Vows They Can't Escape. Heidi Rice

She wanted to snatch it and run straight for the moral high ground. But the tug of regret in the pit of her stomach chose that precise moment to give a sharp yank.

      ‘You don’t have to apologise for speaking your mind. But, if you insist, I should apologise, too,’ she continued. ‘You’re right. I should have consulted you about...about the abortion.’

      The lie tasted sour—a betrayal of the tiny life she’d once yearned to hold in her arms. But this was the only way to finally release them both from all those foolish dreams.

      ‘Hell, Red. You don’t have to apologise for that.’

      He scrubbed his hands over his scalp, the frustrated gesture bringing an old memory to the surface of running her hands over the soft bristles while they lay together on the deck of the pocket cruiser, her body pleasantly numb with afterglow from the first time they’d made love.

      She pressed tingling palms against the fabric of her skirt, trying to erase the picture in her head, but the unguarded memory continued to play out—one agonising sensation at a time. Goosebumps pebbling her arms from the warm breeze off the ocean...the base of her thumb stinging from the affectionate nip as he bit into the tender flesh.

      ‘You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you? You’re so small and delicate...’

      ‘I get why you did it,’ Dane continued, as the erotic memory played havoc with her senses. ‘You weren’t ready to be a mom, and I would have been a disaster as a dad.’

      He was telling her he agreed with her. Case comprehensively closed. But what should have been a victory only made the sour taste in her mouth turn to mud.

      She had been ready to be a mother. How could he have doubted that? Didn’t he know how much she had wanted their baby? And why would he think he’d make a terrible father? Was this something to do with all his scars, the childhood and the family he had never been willing to talk about?

      Good grief, get real. You are not still invested in that fairytale.

      The idiotic notion that she could rescue him by helping him to overcome stuff he refused to talk about had been the domain of that romantic teenage girl. That fairytale was part of her past. A past she’d just lied through her teeth to put behind her. This had to be the jet lag talking again, because it was not like her to lose her grip on reality twice in one day.

      ‘I’d really like to settle this amicably,’ she said at last, determined to accept his olive branch.

      ‘We can do that—but you need to stay put tonight. You took a couple of years off my life downstairs, and you still look as if a strong breeze could blow you over.’

      That searing gaze drifted to the top of her hair, which probably looked as if a chinchilla had been nesting in it. Awareness shimmered, the sharp tug in her abdomen ever more insistent.

      ‘I feel responsible for that,’ he said, the gentle tone at odds with the bunched muscle jumping in his jaw.

      ‘I told you. I’m okay.’ She couldn’t stay. Couldn’t risk becoming that poor, pathetic girl again, who needed his strength because she had none of her own. ‘And, more importantly, I’m not your responsibility.’

      ‘Think again,’ he said, trampling over her resistance, the muscle in his jaw now dancing a jig. ‘Because until I sign those papers you’re still my lawfully wedded wife.’

      It was an insane thing to say. But much more insane was the stutter in her pulse, the fluttering sensation deep in her abdomen at the conviction in his voice.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dane. We are not actually married and we haven’t been for over ten years. What we’re talking about is an admin error that you wouldn’t even know about if I hadn’t come to see you today.’

      ‘About that...’ He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Why did you come all the way to Manhattan when you could have gotten your attorney to handle it?’

      It was a pertinent question—and one she didn’t have a coherent answer for.

      The rough pad of his fingertip trailed down her neck and into the hollow of her throat, sending sensation rioting across her collarbone and plunging into her breasts.

      She should tell him to back off. She needed to leave. But something deeper and much more primal kept her immobile.

      ‘You know what I think?’ he said, his voice hoarse.

      She shook her head. But she did know, and she really didn’t want to.

      ‘I think you missed me.’

      ‘Don’t be silly. I haven’t thought of you in years,’ she said, but the denial came out on a breathless whisper, convincing no one.

      His lips lifted on one side, the don’t-give-a-damn half-smile was an invitation to sin she’d never been able to resist.

      ‘You don’t remember how good it used to be between us?’ he mocked, finding the punching pulse at the base of her throat. ‘Because I do.’

      His thumb rubbed back and forth across her collarbone, the nonchalant caress incinerating the lacy fabric of her camisole.

      ‘No,’ she said, but they both knew that was the biggest lie of all.

      A wad of something hard and immovable jammed her throat as his thumb drifted down to circle her nipple, the possessive, unapologetic touch electrifying even through the layers of silk and lace.

      The peak engorged in a rush, poking against the fabric and announcing how big a whopper she’d told.

      She needed to tell him to stop. He had no right to touch her like this any more. But the words refused to form as her back stretched, thrusting the rigid tip into his palm.

      He dipped his head as his thumb traced the edge of her bra cup, rough calluses rasping sensitive skin as it slid beneath the lace. His lips nudged the corner of her mouth, so close she could smell coffee and peppermint.

      ‘You were always a terrible liar, Red.’

      She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Certainly couldn’t speak.

      So objecting was an impossibility when he eased the cup down to expose one tight nipple and blew on the sensitive flesh.

      ‘Oh, God.’

      Her lungs seized and her thigh muscles dissolved as he licked the tender peak, then nipped at the tip. She bucked, the shock of sensation bringing her hip into contact with the impressive ridge in his trousers. She rubbed against it like a cat, desperate to find relief from the exquisite agony.

      He swore under his breath, then clasped her head and slanted his lips across hers. She opened for him instinctively and let his tongue plunder her mouth, driving the kiss into dark, torturous territory.

      Her fingers curled into his shirt to drag him closer, absorbing his tantalising strength as the slab of muscle crushed her naked breast.

      Her sex became heavy and painfully tender. Slick with longing. The melting sensation a throwback to her youth—when all he’d had to do was look at her to make her ready for him.

      How can I still need him this much?

      Her mind blurred, sinking into the glorious sex-fogged oblivion she’d denied herself for so long. Too long. Her tongue tangled with his, giving him the answer they both craved.

      He kissed the way she remembered. With masterful thrusts and parries joined by teasing nips and licks as he devoured her mouth, no quarter given.

      The day-old beard abraded her chin. Large hands brushed her thighs, bunching the skirt around her waist until he had a good firm grip on her backside.

      Excitement pumped through her veins like a powerful narcotic, burning away everything but the sight, the sound, the scent of him.

      He boosted her up—taking charge, taking control, the way she had always adored.

      ‘Put