The Ideal Bride

He released her with a soft chuckle. “There’s no one near enough to hear.”

Just as well; he bent his head to her other breast and repeated the torture until she begged. Only then did he take what she so willingly offered, and give her all she wanted.

All she’d never had before.

He was gentle yet forceful, experienced and knowing. But although he clearly took pleasure in pleasuring her, that at no time disguised his ultimate goal.

She wasn’t the least surprised when his hand slid down from her now burning breast to splay over her stomach. To knead evocatively, then press lower, gently stroking her curls through her gown before reaching further, until his long fingers provocatively probed the indentation at the apex of her thighs.

What did surprise her was her response, the flood of heat that pooled low in her body, the tightening of muscles of which she’d never before been aware, the sudden hot throbbing in the soft flesh between her thighs.

He raised his head; his touch firmed, grew more demanding. She heard the taut tension that held him when he let out a short breath. His lips touched her throat, traced upward, circled her ear, brushed her temple. “Caro?”

He wanted her; she didn’t doubt it, yet… “I don’t… I’m not sure…”

The moment had come far sooner than she’d expected; she wasn’t sure what she should do.

Michael sighed, but didn’t retrieve his hand from the heated hollow between her thighs. He continued to caress her while verifying the information his senses had intuitively gauged. Confirmed that she did indeed want him, that she might, if he asked…

“I want you.” He didn’t need to embellish that; the truth rang in the gravelly words. He was hard and aching, one step away from pain. With one fingertip, he circled the soft fullness of her flesh through her gown. “I want to come inside you, sweet Caro. There’s no reason on earth we shouldn’t indulge.”

Caro heard; the words fell, dark and deeply seductive, into her mind. She knew they were true, at least as he meant them. But he didn’t know… and if she agreed, and then… what if, despite all, it went wrong again? If she was wrong again?

She could feel her pulse pounding under her skin, could, for the first time in her life, imagine it was desire, hot and sweet, that she felt, that filled her and urged her to agree, to simply nod—and let him have his way. Let him show her…

But if it went wrong, how would she feel? How could she face him?

She couldn’t.

With his hand stroking her, caressing her, blatant promise in every touch, with desire thrumming compulsively in her veins, it required immense effort to draw back. To gather enough will to resist, to say no.

He seemed to sense her decision, spoke quickly, urgently, almost desperately, “We can be married whenever you wish, but for God’s sake, sweetheart, let me come inside you.”

His words crashed over her in an icy wave, drowning all desire. Panic, full blown, reared from the coldness and gripped her.

She jerked back out of his hold. Horrified, she stared at him. “What did you say?”

The words were weak; her world was whirling, but no longer pleasantly.

Michael blinked, stared at her stunned face—mentally replayed his words. Inwardly grimaced. He frowned lightly at her. “For pity’s sake, Caro, you know where we’ve been heading. I want to make love with you.”

Very thoroughly. Multiple times. He hadn’t realized just how powerful that need had grown, but it now had him in its grip and wasn’t about to let go. Not until… Her sudden vacillation wasn’t helping.

Her eyes had been fixed on his face, searching… she stiffened even more. “No, you don’t—you want to marry me!”

The accusation hit him like a slap, one that left him disoriented. He stared at her, then felt his face set. “I want—and intend—to do both.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “One once, the other frequently.”

She narrowed her eyes back. “Not with me.”

Her chin set; she reached for her chemise and yanked it up. “I don’t intend to marry again.”

He watched the gorgeous mounds of her breasts disappear behind the flimsy barrier; it might as well have been steel. He bit back an oath, forced himself to think… he thrust a hand through his hair. “But what… this is ridiculous! You can’t expect me to believe you thought I would seduce you—my closest neighbor’s sister—the past Member’s sister— and not be thinking of marriage.”

She was retying the straps of her chemise, her movements jerky and tense. He knew she was upset, but it was difficult to tell exactly in what way. She glanced up; her gaze clashed with his. “Try another tack.” Her tone was flat and uncompromising. “I’m rather more than seven.”

Looking down, she wriggled her gown back up and into place. “I’m a widow—I thought you wanted to seduce me, not marry me!”

Accusation still rang in her tone, still lit her silver eyes. His disori-entation wasn’t improving. “But… what’s wrong with us getting mar-

tied? For heaven’s sake! You know I need a wife, and why, and here you are, the perfect candidate.“

She recoiled as if he’d struck her, then her mask slammed into place and she looked down. “Except I don’t want to marry again—I will not do so.”

Abruptly, she stood, swung around, and presented him with her back. “You undid my laces—please do them up again.”

Her voice shook. Narrow-eyed, he regarded her slender back, her hands locked on her hips, was conscious of a building impulse to simply seize her and be damned… but she suddenly seemed so fragile.

He swung his leg back over the bench and surged to his feet, stepped directly behind her, caught her lacings and yanked them tight. Exasperation and an even more powerful frustration dug their spurs deep. “Just answer me this.” He kept his eyes on the laces as he tightened, then tied them. “If my mentioning marriage is such a shock to you, what did you imagine what’s been developing between us would lead to? How did you think this would play out?”

Head up, spine rigid, she looked straight ahead. “I told you. I’m a widow. Widows don’t need to get married to…”

In lieu of words, she gestured.

“Indulge?”

Jaw setting, Caro nodded. “Indeed. That’s what I thought this was about.” He was almost finished with her laces; she wanted nothing more than to flee, to retreat with dignity intact before any of the emotions roiling within her could rupture her control. Her head was spinning so badly she felt sick. A deathly chill was slowly claiming her.

“But you’re the Merry Widow. You don’t have affairs.”

The barb struck home in a way he couldn’t have foreseen. She sucked in a breath, lifted her chin. Forced her voice steady. “I’m merely extremely finicky about whom I choose to have affairs with.” His hands stilled; she tensed to leave. “But as that’s not your real goal—”

“Wait.”

She had to; the damned man had hooked his fingers in her laces. She let out a frustrated hiss.

“Having you is a very real goal of mine.” He spoke slowly, his tone uninflected.

She couldn’t see his face but sensed he was thinking, swiftly readjusting his strategy… she moistened her lips. “What do you mean?”

A full minute ticked by, long enough for her to grow aware of her own heartbeat, of the increasingly oppressive atmosphere building before the storm. Yet the elemental threat beyond the summerhouse wasn’t sufficient to distract her from the turbulence within, from the potent presence standing in the dimness behind her. His fingers hadn’t moved; he was still holding her laces.

Then she sensed him shift nearer; he bent his head so his words fell by her ear, his breath brushing the side of her face. “If you could choose, how would you wish this—what’s been growing between us— to develop?”

A subtle shiver tingled down her spine. If she could choose… she dragged in a breath past the vise gripping her lungs. Determinedly stepped forward—forcing him to let go. He did,