understood why he’d captivated her that night. It hadn’t been his movie-star looks, the perfect manners, that to-die-for physique, or even his skill as a lover. It had been that raw magnetism and his ability to make her laugh.

The thought of how heavily she’d fallen for him made her sober. Her eyes drifted down to his chest. She concentrated on the wisps of chest hair she could see above the open collar of his shirt, tried to think sensibly.

It was hardly surprising she’d forgotten the man she’d met that night. He didn’t exist—not really. Maybe he could still be funny and charming when he wanted to be—and it was obvious the sexual attraction between them was as potent as ever—but today had proved they had very little in common except this baby. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of that.

He hooked a finger under her chin, drew her eyes to his. ‘Why have you changed your mind about coming to Havensmere?’

‘You know very well why,’ she said. What was the point in being coy? ‘The sex thing is going to get in the way if we’re alone together. It already has and we’re not even alone yet.’

He stroked her hips, his eyes dark and amused. ‘I’m glad to hear you finally admit that. But I don’t see why it’s a problem.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ she said, feeling exasperated. Why did he have to be so irresistible while she was trying to be sensible? ‘Your life hasn’t been turned upside down today and—’

‘Of course it has,’ he interrupted her. ‘In case you didn’t realise, I hadn’t planned on becoming a father. Certainly not like this.’

She placed her hands on his forearms, sent him a weary smile. ‘Please, let’s not argue again. I’ve had about as much conflict as I can take for today.’ She knew it sounded lame, but she’d been on an emotional rollercoaster the whole day and she suddenly felt overwhelmed.

Tears welled in her eyes and she gulped them back.

‘Hey, don’t cry. It’s not that bad.’ He brushed his thumb across her lower lip and kissed her forehead gently. The tears coursed down her cheeks.

‘I have to go home—start sorting my life out. There’s so much to do,’ she said, choking back a sob.

She knew it was foolish—and hopelessly self-indulgent—but she couldn’t seem to stop the flood of tears. The enormity of everything that had happened today seemed to be closing in on her, pressing down on her chest until she couldn’t breathe.

He placed his arm round her shoulder and pulled a hankie out of his back pocket. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll work it out,’ he said, handing her a monogrammed square of clean white cotton.

She buried her nose in it, recognised the detergent smell from that moment in the ultrasound suite when he’d wiped away her tears earlier that day, and started to sob.

He turned her towards him and folded her into his arms. Firm hands stroked her back as he murmured reassurances in her ear. Although she knew the comfort he offered was only temporary she gave herself up to it and let the tears out. Eventually the crying began to pass. She blew her nose hard, scrubbed the hankie over her cheeks, feeling embarrassed at her mini-breakdown.

He dipped his head to peer into her face. ‘All finished?’

The concerned frown almost had her starting all over again.

She gulped back another little hiccough. ‘I’m fine. It must be the pregnancy hormones. They make me feel as if I’m trapped in a bad TV soap opera.’ She sniffed again, wiped under her eyes to try and repair the damage. His monogrammed handkerchief was a sodden mess when she’d finished, and stained with her mascara. She probably had the worst panda eyes in history, she thought, but was too tired to care.

‘Sorry,’ she said, offering him the hankie. ‘I’ve ruined it.’

‘Keep it,’ he said, steering her towards his car. ‘I’ve got others.’ He opened the door, ushered her inside.

She waited until he’d settled in the driver’s seat before she spoke. ‘I know I’ve put you to a lot of trouble today, but if you could drop me at the nearest train station I’d be eternally grateful. If you give me your phone number, I’ll call you in the next couple of weeks. We can talk then about…’ She paused. ‘You know…’ What, exactly?

Future scans? Antenatal classes? Baby names, for goodness’ sake? How involved did he really intend to be? And how involved did she want him to be? She gave a jerky sigh, stared down at his scrunched-up hankie in her fist. She felt as if she was climbing Mount Everest and didn’t have any of the right equipment. If only she knew him better she might know where to start.

‘You know…baby stuff,’ she said finally, feeling like a complete twit.

He studied her, his expression unreadable.

Please don’t make an issue of this now, she thought desperately. I’ve got too much to cope with already.

Eventually he nodded and said, ‘Right—baby stuff.’

She let out the breath she’d been holding, her relief immense. If he’d pressed his advantage she might well have given in to him—which would definitely have been
bad. She needed time and space to sort herself and her life out before she confronted the whole thorny issue of how to deal with Luke Devereaux. But one thing she did know. Letting him make her decisions for her was not an option.

He leaned into the back seat and gripped his jacket, handed it to her. ‘Why don’t you fold that up and use it as a pillow? You can have a nap before we get there. You look shattered.’

Her bottom lip quivered at his thoughtfulness. She bit into it. Get a grip, woman.

‘Thanks,’ she said, successfully stifling another sob. She glanced at the dark blue jacket draped across her lap—and gasped.

His head whipped round. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I can’t use this as a pillow,’ she said, horrified. ‘It’ll crease dreadfully, and anyway it’s new season Armani. It’d be practically sacrilegious.’

His face relaxed and he chuckled. He shifted into gear and put his arm across the back of her seat. ‘I promise I won’t tell Armani if you don’t,’ he said, winking at her as he glanced round to reverse out of the space.

She smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in her belly at the glint of mischief in his eyes. But she couldn’t ignore the wistfulness that settled over her as her cheek pressed against the folded linen.

It smelled of him—citrus and musk, masculine and exclusive. Delicious and dangerous. Just like its owner, she thought, as she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

L
UKE
watched the wrought-iron gates of Havensmere swing open, waved to old Joe the lodge keeper, and eased the vehicle over the cattle grid. He could hear the clanking mechanism close behind the car as he purred up the long, winding drive. The summer evening settled around him. With the soft top down, he could hear the rustle of leaves as the drive’s ancient chestnut trees shifted in the sluggish breeze, mottling the car’s paintwork in comforting shadows.

After five minutes the house came into view round the final bend, its Palladian splendour nestled against the chalk downs. Twin staircases climbed in facing semicircles to the first floor. Stone pillars topped by a pair of lions that looked more bored than predatory flanked the double-doored entrance.

He noticed the gardening team had added the dark blue lobelia he’d suggested to the raised flowerbeds skirting the drive. The final job of repairing the plasterwork and sandblasting the frontage was scheduled to begin next month—not a moment too soon, he thought as he stared at the crumbling cornice on the second storey.

He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, his reaction to the house as confused as always. When he’d first seen
the place twenty-three years ago he’d been both spellbound by its beauty and intimidated by its grandeur. To a child who’d spent the first seven years of his life in a tworoom apartment on the wrong end of the Las Vegas strip, Havensmere had seemed magnificent and terrifying—the cold, unforgiving stone magnifying both his grief and his loneliness. And once he’d been ushered into Berwick’s study the miserable feeling of abandonment had only increased. The man sitting behind the desk had been as contemptuous as his house.

When he’d been summoned back here a year ago, for the reading of Berwick’s will, those old resentments had burned inside him—until he’d seen Havensmere again. With its neglected plasterwork, dried-up flowerbeds and potholed driveway, it hadn’t been the sentinel of remembered pain he had been expecting, but rather a sad, forlorn and mocking reminder of past glories. In the end he supposed it was pity that had persuaded him to pay for the extensive restorations from his own pocket—but once the work was finished he intended to return to his Chelsea penthouse.

What exactly he was going to do with the place when he left, he had no idea.

He sighed and looked at his passenger, curled up in her seat. With the engine turned off he could hear the steady murmur of her breathing. One thing was for sure: he had a much bigger problem now than Havensmere, and it was sleeping soundly next to him, looking as innocent as a child.

Louisa DiMarco—mother of his unborn baby, artless seductress, and all-round pain in the backside. There was going to be hell to pay tomorrow morning when she woke up and found out where she was.

He smiled. Despite the fireworks to come, he didn’t have a single regret about his decision to bring her to
Havensmere once she’d fallen asleep. He’d meant what he’d said about taking his responsibilities seriously. And she was his responsibility now—whether she liked it or not.

Her eyelashes fluttered and she moaned, snuggling into his jacket, but her breathing remained deep and even. She had to be utterly exhausted to sleep so soundly in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. His gaze drifted down her frame. As he stared at the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath skin-tight cotton he remembered the feel of her, soft and fragrant, pressed against him at the service station. He felt himself stir and was forced to admit that the baby wasn’t the main reason he’d brought Louisa to the secluded country estate.

Every damn thing about the woman turned him on. She had the full, voluptuous figure of an Italian love goddess on the long, leggy frame of an athlete. Her sultry scent and those dark almond-shaped eyes only added to the package, promising sexual secrets that no man could resist uncovering.

He knew Louisa would never be his ideal mate. She was far too volatile and impetuous for that. He pulled his keys out of the ignition and his lips curved—but as a short-term playmate she had definite potential.

After ten years of building a multimillion-pound business empire he’d got into the habit of telling people to jump and then waiting for them to ask how high. Maybe it was the novelty of having someone do exactly the opposite that he found so appealing, so tantalising about her. He thrived on challenges, and he’d never had any woman challenge him the way she did. Eventually the novelty would wear off, but until that happened why not enjoy the fireworks?

He shoved his car keys into his pocket and got out of the car. As he had suspected, Louisa barely stirred as he
lifted her into his arms and carried her up the front steps. His footman, Albert, held the sturdy oak door open and gave Luke a friendly nod as he strolled past.

Luke hefted his guest and took the sweeping staircase to the first floor. She was surprisingly light for a woman of her height. It occurred to him she wouldn’t stay that way for too much longer. The picture of her svelte figure swollen with his child made him feel a little uneasy—he didn’t want to think that far ahead—but it also filled him with an odd feeling of possessiveness and pride.

She sighed then, the soft breath feathering his neck. He took several calming breaths as the blood surged into his groin. By the time he got to the Rose Room, the suite his housekeeper had prepared for Louisa, he was relieved to discover the ever-efficient Mrs Roberts had turned down the bed. He placed Louisa carefully on the king-sized fourposter. She rolled over and drew her knees up, tucking her hands under her head.

His erection mercifully began to subside.

He took his time unzipping her boots and sliding them down her well-toned calves, then tucked her footwear under his arm. He’d keep these with him for now—in case she got any wild ideas about running off in the middle of the night.

He draped the quilted coverlet over her, and noticed the way her full breasts plumped up against the plunging neckline of her frock. She wouldn’t be all that comfortable in the morning, when she awoke in her clothes. But no way was he going to help her out of them. There was a limit to how noble he could be.

He tugged the drapes closed on the large bay windows, shutting out the evening sunlight. On his way out of the room he stopped for a moment by the bed and studied her in the darkness.

He touched her hair, taking advantage of the calm before the storm, and ran his fingers over the soft, silky curls.

Maybe he was losing his mind, but he was already looking forward to tomorrow’s confrontation. She might want to fight him, but he was confident her passionate nature would be her undoing—and then they’d both get to enjoy her surrender.