Millionaire Mavericks: The Oilman’s Baby Bargain

On the bright side, they seemed to have everyone at that party convinced that they were happy as clams and having the time of their lives.

He rolled over and the sensation of the sheets sliding against his hard-on was almost enough to set him off. He could always take care of matters himself, but how sad was that? Very, considering he had a gorgeous wife just down the hall and he couldn’t make love to her.

Couldn’t or wouldn’t? He was the one making the rules. He had told her that their marriage wouldn’t be more than business, and he was beginning to think that as far as dumb moves went, that just about topped them all.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Lexi was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling as sexually frustrated as he was.

He heard a noise coming from the first floor, the screech of the kettle whistling. He sat up in bed. Though normally boiling water wouldn’t cause him alarm, he knew Lexi could find a way to turn even making tea into a disaster of biblical proportions.

He jumped out of bed, threw on his robe, and headed down to the kitchen to stop her before she set something on fire. What was she doing up at 1:00 a.m. anyway?

When he got to the kitchen, the flame under the kettle was off and Lexi was opening and closing cupboards. She was wearing that same long silk gown she’d worn in Greece, and all he could think about was getting her out of it.

“Looking for something?” he asked.

She spun around, startled. “What are you doing here?”

Her breasts swelled enticingly against the sheer fabric and he could see the rosy outline of her nipples. Maybe it was his imagination, but her chest looked fuller than it had just a week ago.

“Last I checked, I live here,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to get something to drink.”

“Were you looking for something?” he asked.

“Herbal tea,” she said. “Sometimes it helps me sleep. I thought I might make a cup. Do you have any?”

“In the narrow cupboard above the coffeemaker.” He watched, mesmerized once again by the sway of her hips under that silk as she crossed the kitchen and opened the cupboard. “Top shelf in the back.”

She stretched for it, but even on her tiptoes she wasn’t tall enough. She turned back to him and said, “I can’t reach it.”

He knew even before he took a step that he was going to regret this, but he couldn’t stop himself. He crossed the kitchen, caging her into a corner, and to his surprise, she didn’t object or try to move to one side. She smelled fantastic and she was giving off enough pheromones to bring a football team to its knees.

Resting one hand on the counter beside her, he reached up with the other to grab the box of tea bags. He told himself that getting this close to her without an audience was a bad idea, but the message was getting scrambled in his hormone-drenched brain. Instead of backing off, like he should have, his body was telling him to move closer.