A Breathless Bride (13 page)

His gaze locked with hers as with infinite gentleness their bodies melded, the fit perfect. For long moments they simply stayed that way, soaking in what they hadn’t had time for in Sydney, the slow intimacy, the hitched breaths and knowing glances.

Warm, melting pleasure shimmered through her as they finally began to move together, their breath intermingled, their bodies entwined. Past and present dissolved as the burning intensity finally peaked and the afternoon spun away.

Long minutes later, Constantine rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she lay sprawled over his chest.

Sienna cuddled close, ran her palm absently over one bicep, stroking the pliant swell of muscle. He moved slightly, shifting his weight. She adjusted her position, making herself more comfortable.

In that moment she faced a small detail that, caught in the maelstrom of emotion and urgency, they had both chosen to ignore. This time they hadn’t used a condom.

The moment had been primal and extreme, but the fact that Constantine could have made her pregnant didn’t terrify her. She had wanted him inside her, touching that innermost part of her.

His eyes flickered, his gaze found hers. She bent down and kissed him, her hair a damp tangled curtain enclosing them. His hands slid up her back, tightened on her waist and she was lost again.

The rising breeze roused Constantine. He hadn’t gone to sleep, and neither had Sienna. Like him, she had been content to lie quietly, her breathing settling into an even rhythm.

“We’re going to have to move.” His skin was darkly tanned and used to the hot sun, but Sienna with her creamy skin and honey-gold tan would burn.

Regret pulled at him as she eased out of the curve of his arm and snatched up an armload of wet clothing. The skittish alacrity with which she draped their clothing over warm boulders then walked into the river informed him that her thoughts were running parallel to his. They had made love without a condom, twice.

It wasn’t something he had planned, nor would he ever force this situation on any woman, but now that it had happened he had to reassess and act.

A child. He went still inside at the image of Sienna round and pregnant. Sienna with his baby at her breast.

Raw emotion grabbed at his stomach, his chest. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how powerful lovemaking could be, or how imperative it was to him that Sienna was the mother of his children.

Sienna had always been attractive to him, almost to the point of obsession.

Almost, but not quite.

Two years ago he had been able to control his involvement. To a degree, he admitted grimly. When he had discovered that Sienna had known her father was using their engagement to leverage a loan, he had been able to step back. But at some point between their lovemaking in Sydney and now he had crossed a line.

That shift had happened when Sienna had walked into his hotel ballroom wearing what he had thought were Medinian bridal jewels. In that moment he had wanted every promise inherent in the intricate weave of the bridal jewels: purity, passion and commitment.

Rising to his feet, he followed Sienna into the water. Despite the possessive urge to keep her close, he was careful to allow her space and not push any further than he already had.

Ducking down, he rinsed his hair. Water streamed down his shoulders as he surfaced just in time to see Sienna wading to shore.

By the time he walked out of the water, she was wearing her shirt, which had already dried in patches. With swift movements, he dried off with his shirt and pulled on his underwear and jeans, then replaced his shirt on its rock to dry some more, along with his socks and boots. The jeans were still damp, but the weather was so hot they would dry almost as quickly while he was wearing them.

Sienna, who had already finger-combed her hair and tied it in a neat knot, unlaced her sneakers. “That can’t happen again. Making love without a condom is crazy.”

“I didn’t exactly plan to have unprotected sex.”

His gaze narrowed when she calmly ignored him in favor of turning her jeans and socks over and aligning everything with military precision. She selected a rock, sat down and started brushing grit off her sneakers. He could feel his temper slipping then he finally got it. Sienna was a perfectionist; it had always been one of the things he had liked about her. He had even thought it was cute on occasion, although it periodically drove him crazy. Like now.

But suddenly the reason she fussed and tidied was clear. It was her way of coping when she was stressed or worried. She had done it in the office this afternoon and she was doing it now, which meant the cool distance wasn’t a brush-off; it was simply a means of protecting herself.

Relief dissipated some of his tension as he walked over to Sienna. Crouching down, he cupped her face and gently kissed her. “I’m sorry I didn’t use a condom, but given the way things were and the fact that I didn’t have one, there was no avoiding it this time. Next time we make love I’ll take care of the protection. There are condoms at the house. They were delivered along with the food.”

Her gaze flashed. “You really did plan this.”

“You knew as well as I did the minute you climbed in that truck what was going to happen. I asked, you agreed. I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

This time she avoided his gaze altogether, but he didn’t need the eye contact to know exactly what was going through her mind.

Frowning, he straightened. Any woman would worry about an unplanned pregnancy. But if Sienna was pregnant, as far as Constantine was concerned, the situation was cut-and-dried. They would be married within a month.

Fifteen

S
ienna studiously avoided Constantine’s gaze as she finished cleaning her shoes. Heat and silence shimmered around them, broken by the cooling sound of river water sliding over rocks.

She was lacing one sneaker, when Constantine crouched down in front of her and picked up the other one.

His hand encircled her ankle and something snapped. Images flickered in her memory: the way she’d melted the first night they’d met when Constantine had crouched down and fitted her missing shoe to her foot. Not a glass slipper exactly, just a black pump with black beads, but the moment had been incredibly, mind-bendingly romantic.

She swiped the shoe out of his hand. “Don’t.”

She sucked in air, tried to breathe. Maybe she was being stubborn and picky, but she didn’t want those kinds of gestures unless he really did love her. Pulling at the laces, she loosened them off enough to put the sneaker back on her foot.

Constantine frowned as his gaze skimmed critically over her. “You’re bleeding. You should have told me.”

She touched her scalp. There must be a cut because there was dried blood, but it was so small she had difficulty finding it. “It’s nothing, a scratch.”

He unfastened the pack and tipped the contents out on the ground, one of which happened to be a pack of emergency supplies. Standard issue, she guessed, for anyone who worked out at the construction site. The other was a first aid kit.

While he was sorting through the supplies Sienna went down to the river to rinse the blood out of her hair.

When she returned, Constantine appeared to be busy, tinkering with the portable radio. Dragging her gaze from the powerful line of his back, Sienna finished dressing except for the still-damp bra, which she folded and slipped into her jeans pocket. She strolled a few steps down the rocky beach, staring at the wild beauty of the landscape. With every moment that passed the commitment she had made in making love to Constantine without protection seemed more and more foolhardy in light of his glaring lack of any kind of emotional declaration.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. Constantine was by her briefcase.

Her brows jerked together as he picked it up and sneakily carried it up the bank. Out of sight.

Her temper shredding, she stormed up the bank and retrieved the briefcase. She didn’t know what it was with Constantine and her things. He wasn’t just satisfied with taking her company and her job; now he didn’t want her to have her briefcase.

He frowned. “You don’t need that. You’ll only have to carry it.”

“I do need it, and it’s no problem carrying it.” And if he wanted to take it off her now, he would have to pry it out of her cold, dead hands.

His gaze narrowed, glittering with an edgy frustration that sent a zingy sensation down her spine. “Jewelry samples and order forms are the last thing you need out here.”

She felt herself blushing at the confirmation that he had recognized her sample case back in her hotel suite. She stared at his muscled chest and a small, red mark on his shoulder she could remember making. She felt herself grow warmer. “It’s not a sample case. For your information it’s a portable office.”

“The same thing in my book.”

For a taut moment she thought he was going to say something further then he turned back to the assortment of tools he had assembled on the ground.

Still tingling with the heady knowledge that Constantine wasn’t as distant and controlled as he seemed, she took the briefcase back to her rock, sat down and unlatched it. Water had seeped in, wetting the order forms but, because her laptop was zipped into a soft case inside the briefcase, it was still bone-dry.

She set the damp forms down on the ground to dry, extracted the laptop, powered it up then closed it down. She packed it away, and tidied her appointments diary and the jumbled mess of pens and pamphlets then placed the damp order forms on top. They were no longer any use, but since there wasn’t a trash can out here, she would have to keep them until she could find one.

When she had finished restoring order to the briefcase, she slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and tried that, without much hope. As she’d thought, it was as dead as a doornail.

Constantine strolled over with a first aid kit. He sat down on a rock in front of her and leaned close, sandwiching her between his thighs. She was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the broad expanse of his chest and just how physically large he was.

He tilted her head and she found herself looking directly into his eyes. His face was close enough that she could study to her heart’s content the intriguing dark flecks in his irises, the red welt on his cheekbone that was rapidly discoloring into a bruise.

He cupped her face, his hold seducingly gentle. “If you get pregnant, we’ll talk about it. Until then, we’ll go back to using protection.”

Sienna edged the briefcase away from his booted foot, ignoring his irritated frown. “Assuming there is going to be more sex.”

“How likely are you to get pregnant?”

She drew in an impeded breath, suddenly floored by the thought that she could be pregnant, right this second. It was documented history that Ambrosi women got pregnant at the drop of a hat. They were psychotic power freaks when it happened, but certifiably fertile.

She did a quick count. “There’s a possibility.”

More than a possibility.

His thumb brushed across her mouth sending a hot little dart of sensation through her. “I’ll leave you alone for now, if that’s what you want. Now stay still while I take a look at that scratch on the side of your head.”

Obediently, she tilted her head so he could examine the area. He took his time smoothing her hair out of the way then used some antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit.

“Ouch.”

His mouth quirked at one corner. “Don’t be a sissy.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s bleeding.”

“The cut is small. It’s hardly life-threatening.”

“Then I don’t know why you’re bothering with the first aid routine.”

He didn’t reply, just angled her head again, pinched the wound together with his thumb and forefinger, which made it throb and sting, and smoothed on a small butterfly strip.

She stared at the welt on his cheekbone as he packed the first aid kit away. The bruise, which had started to turn a purplish color, made him look faintly piratical. “How did you get that?”

His gaze was slitted against the sun making him look even more dangerous. “The same way you got that cut on your head—from that damn briefcase.”

She purred inside and inched the briefcase closer to her leg. She almost felt like patting it. Good briefcase, it had never meant to hurt her; it had been after Constantine.

He pushed to his feet. “The house isn’t far, but we need to get moving. I checked the radio, and it still works, but we’re out of the transmission area so we’ll have to wait for the helicopter, which will be out to pick us up first thing in the morning.”

Sienna watched as Constantine repacked the supplies and finished dressing.

He passed her a water bottle. Wordlessly, she drank. With the risk of giardia and other contaminants she hadn’t drunk any of the river water, as tempting as the notion had been.

Constantine stored the bottle in the pack and held out his hand. “I’ll take the briefcase.”

“No. I’ll carry it.”

There was an explosive silence, but when she stole a sideways glance at Constantine she was certain his mouth was twitching.

The beach house, which had been less than two miles away from where the truck had overturned, was not a cottage so much as a multilevel statement in design.

Decks merged into the side of a striated cliff and overlooked a windswept beach. Inside, the floors were glossy, the ceilings high. Huge plate-glass windows provided an unimpeded view of the sea.

Constantine pointed out the large adjacent bay, which held the old pearl facility, but by then the light was fading. Sienna could make out the tumbled remains of a building and little else.

Constantine touched a switch and air-conditioning hummed to life, instantly cool against her overheated skin.

Feeling dusty and tired, Sienna did a quick tour of the kitchen. Stainless-steel appliances were hidden behind lacquered cabinets, and a state-of-the-art oven, large enough to cater for a crowd, took pride of place. She opened a cabinet door and found a gleaming microwave and, on a shelf beneath it, an array of small appliances. “This place is fabulous. It doesn’t look like it’s ever used.”

“It’s a family retreat, but since we have to spend so much time overseas, it isn’t used often. There are bedrooms upstairs and on this floor.”

Constantine crossed the broad expanse of the living area, which was tastefully decorated with comfortable leather couches, and pushed open a door.

She followed him into the broad hall, which had several rooms opening off it. After a quick walk through, she chose a room with floaty white silk draperies.

Constantine showed her the bathroom, which was fully stocked with an array of products, including toothbrushes and toothpaste. “There’s fresh underwear and clothing in the dresser if you want it. Freshen up, I’ll go and organize some food.”

After showering and changing into fresh underwear and a thin cotton robe she’d found hooked on the back of the bathroom door, Sienna gathered up her soiled clothes and carried them through to the living area.

The aroma of a spicy casserole, which evidently had been prepared and left in the fridge, drew her to the kitchen. Constantine must also have showered, because his hair was damp and slicked back. He had also changed, pulling on a pair of clean cotton pants and a thin, gauzy white shirt.

He showed her where the laundry room was. She put her clothes and his in to wash, then walked back to the kitchen.

They sat out on the deck, a casual option that appealed more than the formality of the dining room, and ate the traditional Medinian dish followed by slices of juicy mango. The sun sank slowly, throwing shadows and investing the ocean with a soft, mystical quality that caught and held her gaze for long minutes.

When the sun finally slid below the horizon, the air temperature dropped like a stone. After the burning heat of the day, cold seemed to seep out of the rocks, raising gooseflesh on her skin. The night sky was unbelievably clear, the stars huge and bright and almost close enough to touch.

Sienna offered to clean up and make coffee, abruptly glad to escape the romantic setting and the growing tension. She stiffened when Constantine put on soft music and sat beside her on the couch but, when he didn’t do anything more than drape his arm along the back of the couch, she finally relaxed.

After what had happened that afternoon, she had been prepared for a passionate interlude she wasn’t sure she could resist. Instead he seemed to be doing exactly what she had asked: backing off and giving her some time.

Exhaustion pulled at her as she listened to a Beethoven adagio. But she could not forget what had happened that afternoon. She had to wonder if she was pregnant.

Her hand moved, cupping her belly. Constantine’s gaze followed the movement as if he was entertaining the exact same thought.

She was suddenly acutely aware of her body.

The first shock of the idea had passed. Having a child would definitely narrow her options, but the notion of having a baby had taken firm root.

As if he had read her mind his hand smoothed down one arm, his thumb absently stroking her. The touch was pleasant rather than sexual, as if he was aware of her turmoil and wanted to soothe her.

Gradually, she relaxed against him. She was dropping into a delicious dark well of contentment when his voice rumbled softly in her ear.

“If there’s a likelihood that you’re pregnant, then we should get married soon.”

Her eyes popped open. Suddenly she was wide-awake.

He hadn’t proposed, either back at the resort or here.

Maybe there was no need for an actual proposal. Strictly speaking, that formality had been taken care of by the contract, but that didn’t change the fact that she would have liked one. Although demanding that would let him know exactly how vulnerable she was about their relationship. “When did you have in mind?”

“A week. Two at the most.”

“I’ll talk to Mom and give you some dates.” It was a surrender. The only thing left to extract from her was an admission that she loved him, but she would hold back on that for as long as she could.

Maybe denying Constantine that final victory was childish, but she was afraid that if she surrendered emotionally he would no longer feel he had to fight for her. If Constantine deemed his battle won, she could lose any chance that he would eventually love her.

He wouldn’t walk away this time, so the outcome would be much worse—they could end up locked together in a loveless marriage. She may have given up on the romantic fantasy of having him fall in love with her, but gaining a measure of love, however small, was vitally important.

“That’s settled then,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of the arrangements as soon as we get back.”

* * *