Princes of the Outback. Bronwyn Jameson
Читать онлайн книгу.
a long second she didn’t react, and he wondered if she hadn’t cottoned on to his meaning, if he needed to spell out what he was asking. Again. Then her hand drifted to her throat, and she twisted the fine chain around her index finger. Her throat moved, as if she’d swallowed. “My way?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” She eyed him a moment, her expression circumspect. “That’s a big step up from a kiss.”
“I know that.”
“And you think you can take your clothes off and climb into bed with me? That you can do—”
“I don’t know, okay?” And he sure as hell didn’t need her talking him through every step. He could feel the heat in his face, the tightness in his jaw, in other places he didn’t want to acknowledge, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rearranging his weight and the tightness and the jumble of words in his brain. “I don’t know, but I want to try.”
“Because you want a baby?”
“Because I need a baby.”
“Right.”
There was a sting in her tone, a darkness in her eyes, and Tomas knew he’d blown it. He knew but he didn’t have the words or the sentiment to save the situation. What could he say? He had nothing to offer, no incentive, no promises, no smooth lines. None of the weapons a man like Rafe might use. And he could no more spin her lies than he could beg for her help.
“I don’t expect you to commit to this right off,” he said. “Not without a trial.”
“Trial sex? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“One night without any commitment. If it works, then we can talk about—” He gestured toward the discarded book on top of her desk.
“Making a baby?” She stared back at him a moment, her expression inscrutable. “All right.”
All right? Tomas swallowed and stared into her eyes. She meant it. For a panicky second his world tilted and spun, as if someone had hauled the rug out from under his feet. But then she was talking, planning, asking questions, and he forced himself to focus.
“Do you want me to come home with you?” he heard through the roaring in his ears. “I could—”
“No!” Not in his home, not in his bed. “No,” he repeated less stridently. “That’s not necessary.”
“Well, I can’t invite you home to my place because I don’t have a place. I’m staying with Carlo.”
Her brother, his friend. God, no! “I think we should keep this quiet, just between us.”
“In case it’s a humiliating disaster and we can’t look each other in the eye again?”
“In case it doesn’t work out,” he said, meeting her eyes and refusing to think about such dire consequences. “Neutral territory would be best.”
“I suppose a hotel room shouldn’t be too hard to organize, given your family owns a whole chain.” Despite that wry observation, her eyes remained dark and serious. Slowly she moistened her lips. “When do you want to conduct this…trial?”
“I’m not sure when I can get away.”
“You’re away now,” she pointed out, crossing her arms under her breasts again. Tomas forced himself to concentrate on her words. Not her body. Not the disquieting notion that he’d never seen her naked, but soon would. And he felt the rug start to shift beneath his feet again.
“The kiss worked here and now, with only a little notice,” she said with the same matter-of-fact logic. “Why not this, too?”
With a long slow stroke of her hands down her thighs, she straightened her skirt and walked around her desk. “I guess you’d planned to stay overnight?”
Tomas nodded and she picked up the phone and started dialing.
“With Alex or do you have a room booked?”
“A room. Here,” he managed. His throat was tight, his mouth dry, and that damn rug was moving way too fast.
“Hello, reception?” She greeted the voice on the end of the phone with a smile. “Hi, Lisa, it’s Angelina Mori in Mr. Carlisle’s office. You have a booking for his brother, Mr. Tomas Carlisle, for tonight? Yes? I’m looking for an upgrade if you have a suite available.”
Tomas stiffened. “That’s not necessary.”
“The Boronia Suite is perfect,” she said into the phone, ignoring both his spoken objection and the adamant shake of his head. “Yes, Lisa, only the one night. That’s all Mr. Carlisle requires.” Her eyes lifted to meet his, steady and direct and daring him to make something of it. “For now, at least.”
Two hours later Angie was still shaking her head over how she’d hijacked the arrangements so coolly and proficiently. She hadn’t let Tomas interrupt and she’d handled his objections with the same aplomb as the room upgrade.
“I’ve never been in a position to reserve a suite before,” she told him. “If I’m going to do this, why not with style?”
And then she’d settled behind her desk, telephone receiver anchored between shoulder and ear, and mentioned how much work she needed to get done before she could meet him upstairs. A very nice ploy, beautifully stage-managed, with no room for objection. Especially when Rafe arrived at her door, his curiosity diverted by his brother’s presence.
Tomas left. She shrugged off Rafe’s nosiness by pretending huge interest in a bogus phone call. Really, based on the whole scene in her office from start to finish, she should have been an actress. Her talents were much wasted. Who’d have known that her heart was racing, her insides churning, her bones quivering with nervous tension?
Now, two and a bit hours later, she smiled and made small talk with a Japanese couple as the Carlisle Grande’s high-speed elevator propelled her toward the upper-floor suites and her future. All in all, she felt remarkably calm. Considering she was about to have Tomas Carlisle.
Holy Henry Moses.
After she said goodbye to the couple on floor fifteen, Angie pressed an unsteady hand against her stomach, drew a deep breath, and willed everything to stop spinning. Although she hadn’t decided how, she knew she could go through with this. She knew because of the kiss that still burned strong and fierce in every cell of her blood, a kiss edged with darkness and barely leashed desperation.
He didn’t want her, but he needed her.
And if all went well, she might not only have Tomas Carlisle this once but she might get to keep him. To live with him as she grew big with his baby, to ease the haunted shadows in his eyes, to make him laugh and smile and live again. To be more than a helpmate to secure his inheritance—to be his wife and his partner.
And if it didn’t work out? If this turned into the disaster she’d alluded to in her office? Then perhaps that wouldn’t be all bad if it meant closure and a signal to move on.
Perhaps she might even silence the incessant heart-whisper that had stopped her committing to any other relationship, to a career or even to a place to live. The insistent whisper that she hold back a chunk of herself, to save it for this one man, this one home, this one life. Deep down she’d always hoped…and now those hopes were about to be realized.
If he hadn’t changed his mind all over again.
Outside the door to his suite—their suite—Angie hesitated only long enough to draw a deep breath before knocking. But then she couldn’t stand the waiting, the not knowing if he was inside or not. Fumbling, swearing softly at the tremor in her hand, she managed to swipe her security card through the lock. Red light. Swearing softly she tried again, her hand more steady this time.
Green light, hallelujah.
She