They’d stopped by their favorite Chinese restaurant for takeout on their way home. She took the bag from him, set it on the table and opened it. The aromas of hot and sour soup, Yu-Hsiang pork and Hunan chicken and shrimp filled the air. But her appetite had taken a vacation.
“For this to work you have to want it, too, Renee.”
“I do. I mean, I will. But not yet.” She had to change the subject because she was very, very close to giving in, and that could be the death of her—literally. “I’d like to keep your design, but I think the island should be movable, instead of fixed.”
“Removable, you mean.”
Uncomfortable with the edge in his voice, she bit her lip. “You always talked about having a games room or a home theater downstairs. You still might one of these days. Making things portable, instead of built-in would make that transition easier.”
“You’re keeping one foot out the door.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, but she knew. He’d seen her ambivalence, her fear.
“Nothing nailed down. No permanent fixtures other than the required plumbing. You refused to sign the builder’s contract today. He might have believed your excuse of double-checking finances, but I don’t. Either you’re in or you’re out. Which is it?”
Stalling, she retrieved plates from the cabinet and returned to set them on the table. “I’m in. I think.”
“Once we conceive this child, you can’t change your mind. I will be a part of my baby’s life—a part of your life for at least eighteen years and very likely longer.”
That’s what scared her. That and the fact that she’d almost signed contracts today committing to investing a substantial sum of money in Flynn’s basement. Doubts had hit her as soon as she’d lifted the pen. The contractor had been understanding and agreed to give her a few days to think over his estimate.
“I know how long we’d be tied together, Flynn. Let’s eat before dinner gets cold.” Coward, her conscience gibed.
“Let it.” He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle and she jumped.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” His palms spread low over her abdomen, pulling her flush against him, then his lips grazed her neck in that spot that had always driven her crazy. “Let’s make a baby tonight, Renee.”
Hunger for her husband raced through her and temptation chiseled away her will to resist. Her breaths hiccupped in, then shuddered out. She desperately sought any reason to resist. “I don’t know if it’s the right time of the month.”
His hands caressed upward, stopping short of her br**sts, then back down again to her hips. “Forget about timing. Focus on how good we are together.”
He skimmed up her torso again, and her n**ples tightened in anticipation, but he stopped short of them to trace the elastic band on the bottom of her bra before descending again.
Up. Down. Up. Down. With each rise her breath caught. With each descent she exhaled…in disappointment, it shamed her to admit. Despite everything that had happened in the past, she wanted his touch. Craved his touch.
But she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t strong enough. Why was that, exactly? She couldn’t concentrate on the reasons this shouldn’t happen yet, with his hands on her body. Flynn had always known exactly how to arouse her. Physically, they’d always been in perfect tune.
Up. This time he cradled her br**sts, instead of leaving her hanging. His thumbs brushed across the puckered tips and her womb tightened. Why was she even bothering to fight? She was going to give in eventually, anyway. Wasn’t she?
Down. She caught his hands, halting their descent, and lifted them back to where she needed them. Flynn rewarded her by simultaneously rolling her n**ples with his fingers and scraping his teeth lightly along the shell of her ear. A shudder racked her.
She pushed her h*ps back against him and encountered his erection, rigid and hot against her spine. Her resistance crumbled. She turned in his arms, her hip bumping deliberately over his arousal and making him inhale sharply.
His nostrils flared, and then he stabbed his fingers into her hair, framing her head and holding her steady. His mouth covered hers. Their tongues clashed in a kiss as wild and passionate and breathtaking as any they’d ever shared. Each successive kiss and caress grew more urgent, more desperate. His hands skimmed down to cover her bottom and yank her closer.
She dug her fingers into his waist and held on until her head spun from lack of oxygen and disorientation. The past and the present blurred in a wash of want and hormones. But if she couldn’t distinguish between reality and old fantasies, then how would she survive this relationship? Flynn had been her greatest joy, but also her greatest weakness. She ripped her mouth from his and touched her fingers to her still-tingling lips.
Desire darkened Flynn’s eyes and his cheekbones. His palms branded her upper arms. “Make love with me, Renee. Now. Tonight.”
Her heart battered against her rib cage and her mouth went dry. If she had sex with him now, there would be no turning back, no time to gather her strength. She’d be surrendering without making one single attempt at self-preservation. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
And then she did exactly what she’d done seven years ago when she’d woken up on the sofa with two empty wine bottles lying on the floor and no memory of opening the second. She ran.
Flynn couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He’d awoken hard, horny and miserable as a result of last night’s nut-knotting kisses, but he wasn’t complaining. He considered the prelude to his nearly sleepless night progress.
Renee was almost his. It was only a matter of time before the chemistry between them became explosive.
Balancing the tray on one hand, he knocked on her door with the other. She didn’t answer, but that didn’t surprise him. Renee had always been a sound sleeper. He turned the knob and pushed.
She lay on her side, with the covers bunched at her feet. She’d always preferred to sleep without getting tangled in bedding. One long, bare leg was hooked over a pillow she clutched to her chest. Her position stretched the fabric of her nightshirt tight across her bottom, making it easy to determine she wasn’t wearing panties. During their early days, he’d been her pillow, and her leg would have been hitched over his hip and thigh. And she would have been nak*d. His groin pulsed at the memory.
The temptation to wake her the way he once had—by caressing her skin, running his palm up her leg and smoothing over her round butt—was almost irresistible.
“Renee. Wake up.”
She startled awake and rolled over, shoving her curls out of her face. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I brought breakfast.”
Squinting, she scrubbed the sleep from her eyes. Knowing her as well as he did had its rewards. He took advantage of her usual morning fog to hustle forward and plant himself on the bed beside her before she awoke enough to realize she was giving him one hell of a good view. If he anchored the sheets in the process, making it impossible for her to cover up, he considered it a fringe benefit. She had to get comfortable around him again and the only way to achieve that goal was through exposure.
“Sit up.”
Blinking owlishly at the tray, she scooted up against the pillows. “You cooked for me? You’ve never brought me breakfast in bed before.”
He didn’t miss the suspicion in her morning-husky tone. “Our relationship before was a little one-sided. You always cooked for me. But times have changed. If we’re both going to be working, we’re going to have to share the chores. Especially after the baby comes.”
She bit her lip, worrying the soft, pink flesh and making him ache to lean in and kiss her again. But moving too fast could cost him the battle, so instead, he settled the tray across her lap and enjoyed the sight of her n**ples tenting her thin sleep shirt. The little nubs drew his gaze like a power outage does looters and hit his gut with a brick of desire that splinted through him like a broken store window. He blinked and tried to focus on his goal—getting her to let down her guard. He nudged the coffee mug in her direction.
“I’ve adjusted the blueprints based on the comments you made yesterday.”
She picked up a piece of toast slathered in raspberry jelly. “What do you mean?”
“You wanted temporary. I found a compromise.”
She chewed her toast, then sipped her coffee. “Explain.”
He slid the sketch out from under the plate containing her scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon and fruit. “Instead of built-in standard cabinets, the island will have legs. It will look like furniture and can be moved against the wall like a sideboard or out to the patio when necessary. But that means you’ll lose the prep sink in the island. I’ve moved it to the corner.”
Renee took the page from him. Her hair fell across her face as she bent to study the sketch. He caught a strand and twined a curl around his finger. Her chin jerked up. He tucked the lock behind her ear, taking the time to run his finger down the side of her jaw and over her pulse point. The beat quickened beneath his fingertip.
“You always did look good in the morning.”
She leaned out of reach and put a self-conscious hand to her tousled curls. “My hair’s probably a mess.”
He shrugged. “A little messy. But that’s always more interesting than a woman with every hair in place.”
Her cheeks flushed, then her eyes narrowed on his. “Did you sleep at all last night, Flynn?”
Busted. “You know I can’t sleep when I have ideas I need to get onto paper.”
Sympathy turned down the corners of her mouth, then her attention returned to his rendition of the kitchen. “It’s beautiful, Flynn, but the contractor has already given us his estimate.”
“This early on it’s easy to amend the numbers.”
“It’s a good idea. Thank you for making the changes. I’ll, um, think about them.”
He nodded. “Finish your breakfast. I have a meeting with Brock this morning. I’ll be leaving in twenty minutes.”
“Is everything all right?” He shouldn’t be surprised she’d picked up on his tension. Renee had always been perceptive. And he’d been a fool to neglect her.
“He’s obsessing about a client. I need to talk him off the ledge.”
“You’re good at that.”
If he’d been better at talking sense into people, he would have been able to talk her out of leaving. But then, she’d given him no clue of her plans. One day she’d been there and the next she’d been gone.
“I’m good at a lot of things.” His gaze fell to her br**sts.
Her breath hitched and her n**ples puckered. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my shower and then deal with the contractor. You take care of your brother.”
He patted her thigh, savoring the warm silkiness of her skin and fighting the urge to slide his fingers north into the warmth between her legs. Her quadriceps tensed beneath his fingers, reminding him of his goal—getting her pregnant.