Double Trouble: Pregnancy Surprise: Two Little Miracles / Expecting Royal Twins! / Miracle: Twin Babies. Melissa McClone

look at me like that,’ he said, his voice taut, ‘or I’ll lose it completely.’ His lips quirked in a fleeting smile, but she could feel the tension coming off him in waves. It matched her own, and suddenly she couldn’t wait any more.

      Turning on her heel, she walked out of the kitchen, flicking off the light and leaving him to follow.

      She heard him murmur to the dog, close the door, and then she could feel him right behind her, the warmth of his body just a breath away.

      ‘Your room or mine?’

      ‘Mine. It’s further from the babies.’

      Only just, but she wasn’t at all sure, after so long, that she’d be able to keep a lid on her reaction to his lovemaking—and the shower at work hadn’t been the only time he’d made her scream. Not by a long way.

      She turned on the light, but he’d brought the candle, and he put it on the chest of drawers beside the chocolates, lit it and turned out the light. She was grateful for that, because it suddenly dawned on her that he hadn’t seen her body since she’d had the babies, and, between the ravages of breastfeeding, the scar from the C-section and the gain in weight, maybe he needed a rather more subtle introduction to the new her.

      But it seemed he wasn’t in any hurry to take her clothes off after all. Instead he tunnelled his fingers through her hair, bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

      Just a feather touch, the lightest brushing of skin on skin, but, as he moved his head from side to side, their lips clung, dragging gently, heightening the sensation, until she felt a whimper force its way out of her throat.

      Oh, Max, kiss me, she begged silently, and, as if he’d heard her, he anchored her head more firmly with his hands and stroked his tongue across her lips, coaxing them apart.

      They needed no coaxing. She opened to him, and with a ragged groan he slanted his mouth over her and plundered it, his mouth hungry on hers, searching, thrusting, his tongue duelling with hers, driving her wild.

      Only when they had to break for breath did he lift his head, the air sawing in and out of his lungs, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. ‘Jules, I need you,’ he whispered, his voice rough and urgent.

      ‘I need you, too—please, Max. Now.’

      And without any further delay he stripped off his shirt, shucked his trousers and socks and heeled off his shoes in one motion.

      The boxers hid nothing, the soft jersey clinging faithfully to his erection, and she felt her mouth dry. It had been so long. Her body was trembling, the need so great she could hardly move, but it was all right, because she didn’t need to. He was there, his hands gently, carefully easing the top over her head—first the lace, then the little camisole—and when he saw the bra he closed his eyes briefly and she saw his lips move soundlessly.

      ‘Thank God you didn’t show me that in the shop,’ he said at last, and she laughed a little breathlessly.

      ‘There’s more,’ she said, and he groaned and slid the zip down on her trousers and eased them away.

      She sucked her stomach in, but he tutted and ran his hand over it, his hot, dry palm flat against the skin, his fingers trailing fire. One finger flicked at the elastic of her little lace shorts. ‘What are these?’ he said, his voice unsteady.

      ‘I thought you might like them.’

      ‘You’re going to kill me,’ he whispered, and, drawing her into his arms, he brought their bodies into contact for the first time.

      They both gasped, then sighed, and then eased closer, until finally he lifted his head and met her eyes.

      ‘Jules—I have to have you now, or I’m going to die, I swear it,’ he said unevenly. ‘I need you so damned much.’

      His eyes were bright with fire, and his chest was heaving against hers, the candlelight picking out the sharp definition of his muscles and turning him to gold as he lifted her gently in his arms and laid her on the bed.

      He followed her down, his eyes never leaving her face, and then finally he let them track over her, following the line of his hands as they stroked over her skin and left fire in their wake. He ran his knuckles over the edge of her bra, down the line of her cleavage, then turned his hand and cupped her breast, his thumb chafing lightly over her nipple until she thought she’d scream.

      ‘I want to taste you,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘Every day I watch the babies suckle from you, and…’

      She wanted it, too. Ached for it. She undid the catch—front-fastening, she’d thought, for convenience, but she wondered now if she’d had this in mind all along—and he eased the cups away, then slid his hand inside and lifted one breast to his lips.

      Milk dewed on her nipple, and he caught it on his tongue and tasted it, then closed his mouth over her and suckled hard.

      She gasped, a shaft of white-hot need lancing through her with deadly accuracy, and he lifted his head, his eyes black now, his mouth taut.

      For the longest moment they stayed like that, their eyes locked, and then with a desperate sound he stripped away her tiny lace shorts, ripped off his boxers and moved over her, his solid, muscled thighs hard against her legs as he nudged them apart.

      ‘Jules,’ he whispered.

      And then he was there, inside her, filling her, and she felt the storm closing round them, the sensation overwhelming her until suddenly everything broke loose and her climax ripped through her.

      He caught her scream in his mouth, trapped it against the savage groan that tore from his chest. And then he rolled her to her side and pulled her in close to him, their bodies still locked together, their hearts racing, and, when she finally opened her eyes, he was looking at her with wonder in his eyes, the lashes clumped with tears.

      ‘I love you,’ he whispered, and, drawing her close again, he tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her, his hands stroking slowly, rhythmically, against her spine until finally she fell asleep in his arms.

      He’d missed her so much.

      He’d never told her, hadn’t revealed just how hellish the last year had been. Oh, he’d said a few things, but nothing compared to what was locked up in his heart.

      But she was back now, and, if it killed him, he’d make sure he didn’t fail her again.

      His arm was going dead, but he didn’t want to disturb her. He was just enjoying the luxury of holding her, and he wasn’t sure how she’d be when she woke up. Distant? Full of regret?

      Hell, he hoped not.

      And then she stirred, opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he felt the tension ease out of him like a punctured balloon.

      ‘Hi.’

      ‘Hi,’ he answered, and feathered a kiss across her lips. ‘You all right?’

      ‘Mmm. You?’

      ‘Oh, yes. I’m very all right.’

      ‘My leg’s dead.’

      ‘Snap. My arm’s fallen off, I think.’

      ‘It’s going to hurt.’

      ‘Uh-huh.’

      She grinned. ‘One, two, three—’

      He gave a little groan and shifted further out of her way, then laughed and drew her back in to his side, so they lay with fingers intertwined and their heads together on the pillow. ‘Better?’

      ‘Mmm. Max?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘I love you.’

      ‘Oh, Jules.’ He rolled towards her, not caring about the pins and needles in his arm, and kissed her gently. ‘I love you, too.’

      ‘Good,’ she murmured,