Yuletide Baby Surprise (Billionaires And Babies #38)(23)
Author: Catherine Mann

Her br**sts 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 he’d only wanted access to her family. Then one long-term deal with a man who’d been as introverted as her. Their relationship had dissolved for lack of attention, fading into nothing more than convenient sex. And then not so convenient. Still, the breakup had been messy, her former lover not taking well to having his ego stung over being dumped. He’d been a real jerk.

Whereas Rowan was being a total gentleman. Not pushing. Not taking advantage.

And he was driving her absolutely batty.

* * *

Holding back had threatened to drive Rowan over the edge all night long.

At least now he could move forward with the day. The salty morning breeze drifted through the open shutters as he tucked his polo shirt into his jeans, already anticipating seeing Mari. Soon. He’d never wanted a woman this much. Walking away from her last night had been almost impossible. But he was making progress. She wanted him and he needed this to be very, very reciprocal.

So he needed to move on with his plan to romance her. Neither of them had a presentation at the conference today. He suspected it wouldn’t take much persuasion to convince her to skip out on sitting through boring slide presentations and rubber chicken.

During his sleepless night, he’d racked his brain for the best way to sweep her off her feet. She wasn’t the most conventional of women. He’d decided to hedge his bets by going all out. He’d started off with the traditional stuff, a flower left on her pillow while she’d been in the shower. He’d also ordered her favorite breakfast delivered to her room. He planned to end the day with a beachside dinner and concert.

All traditional “dating” fare.

The afternoon’s agenda, however, was a bit of a long shot. But then he figured it was best to hedge his bets with her. She’d seemed surprised by the breakfast, and he could have sworn she was at least a little charmed by his invitation to spend the day together. Although he still detected a hint of wariness.

But reminding her of how they could appease the press into leaving her alone by feeding them a story persuaded her. For now, at least. He just prayed the press conference went smoothly.

Rowan opened his bedroom door and found Mari already waiting for him in the sitting area with Issa cradled in her arms. She stood by the stroller, cooing to the baby and adjusting a pink bootie, her face softening with affection.

Mari wore a long silky sheath dress that glided across subtle curves as she swayed back and forth. And the pink tropical flower he’d left on her pillow was now tucked behind her ear. He stood captivated by her grace as she soothed the infant to sleep. Minutes—or maybe more—later, she leaned to place the baby in the stroller.