A Match Made in Heaven?. Sun Chara

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      He tightened his jaw and turned away.

      “Didn’t you say exercise was good for pregnant women?”

      “Sure thing, Sam. Safe, gentle exercise, like walking, certain moves …” He shuttered his eyes. Images of her in his arms flashed through his mind … in bed. Kissing every spot and every inch of her belly and feeling their baby kick life. Hot breath pressured his chest, blood pumped through his veins, arousing. He shifted in discomfort and zeroed in on her tush as she waddled to the table. He wanted to touch, smell, feel her. He always wanted more of her …

      After the wedding, Johnny had taken her for a week-long honeymoon to Hawaii. She thought he’d spent his life’s savings on the trip, but it was pocket change compared to his overflowing bank account. He’d wanted to give her the time of her life.

      Hot, balmy nights … a full moon, a million stars and counting. It set the mood. If he could pluck them, he would have offered her a bouquet of radiant lights.

      Instead, they’d stood on the balcony and watched them sparkle. When she turned in his arms, offering him a chocolate dipped strawberry, he’d nipped it from her fingers, and juice trickled from the corner of his mouth. She’d moved to swipe at it with her hand, but he beat her to it. Flame red liquid stained his fingertip and, in slow motion, he outlined her lips and then captured them with his own. He’d tasted strawberry … and her sweetness.

      “Mercy, Sam, you feel, taste like heaven,” he’d groaned.

      “Mmm, good,” she’d moaned, her fingers weaving circles in his hair.

      Ocean breeze had ruffled the lace curtains behind them, fanning their fervor to combustible levels. He’d scooped her up in his arms and nuzzled her neck, stroding to their bedroom. God help him. She was breathtaking …

      Samantha laughed, and the sound penetrated his erotic fantasy, snapping gossamer threads linking him to the not-so-distant past.

      “I’m fine.”

      He took a moment to control his breathing and his gaze brushed over her, settling on her abdomen. “Glad to hear it.”

      “We’re both fine.”

      Nodding, he tossed several cracker packs on the table and squashed the rest in his fist. He straddled the crate and, glad his loose overalls hid his physical reaction to her, shifted for a more comfortable sitting.

      “You’re pretty quick yourself, Sam.” He grinned. “Swept the floor, cleaned the counter and table, and got supper cooking. All in the time it took me to check the dogs and collect supplies from the truck.”

      “Yep.”

      “I’m impressed.”

      “Don’t be. I don’t intend to make a habit of it.”

      “I read you loud and clear.”

      In the two years they’d lived in the flat in North Hollywood, she’d become more domestic than when he had married her. She’d had no choice, he supposed. No maids, no gardeners, no cook, no housekeeper, no chauffeur.

      Just him. She had him.

      Was he enough for her without dollar signs written all over him? He had to know. A deep breath fizzled between his teeth. He skimmed a hand across his eyes, wondering if he’d been too hard on her, on them both.

      She grabbed a mug and dipped it in the pot, casting him a closed look. “This is a self-service diner.”

      “Fine.” He hauled himself up and watched while she settled on the apple crate.

      Tomato soup dribbled from the side of the mug, and she slid a finger upward to the brim, catching it. She flicked her tongue and licked the warm liquid from her fingertip. His stomach muscles contracted, and he nearly groaned aloud. He’d tasted her sweetness, her soft— Gulping, he glanced around for a distraction. Papers, cartons and empty cans were piled high in the corner by the back door. “I’ll take that trash out after we eat.”

      “Suit yourself.” Samantha reached for a package of crackers and crumbled them in her hand. Why did she feel her marriage was like that? Crumbling. “Makes no difference to me.” She sprinkled the broken fragments over the soup.

      “Why’s that?”

      “Won’t be staying.”

      “Goin’ somewhere?”

       Chapter Nine

      “Yes.”

      “Where?”

      “Home to mother.” Samantha sipped the soup and stared at him over the mug’s rim.

      “Figures.” He scooped soup into his mug and leaned against the counter, sampling the warm liquid.

      She ignored his sarcasm. “Until baby comes.”

      “Then what?” He narrowed his eyes, his jaw rigid.

      “Then I-I’ll know better what to do.”

      “You don’t know now, Sam?” The gentleness in his voice soothed her ruffled nerves, yet the subtle censure underlining his words challenged her temper.

      Samantha lowered her lashes, concealing the confusion she was certain was apparent in her eyes. After she’d married Johnny, she enjoyed ‘playing house,’ especially with him pitching in and helping turn it into their little home. But by the time she’d gotten pregnant, the novelty had worn off, and now she wanted more. After nearly two years of living the life of a pauper, she began missing the comforts of her previous lifestyle.

      When mamma had stopped throwing Michael Scott in her face, finally accepting she’d married Johnny for keeps, Samantha hoped she and Johnny could work out the kinks in their relationship. Make some decisions about their future; like Johnny getting a regular job and moving them into a bigger house and improving their standard of living, especially now with baby on the way.

      Crackers floated on the soup, and she took a sip, licking a drop from her lip. She’d been ready to approach him about their future plans, when wham! The notice had arrived claiming their marriage a scam. She’d been mortified, and with her six months pregnant.

      Although in these modern times it didn’t matter to some that a woman was unmarried and pregnant, to Samantha and her family background it was a scandal. It mattered to her.

      Until she learned the truth about the fraudulent marriage license, she’d tread with caution. She wouldn’t sell out to appease her mother or the upper-crust snobs in her circle. In the meantime, she expected more from her husband and their life together. Would Johnny meet her expectations, and did he even want to?

      Spooning soggy crackers in her mouth, she chewed and tasted tangy tomato. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. He propped his hip against the counter and drank from the mug in his hands … hands that had held her tenderly, caressed her, touched her in the most intimate of ways … A blush warmed her skin, and СКАЧАТЬ