Rags To Riches: A Desire To Serve: The Paternity Promise / Stolen Kiss From a Prince / The Maid's Daughter

Something inside Blake shifted. He didn’t see the woman who’d lied to him and his family by omission, or the conspirator who’d withheld crucial information about the mother of his child. There were no shadows haunting the eyes of this laughing, splashing water sprite. For the moment at least, no memories constrained her simple pleasure. It was a glimpse of the woman Grace must have been before she took on the burden of her cousin’s secrets. An even more tantalizing hint of the woman who might reemerge if and when she shed that burden.

Without conscious thought, Blake realigned his priorities. Convincing his bride to trust him remained his primary goal. Getting her into bed ran a close second. But keeping that carefree laughter in her eyes was fast elbowing its way up close to the top of the list.

“All right,” she gasped, dancing on her toes. “I’m in. When does it get to ‘not so bad’?”

“Do a couple laps. You’ll warm up quick enough.”

She made a face but took his suggestion. He rolled into an easy breaststroke and kept pace with her. She had a smooth, clean stroke, he noted with approval, a nice kick. Two laps turned into three, then four. Or what would have been four.

She made the turn, pushed off the wall at an angle and submarined into him. They went under in a tangle of arms and legs. She came up sputtering. He came up with his bride plastered against his chest.

“Sorry!”

Blinking the water out of her eyes, she clung to him. They were at the deep end, in well over their heads. Literally, Blake thought, as her thighs scissored between his. Maybe figuratively.

Hell, there was no maybe about it. He wanted her with a raw need he didn’t try to analyze. She must have seen it in his face, felt his muscles tighten under her slick, slippery hands. She looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

“According to our contract,” he got out on a near rasp, “any and all physical contact must be by mutual consent. If you don’t want this to go any further, you’d better say so now.”

After a pause that just about ripped out Blake’s guts, she clamped her lips shut and matched him look for look. With another growl, he claimed her mouth.

The kiss was swift and hot and hungry. If he’d interpreted her silence wrong, if she’d tried to push away, Blake would’ve released her. He was almost sure of that. She didn’t, thank God, and he threw off every vestige of restraint.

They went under again, mouths and bodies fused. When they resurfaced, Blake kept her pinned, gave two swift kicks and took them to the wall. He flattened her against the tiles, using one hand to hold them both up while he attacked one strap of her suit with the other. The skin of her shoulder was soft and cool and slick. The mingled scents of lavender and chlorine acted like a spur, turning hunger into greed.

He switched hands, yanked down the other strap. She was as anxious now to shuck her bathing suit as he was to get her out of it. A wiggle, a shimmy, a kick, and it was gone. His followed two heartbeats later.

Her breast fit perfectly in his palm. The flesh was firm and smooth, the tip already stiff from the cold water. He rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and damned near lost it when she arched her back to give him access to her other breast. He hiked her up a few inches, devouring her with teeth and tongue while he slicked his hand down her belly.

“Oh, God!”

Moaning, Grace threw her head back. She’d agreed to this. Had spent more than a few hours tossing around the idea of casual sex with this man. But this—this was nowhere near casual! Blake’s mouth scorched her breasts, her shoulder, her throat. And her heart almost jumped out of her chest when he curved his fingers over her mound and parted her crease. She moaned again as he thrust into her and, to her utter mortification, exploded.

The orgasm ripped through her. She rode it blindly, mindlessly, until the spasms died and she flopped like a wet rag doll against his chest.

The thunder in her ears didn’t subside. If anything, it grew louder. Only gradually did Grace realize that was Blake’s heart tattooing against her ear. Gathering her shattered senses, she raised her head and curved her lips.

The skin at the corners of his blues eyes crinkled as he started to return her smile. Then she wrapped her legs around his hips and his expression froze. Slowly, sensually, she lifted her hips, positioning herself.

“Wait,” he got out on a strangled grunt. “We need to take this inside.”

“Why?”

“Protection. You need pro…” He broke off, hissing as she angled her hips. “Grace…”

He didn’t say it, but she guessed he was thinking of Molly. She certainly was.

“It’s okay,” she said, breathless and urgent. “I’m covered.”

He reacted to that bit of news with gratifying speed. Planting a foot against the tiles, he propelled them toward the shallow end. The sparkling water cascaded over his shoulders and chest as he took a wide stance and hefted her bottom with both palms.

A fresh wave of desire coiled deep in Grace’s belly. Eager to give him some of the explosive pleasure he’d given her, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She didn’t want slow. Didn’t want gentle. When he thrust into her, she slapped her hips into his and clenched every muscle in her body.

He held out longer than she had. Much longer. Grace was close to losing control again when his fingers dug into her bottom cheeks. He went rigid and jammed her against him at an angle that put exquisite, unbearable pressure right where she wanted it the most. With a ragged groan, she arched into another shuddering, shattering climax. This time she took him with her.

* * *

Jet lag, a lack of sleep and the most intense sex he’d ever had combined to plow into Blake like an Abrams tank. He remembered helping Grace out of the water and savoring the view before she wrapped herself in one of the villa’s blue-and-white-striped pool towels. He vaguely recalled diving back in to retrieve their bathing suits. He wasn’t sure whether he’d suggested they stretch out in one of the loungers inside the vine-covered pergola, or she had. But the next time he opened his eyes, the sun had disappeared and hundreds of tiny white lights made a fairyland of the pool area.

He sat up, blinking, and scraped a hand across a sandpaper chin. The movement drew the attention of the woman on the lounger beside his.

“What time is it?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m not sure. My internal clock is still set to Texas time.” She glanced at the canopy of stars outside the pergola. “I’m guessing it’s probably nine or nine-thirty.”

Blake winced. Great! Absolutely great! Nothing demonstrated a man’s virility like taking four or five hours to recharge after sex.

“Sorry I passed out on you.”

“No problem.” His obvious chagrin had a smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. “I napped, too.”

Not for long, apparently. She’d used some of the time he was out cold to change into khaki shorts and a scoop-necked T-shirt. Her hair looked freshly washed, its shining length caught up in a plastic clip.

“Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

He was still in the swim trunks he’d brought up from the pool. They were dry now and rode low on his hips as he pushed off the lounger and reached out to help her up.

“Let’s go raid the kitchen.”

The hesitation before she took his hand was so brief he might have imagined it. He couldn’t miss the constraint that kept her silent, though, once they’d settled in high-backed wrought-iron stools at the kitchen’s monster, green-tiled island. As Madame LeBlanc had indicated, the chef had left a gourmand’s dream of sumptuous choices in the fridge and on the counters. Grace opted for a bowl of cold, spicy gazpacho and a chunk of bread torn from one of the long, crusty baguettes poking out of a wire basket. Blake poured them both a glass of light, fruity chardonnay before heaping his plate with salad Niçoise and a man-size wedge of asparagus-and-goat-cheese quiche warmed in the microwave.

He forked down several bites of salad, savoring its red, ripe tomatoes and anchovies, eyeing Grace as she played with her bread, waiting for her to break the small silence. He had a good idea what was behind her sudden constraint. Morning-after nerves, or in this case, evening-after.

She validated his guess a few moments later. Drawing in a deep breath, she tackled the thorny subject head-on. “About what happened in the pool…”

He sensed what was coming and wasn’t about to make it easy for her. “What about it?”

“I know we put the possibility of sex on the table when we negotiated this, uh, partnership.”

“But?”

She looked down, crumbled her bread, met his gaze again. “But things just spun out of control. I’m as much to blame as you are,” she added quickly. “Now that I’ve had time to think, though, it was too quick, Blake. Too fast.”

“We’ll take it slower next time.”

The solemn promise almost won a smile.