Be My Bride. Natalie Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘A heart with ‘mother’ or something across it.’

      He flinched.

      ‘Perhaps not ‘mother’,’ she said quietly and lifted the pen from him.

      ‘It’d be okay,’ he said, feigning ease. ‘She died when I was very small.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘It was a long time ago.’ The pen tickled him some more.

      ‘Did your father find anyone else?’

      ‘No. He was a rough man. A stevedore who loaded and offloaded ships. He worked hard, drank hard. Frankly he stank. He didn’t have a lot about him to attract another woman.’ Except for the ones he paid for.

      ‘So what did you do?’

      ‘Found boats and sailed on them. As often as I could.’

      He’d skipped school to sail. Until he’d become so good the schools had come to him wanting him to sail. Scholarships. Performance.

      She ran a line down the side of his stomach. He flinched again because it tickled so much. She laughed softly as she dipped the pen in the well again and turned back to him. ‘Your abs are amazing.’

      He grimaced. ‘I’m glad you appreciate them. They don’t come easy.’

      ‘Oh, I appreciate them.’ She blew, drying the ink.

      ‘Don’t put that any lower,’ he warned.

      She laughed again. ‘You don’t want me to ink—’

      ‘No, I do not.’ He wondered what she’d written. But he wanted to feel her some more first. She clearly ached for more too, as suddenly she tossed the pen and straddled him.

      ‘Release me.’ He needed to hold her now—was desperate not just to cup her breasts and stroke her to ecstasy, but to embrace her. He wanted to hold her close. She still had gold leaf in spots over her skin and in her hair. His gilded, branded lover.

      She slid off him and reached forward to untie the knots. On her way back down, she writhed her hips, teasing, freely expressing her enjoyment of him—of his touch, of his body. He shifted again—so his aching need was hard against her lush, wet heat. He arched up into her again and watched the burst of rapture on her face. He inhaled deeply, holding back the urge to dive into the mindless, exquisite release. Not yet.

      She pushed on him, levering so she could ride him tighter. He rested his hands on her thighs, letting her. Until he felt her tiring—yet desperate.

      ‘Liam.’ Her call came, broken, needy.

      He slid his hands higher, cupping her butt and supporting her as he thrust upwards, maintaining her tempo, then pushing it further, faster.

      She cried out—pleasure bursting in brief phrases and then moans as words could no longer be formed. He watched the deepening flush and glow of her skin, the red, tight nipples, even redder plump lips and the wild, big eyes.

      This was the Victoria he’d wanted—the one he’d caught a glimpse of all those years ago. The lusty, pleasure-bent, hungry woman who’d take what she wanted. Not aiming to please him—but taking pleasure, enjoying herself. Able to give so much—yes. But also able to receive. The woman made for loving.

      It satisfied him immensely that she was open, receiving pleasure from him. He arched, his spine stiffening as he realised how much he wanted to give her. Passion rushed in his ears as a piercing cry broke from her. He saw it as she shuddered, bearing down on him as the convulsions racked through her body. And he felt it as she collapsed forward, lax in his arms, blanketing him with her soft warmth.

      He wrapped both arms around her, gripping her shoulders hard, his forearms pressing down on her back so she was squashed even tighter against him as he finally allowed himself to come.

      He found he liked the tiny bed after all. The only way for them to fit on it was if they were locked together, either side-by-side or with one on top of the other.

      Mid-morning he fell asleep like that. Still inside her.

SEVEN

      Sweat had smudged the ink—the words she’d drawn on him, mingled in a mess of blue on both their skins. Liam stood in the shower behind Victoria who had her eyes closed as she rinsed frothy shampoo from her hair. While she did, he scrubbed at the ink with the palm of his hand. He could still see the anchor on his hip.

      Stupid to be so bugged by such a common, naval theme. A million guys out there had tattoos just like it. There was no underlying meaning in that symbol. Yet, impossibly, he felt bound—just by the play of last night.

      He didn’t want to be weighed down. He didn’t want permanent ties. Nothing anchoring him—not any one place. Not any one person.

      Suddenly a flannel-filled hand pushed his out of the way and tried to scour away the image.

      ‘It’s fine.’ He grabbed her wrist, uncomfortable that she’d noticed his attempt to wash it away.

      ‘It clearly bothers you.’

      He automatically released her on hearing that cold edge to her voice. He made himself meet her eyes. ‘We want different things.’

      ‘Not so different.’ An almost-smile twisted her lips. ‘Your career is everything to you. So mine is to me. But they’re not compatible. We’re not compatible.’

      Except physically. They were so compatible there. But that wasn’t enough. ‘I’ve stayed too long already.’

      One night was all he’d offered her. All he could offer her. Yet here it was, late in the day already. He’d not been able to drag himself from her bed and body. The second night was already approaching.

      ‘Yes.’

      He hated that she agreed with him. Stupid to feel rejected all over again, as he had those years ago. Even though this was what they’d agreed—what he’d insisted on. ‘We can’t do more than this,’ he repeated.

      ‘No.’ She glanced at the ink mark again. ‘Some turps might help with that. Or nail-polish remover.’

      ‘It’s fine. It’ll wear off.’ Just as this gnawing ache to be near her would wear off.

      This was the right decision. They did want different things, in different places. But he didn’t like that remote look on her face. He drew her close under the streaming water and kissed her until she relaxed against him. Until she took him one last time.

      He left the shower first, needing to recover alone, resenting the power of this pull towards her. He had to run.

      Victoria wrapped a giant towel around her. She wanted him to leave. There was nothing she could do or say to make him change his mind and she didn’t want to try. A reluctant boyfriend was not what she wanted. She didn’t want a boyfriend at all. So it was fine.

      When she emerged from the bathroom he was already dressed, lingering СКАЧАТЬ