The Millionaire's Pregnant Wife

His hands moved lower, grasping her hips, thrusting her against another hardness; like flame, desire surged through her veins. Knees weak, she clung to him. Her tongue danced with his, their mouths welded in a kiss that she wanted to last forever.

Then he thrust her away so roughly that she stumbled, bumping her hip against the table. He said harshly, “Forget I did that—it won’t happen again. I’ll see you at eight-thirty tomorrow.”

The image of her shocked face imprinted on his brain, Luke strode down the hall as though all the demons in hell were after him. What had possessed him to kiss her like that? Like a man starved for nourishment. Like an addict needing his fix.

He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone. Never had.

He unlatched the door and stepped outside into the chill star-spangled night. That was what he needed, he thought savagely, a sense of perspective. The stars were good at providing that.

He’d just broken two of his cardinal rules: never get involved with an employee, and never make the first move without explaining the way the game worked. Not that kissing Kelsey North could in any way be called a game. From the moment his lips had found hers he’d been engulfed by her. Absorbed in her. Desperate for her.

Thank God he’d found the strength to walk away from her. And away from her was where he intended to stay.

His car was parked under the trees. He fumbled for his keys in his pocket, then whipped around as he heard steps behind him on the gravel driveway.

Kelsey said jaggedly, “You forgot the photographs.”

Her hair was in a wild tumble around her face, her eyes huge dark pools. Through the thin fabric of her shirt he could see the little bumps of her nipples. Goddammit, he wasn’t going to kiss her again. He took the envelope from her with the tips of his fingers. “Thanks.”

She stepped back, hugging her arms to her chest. “I’m not one of your super-sophisticated Manhattan women, Luke. Don’t toy with me like that—kissing me as though I’m the only woman in the world and then dropping me as though I disgust you.”

“Disgust?” His laugh had no amusement in it. “If I hadn’t dropped you, we’d be making love on the kitchen floor right now.”

She took another step back. “Am I supposed to believe that?”

“You know I wanted you.”

Shivering, she said in a low voice, “I’ve never met anyone like you. I don’t know what to believe.”

He was suddenly pierced with guilt; wasn’t she telling him she was way out of her depth? “Go inside—you’re cold. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With a tiny sound of distress, she whirled and ran for the house. The door slammed shut behind her.

Luke got into his car and drove back to Griffin’s Keep, grimly concentrating on the road. He was going to put her right out of his mind. His lifestyle didn’t begin to accommodate women like Kelsey North. Never had and never would.

The mansion’s dark bulk loomed against the stars, secretive and unwelcoming. Could he blame his mother for running away? Would the contents of the boxes bring him any closer to understanding her?

He went inside, and in the room where he and Kelsey had been working he spread the photos over the table. They were all images of Rosemary as a young girl; she looked happy and carefree. He couldn’t ever remember her looking happy like that.

Briefly he buried his head in his hands, his nostrils assaulted with the long-ago smells of the apartment block where they’d lived. Rotting garbage, urine, cigarette butts, the lazy drift of dope.

He’d never have to go back to a place like that. The money he’d made since then guaranteed it. He was safe. As that little boy in a slum apartment block hadn’t ever been safe.

THAT NIGHT LUKE went through four more boxes, rewarded by finding some of Rosemary’s school reports. Doesn’t like to sit still and Stirs up trouble were repeated themes. It was nearly three in the morning when he trailed upstairs, every limb weighted with exhaustion. But when he fell into bed it wasn’t Rosemary who kept him wide-eyed and awake, staring up into the darkness. It was Kelsey.

He loathed how desperate he’d felt, how driven. He liked sex as much as the next man. But he also liked being in control.

Tomorrow—today, rather—he wouldn’t lay as much as a finger on her. If she had any sense, she’d wear the brown tweed suit to work.

Trouble was, now he knew what was hidden underneath it. And he could remember all too clearly how she’d opened to his kiss, digging her nails into his nape, her hips pressed to his erection.

Hell, he’d never get to sleep at this rate. With a superhuman effort, Luke forced himself to focus on the trend in oil prices, and eventually he did fall asleep. To dream a long-familiar dream of the shadowy woman who had been his mother. She was holding out a pretty red candy and promising it could be his. As he reached for it, already tasting its sweetness, she snatched it back at the very last minute…

Later, much later, he gradually sank into another dream. One of Kelsey lying naked in a field of summer flowers, opening her arms to him, voluptuous and beautiful.

EVEN THOUGH SHE was tempted to do so, Kelsey didn’t wear the brown tweed suit the next morning. But the jeans she chose were loose-fitting, and her sweater enveloped her from throat to hip in bright green wool.

If Luke Griffin made the slightest move toward her, she’d belt him first and then she’d quit.

In January’s weak sunlight, Griffin’s Keep looked ridiculously like the haunted house of a thousand books and movies. She marched up the front steps and found the door firmly locked.

Yesterday Luke had unlocked it before she’d arrived. Not in the mood for subtlety, she leaned hard on the bell. Once, twice, three times. With absolutely no effect. His car, a sleek Mercedes, was parked by the garage, so she knew he was here.

Had he changed his mind overnight and fired her? If so, would he bother to let her know? He was the great Luke Griffin, accountable to no one.

She banged on the panels of the door, hurting her fist. Her jaw set mutinously, she then walked around the house until she came to the room where they worked. Standing on tiptoes, she peered inside. Empty. So was the kitchen. By now it was a quarter to nine.

Kelsey had slept very badly, her dreams full of enough torrid sex for ten women. The man she’d cavorted with in purple satin sheets that exactly matched her toenails had been Luke, an unabashedly and gloriously naked Luke.

No wonder she felt out of sorts this morning. She stormed back to her car and laid on the horn. Although for all she knew, he slept at the back of the house. She then went through the whole bell-ringing routine again. No Luke, apologetic or otherwise.

Fine. She’d go home and scour Kirk’s room from one end to the other.

However, as she thrust the key in the ignition, the sun went behind a cloud and the ugly turrets and pinnacles of Griffin’s Keep were shrouded in shadow. It wasn’t just a depressing house, she thought, it was downright foreboding.

Maybe Luke had slipped on the stairs and hurt himself? Maybe he was ill? Should she go for help?

Unease nibbling at her composure, Kelsey got out of the car and circled the house one more time. Against the south wall a stout Virginia creeper clung to the worn shingles, climbing all the way to the brick chimney. Partway up, it skirted a window that was open several inches.

She’d been a daredevil climber as a kid, outdoing the boys because she had no fear of heights. She shucked off her jacket, glad she’d worn her hiking boots, and started to climb.

It was a cinch. She placed each foot with care, wrapping her fingers around the stout branches, the exercise warming her, the little adventure lifting her spirits. Her life had been too dull for too long. She should add adventure to the list. Near the top, with a capital A.

The window slid open on its hasp. Kelsey levered herself over the sill, landing with a small thud on the floor.

She was in a bedroom. Luke’s bedroom.

He was fast asleep on the double bed, his face buried in the pillows, the sheets twisted around his waist. He was also naked, the light falling over the long curves of his spine.

Her dream had collided with reality. Except the sheets were white, not purple.

Kelsey crept closer across the worn floorboards. His torso was rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing; his hair lay dark on the pillow. He had, she thought unwillingly, a most impressive set of muscles.

Clearly he wasn’t sick. She should go straight downstairs and get to work. Then her heart leaped into her throat as he stirred, muttering something under his breath. She froze to the spot, watching in dismay as he turned over. He rubbed his eyes, their vivid blue focusing on her. As she opened her mouth, with no idea what she was going to say, he said, in a voice still blurred with sleep, “I was dreaming about you—come here.”

She gave a startled yelp as he seized her wrist and tugged her toward him. Losing her balance, she fell on top of him, her hands splayed on the sheet, her breasts crushed to his bare chest. He looped one thigh over hers, pinning her down, and buried his hands in her hair, pulling her head down to his. She had time to think, I’m in bed with a man who’s tall, dark and handsome. Then his lips were locked to hers, moving slick and hot until she dissolved into a pool of longing. She moaned his name in helpless surrender, assaulted by the heat of his body, the shock of bone and muscle and sinew.

With strong fingers he dragged her sweater up to her waist; a shudder rippled along her spine as his palms stroked her back, warm and very sure of themselves. “Your skin,” he muttered. “I knew it would feel like silk.” Then he was fumbling with the clasp on her bra, freeing her breasts.