Take My Dare (Stark International Trilogy 4)

And then there she was--Sylvia Brooks Steele.

His wife.

And damn, but she took his breath away.

She didn't see him yet--her head was turned as she spoke to someone behind her. Cass, he realized, as he heard Syl's best friend say goodbye.

Then Syl turned back and stepped into the foyer. She closed the door behind her. And then, finally, she looked up and met his eyes and smiled so bright it seemed to Jackson that her entire body glowed.

"Hey," she said softly. "I missed you."

"Oh, baby," he said, as he moved to her and took her in his arms. "I've missed you, too."

I'm as big as a house and haven't seen my feet in weeks. My breasts ache, my skin feels too tight for my body, and my lower back is a symphony of aches and pains, twinges and tweaks.

And yet despite all that, the moment I see him, I start to melt from the desire that floods through me. He's not doing anything other than standing in the living room looking at me. But even so, he's larger than life. That coal-black hair. Those ice blue eyes. The tall, straight posture that suggests he controls the room and everything--and everyone--in it.

Jackson Steele, the famous--some would say notorious--architect.

Jackson Steele, half-brother to tennis champion turned billionaire entrepreneur Damien Stark.

Jackson Steele, my husband, and the man who is the focal point of my world. Who grounds me and centers me. My white knight in so many ways.

It's astounding, really, how much I crave his touch. How turned on I get simply from looking at him. From knowing that he's mine. Granted, I've read all about pregnant women and their hormones, but this is more than that. This is a need that's burned within me from the first moment I saw him, and has only grown stronger since our wedding. Since I started to feel his child growing inside me.

I understand my desire--how could I not want this man? But what astonishes me is that even today, when I'm roughly the shape of a cantaloupe, I see the same expression on his face that I saw on our wedding night. He wants me, not just the packaging, and that knowledge warms me, making me feel safe and cherished.

Loved.

"You're wet," he says, coming to my side, and I have to laugh. Because he's right--I'm wet simply from looking at him. But I can tell from the tone of his voice that he's not talking about desire, but about my damp hair and shoulders. Not to mention the part of my belly that protruded out from the protection of the umbrella I was sharing with Cass.

He catches my reaction, of course, and I see the amused heat flash in his eyes even as his lips curve into a wicked grin. "I was going to suggest you put on some dry clothes, but now I'm thinking maybe you should just take those off."

"I could be convinced," I admit.

"I'm very glad to hear that," he says, as he comes closer and presses his hand over my belly. He moves toward me, his lips not yet reaching mine when a powerful kick makes us both jump, then laugh.

"I think he's awake," Jackson says.

"He? What makes you think it's a boy?" We'd decided not to find out the baby's sex, though I have to admit that there are times--like when I can't sleep and am shopping online at three a.m.--when I really wish I knew if I should be buying pink or blue.

"Must be a boy with a kick like that," Jackson says, earning a smack on his shoulder from me.

"Chauvinist," I say as he holds up his hands and laughs. "Speaking of strong women," I continue archly, "I assume Ronnie's asleep?"

"She stayed up long enough to be in charge of the chips for one round of poker and be thoroughly spoiled by all the guys. Then she started to get grouchy, so we called it a night. She's sound asleep with her bunny."

I frown, considering. "Maybe I should sneak it out of bed and wash it tonight? That thing has turned a shade of greenish-brown that really isn't natural."

"Better idea. Wash it tomorrow. Tonight, we can go peek at her from the doorway. Then I have other plans for you."

"Really? Like what, Mr. Steele?"

"For starters, a foot rub."

I practically swoon from the mere suggestion. Then I take his hand and lead him to the little bedroom at the opposite end of the hall from the master. The door is cracked open, and I can see the glow of golden light from her Frozen nightlight. I push it open slowly, then lean against Jackson as we both look at the dark-haired angel sleeping soundly, a bunny clutched against her chest, and her little thumb between her lips.

"I should get another blanket," I say, taking a step forward. Jackson's hand on my shoulder stops me.

"She'll just kick it off. That kid runs hot."

He's right, and I frown, annoyed at myself. "I know that. She hates having too many blankets. I just--"

"Want to take care of her. I know." He kisses the top of my head. "You're an amazing mom."

I sigh, and rest my head against his chest as I watch Ronnie sleep. "I hope so," I whisper, which is about as close as I can come to stating my fears. "With Ronnie--I don't know, it's like it's different since I stepped in later in the game."

"So did I," he says, and I nod, because he's right. Jackson had no idea he was a father for a long time, and even after he learned, Ronnie lived with her great grandparents for quite a while before he legally claimed paternity.

"True," I admit. "And I don't mean to sound all emotional and hormonal, really." I press my hands over my protruding stomach. "I mean, I'm so excited to meet this little person. But I'm still nervous. I just hope I'm half as good a mom as you are a dad. I'm at a disadvantage, you know," I say with a tease. "You've gotten the hang of this dad thing. I've only been a mom for a few months now."

"Almost nine months," he corrects me. "And that's if we only count the months since you adopted her. It's been about a year if we count the time you were Ronnie's mom in practice if not by law. Not that you needed the time. You were perfect from the moment you met her."

I wasn't--I was scared. Afraid I'd take after my own parents in the child-rearing department. The kind of parent that leaves scars on their children. Emotional scars that take a lifetime to heal, if they ever do.

But I'm not scared of that anymore. I'm not my dad. And I'm sure as hell not my mom. Now I'm just Sylvia. Very pregnant Sylvia with all the hopes and fears and insecurities of any pregnant woman.

In other words, a lot.

And, honestly, I'm sure Jackson must be a little nervous, too. After all, he's never actively parented an infant. For that matter, Ronnie must feel unsteady as well. She's outwardly excited about the baby, but I've seen signs of clinginess, and I'm sure that must be be

cause a new sibling is coming.

"We should do something special for her," I say, looking at our sleeping princess. "Something just for Ronnie. Right about the time the baby's born, or just after."

He doesn't say anything for so long that I shift to see his face. I find him smiling, his expression gentle. "See?" he says. "You're a great mom."

"Just trying to think about what she needs."

"Exactly."

I turn in his arms, and tilt my head up for his kiss, soft and gentle on my lips. "Right now, though," I admit, "I'm going to be selfish and think about what I need."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"You. Beside me. In bed."

"Is that so?"

I answer by cupping the back of his head and pulling him down for another kiss. This one bold and so full of heat that I feel it coursing through me. Building and demanding.

And while I may have started it, he takes over fully, pulling me close so that my belly presses against him, and my breasts ache as he holds me tight against him. His hand slides down over my rear, and I moan a little because I want more.

I want Jackson.

He takes advantage of my little noises and urges my lips open, then deepens the kiss. I taste scotch and cigars, and smile against his kiss, thinking that the guys really had been doing their masters of the universe thing tonight.

When I finally break away, I'm breathing hard. "Make love to me, Mr. Steele."

"Mrs. Steele, it will be my pleasure."

Chapter Three

++

I'm simply dressed in a T-shirt and skirt, and now I sit on the edge of the bed to peel the skirt off, then just shift sideways, still half dressed. As I do, I get a rare glimpse of my ankles, so swollen I can't help but wince even though they don't hurt.

"Lie back," Jackson says. "I believe I promised you a foot massage."

He also promised me sex, but right at the moment, I want both pretty much equally. So I'm more than willing to settle back, close my eyes, and lose myself in the sensual bliss of being utterly pampered.