A Daddy For Christmas: Yuletide Baby Surprise / Maybe This Christmas...? / The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby. Alison Roberts
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that was a lie. Her parents’ opinion mattered. She’d cared what her first lover thought of her only to find he’d used her to get into her father’s inner circle.
“Mari, I think you’re smart and beautiful.”
She grinned. “Organized and uptight.”
He smiled back. “Productive, with restrained passions.”
“I am a spoiled princess,” she admitted, unable to resist the draw of his smile, wanting to believe what she saw in his eyes. “I’ve had every luxury, security, opportunity imaginable. I’ve had all the things this baby needs, things her mother is so desperate to give her she would give her away to a stranger. I feel awful and guilty for just wanting to be normal.”
“Normal life?” He shook his head, the leather sofa creaking as he leaned back and away. “I had that so-called normal life and I still screwed up.”
She’d read the press about him, the way he’d turned his life around after a drunk-driving accident as a teen. He was the poster boy for second chances, devoting his life to making amends.
Her negative reports on his program weren’t always popular. Some cynics in the medical community had even suggested she had an ax to grind, insinuating he might have spurned her at some point. That assumption stung her pride more than a little.
Still, she couldn’t deny the good he’d done with his clinic. The world needed more people like Dr. Rowan Boothe.
“You screwed up as a teenager, but you set yourself on the right path again once you went to that military high school.”
“That doesn’t erase my mistake. Nothing can.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “It frustrates the hell out of me that the press wants to spin it into some kind of feel-good story. So yeah, I get your irritation with the whole media spin.”
“But your story gives people hope that they can turn their lives around.”
He mumbled a curse.
“What? Don’t just go Grinchy on me.” She tapped his elbow. “Talk. Like you did at dinner.”
“Go Grinchy?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that really a word?”
“Of course it is. I loved that movie as a child. I watched a lot of Christmas movies flying across the ocean to spend Christmas with one parent or the other. So, back to the whole Grinchy face. What gives?”
“If you want to change my mood, then let’s talk about something else.” His arm slid from the back of the sofa until his hand cupped her shoulder. “What else did you enjoy about Christmas when you were a kid?”
“You’re not going to distract me.” With his words or his touch.
“Says who?” Subtly but deliberately, he pulled her closer.
And angled his mouth over hers.
Stunned still, Mari froze for an instant. Then all the simmering passion from her dream earlier came roaring to the surface. She looped her arms around Rowan’s neck and inched closer to him on the sofa. The satin of her peignoir set made her glide across the leather smoother, easier, until she melted against him, opened her mouth and took him as boldly as he took her.
The sweep of his tongue carried the minty taste of toothpaste, the intoxicating warmth of pure him. His hands roved along her back, up and down her spine in a hypnotizing seduction. He teased his fingers up into her hair, massaging her scalp until her body relaxed, muscle by tense muscle, releasing tensions she hadn’t even realized existed. Then he stirred a different sort of tension, a coiling of desire in her belly that pulled tighter and tighter until she arched against him.
Her breasts pressed to his chest, the hard wall of him putting delicious pressure against her tender, oversensitized flesh.
He reclined with her onto the couch, tucking her beneath him with a possessive growl. She nipped his bottom lip and purred right back. The contrast of cool butter-soft leather beneath her and hot, hard male over her sent her senses on overload.
The feel of his muscled body stretching out over her, blanketing her, made her blood pulse faster, thicker, through her veins. She plucked at the leather string holding back his hair, pulled it loose and glory, glory, his hair slipped free around her fingers. She combed her hands through the coarse strands, just long enough to tickle her face as he kissed.
And this man sure did know how to kiss.
Not just with his mouth and his bold tongue, but he used his hands to stroke her, his body molding to hers. His knee slid between her legs. The thick pressure of his thigh against the core of her sent delicious shivers sparkling upward. All those sensations circled and tightened in her belly with a new intensity.
Her hands learned the planes and lines of him, along his broad shoulders, down his back to the firm butt she’d been checking out not too long ago. Every nerve ending tingled to life, urging her to take more—more of him and more of the moment.
She wanted all of him. Now.
Hooking a leg around his calf, she linked them, bringing him closer still. Her hips rocked against his, the thick length of his arousal pressing against her stomach with delicious promise of what they could have together. Soon. Although not soon enough. Urgency throbbed through her, pulsing into a delicious ache between her legs.
He swept aside her hair and kissed along the sensitive curve of her neck, nipping ever so lightly against her pulse. She hummed her approval and scratched gently over his back, along his shoulders, then down again to yank at his shirt. She couldn’t get rid of their clothes fast enough. If she gave herself too long to think, too many practical reasons to stop would start marching through her mind—
A cool whoosh of air swept over her. She opened her eyes to see Rowan standing beside the sofa. Well, not standing exactly, but halfway bent over, his hands on his legs as he hauled in ragged breath after breath. His arousal was unmistakable, so why was he pulling away?
“What? Where?” She tried again to form a coherent sentence. “Where are you going?”
He stared at her in the moonlight, his chest rising and falling hard, like he’d run for miles. His expression was closed. His eyes inscrutable.
“Good night, Mariama.”
Her brain couldn’t make his words match up with what she was feeling. Something didn’t add up. “Good night? That’s it?”
“I need to stop now.” He tucked his shirt in as he backed away. “Things are getting too intense.”
She refused to acknowledge the twinge of hurt she felt at his words. She wasn’t opening her emotions to this man.
“Yeah, I noticed.” She brazened it out, still committed to re-creating the amazing feelings from her dream. “That intensity we were experiencing about twenty seconds ago was a good thing.”
“It will be good, Mari. When you’re ready.”
Damn, but he confused her. She hated feeling like the student in need of remedial help. The one who didn’t “get” it.
“Um, hello, Rowan. I’m ready now.”
“I just need for you to be sure.” He backed away another step, his hair tousled from her hungry fingers. “See if you feel the same in the morning. Good night, Mariama.”
He pivoted into his room and closed the door behind him.
Mari sagged back on the sofa, befuddled as hell. What was his game here? He bound her to him by enlisting her help with the baby. He clearly wanted her. Yet, he’d walked away.
She wasn’t innocent. She’d been with men—two. The first was a one-night stand that had her clamping her legs shut for years to come after she’d learned