After Hours

He forced himself to relax, picking up the remainder of his sandwich. “You’ve got your time, Angelique. But don’t wait too long.”

Or I’ll have to do something rash, he added to himself. Kidnapping sounds like a good start. Or maybe I’ll just get you pregnant. You’d look good carrying my baby, lady. Prudently remaining silent out of certain knowledge that she’d go for his throat if he voiced those particular chauvinistic thoughts, Rhys smiled ferally and finished his dinner.

ANGIE GASPED and arched upward when Rhys sank his teeth delicately into the soft inner flesh of her thigh. If his intention was to drive her insane tonight, he was doing an excellent job, she thought dazedly. She’d long since lost track of the time that had passed after he’d slipped the robe from her body and laid her gently on the bed. There was no part of her that he hadn’t stroked, kissed, teased, pleasured. She was no longer even capable of participating in the lovemaking, having been reduced to quivering, writhing, gasping semiconsciousness.

The tip of his tongue shot out to soothe the faint marks left by his teeth. His hands cupped her bottom, holding her in place as his mouth stroked across her thigh and then moved inward to nibble at the vulnerable spot just above the golden curls between her legs. Nuzzling into those curls, he used his tongue once more to taste and torment her, flicking rapidly at the swollen, aching flesh until she cried out and bowed sharply upward, certain that she was going to lose her mind if he didn’t stop. Equally certain that she’d die if he did.

“Rhys. Oh, Rhys.” If she’d had any breath left, the words would have been very close to a scream. As it was, they were a mere whisper.

He heard them. Surging up her body, he pressed his mouth to hers. “Tell me again,” he muttered without raising his head.

She knew what he wanted to hear. It wasn’t the first time he’d demanded to hear them since he’d brought her to bed. “I love you,” she murmured into his mouth. “I love—”

His tongue surged inside, tasting the words, swallowing them. His hand closed over her breast as his body merged with hers, his hips already flexing to begin the rhythm that would carry her back into the maelstrom of passion. Her fingernails sinking into his shoulders, Angie moaned in pleasure and abandoned herself to his lead.

Her knees clenched high on his hips, she arched to take him deeper. She moaned, gasped, cried his name. Sobbed in relief and disappointment when the crest broke and she shivered in fulfillment, knowing that the end had been inevitable, wanting only to prolong it. She was never more happy than when locked with Rhys in this intimate sharing, this total oblivion to anything but each other.

“Angelique, I—” His words died in a groan as his long, taut body shuddered in a climax that seemed to rock the bed beneath her.

She wished he’d finished the sentence. Had he wanted to tell her he loved her? If so, it would have been the first time, though he had seemed insatiable to hear the words from her. She knew how hard it would be for him to say those words—even harder than proposing had been, she thought, stroking his damp, heaving back as he lay half across her, recovering his strength. It would be especially hard for him to say them if he was still unsure of her.

He’d asked her to marry him. Closing her eyes, Angie took a deep breath.

“Am I crushing you?” Rhys asked immediately, shifting his weight.

“No,” she assured him, holding him more tightly. “I’m fine.”

He murmured something she didn’t quite catch and settled his head more comfortably on her breast, seemingly content to lie still and have her stroke him.

Turning back to her thoughts, Angie tried to imagine what it would be like to be married to Rhys. He’d accused her of not trusting him. He was wrong, of course. During the past months, she had learned that there was no one on earth she trusted more than Rhys. He wouldn’t let her down in the way her father had, lie to her as her former friends and lovers had done. He wouldn’t be unfaithful to her. To Rhys, a marriage vow would be his word. To break his word would be to lose the honor that was so very important to him, having been all he had for so long.

So what was she afraid of?

Losing him, she answered herself almost immediately. Not to another woman, not to a prison cell, but to disinterest. To habits formed years earlier, shaped by years of seeking and striving for acceptance. H

aving him finally admit that the novelty of being loved had worn off, that his business provided all the daily stimulation he required.

Perhaps she was still struggling with her own sense of failure, with her own doubts about what she had to offer to a man such as Rhys. He was older, more experienced, more successful, more confident in his abilities. Would he grow tired of someone who’d been in nursery school while he’d fought in Vietnam, who’d led a sheltered, shallow, self-gratifying life until forced by circumstances to reevaluate her priorities and change her ways? Whose very name carried a stigma of dishonor?

Rhys breathed deeply and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she lay against his shoulder, his arm snugly around her. “Tell me again,” he ordered, a faint smile creasing his weary face.

“I love you, Rhys,” she complied willingly. He seemed to need to hear the words as often as she would say them.

He needed her. Knowing he couldn’t see her, she made a face at her own vulnerability. She knew she wouldn’t be as susceptible to anyone else’s need, but being needed by strong, self-sufficient, dauntingly proud Rhys was something she simply couldn’t resist. Nor would she ever be able to resist him. He’d been absolutely correct earlier. Despite her fears, Angie had long since conceded the futility of defying him. If he’d set his mind on marrying her, they would be married. She hadn’t the strength—nor the desire—to refuse him something so important to him.

“I’ll marry you, Rhys.”

The quietly spoken words galvanized him from satiated dozing to full awareness. “You will?”

“Yes.”

He shifted until he was resting on one elbow, leaning over her, his gray eyes fixed intently on her face. “You just this minute decided?”

She smiled faintly. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The corners of her smile deepened. Trust Rhys to look so suspicious of her sudden capitulation, she thought. “Because I love you, Rhys. And because I want to. Okay?”