The Christmas Baby's Gift. Kate Walker

and the achingly swollen demand of his hunger for her that pressed urgently against the cradle of her hips.

      Swallowing hard to ease the raw dryness of his throat, he tried again.

      ‘So—what we have is well worth celebrating.’

      ‘But…’

      ‘But nothing! What we have is what’s right for us! And that’s all that matters in a marriage. That the two people involved in it are getting what they want from it. That it makes them happy…’

      A sudden, nastily uncomfortable twist of his conscience almost brought him up sharp, but he forced the uneasiness down again and hurried on, praying she hadn’t sensed his hesitation. There wasn’t a problem. These things took time.

      ‘We’re celebrating a year together—no matter what the circumstances. That’s the truth.’

      A sudden movement of her shoulders distracted him, drawing his eyes irresistibly to the rounded smoothness of her naked skin, still faintly flushed from the warmth of the shower. Instantly his thoughts were distracted from the argument he was trying to express, diverted on to other, more sensual, more inviting paths.

      ‘The truth is…’ Peta began, but he wasn’t listening to her.

      That shoulder was too tempting. The skin on it was so soft, so delicate. He couldn’t resist lifting a hand to touch it, to stroke the gentlest of caresses over its curve, feeling the muscles beneath flex faintly, the shiver of response she was unable to hold back.

      ‘The truth, darling?’

      It was a blend of husky sensuality and shaken laughter. He still hadn’t got a grip on the way this woman made him feel. The incredible immediacy of his response to her, the instant, burning heat of arousal he felt as soon as he touched her.

      ‘Oh, lady—this is the truth…’

      Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to edge of her shoulder, where the smooth length of her arm began, and heard Peta’s involuntary murmur of delight.

      ‘This…and this…’

      His mouth trailed slowly, deliberately, towards the fine, arching line of her throat, stilling over the spot at the base of her neck where a heated pulse raced unevenly. With his face concealed against her skin, he let his mouth curve into a smile of sensual triumph as he sensed her instant response, the sudden change in the rhythm of her blood underneath his soft caress. With careful control he nipped gently at her flesh, eliciting another sigh of abandonment.

      ‘This is the truth between us, darling. The only truth we need.’

      His hands were on her skin too, now, fingers drifting over its satin warmth, reminding themselves of the familiar lines of her bones, the dips and curves of her shape. One tangled in the still-damp fall of her hair, tugging lightly, while the other followed a dancing path along the front of the towel, finding the bunched-up spot where she’d knotted it firmly across her breasts and lingering provocatively.

      ‘The truth…’

      Peta’s echoing of his words was part agreement, part groan of surrender, and against her neck his smile widened. Just the tip of his tongue snaked out and traced an erotic pattern from under her ear to the point where her heated blood raged in a frantic pulse. Then he kissed his way back up again, this time letting his mouth drift round, over the fine plane of her cheek and down, to capture her lips. Her instant response, the way her mouth softened, opening immediately under his, allowing the intimate invasion of his tongue, gave him the encouragement he was seeking.

      ‘The only truth,’ he muttered thickly, letting his fingers tiptoe back along the top of the towel, the tiny stiffening of her slender body betraying her unspoken disappointment. ‘Our truth…’

      This time he trailed his hand slowly, ever more slowly, towards its chosen target. Each movement of his fingertips described a graceful arc, then a full circle, coming close—closer—then drifting away again. Peta’s mouth didn’t leave his for a second, her kiss was still as strong, as deeply intimate as before, but he knew from the tension of every muscle, the watchful tightness of her whole body, that every ounce of her concentration was centred on just one thing. She was as aware of his touch on her skin as he was, waiting—and wanting—him to achieve his aim.

      And when he once again reached the spot where that knot held place—loosening rapidly now under the pressure of the tiny wriggles and twists of response that Peta was unable to hold back, he simply let his hand stay still. Simply let it rest with the heat of one wide, hard palm covering the exposed upper slope of her breast, one long finger tucked just inside the white towelling, between it and the warmth of her skin, hidden in the scented, secret valley of her cleavage.

      ‘Liam!’

      His name was just a sigh, forced out from her in the moment that her whole body froze, her entire being centred, or so it seemed, on that one small, burningly intimate point of contact between them. The point where all he had to do was make one tiny movement—either out and away upwards, leaving her skimpy protection secure and intact—or up and away, towards his chest, taking the towelling with him, breaking the weakening knot once and for all.

      And still he waited.

      ‘Liam!’

      It was more impatient now. Very definitely a protest. The smile grew, became a wicked, beguiling grin that he knew she must feel against her cheek. They were so close, so very close.

      ‘Yes, sweetheart?’ he murmured softly, and saw her deep blue eyes fly open at the calculated provocation of the word.

      He met the indigo burn of her gaze head-on, fixing and holding it so that there was no way she could look away, look anywhere but directly into his eyes.

      ‘Our truth,’ he said, low and huskily, and saw the surrender in her eyes before she even had a chance to open her mouth.

      ‘Our truth,’ she whispered on a note of submission, a note that yielded the victory to him—at least in this battle, if not the entire war.

      And for Liam it was enough. It was all that he had been waiting for. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t have held out for a moment longer. The force of his desire was like a fire in his blood, the ache in his loins threatening to drive all hope of control from his mind, push him into the sort of wild behaviour that left no room for thought or consideration. And it took every last trace of control that he possessed to kiss her just once more before he made the movement they had both been waiting for.

      Up and away, towards his chest.

      A twist, a tiny tug, and the white towelling fell to the floor, pooling on the carpet at their feet. In the same instant the soft, heated weight of her breasts tumbled free and he held them securely, one in each of his hands, the whiteness of her skin shocking against the darker tones of his fingers.

      The truth, Peta thought, adrift on a sea of wanting. Of need.

      Our truth.

      The truth was that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Hadn’t been able to from the start, and still couldn’t now. And so she had known that as soon as he touched her she was lost. That the wild, primitive pin-pricks of fire that started all over her skin would swiftly merge into one total, blazing conflagration that would take control of her, leave her totally at its mercy. And when he kissed her she felt the response deep inside, where everything tightened, tensed, woke to stinging need.

      His hands against her breasts and the touch of his mouth on her skin was turning her blood molten, making it pound fiercely in her veins. All the fears, all the doubts of the day, of only moments before, had evaporated, burned up in the blaze of heat inside her.

      ‘Want me?’

      It was a low, husky whisper against the curve of her ear, his breath feathering against her skin. And as he spoke his hands were working a wicked, tormenting magic, thumbs describing tiny, erotic circles over the delicate surface, moving closer and closer to the tight pink nipple, making her shiver in convulsive delight.