The Wedding Ultimatum. Helen Bianchin

you?’

      ‘We’re due to attend a tennis party in a private home at two in the afternoon.’

      ‘Which leaves me the morning free to help Ariane,’ she responded evenly.

      ‘You have no need to work.’

      ‘You expect me to sit in this house twiddling my thumbs while I wait for you to service me at the end of the day.’

      ‘Por Dios.’ The oath slipped softly from his tongue. ‘Service you?’

      There was a quality evident in his voice that sent apprehension scudding down the length of her spine.

      ‘Given that pregnancy is the main objective, sexual activity should be restricted to my fertile cycle.’

      It was impossible to ascertain anything from his expression. As a card player he would be brilliant, she perceived. Yet this was not a game.

      ‘Rather like a brood mare put to stud?’

      The softness of his tone was deceptive, and although she was willing to swear he hadn’t moved a muscle his posture seemed to have assumed a menacing ruthlessness.

      ‘Why not call it what it is?’

      His gaze was unwavering, and it took all her courage not to flinch beneath the silent power emanating from the depths of those dark eyes. Evident was a hard intensity that was almost frightening.

      ‘We occupy the same bed each night,’ he said with dangerous softness.

      ‘You intend to enforce conjugal rights?’

      ‘Did you hope that I wouldn’t?’

      ‘Yes!’

      ‘Your mistake,’ he refuted simply.

      ‘That’s—’ words temporarily failed her ‘—barbaric.’

      ‘I doubt you’ve experienced the true meaning of the word.’

      Her chin lifted fractionally, and her eyes blazed with open hostility as she watched his lengthy frame uncoil from the chair.

      ‘You expect me to walk calmly upstairs with you?’

      ‘On your feet, or slung over my shoulder.’ He effected a negligible shrug. ‘Take your pick.’

      ‘You have the sensitivity of an ox!’

      ‘What did you imagine? Pretty words and romance?’

      Danielle stepped ahead of him and made her way towards the elegant staircase. ‘I should be so fortunate.’

      Careless, foolish words, she chastised silently as she reached the upstairs lobby and turned towards the hallway leading to the master bedroom.

      The nerves in her stomach seemed to intensify with every step she took, and she was supremely conscious of the man who walked at her side.

      There was no easy way to ignore the large bed, or its significance, as she entered the room.

      Did her step falter slightly? She hoped not. Hesitation wasn’t on the agenda. Without a word she slipped off her shoes, then she crossed to the set of drawers that held her lingerie. There was a beautiful satin and lace nightgown, a gift from Ariane, which she ignored in favour of a cotton T-shirt, then she moved towards the en suite.

      A shower might help soothe her soul.

      Minutes later she’d shed her clothes, removed her make-up, and pinned up her hair. Then she adjusted the water dial to a comfortable temperature, stepped into the large glassed cubicle, and caught up the soap.

      Pride ensured she didn’t take overlong, and, towelled dry, she completed the usual ritual, donned the T-shirt, then re-entered the bedroom.

      Only to have the breath catch in her throat at the sight of Rafe in the process of pulling the covers from the bed.

      A towel was knotted at his hips, highlighting a toned body that displayed an admirable flex of muscle with every move he made.

      The olive texture of his skin was offset by a smattering of dark hair at his chest, extending in a single line to his navel. Lean hips and powerful thighs added to a composite that exuded raw strength. Also apparent was a primitive alchemy that fascinated and disturbed in equal measure.

      She looked little more than a teenager with her face scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair caught into a careless pony-tail, Rafe mused, his gaze narrowing fractionally as he perceived her hesitation.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘WHICH side of the bed do you prefer?’

      One eyebrow arched. ‘Does it matter?’

      Oh, hell. What could she say? I’m not very good at this?

      She took the few essential steps to bring her to the edge of the mattress, then she sank down onto it, all too aware of Rafe’s actions as he loosened the towel.

      She quickly averted her gaze. ‘Could you turn out the light?’ Was that her voice? It sounded as if she had a constriction in her throat.

      ‘No.’

      She was willing to swear she detected a hint of amusement as she felt the faint depression as he sank down onto the bed.

      ‘Let’s get rid of this, hmm?’

      Danielle felt his hands slide up her thighs as he caught hold of the T-shirt’s hem and lifted it over her head. A protest rose and died in her throat, and she crossed her arms across her breasts in an automatic reflex action.

      He possessed no such reservations, Danielle observed with resentment, aware of his powerful frame, the sheer size of his arousal.

      Dear heaven, how was she going to be able to accommodate him?

      A hand closed over her wrist and shifted her arm away from her breasts, and she lowered her lashes in a protective veil. Only to have him tilt her chin.

      ‘Don’t hide.’

      The chastisement brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks and her lashes flew wide. ‘Maybe you’re used to bedding a willing female on short acquaintance,’ she vented as he lightly traced the contours of her breast. ‘But I’m not comfortable getting intimate with someone I barely know!’

      Sensation began deep inside and flared through her body, activating a host of nerve cells in open betrayal. Damn him! Did he know what he was doing to her?

      Stupid question! Her jaw clenched, silencing the gasp threatening to escape as he teased one nipple, then rolled it gently between thumb and forefinger.

      He lowered his head down to hers and brushed his lips against one temple.

      ‘Please.’ There was a catch in her voice as she lifted a hand and indicated a nearby lamp.

      ‘I want to see your reaction to my touch,’ Rafe murmured as his mouth trailed down towards her own.

      Gentle pressure on her shoulders lowered them down onto the mattress, and she lifted her hands to his chest in an attempt to increase the distance between them. Only to have them freeze as he traced her lower lip with the edge of his tongue, then slipped in to tangle with her own in a slow open-mouthed kiss.

      He had the skill to render a woman mindless, and he used it mercilessly in an evocative dance that brought her unbidden response.

      She was so caught up with the pleasure of it, she was scarcely aware of the seeking trail of his fingers as they explored her waist, the soft indentation of her navel, then traced a slow path to the juncture between her thighs.

      She tensed as he probed the moist cleft, and she was powerless to prevent a protest escaping her throat as he circled the sensitive clitoris, teasing it to such a highly sensitised degree she instinctively pushed against his shoulders.

      A hollow groan rose and died in her throat as he