The Christmas Baby's Gift

Liam was being deliberately awkward. Surely by now he knew exactly what she meant. She didn’t have to spell it out.

But it seemed that she did.

‘They wanted to come to help us celebrate. But they don’t know the truth of it. They don’t know that our marriage is really little more than a business arrangement and not the love match they believe it to be. I don’t feel that we have the right to expect them to celebrate something that is little more than a lie.’

‘A lie!’

She’d caught him on the raw there, somehow. And it was clear he didn’t like it. The stunning features darkened swiftly and with a rough movement he twisted the hair-brush from her hands, tossing it aside, careless of the way it fell to the floor with a soft thud and spun away across the carpet.

The next moment hard fingers closed over her arms and she was wrenched up close to him. So close that she was forced to tilt her chin sharply in order to look up into his face. It was either that or bury her head in his shoulder, and with every one of her senses instantly on red alert at simply being near him she didn’t dare to risk any close contact. Already the warm, clean scent of his skin was coiling round her, unbearably provocative, instantly arousing. And his beautiful, sensual mouth was almost exactly at eye level; the temptation to lift her head just a little higher and press her lips to his was almost irresistible.

She could kiss him out of this mood, she knew. At least, she’d always been able to do that in the past. But now, after that awkward moment in the bathroom when he’d completely blanked her, she didn’t think she dared to risk it. The thought of another rejection was frankly more than she could bear.

And besides her conscience was troubling her badly, as it had been for months now. When she had mentioned a lie, what she had really meant was her own recent behaviour, the guilty truth she was holding back.

‘A lie,’ Liam repeated, more quietly, but no less harshly. ‘This marriage is no lie, sweetheart. It’s exactly what we wanted. It’s exactly what we’ve made it—and that makes it a lot more honest than most.’

‘But…’ Peta tried to break in, nerving herself to tell him, but he swept on, totally ignoring her attempted interjection.

‘Believe me, there are many of those who start out believing that their love is for ever who don’t even last to their first anniversary. Plenty of marriage vows break at the first hurdle. They fall out of love as swiftly as they fell into it. One crisis and it’s over—done. They hate each other and never want to see the other person’s face ever again. So…’

Somewhere along the line he’d made a dangerous mistake, Liam told himself; the swift rush of his thoughts faltering, making him lose his train of argument. He should never have come so close. Never have caught hold of her like this. Never have crushed her up against him until they were almost melded into one, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest. The clean, fresh scent of her skin, tantalisingly combined with the delicately perfumed shower gel she had been using, coiled around him, teasing his senses, making his head swim with desire.

His whole body was on fire. So hot that he could only be grateful for the fact that the double thickness of the towel that wrapped her acted as insulation between her skin and the burn of it. That, and the achingly swollen demand of his hunger for her that pressed urgently against the cradle of her hips.

Swallowing hard to ease the raw dryness of his throat, he tried again.

‘So—what we have is well worth celebrating.’

‘But…’

‘But nothing! What we have is what’s right for us! And that’s all that matters in a marriage. That the two people involved in it are getting what they want from it. That it makes them happy…’

A sudden, nastily uncomfortable twist of his conscience almost brought him up sharp, but he forced the uneasiness down again and hurried on, praying she hadn’t sensed his hesitation. There wasn’t a problem. These things took time.

‘We’re celebrating a year together—no matter what the circumstances. That’s the truth.’

A sudden movement of her shoulders distracted him, drawing his eyes irresistibly to the rounded smoothness of her naked skin, still faintly flushed from the warmth of the shower. Instantly his thoughts were distracted from the argument he was trying to express, diverted on to other, more sensual, more inviting paths.

‘The truth is…’ Peta began, but he wasn’t listening to her.

That shoulder was too tempting. The skin on it was so soft, so delicate. He couldn’t resist lifting a hand to touch it, to stroke the gentlest of caresses over its curve, feeling the muscles beneath flex faintly, the shiver of response she was unable to hold back.

‘The truth, darling?’

It was a blend of husky sensuality and shaken laughter. He still hadn’t got a grip on the way this woman made him feel. The incredible immediacy of his response to her, the instant, burning heat of arousal he felt as soon as he touched her.

‘Oh, lady—this is the truth…’

Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to edge of her shoulder, where the smooth length of her arm began, and heard Peta’s involuntary murmur of delight.

‘This…and this…’

His mouth trailed slowly, deliberately, towards the fine, arching line of her throat, stilling over the spot at the base of her neck where a heated pulse raced unevenly. With his face concealed against her skin, he let his mouth curve into a smile of sensual triumph as he sensed her instant response, the sudden change in the rhythm of her blood underneath his soft caress. With careful control he nipped gently at her flesh, eliciting another sigh of abandonment.

‘This is the truth between us, darling. The only truth we need.’

His hands were on her skin too, now, fingers drifting over its satin warmth, reminding themselves of the familiar lines of her bones, the dips and curves of her shape. One tangled in the still-damp fall of her hair, tugging lightly, while the other followed a dancing path along the front of the towel, finding the bunched-up spot where she’d knotted it firmly across her breasts and lingering provocatively.

‘The truth…’

Peta’s echoing of his words was part agreement, part groan of surrender, and against her neck his smile widened. Just the tip of his tongue snaked out and traced an erotic pattern from under her ear to the point where her heated blood raged in a frantic pulse. Then he kissed his way back up again, this time letting his mouth drift round, over the fine plane of her cheek and down, to capture her lips. Her instant response, the way her mouth softened, opening immediately under his, allowing the intimate invasion of his tongue, gave him the encouragement he was seeking.

‘The only truth,’ he muttered thickly, letting his fingers tiptoe back along the top of the towel, the tiny stiffening of her slender body betraying her unspoken disappointment. ‘Our truth…’

This time he trailed his hand slowly, ever more slowly, towards its chosen target. Each movement of his fingertips described a graceful arc, then a full circle, coming close—closer—then drifting away again. Peta’s mouth didn’t leave his for a second, her kiss was still as strong, as deeply intimate as before, but he knew from the tension of every muscle, the watchful tightness of her whole body, that every ounce of her concentration was centred on just one thing. She was as aware of his touch on her skin as he was, waiting—and wanting—him to achieve his aim.

And when he once again reached the spot where that knot held place—loosening rapidly now under the pressure of the tiny wriggles and twists of response that Peta was unable to hold back, he simply let his hand stay still. Simply let it rest with the heat of one wide, hard palm covering the exposed upper slope of her breast, one long finger tucked just inside the white towelling, between it and the warmth of her skin, hidden in the scented, secret valley of her cleavage.

‘Liam!’

His name was just a sigh, forced out from her in the moment that her whole body froze, her entire being centred, or so it seemed, on that one small, burningly intimate point of contact between them. The point where all he had to do was make one tiny movement—either out and away upwards, leaving her skimpy protection secure and intact—or up and away, towards his chest, taking the towelling with him, breaking the weakening knot once and for all.

And still he waited.

‘Liam!’

It was more impatient now. Very definitely a protest. The smile grew, became a wicked, beguiling grin that he knew she must feel against her cheek. They were so close, so very close.

‘Yes, sweetheart?’ he murmured softly, and saw her deep blue eyes fly open at the calculated provocation of the word.

He met the indigo burn of her gaze head-on, fixing and holding it so that there was no way she could look away, look anywhere but directly into his eyes.

‘Our truth,’ he said, low and huskily, and saw the surrender in her eyes before she even had a chance to open her mouth.

‘Our truth,’ she whispered on a note of submission, a note that yielded the victory to him—at least in this battle, if not the entire war.

And for Liam it was enough. It was all that he had been waiting for. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t have held out for a moment longer. The force of his desire was like a fire in his blood, the ache in his loins threatening to drive all hope of control from his mind, push him into the sort of wild behaviour that left no room for thought or consideration. And it took every last trace of control that he possessed to kiss her just once more before he made the movement they had both been waiting for.

Up and away, towards his chest.

A twist, a tiny tug, and the white towelling fell to the floor, pooling on the carpet at their feet. In the same instant the soft, heated weight of her breasts tumbled free and he held them securely, one in each of his hands, the whiteness of her skin shocking against the darker tones of his fingers.

The truth, Peta thought, adrift on a sea of wanting. Of need.

Our truth.

The truth was that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Hadn’t been able to from the start, and still couldn’t now. And so she had known that as soon as he touched her she was lost. That the wild, primitive pin-pricks of fire that started all over her skin would swiftly merge into one total, blazing conflagration that would take control of her, leave her totally at its mercy. And when he kissed her she felt the response deep inside, where everything tightened, tensed, woke to stinging need.