Free The Mogul's Maybe Marriage by Mindy Klasky Page A

nightmare, his steady hands returning her to her body. He had brought her to wakefulness, and then to something more.
    Another stroke. Her spine quivered, eager to meet his touch. Heat leached through her body and she sighed, releasing the last tendrils of her dream. She melted beneath his ministrations, soaking into him. She shifted, trying to put her arms around his neck.
    He froze. His fingers gripped her tight, tattooing the flesh above her hips. She heard him catch his breath, felt every muscle of his body harden into iron.
    Ethan grimaced in the dark. One minute, he’d been offering chaste comfort, trying to ease a frightened soul. The next, that frightened soul had sprung to full, sensual life beneath his fingertips, arching to meet his hand, reflexively seeking the pleasure they’d shared in the past.
    The last thing Sloane needed now, though, was to realize just how much pleasure he longed to give her. The last thing she needed was to discover how completely she’d aroused him, how hard he was, just beneath her warm, supple flesh, with only a few layers of fabric between them. “Sloane,” he breathed, as she pulled back enough to look into his eyes.
    â€œPlease,” she said, her voice still faintly blurred from sleep. “Kiss me.”
    The trust in her moonlit gaze nearly made him lose control. It would be so easy to shift her. So easy to fall back on the mattress beside her. So easy to rip away that cotton thing she was wearing, to see her body, ready and ripe, waiting for him, eager for him.
    The unbearably rough fabric of his silk boxers taunted him. The feel of her across his lap was almost enough to spring him, to release him from the delicious tension that threatened all his logic, all his higher senses.
    Sure, he had told her that she was the one in control.He had said that she must ask him before he’d give in to his temptation. And he’d heard her words, just a heartbeat before, heard her beg him to touch his lips to hers.
    But this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how he’d envisioned her coming to him. Inviting him, giving up her silly, stubborn rules. She was still dazed, confused by her dream. She wasn’t capable of making a true decision.
    Summoning the last vestige of his control, he lifted her from his lap. The motion brought him dangerously close to her throat, to the devastatingly smooth stretch of flesh that begged to be tasted, nibbled, nipped. Clenching his teeth, he settled her on the bed. Before she could register the change in their positions, before she could protest, he got to his feet, sucking in his breath against his body’s own complaint. He was actually in pain as he made himself move to the far side of the bed, as he gathered up her sheets, as he aired out the linen between them, using it as a shield.
    By the time the fabric had drifted on top of her, by the time it had billowed and collapsed and revealed her lithe form, he had enough control over himself that he could speak without groaning. “There’s a night-light in the bathroom. I’ll turn it on.” He matched action to narration, relieved to find that he could walk without betraying his arousal. With half the room between them, he dared to look back at her. She was propped up on her pillows, enthroned like some sort of devastating princess. He could just make out the blue of her eyes in the glow of the night-light from the marble room.
    â€œI’ll have James call someone about the tree tomorrow.”
    â€œThank you,” she said, and he could hear the confusion in her voice, the question that she was afraid to ask, the invitation that she wanted to issue again. Theinvitation that he could not accept honorably. Not that night. Not under those circumstances.
    â€œGood night, Sloane,” he said as he crossed to her bedroom door.
    â€œGood night,” she whispered.
    He closed the door behind him as softly as he could. A part of him longed to stand