Princes of the Outback: The Rugged Loner / The Rich Stranger / The Ruthless Groom. Bronwyn Jameson

      Six

      “According to the book, this is my prime conception time.” Sure and steady and dark as the night, Angie’s eyes held his. “Do you really want to waste this chance?”

      Deep inside Tomas felt a keening cry of resistance. No, he couldn’t do this wholly naked. He needed protection, a barrier in any shape or form, some sense that he could hold himself apart from the intimacy of their bodies joining.

       And how will you make a baby then? How will you keep Kameruka Downs?

      His heart raced erratically, sweat sheened cold on his skin, and without a word he stood and stalked from the bedroom. Halfway across the sitting room he stopped suddenly, and for one numb second he couldn’t think what he was doing or why he’d come out here.

      The condoms.

      His gaze closed on the box he’d tossed onto the bureau earlier, when he’d come through the door and heard the music and realized that she was here. When it really struck home that sex with Angie was going to happen.

       Do you need birth control? Do you really need this bedroom session as a trial?

      Obviously he wasn’t going to have any trouble functionally. Obviously Angie had made up her mind about having a baby. He could get this over with now. If luck was on his side he wouldn’t have to go through this feverish ordeal of wanting and not-wanting-to-want ever again.

       All you have to do is go back in that bedroom, shut down your mind and follow the lead of your body. It knows what it wants. It’s not having any problem with intimacy. It wants inside Angie, naked, now.

      With a grim grunt of determination, he turned and followed where that leading part of his body pointed.

      Several things hit him right in the face when he walked back into the bedroom. The shapeless form of her discarded robe, stark against the wine-red carpet. How the white sheets no longer looked cold and clinical, not with Angie’s darkly sensual beauty spread across them. And the fact that no amount of rubber or latex or reinforced steel could have protected him from the impact of her lying there naked.

      Sucker-punched, he watched her roll up onto her knees, all tumbled black hair and perfect smooth skin and wildly generous curves. Her gaze had fixed on the highly functional and grossly underprotected body part that had lead him right back to her. He felt it thicken and pulse. Saw her moisten her lips and then move on to study his empty hands.

      “You couldn’t find the condoms?”

      “I found them.” Slowly he walked to the bed. Her eyes arrowed back for another up-close look, probably to see what he was wearing. Or not. “I left them where they were.”

      Heavy-lidded eyes slid up to his. Something flickered in their dark chocolate depths. “Are you sure?”

      “That I left them there? Yes. That I should have? No,” he admitted, honest for once.

      “If that’s because we haven’t talked about STDs and such…I want you to know that I’m good. I had tests done when I last gave blood, and I haven’t been with anyone since.”

      He swallowed the spontaneous question—how long since someone else?—and looked away. Irrelevant. Too personal. None of your business. And in his mind that justified not telling how long he’d been without. Instead he just nodded and said, “I’m clean.”

      There was an uncomfortable moment as their gazes connected and a measure of the unasked personal and intimate shivered between them. She made a rueful sound, half sigh, half laughter. “Okay, and now we’re back at the awkward stage.”

      “Us, standing here wondering what to do next.”

      She smiled, appreciating his recall of their earlier conversation. “Except this time we’re already in the bedroom.”

      “Naked.”

      “All over.”

      To illustrate her meaning Angie’s gaze dipped, and the mood took on a new sultriness, as if a blanket of heat billowed high before descending to settle heavily over their bodies. One silken finger traced the length of his nakedness. Her breathing hitched. His, more so, as she cupped and stroked him more firmly.

      Nope, he wouldn’t be having any trouble functionally. Not if he made it inside her body before embarrassing himself. And if she kept touching him like that, and looking at him with her eyes kinda hazed and her lips softly parted, then that was quite on the cards.

      “Enough,” he bit out sharply. Then to take the edge off he tried a laugh, a laugh that came out all raw and strained. “It’s been a while.”

      She let him go and for a long silent moment she watched him with unsettling intensity, as if she was delving inside and grabbing hold of his fears and laying them out for open examination. Oh, no. No, no, no. Reflexively he slammed down the shutters on the tiny window of vulnerability he’d unintentionally revealed.

       No more private stuff, no expectations, no emotions.

      Something of the unspoken must have shown on his face, because her expression slowly transformed from I-have-questions intensity to now-where-were-we? teasing. Settling back on her heels, she pointed at an erection that didn’t need any pointing out. “I thought you told me not to expect too much.”

      Okay, so this was better. This he could play along with. Frowning, he pretended to inspect himself. “Too much?”

      “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

      Despite the sexy banter, there were no smiles and her eyes flared with dark heat as their gazes connected. “I guess so.”

      Slowly she reached out and touched his forearm in a barely there caress, then her hand slid down to link fingers, and slowly, inexorably she tugged him down onto the bed.

      They came together in an unchoreographed duel for position. It wasn’t elegant, but it was so hot Tomas swore he heard the slow sizzle as their limbs parried for optimum sensual contact. One of his thighs settled between hers, and he couldn’t stop himself pressing into her heat.

      She responded with a deep hum of satisfaction.

      For a second their gazes collided and he felt such a jolt—a left-right combination punch of need and fear and dread and desire—that he immediately ducked down to her mouth. They met with lips and tongues, with teeth and passion, and Tomas closed his eyes against the onslaught.

      He closed his eyes and thought, yes! I can shut it all out. I can dive into the carnal delight of French kissing, I can shape my hands over these curves and immerse myself in the pleasure of all the scents and textures of a woman’s body. I can absorb the throaty sounds of a woman’s enjoyment and I can stand the roar of need in my ears.

      I can handle the rush of lust because that’s all it is. Only sex.

      His hand shaped one breast, his thumb rasped across the nipple and she sucked a breath from his mouth, an act so intimate he felt its effect raw and deep in his gut. He jammed his eyes closed tighter and breathed more deeply, until the indelibly delicious scent of her skin filled his lungs and his veins.

      “What the hell did you bathe in?” he breathed huskily near her ear.

      “Cinnamon and honey-milk.”

      And he gave a half-grunt of laughter because that’s what he’d been about to ask. Honey-milk. She tasted so sweet, her skin was so soft and pliant. Unthinking he opened his eyes and saw her roll her head back against the sheets, her dark curls a wild and wanton spread against the white.

      “That’s what the bottle said.” She blinked slowly. “Do you want to taste me?”

      “Later,” he growled because even the