His Ring, Her Baby / His Bride for the Taking: His Ring, Her Baby / His Bride for the Taking

“No, I’ll be fine. I guess I can handle him for one night.”

Linda winked at her as she stood up with the folded towels. “Sweetie, that man’s worth more than a night.”

Vanessa gave a weak smile and returned to feeding her son. She had the feeling her cousin was right.

The party was in full swing by the time Kirk arrived the next evening. He was late but he’d had no choice. His housekeeper, Martha, had decided she needed to go look after her sister. He’d made a booking then arranged for one of his men to drive her to Dubbo Airport, but she’d been upset so he’d stayed with her until it was time to leave. He’d never forget how she had helped his mother cope with his father’s terminal illness.

And now he put all that out of his mind as he stood near the entrance and ordered a whiskey with one of the young males acting as a drink waiter for the night. The restaurant was crowded but there was only one person he wanted to see tonight.

Vanessa.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Just then, she came through the swinging kitchen door carrying a plate of hors d’oeuvres. An odd jolt shot through his chest. She looked incredible in a short black dress that fitted snugly against her breasts, its thin straps emphasizing her smooth neckline and shoulders, the color a glorious foil to the silken mass of her blond hair.

Without hesitation, he skirted the tables and caught up with her near a potted palm. Intense pleasure coursed through him when he saw the quick spurt of desire in those green eyes before she masked her expression.

She was even more beautiful tonight.

“Good evening, Mr. Deverill,” she said with cool politeness.

He raised a mocking eyebrow. “Mister? I’m sure you called me by my name yesterday.”

“I’m sure I called you a lot of things yesterday.”

The comment made him laugh low and husky. Then, “You look fantastic tonight.”

A blush ran over her cheeks.

Not so cool.

“Dance with me,” he murmured, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms and feel her moving against him.

Her gaze darted out over the dance floor in the center of the room. “Dance?”

“Surely even Cinderella can have fun at the ball?” he teased.

“I—” She looked down at the plate and began rearranging the hors d’oeuvres, the faint tremor in her hand shooting satisfaction right through him.

Then she lifted her eyes and moistened her lips. “There’s something I should—”

“Yes, there is,” he said huskily.

Come closer and touch me. Slide your hands around my neck. Press yourself against me.

She drew in a quick breath. “I—” Raising her chin higher, she pulled back her shoulders, unknowingly emphasizing her firm, rounded breasts. “I’ve just got one thing to say to you, Mr. Deverill.”

“What’s that?”

“You are no prince.” With that she took off into the throng.

Amused, Kirk watched the feminine sway of her hips. Then he exhaled a low rush of air. He’d have liked nothing better than to follow her. To slide that zipper open at the back of her dress. To plant kisses all along her spine. And beyond—

The waiter interrupted his thoughts with the glass of whiskey. He took a sip and it burned going down. A long, slow burn.

Just like Vanessa.

Then Hugh’s parents called his name and the world intruded, but over the next hour he couldn’t keep from watching Vanessa mix with the other guests. She smiled graciously. She laughed. And then she’d catch him looking at her and that smile would freeze on her lips, a signal that he affected her as much as she affected him.

Later she disappeared into the kitchen with a pile of dirty glasses. He followed and found her stacking the dishwasher. She was alone, as he’d hoped she would be. She couldn’t know it, but she gave him a bird’s-eye view of her cleavage, the same view he would get if she were lying on top of him. Two perfect globes. His to caress.

“Want some help?” he said huskily.

She straightened, a guarded look in her eyes. “Thanks, but I can manage.” Spinning away, she picked up some clean plates from the table and reached for the top shelf of a cupboard.

He watched as her dress inched up her thighs. Damn, but she had gorgeous legs. Long and slim and firm enough for a man to grip as she rode him home, smooth enough for a man to slide up and into her.

“You owe me a dance, Vanessa.”

Her eyelashes flickered, then her lips twisted. “I’m sure Phyllis would love to come back from her break and find us dancing in her kitchen,” she scoffed, picking up more plates.

Unable to stand another look at those legs, he strode over and took the plates out of her hands, then put them on the shelf himself.

He turned and took slow steps toward her. “We could go outside under the stars, if you’d prefer.”

Anywhere.

He didn’t care.

As long as she was in his arms.

“No, I can’t.” She went to spin away.

He put his hand on her arm, stopping her. “One dance can’t hurt us.”

She tensed as if she knew one dance was all it would take. “Kirk, listen. This is all a waste of time.”

“What is?” he murmured, watching the way she suddenly moistened her lips.

“You … trying to seduce me. It won’t work. I can’t do this.”

He pulled her closer. “Vanessa, you’re only fooling yourself if you think—”

“Kirk, I’m a widow.”

He blinked in shock.

“My husband died six months ago.”