Chapter Ten
This wasn’t how John had ever imagined proposing marriage, standing in the middle of a hotel room, his clothes still wrinkled from his flight from Athens, with a baby sleeping nearby and—worst of all—no diamond engagement ring to slide onto her finger.
But Lacey wouldn’t care about the ring. She was no gold digger. In this, she was different from any other woman he’d dated. She didn’t need his fortune. She was building her own.
And she was raising Taffy without his help. She had money, friends, a home. She didn’t need John at all.
It was a sudden and disquieting thought.
“Have there been other men for you?” he said abruptly. “Since me?”
She set her jaw, and for a moment he thought she might refuse to answer. Then she said grudgingly, “No.”
A rush of relief went through him, a panacea to his pride.
“Nor for me,” he said quietly.
Lacey’s eyes went wide.
“No,” she whispered. “You’re lying.”
“I’ve never lied to you.” Slowly, he pulled her into his arms. He felt her tremble as his hands ran down her back, against the soft cotton fabric of her dress. “I never stopped wanting you, Lacey. Not all this time. I couldn’t touch another woman. I’ve only wanted you.”
Her eyes went wide.
“But that doesn’t mean marriage,” she stammered. “There’s no reason to marry. We can share custody—”
“Marriage,” he said firmly.
She took a deep breath. “But I only want to marry a man I love,” she whispered. “A man who loves me.”
“There are different kinds of love.” Reaching out his hand, he stroked down her dark ponytail, down her neck. “I made you happy once.” Caressing her bare shoulder, he whispered, “I can make you happy again.”
As he felt her shiver beneath his touch, his blood was pounding through his body with the need to take her, to claim her as his own.
In his bed. As his bride. With his name.
He wanted to possess her—now and forever.
Just the thought caused a surge of desire so great, he barely kept himself under control. All he wanted to do was press her up against the wall of the hotel suite, to plunder her juicy lips, to ravish the length of her throat with kisses. He wanted to touch and stroke her all over, to feel the soft curves of her body. He wanted to rip the cotton sundress off her and—
“But an affair is different from marriage,” Lacey said desperately. “You always said so. You said love was the worst possible reason to marry—”
“No problem,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t love me anymore. And I don’t love you.”
She swallowed, her cheeks slightly pale. “So give me a reason why I’d ever be your wife!”
Reaching out, he cupped her cheek, “There’s a very good reason.”
“What?”
“This.”
And he roughly lowered his mouth to hers.
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