Be My Bride: The Right Mr Wrong / A Most Suitable Wife / Betrothed for the Baby. Natalie Anderson
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over his brow.
He didn’t want to see her? He was angry with her? With a muttered growl he took her hand and tugged, twisting her towards the other side of the path. ‘They’re testing the fountains—you’re about to get really wet.’
Too late. As he spoke a whooshing noise all but drowned his words. Suddenly water showered in all directions.
‘Oh, it’s so pretty.’ Victoria stared as light refracted in the droplets, creating rainbows in the air. She turned to smile at Liam.
One look and she froze.
She’d been spared the soaking. He hadn’t.
His white tee bore the brunt and was now drenched on one side. The fabric had gone transparent and clung to his chest. Victoria didn’t know where to look. Actually, she did. The chateau and the grounds weren’t anywhere as majestic or enthralling any more. All she could see was Liam. Her mouth dried. Her cells shrieked for his touch.
She wanted to murmur his name. It was on the tip of her tongue. The desire to call him closer, to touch him, to tumble in this long alleyway—behind the ornate pillars and symmetrical archways. She wanted to steal the moment she’d always wondered about and explore the chemistry that had always drawn her so compulsively to him. Did it matter that his heart was elsewhere? Wasn’t it his body she wanted? But something pulled inside her— stretching to a dull pain.
‘Victoria.’ A low warning.
She snapped out of it, lifting her hand to brush her hair back and take a moment to recover her equilibrium. ‘What?’
‘You really ought to go.’
‘Am I bothering you?’
‘You know you are. And you don’t want what I’m offering.’
Actually she didn’t know what she wanted any more. But it was something more than this. She was heartsore for all they didn’t have. ‘Why can’t we just hang out together? Why can’t we just walk through this beautiful garden and catch up like old acquaintances? Why can’t we be friendly?’
‘Are you that naive?’ He glared at her.
‘You can be friends with an ex-lover, one you were with on and off for three years,’ she pointed out. It hurt. It was stupid, but it hurt. ‘But you can’t be friends with me? A woman you’ve kissed once?’
She caught the flare in his eyes as he strode towards her, but she was so taken by surprise at his speed she just stood there as he captured her face between his palms and planted his lips on hers.
Hard.
His body collided with hers a split second later—his taut, fit length sweeping against her so forcefully she grabbed for something to stop herself from falling backwards. She got two fistfuls of tee. No matter that the shirt was wet and the water cold, his skin beneath burned through. It fired her blood as much as the demands of his mouth on hers were.
She pushed back to balance, opening for him at the same time. He took total advantage, his tongue plundering and tasting in total dominance—overwhelming her with the intensity of his passion. But that intensity sparked her own—she found the strength to push back again, twirling her tongue around his, across his lips, into his mouth as she sought to explore him with equal rapaciousness. She felt the low rumble in his chest and he dropped one hand from her face to wind his arm around her waist in a grip that was gargantuan in its strength. She shifted, reaching up to curl her fingers into his hair, eager to clutch him closer and hold him as tight. His wet tee dampened her dress but their skin sizzled. She widened her legs so she could feel him more intimately against her. She loved the sensation of his denim-clad, granite-hard leg between hers and rubbed against him, suddenly wanting the fabric to disintegrate so there would only be sweat and steam and skin.
But as she rocked he suddenly let her go, lifting his hands as if there were a twenty-strong SWAT team aiming their guns on him.
‘Now it’s twice,’ he growled, stepping back to put distance between them with an insulting speed. ‘Two times too many. No, we can’t be friends. Not until—’ He broke off.
Until they’d had sex and this tension would be broken?
Breathless, Victoria watched him. His fury surprised her. His lazy tease had disappeared altogether. All that remained was one lean, hungry, angry man. One she suddenly, instinctively, knew she could push. ‘You only want what you can handle?’ she taunted, putting her hands on her hips at a provocative angle. ‘What’s with all these boundaries? Why do you have to be so in control?’
His biceps bunched as he fisted his hands and shoved them into his back pockets. He took in a deep breath, his chest expanding. He stood with his feet wide apart on the grass. His jeans emphasised the length of his legs, the strength, the absolute raw masculinity.
But as he exhaled that mask slid down again—smoothing out the lines of need that edged his mouth. Now it was the smile that returned.
‘Women like it when I’m in control,’ he drawled.
And that was so not true. Not for her.
That kiss had ignited something in her. Want, yes, but also, like him, anger. Her fury rose to meet his, because this desire was so strong it was irresistible.
For her.
Now his tease—something that usually made her smile—goaded her. Could he really step back so easily? She saw red—refusing to believe it. Anger propelled her to act like the vamp she’d never been.
‘I think I’d like it best if you weren’t in control at all.’ Deliberately shameless, she stepped towards him, bunching a bit of her dress so more of her thigh was exposed.
The sudden flare in his eyes filled her with sexual confidence. He did want her. And she wanted him to want her badly.
His mouth compressed, his brows pulled together, his eyes were riveted on her.
‘Victoria.’ He spoke slowly, his voice spliced with a rough thread. ‘Be careful what you wish for.’
Through his wet tee she could clearly see his nipples. Despite the summer heat they were diamond hard. She boldly looked lower to see how the front of his jeans was sitting. Stretched. Yeah, she’d felt that straining erection and she was sure it wasn’t going down in a hurry.
She smiled.
He’d walked away so easily the other day. While she was grateful in some ways, she’d also been put out. How had he been able to think? How had he found the strength to make such a decision? She wasn’t letting that happen again.
Wild excitement burned every one of her doubts to cinders. She took another fateful step forward and fearlessly pressed her pelvis against his jeans, lifting her chin defiantly as she slowly circled against him. She was so taut with need, so tired of fighting it, there was no resisting the urge. She wanted what they’d started the other night. Hot sex?
Yes, please.
His hand clamped on her butt, holding her in place hard against him. She shivered at the fierce, close contact. His eyes hadn’t left hers—his were dark, the pupils like black tunnels and she wanted to go the length.
His other hand slowly slid up the back of her thigh, his palm pressing firm but at the same time his fingers massaged her muscles—as if he couldn’t help but caress. Hot, tight, yet softening inside, she gazed up at him. His expression seared as he stroked higher up her thigh, stealing up under her skirt—still not high enough. She wanted absolute intimacy. His erection dug into her stomach and twisted her tighter so she leaned right against him, letting him take her weight, letting him feel how pliant and willing she was.
He cupped the curve of her butt with both hands now—one outside her skirt, one underneath. She wanted him to slide his fingers inside her underwear, wanted him to tease her, take her. She’d lie with him on the sweet-smelling grass and satisfy this elemental longing. Here, now. They’d finish it.
But