His Not-So-Blushing Bride: Marriage with Benefits / Improperly Wed / A Breathless Bride. Fiona Brand

we both want this?”

      She crossed her arms and clamped her mouth shut. But then she said, “I don’t like being some big challenge. If I give in, you win. Then off you go to your cave to beat your chest and crow over your prize.”

      “Give in?” He shook his head to clear it. They should both be naked and using their mouths on each other. Not talking. “You better believe you challenge me. Something fierce, too, I’ll admit. You challenge me to be better than I ever thought I could be, to rise to the occasion and go deep so I can keep up. I dig that seven ways to Sunday. Feel what you do to me, Cia.”

      Her eyes went liquid as he flattened her hand over his thundering heart, and when the muscle under her cool palm flexed, she curled her fingers as if trying to capture his response. She weaved closer, drawn by invisible threads into his space.

      “You’re so incredibly intelligent,” he continued, fighting to keep from dragging her against him and sinking in like he ached to do. She had to choose this on her own. “How have you not figured out that gives you all the power? I’m just a poor, pathetic man who wants to worship at the altar of the goddess.”

      She hesitated, indecision and longing stamped all over her face. Whatever stopped her from jumping in—and it wasn’t dislike of being a challenge—drove the battle inside of her to a fever pitch. She spent way too much energy thinking instead of feeling and way too much time buried in shadows.

      And here he was trying to help her fix that, if she’d lay down that stubborn for a minute.

      “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and I like that about you,” he said. “We both know strings aren’t part of the deal. This is about one thing only. Sex. Fantastic, feel-good, uncomplicated sex. Nobody gets hurt. Everyone has fun. Sounds perfect for an independent woman with a divorce on the horizon, doesn’t it?”

      “Seducing me with logic. Devious.”

      “But effective.”

      The curve of her lips set off a tremor in his gut. “It’s getting there.”

      Hallelujah. He threw his last-ditch inside straight on the table. “Then listen close. Let me take care of you. Physically. You give to your women till it hurts. Take for once. Let me make you feel good. Let me help you forget the rest of the world for a while. Use me, I insist. Do I benefit from it, too? Absolutely. That’s what makes for a great partnership.”

      He’d laid the foundation for a new, mutually beneficial agreement. The next move had to be hers. She needed to be in control of her fate, and he needed to know she could never accuse him of talking her into it.

      “Now, darlin’, the floor sucks. I’m going to get in that nice, comfortable bed over there and if you want to spend the next few hours being thoroughly pleasured, join me. If not, don’t. You make the choice.”

Eight

       C hoice.

      Instead of seducing her, Lucas had given her a choice. And with that single empowering act, Cia’s uncertainty disappeared.

      They were partners—equals—and he’d done nothing but respect that, and respect her, from the very beginning. He got her in ways she’d only begun to realize. Domination was not part of his makeup, and all he wanted from her was to join him in taking pleasure from sex, the way he took pleasure from every aspect of life.

      She longed to indulge in the foreign concept, to seize what she wanted—Lucas.

      To let his talents wash away all the doubt and frustration and disappointment about Pamela and help Cia forget everything except how he made her feel. He’d stripped the complexity from the equation and, suddenly, sex didn’t mean she’d lose something.

      The only way Lucas Wheeler could take a chunk of her soul when he left was if she gave it to him. She wouldn’t. Simple as making a choice. Who knew the secret to avoiding emotional evisceration was to lay out divorce terms first?

      She stood and crossed the carpet with sure steps until her knees hit the side of the bed. Lucas lounged against a pillow, watching her, sheet pulled up to midtorso, bisecting the trio of intriguing tribal circles tattooed along the left edge of his ribs.

      His eyes were on fire.

      He was so gorgeous, and he was all hers for the night. As many nights as she chose, apparently. A shiver shimmied up her back, part anticipation and part nerves.

      “You want to know what tipped the scales?” she asked, arms crossed so it wasn’t obvious her hands were shaking.

      “More than I want to take my next breath.”

      She eyed the length of his body stretched out in the bed. “Ironically, that you were willing to sleep on the floor.”

      He laughed, and the vibration thrummed through her abdomen. “So you’re saying I had you at hello?”

      “No. I’m pretty sure you had me at Versace. It’s painful to admit I was so easily bought with a designer gown.” She said it flippantly, so he’d know she was kidding.

      Except she wasn’t, exactly. It was difficult to swallow how much she liked his gifts. What did that say about her?

      “I’m glad one of us thinks this was easy. I’ve never worked so hard to get a woman into bed in my life.”

      “An unrecoverable blow to your ego, no doubt.” She cocked her hip and jammed a hand down on it. Had she been so exhausted less than an hour ago that she could barely stand? Adrenaline and a hefty craving for Lucas coursed through her. “And it’s so funny, but I’d swear I’m not actually in bed yet. Perhaps your work isn’t done after all.”

      With a growl, he flung off the sheet, sprang up from the mattress and crawled toward her, completely, beautifully naked. Her mouth went dry.

      Wickedness flashed through his expression, and the shiver it unleashed in her this time was all anticipation. She absolutely could not mistake how much she turned him on.

      This was all for her. Not for him. He’d said so, and she intended to hold him to it.

      He rose up on his knees in front of her and extended a hand. She took it and braced to be yanked onto the bed. Instead, he held each finger to his lips and kissed them individually. By the time he reached the pinkie, he’d added licking and sucking and the rough texture of his tongue burned across her flesh.

      He pressed her palm to his chest and left it there. Then, he cupped her face reverently. “Beautiful. So beautiful.”

      Before she could squawk out a lame “Thank you,” he captured her mouth with his and held the kiss, lips suspended in time, and a tornado of need whirled through her womb.

      Slowly, he angled his head and parted her mouth with his lips, and heat poured into her body. His tongue found hers, gliding forward and back in a sensuous dance.

      Her nails dug into his rock-hard chest, scrabbling for purchase to keep her off the carpet. The kiss went on and on and stoked the flame of desire higher and higher in her belly.

      Slow. It was all about slow with Lucas, and it was exquisite torture. She needed more, needed him now.

      She broke away and reached for him, but he shook his head. His hands skimmed up her arms and down her back, came around to the front again, and both thumbs hooked the hem of her tank top. Gradually, he drew it skyward as he watched her from below half-closed lids.

      “You’re, um, not going to make me get in the bed?” she asked hoarsely.

      “Nope.” He pulled her top free from her raised arms and tossed it over his shoulder, and then he encircled her waist with an arm to draw her closer, his gaze ravenous as it traveled over her bare breasts. “You chose not to get in bed. I choose to take care of you right where you’re at.”

      Her