His Ring, Her Baby / His Bride for the Taking. Sandra Hyatt

her belly, igniting her blood like she had never known before, not even with Mike. Loving Mike had been simple and uncomplicated. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t be like that with Kirk.

      He dropped her hand and stepped back. “Goodbye, Vanessa,” he said thickly, and moved toward the front door.

      Then he was gone.

      The door shut behind him.

      She stood there shaking. Then, stunned by what just one touch could do to her, she collapsed on the couch, her thoughts tumbling down like the house made of straw. Now that she was alone, she wanted him back, wanted him to touch her more, make love to her.

      Oh, Lord. What was the matter with her? Mike was still her husband in her heart; meanwhile she longed to hop into bed with the first good-looking man that had come along. What had happened to remaining true to Mike’s memory? The father of her child. Kirk Deverill dredged up emotions she intended to keep hidden. Emotions of desire and need that shouldn’t be there. Her husband had only been dead six months. How could she yearn to be held close by someone else so soon? A stranger no less.

      Her heart squeezed with pain but she didn’t cry. The season had come and gone for more tears.

      And this feeling for Kirk?

      It, too, would pass.

      An hour later Vanessa still hadn’t fallen asleep. She felt wound up, like a mouse running around one of those exercise wheels. Perhaps a few slow laps of the pool would relax her.

      Pushing herself out of bed, she peeked out her bedroom window. The glow of night-lights showed the pool area empty of people, with most of the motel guests having retired for the night and others still at the party on the other side of the motel. With the pool close enough to keep an eye on her apartment, she didn’t need any further encouragement to slip into her one-piece swimsuit.

      Five minutes later, pleased that out here the party sounded as though it had wound down some and that Kirk would probably have left, she dropped her towel on a deck chair and carefully descended the steps at the corner of the pool.

      As she eased in up to her neck, ripples fanned out around her and the reflections of the dimmed lights gently bounced over the surface of the water. For a few seconds she enjoyed the anointment, the warm lotion of the water massaging her body, helping her to unwind.

      Then she kicked off from the wall of the pool and started to swim, keeping as quiet as possible as she sliced smoothly through the water, not wanting anyone to join her and spoil this for her.

      Twenty laps later she felt tired but at last she felt refreshed. Rolling onto her back in the middle of the pool, she looked up at the night sky. The darkened shape of a bird flew across the silhouette of the moon. Stars twinkled down on her from a bed of velvet. An owl hooted in the distance. This was the life. She could so get used to—

      “You came to Jackaroo Plains for a reason, didn’t you?” a deep male voice said.

      She swallowed water and began to choke. Her peace shattered, she tried to catch her breath as her feet touched the bottom of the pool to stand up. In a dimly lit area in the corner, Kirk sat on one of the deck chairs. Had he been there all along?

      “Are you following me?” she demanded.

      “No. I was out here already.”

      Her breath suspended in midair. The thought of him watching her slowly step into the pool surrounded by night-lights, seeing her body outlined by the one-piece she wore, made her quiver inside.

      “And you didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.

      “What question was that?”

      “You came here to help get over your grief, didn’t you? That’s why Linda’s so concerned about you.”

      No need to tell him about her in-laws. It was none of his business. “Linda worries too much.”

      He got to his feet and strolled toward the pool. “So what will you do when they sell the motel? Go back to Sydney?”

      She didn’t know what she was going to do. “I’m working on something now,” she fibbed, not wanting him to know how desperate she felt. She turned the conversation away from her. “Anyway, why are you out here? I thought you’d be enjoying the party.”

      He stood looking down at her, watching the moonlit water lap at the top of her breasts, his strong features holding a certain sensuality that made her shiver. “I needed some fresh air.”

      Pretending his husky voice didn’t perturb her, she eased backward in the water, slowly moving around, trying to look unaffected by him.

      “I guess you’ll be heading home soon then,” she said, hoping against hope that he’d take the hint.

      “I’ve booked a room for the night.”

      She stopped moving. Had he expected to share it with someone? Her? This was his friends’ motel, but he would be discreet, she knew.

      All at once she became conscious of feeling a tiny bit cold but she didn’t want to get out of the pool in front of him. He’d seen more than enough of her tonight.

      He frowned. “You’re getting cold. Come on, I’ll help you out of there.” All action now, he went and picked up her towel from the chair.

      Her heartbeat started to skip. “No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll just swim around some more then go back to my apartment. No need for you to wait around.”

      His frown deepened. “I’m not leaving you here alone, Vanessa. You could get a cramp.”

      “I won’t.” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, but suspected she did. “You really should be going back to the party.”

      A very masculine look suddenly entered his eyes. “I should?” He paused. “Why?”

      She drew an unsteady breath. “Er … why?” Her throat closed up. Her mind froze. She couldn’t think of a thing to say that didn’t give away how much he was affecting her.

      Then a mask came down over his face. “Come on, Vanessa. Get out of the pool.” Clearly remote now, he opened the towel and held it up for her.

      She wavered.

      “Vanessa?”

      She stared at him, then told herself he was only concerned for her welfare, nothing else. It was either that or she’d never get out of the pool.

      She dared not look at him as she concentrated on moving through the water toward him. Her foot found the first step and she began to rise out of the pool. She could feel his eyes on her as the water sluiced down over her swimsuit, each step up exposing every inch of her body to him.

      She reached the top step and looked up.

      Their eyes locked.

      The air stilled between them.

      He moved closer. “Let me,” he murmured, standing in front of her, slipping it around her shoulders.

      Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Um … you might get wet.”

      “I don’t mind.” He pulled the edges of the towel tight at the column of her throat, bringing her closer, against him.

      Their bodies touched.

      Sizzled.

      She felt him all the way down to her toes.

      Suddenly she saw tiny flames in his eyes and an ache that had been growing all night throbbed through her veins. She wanted to touch the full curve of his mouth with her own just once, to taste its warmth, its strength.

      He lowered his head and she trembled, and with a silent sigh, closed her eyes as his mouth covered hers. Her lips met his and he kissed her … and kissed her more … long and slow. Oddly enough her lips felt as if they were welcoming him home. He tasted both familiar yet unsettling, firm yet gentle. A heady mixture of the known