Free The Marriage Bargain by Jennifer Probst Page B

legs entwined with his, her thighs slightly parted.
    Nick was in deep trouble.
    “I know you have the cards planted. Just admit it and we’ll forget this whole thing happened.”
    “You’re crazy, you know,” he muttered. “Don’t you ever think about consequences of your actions?”
    She stuck her bottom lip out and blew a hard breath. The curls obediently slid away from her eyes. “I didn’t cheat.”
    Her mouth pouted. He smothered a curse, and his fingers tightened around her wrists. Damn her for making him want. Damn her for not seeing it.
    “We’re not kids anymore, Alexa. Next time you go tackling a man to the ground, be prepared to take the heat.”
    “Who are you, Clint Eastwood? Is your next line going to be, ‘Go ahead, make my day’?”
    The heat in his groin rose to his head like a swarming fog, until he could only think about the wet heat of her mouth and the soft body beneath him. He wanted to be naked with her in a tangle of sheets, and instead she treated him like an annoying older brother. But that wasn’t even the worst part. She was his wife. The thought tortured him. Some buried, caveman instinct flared to life and pushed him to make his claim. By law, she already belonged to him.
    And tonight was their wedding night.
    She challenged him to turn anger to desire, to feel her lips slick and trembling under his, all sweetness and surrender and passion. The normal logic of his list and his plan and his need for a business marriage flew out the window.
    He decided to claim his wife.
    …
    Alexa felt the man on top of her hold his body in a tight muscle lock. She’d been so intent on their argument she’d forgotten he pinned her to the carpet. She opened her mouth to make another smart remark about bondage, then stopped. Met his eyes. And sucked in her breath.
    Oh, God.
    Primitive sexual energy swirled between them like a tornado gaining speed and power. His eyes burned with a sheen of fire, half need, half anger as he stared down at her. She realized he lay between her open thighs, his hips angled over hers, his chest propped up as he gripped at her fingers. This was no longer the teasing indulgence of a brother. This was no old friend or business partner. This was the simple want of a man to a woman, and Alexa felt herself dragged down into the storm with her body’s own cry.
    “Nick?”
    Her voice was raspy. Hesitant. Her nipples pushed against the soft fleece with demand. His gaze raked over her face, her breasts, her exposed stomach. The tension pulled taut between them. He lowered his head. The rush of his breath caressed her lips as he spoke right against her mouth.
    “This means nothing.”
    His body contradicted his words as he claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss. With one quick thrust, his tongue pushed through the seam of her lips to travel beyond. Her mind fogged, caught between the dull pain of his statement and the pleasure pounding through her in waves. She gripped his hands and hung on, reveling in the dark taste of hunger and expensive chardonnay, rocking her hips upward to meet the hard length of his body, and rubbing her nipples against his chest. She lost control in those few moments, the ageless empty void for the past years temporarily filled with the taste and feel and smell of him.
    Her tongue matched every thrust as a low guttural groan escaped her throat. He ripped his fingers away from hers and slid his palms up over her belly and cupped her breasts. Her nipples tightened, and he pushed the cloth up higher. He stared at her naked breasts, and the heat in his eyes nearly burned her alive. One thumb tweaked her nipple and she cried out. His head lowered. Alexa realized this was the moment of truth. If he kissed her again, she’d surrender. Her body ached for his and she couldn’t come up with one damn good reason to stop.
    The doorbell rang.
    The sound ricocheted off the walls. Nick jerked upward and rolled off her like a politician caught in the middle of a sex