The Millionaire's Cinderella. Anne Marie Winston

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      Shifting from the building tension in his groin, he opted to revisit something they’d discussed the day she’d moved into his house in an attempt to quell the urge to carry her to his bed. “The offer still stands about having Joseph come to live here. Then he could be with you every day.”

      She sighed. “I really appreciate it, but as I’ve said before, he needs to stay in school throughout the remainder of the year now that he’s settled.”

      “Okay, but if you change your mind, you know he’s welcome.”

      To his surprise, she scooted out of the chair, walked to the sofa and hovered above him. “Are you planning to go to bed any time soon?”

      He wanted to go to bed with her, but not unless she extended the invitation. “In a while.”

      She looked at him expectantly before her gaze traveled to his mouth. “Guess you’re really tired, huh?”

      Not so tired that if she asked, he’d make love to her until the sun rose in a couple of hours. But only if she asked. “Is there something you need from me?”

      A long silence ensued as she stood there opening and closing her fists and biting her lower lip. It took a major effort on Rio’s part not to take her hands, pull her into his lap—straddling his lap—so he could feel her against him, let her know that he needed to be inside her more than he needed sleep. For a brief moment he thought she might actually come to him and soothe the ache building to an unbearable intensity below his tattered jeans.

      The moment ended when her gaze shifted away. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you. In fact, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.”

      Her serious tone indicated seduction was the last thing on her mind. Or maybe he’d only imagined the longing reflecting in her blue eyes. He patted the cushion next to him in hopes that she might reconsider. “Have a seat.”

      She stared at the sofa as if it were covered in spikes, not leather. “It can wait. You need your rest.”

      Aside from needing her in a very fundamental way, he needed to know what was bugging her. “A few more minutes aren’t going to matter.”

      Finally, she claimed a seat on the far end of the couch as if he were contagious. “It’s about Allison Cartwright. I believe she’s decided to use the center for the birth.”

      Rio wasn’t exactly surprised, nor was he exactly thrilled. Yet he had to accept Allison’s decision, even if he didn’t like it. “I understand why she feels she has to do it.”

      “But you’re angry about it.”

      “Not angry. Concerned.”

      Joanna moved closer, once again jump-starting his awareness of her—the way she smelled, the way he knew she would feel beneath him. “Rio, I promise she’ll be fine. The pregnancy is going very well, right?”

      “Right.” He couldn’t disregard his apprehension any more than he could disregard his desire for Joanna Blake. He centered his gaze back on the TV, away from her assessment. “But anything could happen.”

      “Or nothing could happen aside from the birth of a healthy baby. You and I both know that.”

      He could feel her staring at him, dissecting him. Right now he was just too damn tired to discuss this. Wound too tight to think about anything other than escaping before he released all his frustration by taking Joanna into his arms to try a little sensual persuasion. “Just promise me that if something does come up, you’ll bring her to the hospital.”

      “I’ll call you if something happens, but I seriously doubt it will.”

      “Fine.” He came to his feet only then realizing the extent of his exhaustion. He might as well be wearing concrete shoes, he decided as he headed toward the kitchen. At least his body had calmed somewhat.

      “Rio.”

      Joanna’s smooth, soothing voice turned him around, teased his libido awake again. “Yeah.”

      “You know, you could still be present for the birth if you’d like.”

      “No, thanks.”

      She frowned. “I hope one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me what happened that made you so opposed to nonhospital births.”

      “Nothing happened.” Except he’d watched a young woman die when he was barely old enough to watch that same woman give birth. “Just consider me overly cautious.”

      “Are you going to your room?”

      Not such an appealing thought without her accompanying him. “I’m going to grab the paper and have some coffee first.”

      “Then I need to ask a favor.”

      He could think of several favors he’d like to provide for her, even dead tired. “Shoot.”

      “Do you mind if I use your shower? I won’t take long.”

      “No problem.” It was a problem, at least for Rio. Knowing Joanna was in his shower—naked and wet— would prevent him from sleeping at all should he decide to grab a quick nap in his bedroom. But that wouldn’t keep him from honoring her request. In fact, he was beginning to think he might have a damn hard time refusing her anything.

      She wasn’t alone.

      Through the mist clinging to the transparent shower door, Joanna saw Rio leaning against the bathroom entry, his arms folded over his bare chest with one hip cocked against the frame. His stance seemed surprisingly relaxed, as if watching her bathe was a part of his daily routine. Joanna was not the least bit relaxed, nor had she been since she’d come upon him in the den cloaked in firelight with his jeans undone to reveal a partial glimpse of the tattoo. And below that, strong evidence that he was aroused. So had she been at that moment. So was she now.

      Yet she wasn’t exactly surprised by his presence.

      After all, this was his private domain and she had left the door partially ajar to keep the bath from steaming up. Or so she’d told herself. In reality, in an inexplicable place buried deep within her psyche, she’d secretly hoped that he would venture inside. Silently yearned for him to shed his clothes, his resistance, and join her for some more water play.

      Instead, he continued to stand and stare, and Joanna continued to slowly lather her body with the same soap she had detected on his skin on more than one occasion, as if unaware of his presence.

      The simple act of showering took on a whole new meaning. With every stroke over her slick flesh, she imagined his skilled hand there. With every pass over her breasts, she remembered his impassioned touch. With every random tick of her pulse, an all-consuming heat assailed the very core of her. Joanna’s head began to whirl with possibilities and her body reeled when she considered where this might lead.

      Obviously nowhere, she soon realized after she’d finished washing and he still hadn’t made a move. Not even an inch. Maybe he found her figure lacking. Maybe he didn’t appreciate the faint stretch marks on her upper thighs, the slight roundness of her belly, the fullness of her hips.

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