“My mother would too. I meant to call her when we were in Greece, then had nothing to say.” He reached for her hand. “If we’re going to have a child together, we ought to get married. We could agree to separate later. It would make everything so much easier, not only for us, but for our baby too.”
She pulled her hand free. “Now we’re back to why you wanted to marry me on board the Siren.”
“I thought you were a wonderful wife, all I’ve ever wanted in a woman. I’d never really expected to meet anyone like you, and suddenly, there you were.”
Until she’d discovered his lies, she’d have said he was all she wanted in a man. She wouldn’t let her mind stray in that sorry direction ever again. “We haven’t known each other for two months yet. Let’s not rush things.”
He stood to scoop her into his arms and shifted her to his lap. “We’ve already rushed things, so there’s no reason to slow down. We could marry in France, or have your parents come here. My mother is so involved with her second husband she might not be able to attend, but I’d like to ask her. Her husband does huge modern paintings based on Greek myths. At least that’s what he says, but they look like big splashes of color to me.”
She stiffened her posture rather than lean into his embrace, although his warmth nearly melted her bones. “Maybe he’s catching the emotion of the myth.”
“That’s exactly what he says. People see different things when they look at his work. He might use shades of blue to depict a tragedy, while viewers see a peaceful, restful scene. Look, Ana, we’re talking to each other without either of us wanting to scream. That’s progress.”
“For you perhaps.”
He raised her fingertips to his lips. “Only for me? I want you to be happy so we can laugh together the way we used to.”
She made the mistake of looking into his smoky gaze, and he took it as an invitation. His kiss tasted of chocolate, and his lazy affection made her crave more. Ignoring the stern warnings of her conscience, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her life in free fall, she clung to him, all the while knowing she shouldn’t.
He broke away to catch his breath. “We need to declare a truce.”
“This tastes like one.” She shut out everything except how good it felt to be with him again. He kissed her as though he adored her, and she believed it just for tonight. When he carried her into her bedroom and placed her on the bed, she leaned back on her elbows while he yanked off her single boot. She hadn’t had a drop of wine, but desire alone made her woozy. When he pulled her sheath over her head, he looked startled by her new jet-black lingerie.
“I may wear nothing but black from now on. Don’t you like it?”
He ran a fingertip along the lacy edge of her bra. “I expected something more colorful, rather than a sexy widow’s bra and thong.”
“Please don’t use the word widow,” she begged. “Let’s not tempt fate.” She straightened up to unbutton his shirt.
He caught her hands. “That’s another reason for us to marry. If a crane toppled and flattened me on the docks, you’d be a very rich widow.”
“Don’t joke,” she begged. “Let’s imagine we’ll live well into our nineties.”
“Together?” He shook off his shirt and sat beside her to remove his shoes. “Imagine it, at least.”
“Let’s stay in the here and now.” When his sleek body looked so good, she couldn’t focus on problems. He joined her on the bed with a single stretch. He kept his neck shaved so his beard looked handsome rather than scruffy, but when he raked his cheek up her thigh, it tickled. “Is it impolite for a woman to laugh at the man in her bed?” she asked.
He kissed her knee. “It all depends on why she’s laughing.” He placed a sloppy wet kiss in her navel to make her giggle.
She ran her fingers through his hair. She longed to stay with him, but her mind raced, searching for the next rude shock. A truce was wonderful, and she pressed her whole body against his to enjoy it, but she felt as though she were making love to a ticking bomb. She gulped in a breath of air.
“What’s wrong? No, don’t tell me,” he urged. “I don’t want to hear anything other than grateful moans.”
He tossed away her thong and used his mouth to pleasure her, and her worries drifted away on breathy sighs. He tilted her bottom so he could go deeper, and she clutched his inky hair to press him close. He teased her, made her hover on the edge of release and float down still wanting more. When he at last pushed her into a throbbing orgasm, she moaned his name and lay limp in his arms.
“You’re the one who’s in danger of being widowed,” she murmured when she could finally speak.
His warm breath brushed her shoulder. “Not if you don’t marry me.”
“They might have to carry me into the church on a stretcher.”
“A white satin stretcher with trailing ribbons,” he added. He hugged her close and nibbled her earlobe.
She glowed in the lingering bliss. Sex might not be everything in a marriage, but when it was this good, did anything else matter? Undecided, she ran her hand down his flat belly to encircle his rock-hard cock. She’d not removed her wig and stared up at him with a sultry Goth-Girl gaze. “I’m so slippery wet, you won’t hurt me if you bury yourself deep.”
“Tell me if I do.” He shifted over her, and she bent her left knee to welcome him. He caressed her slit with an easy thrust, dipped into her and withdrew. His calculated moves became a passionate dance, and when he had to give in, he carried her along with him into a shuddering ecstasy that left them both too sated to move apart.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her cheek.