Free A Perfect Marriage by Laurey Bright

finding that one extra person in the house made an amazing amount of added washing, cleaning and cooking-and she didn't like to ask Alice to work extra time, as the home help had other employers and a carefully worked out schedule.
    There were nights that Max didn't leave his study until after midnight, and others when he stayed at the office until nearly that hour. A couple of times she'd given him an unspoken invitation, normally enough to make his eyes kindle into desire, his mouth curve in promise.
    Instead he'd turned away, his eyes blank and cool, as though he hadn't seen.
      One night, long after her father had gone to bed, she went along to Max's study. She'd washed her hair, put on a specially pretty nightgown that he had given her for her last birthday, sprayed her body with a floral perfume, and pulled on a long, transparent peignoir that she seldom wore.
    When she tapped on the door and went in, closing it behind her, he looked up from the papers strewn on the big old oak desk that she'd found in an antique shop when she was furnishing the room, and regarded her with a peculiarly empty expression.
    She smiled at him, and walked slowly across the Persian rug towards him. "You're working too late," she reproved him.
    Max sat very straight in his chair as his eyes involuntarily took in the seductive garment floating about her over the satin gown that skimmed her slim figure. "Celine-" His voice was low, slightly unsteady.
    She smiled again, and went round the desk, put her hand on the swivel chair and turned it a little towards her. "Max," she said, the other hand tugging at the satin ribbons that tied the peignoir at her throat, "I miss you:' The ribbon parted, and the edges fell back, further revealing the satin nightdress, low-necked with a front slit from ankle to thigh.
    She curved her arms about his neck and sank onto his knee. The chair moved of its own accord, and his arms came round her waist to steady her. She lifted her bare feet from the ground, rubbing them against his trousered legs. Her lips pressed on his jawline, his cheek, then his mouth.
    She felt him take a breath, fast and uneven, and smiled against his mouth. Drawing back her head a fraction, she defined the contour of his ear with a finger, traced the heavy, straight brows, and ran her thumb over the outline of his mouth. "Kiss me, Max," she whispered, and offered him her lips.
    His hands on her waist tensed, and his lips touched hers almost tentatively. She opened her mouth for him, encouraging him, and the kiss gradually became erotic, impas
         sioned , as she stroked his hair and his nape. She found one of his hands and brought it up to her breast, over the satin that barely covered it. She felt the hand convulse on her soft flesh, and then his palm closed over the centre, and she knew he could feel the small, sudden pebble of hardness under the flimsy fabric.
    Nestling down into his lap, she was reassured by the answering surge of his body, and her arms tightened about him, her tongue sliding along his, inviting him to further intimacies.
    His abrupt movement startled her as he stood up out of the chair, bringing her to her feet. She tilted her head back to look at him, her hands still linked behind him, her pelvis snug against his. "Come to bed," she urged, making a subtle, seductive movement.
    Max was breathing quickly, his face flushed. His hands were on either side of her waist. She edged closer, leaning up to kiss him again. But he raised his hands, pulled her arms down, and said hoarsely, "No!"
    Celine blinked. Disappointed and offended, she stepped back a pace, and glanced at the work on the desk. "Is it that important?"
    "Yes." He dragged a harsh breath into his lungs. "No. It isn't that."
    Looking at him again, she instinctively pulled the edges of the inadequate peignoir together. "What, then?"
    "I'm sorry," he said. "You're very.., sweet and-I don't mean to be a boor, but-the fact is, I can't : "
    "Can't?" Her gaze dropped