Shane had lingered on the terrace for all of five minutes before realizing that he’d been an uncompromising ass to Priscilla, not even listening to what she was trying to say. Hurrying across the ballroom to get his car from the valet, he’d briefly locked eyes with Cameron Winslow, who looked like he’d love to slam his fist into Shane’s face.

Not today, Winslow, you barbarian. Not today.

Leaping into his car, Shane drove toward Haverford, forcing himself to go the speed limit as he left the city, navigating the tony backroads, chockablock with mansion after mansion. He remembered what Priscilla had said about using an access road to come and go from the barn and turned onto Hemlock Road just before he reached Blueberry Lane, his wheels screeching when he almost missed it.

Slowing down as he bumped along the gravel road, the barn came into view after a few minutes, and he cut the engine, eager to speak to her and make things right before tonight was over.

In the dark, it took him a moment to find the outside staircase that led upstairs, but once he did, he took the stairs two at a time, only stopping when he reached the landing. Peeking through the window on the top half of the door, he caught glimpses of the transformed room, and an unbidden smile stretched his lips.

It looked like Priscilla: mismatched, high-quality pieces of furniture were arranged artfully in groupings with low lighting that gave the vast space a warm glow. It looked lived in but expensive, effortlessly upper class in a way that Shane would always covet but never truly understand. And then…suddenly…all thoughts fled as Priscilla stepped from her bedroom in tight black pants and a bright-yellow sweater hanging off her shoulder. She crossed the room, taking her time, probably headed for the kitchen, and Shane drank her in, savoring this quiet moment to watch her.

She’d taken her hair down from its stiff, elegant chignon, and it fell in loose, sexy waves around her shoulders. Her breasts, which he’d already noticed were larger and fuller than the last time he’d seen her, swayed gently with her movements, the soft, clingy fabric of her sweater rippling as she walked. He sucked in a breath as he watched her, lust making him groan softly but decorum forcing him to stop staring through her window like a Peeping Tom and raise his knuckles to knock.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

He exhaled the breath he’d been holding as she approached the door, slowing down when she realized it was him. That tiny hesitation hurt Shane, because he didn’t want her to feel wary of him. Damn it. He wanted to support her, not make her life more difficult. He just needed to be sure that his interests were protected…because Priscilla would divorce him and take off one day, and if he didn’t guard his feelings—er, um, business interests—they’d be crushed when she finally left.

He watched her breasts rise as she took a deep breath before unlocking the door and opening it. She stood in the doorway, the backlight of her cozy living room shining through her honey-brown hair.

“Hi,” she said softly, her eyes totally devoid of the Priscilla-twinkle he liked so much.

“Can I come in?”

“Are you going to yell at me more?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She cleared her throat, dropping his eyes for a moment before stepping back and opening the door a little wider.

He sidestepped into her apartment, pushing the door closed behind him as she turned and walked away, asking over her shoulder, “Want tea? I’m making myself a cup.”

Frankly, he’d prefer something a lot stronger than tea, but since she was offering…

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Cream or sugar?” she called.

“Neither,” he answered, still standing by the door.

“Can you, um, take your shoes off before coming in?” she asked. “It ruins the chi if you wear them inside.”

“The what?” he asked, toeing off one black loafer, then the other, and placing them on a rack by the door that held several of Priscilla’s pairs of shoes and boots.

“The chi,” she said, rounding the corner with two mugs of steaming tea. “The positive energy.”

She held a mug out to him that read “Stay Trippy” and had a peace sign shaped into a rainbow-colored mushroom. Lifting his eyes, he tried for a smile, knowing it didn’t come out right when she frowned at him, turned away, and walked across the room to an overstuffed, blue flowered couch. Pulling a furry blanket off the back, she settled in a corner, curled up with her lap covered, and stared at him with wide, wary eyes.

Crossing the room, he took a seat on the other end of the couch, placed his mug—which read, “I’d Rather Have Flowers in My Hair than Diamonds around My Neck”—next to hers, and tried to figure out how to begin.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. About before.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared down at the blanket on her lap, running her long fingers through the soft texture.

“I didn’t give you a chance to explain, and that wasn’t—I mean, I should have listened to you, and I didn’t.”

She didn’t say anything, still avoiding his eyes, but she shifted, reaching for her tea and taking a sip.

“I…I mean, I understand what it feels like not to fit in where you’re supposed to belong—or want to belong. And I get it that you want your family—maybe more than ever—to accept you and, well, your baby.” He wished she would say something. He was fumbling for words, feeling like an idiot. “I guess I’m trying to say that your family accepting your child trumps my promotion in the grand scheme of things. So if you need a couple of months to figure things out before—damn it, P, can you say something?”

She turned to him, pausing with her mug resting against her lips, which twitched beneath the ceramic. “Go on.”

“That’s it,” he said, shrugging. “That’s all I really wanted to say. Take the time you need. We’ll tell your father in—in September.”

“Really?” she asked, placing her mug back down on the table and beaming at him.

His breath caught as he stared at the hope and happiness in this beautiful woman’s brown eyes, at the way her pleasure lit up her face and softened her posture. He wondered if the sun set inside of Priscilla every night, safe there until morning, making her vibrant and warm from the inside out, leaving enough of its powerful rays behind so that she could shine all day long.

Shane didn’t know much about women or feelings…but he knew that this woman—so different from him—tied him in knots, yes, but she also made him feel like anything was possible…as long as she was nearby shining her light on him. All he’d wanted, for as long as he could remember, was to run a company, and yet for her, only for her, he was willing to delay.

“Really,” he said.

She lurched across the couch, flinging herself against him, barely giving him a moment to catch her, but he did, wrapping his arms around her sweetness as she rested her head on his shoulder. She sighed close to his ear, her breath soft and warm on the skin of his neck.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you. I’m so relieved.”

His heart.

Oh, God, his heart.

He felt it widen. He felt it move. He felt it make space for her.

You’re in trouble.

The words moved slowly across his mind like the NBC scrolling news ticker in Times Square.

You are in so much trouble.

But for now, for this perfect moment, he pushed thoughts of trouble from his mind and shifted her onto his lap. He’d never held a woman on his lap before, but instinctively he wanted her there, curled up in his arms with her head on his shoulder. She didn’t protest, her body pliant and small, her knees bent, her bare feet resting beside his tuxedo pants on the couch. His lips dropped the short distance to her hair and rested there for a long moment, his eyes closed, his heart racing.

He felt her take a deep and shuddering breath and held on tighter, pushing her body against his, into his, adjusting to the intimate feeling of her sitting in his space. He opened his eyes, lifting his lips from her hair.

Her arms were still around his neck, and when she raised her head, her face was mere inches from his. The light of the whole sun danced in her eyes as she smiled at him and whispered, “Shane, kiss me.”

A white-hot stab of lust to his heart made his blood course like oil-on-fire to his penis, which had already stiffened when she climbed onto his lap, and now he felt it throb, a heartbeat of longing making it harder and longer inside his pants, beneath her bottom. If she minded, she didn’t say so, just stared at his lips with a hunger he shared.

His lips crashed into hers, claiming them greedily after too many days spent apart, swallowing her whimpered moan as she shifted her body to straddle his. She slid one leg over his lap, pressing her chest flush against his, and he groaned, his arms tightening around her waist. She arched her back, rubbing her breasts against his chest as his tongue split the space between her lips, exploring her mouth while his hands slipped under the softness of her sweater to land on her bare skin.

Her lips skimmed his jawline, pressing feather kisses from his mouth to his earlobe, which she grabbed with her teeth, sucking it into her mouth and making him flinch with the sharp sensation. His penis pulsed in his pants, hard and hungry, pressing obscenely into the valley between her thighs. But Priscilla shifted again, sliding her hips forward to cradle his erection, and he lifted his hands to her face, demanding her lips again, kissing her hard as she moved rhythmically against him, mimicking the act of sex. His breath came in short gasps as he swelled against his zipper, the pressure so good—so fucking good—but painful too, because he wanted more. He didn’t want the clothes between them that kept their flesh from touching; he didn’t want anything, not even air, between them. He wanted to feel her. Sliding his hands down her back, beneath her pants, and into her panties, his fingers spread over the soft skin of her ass, and he squeezed hard with longing and frustration.

Priscilla cried out, her breaths coming in short, fast pants against his neck as she broke off their kiss and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

Suddenly aware of himself and wondering if he’d done something wrong, he froze, his fingers resting on her bottom, unmoving.

“Sha-a-a-a-ane,” she breathed against his throat, the sound so erotic, his own breath caught.

“I’m sorry, P,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, his lips resting against her soft hair. “I got…carried away.”

“No apologies. Never,” she whispered, her voice soft and dreamy, slow and drunk. “It’s going to be beautiful when it happens.”

“When what…?”

“When we fuck,” she murmured, her lips pressing against the raging pulse in his neck, her tongue lapping against his skin.

When we fuck.

The words were so dirty. So filthy. So hot…his penis jerked in readiness, and he imagined the precum coating the tip. Afraid of embarrassing himself by repeating history, he gently lifted her from his lap and asked, “The bathroom?”

She gestured loosely, leaning her head against the back of the couch and closing her eyes. “Over there.”

He stood quickly and crossed the room. Closing the door behind him, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, frantically grabbing a handful of tissues and covering the head of his penis. He barely had to stroke himself more than once before he came in his hand, hot and wet, deep shudders of pleasure forcing him to bite back a strangled groan of intense satisfaction.

When we fuck. When we fuck. When we fuck.

With one hand braced against the wall, he closed his eyes and let the waves of orgasm roll over him until his body stopped jerking. Then he balled up the tissue and flushed it, pulling himself together and washing his hands before walking back into Priscilla’s living room.

To his relief, she appeared to be asleep on the couch when he returned, and he stared down at her—at the redness around her bruised lips and the creamy skin of her exposed shoulder—with a tender feeling caught between yearning and possession.

She’s my wife, he thought. And I’m falling head over heels for her.

“P,” he whispered softly, leaning down and pushing her hair aside so his lips kissed the pink shell of her ear as he spoke, “I’m going to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she reached for the hand tangled in her hair, holding it as her eyes captured his.

“No,” she murmured, her voice thick and deep with imminent sleep. “Don’t go. Stay with me, Shane.”

And in that moment, he knew that he’d surrendered something else to Priscilla Story: whenever she needed him, from now until forever, he would be helpless to refuse her. Something inside of him belonged to her, and he didn’t know how and when he would ever get it back.

Shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket, he laid it across the back of the couch, then leaned down and scooped her up into his arms. Walking carefully across the warm, low-lit room, he nudged open her bedroom door with his knee, stepped inside, and placed her gently on the bed.

Then for the first time in his life, he laid down on a bed beside a woman he cared for, drew her back against his front, and fell asleep.

***

Early-morning light streamed through the big windows of Priscilla’s bedroom, dust motes dancing in the brilliant beam of sunshine before her eyes. It took a moment to register that she was tightly spooned against someone else and another moment to remember that she’d asked Shane to stay last night. He must have carried her to her bedroom. She smiled, snuggling against him. What bliss to wake up in someone’s arms. In his arms.

She couldn’t recall the last Sunday morning she’d woken up ensconced in such tender warmth, content to be held and not desperate to leave (or for some anonymous “him” to leave). Xavier had never actually stayed overnight, always leaving to go home in the early morning while she was still asleep. And while her other former boyfriends may have been cuddlers, Priscilla had not been. Much more the type to leap from bed, make breakfast, and get her day started, it felt strange and wonderful to stay put this morning.

Twisting around to face Shane, she giggled to find his eyes wide open, his lips tilted up in a waiting smile.

“How long have you been awake?”

“A while,” he said, pulling her flush against his chest. He’d taken off his jacket and tie at some point, and his shirt was open. His jaw was covered with blond stubble, which was supersexy, and he smelled like Shane, which made her smile.

“Thanks for staying,” she said, taking a deep breath, feeling her lungs inflate and push her breasts against the hardness of his chest.

“It was nice,” he said.

He was very beautiful, she realized, with his face so relaxed and his hair sleep-tousled. She reached up to touch it. “Your hair’s messy.”

“Oh. I’ll fix it before—”

“No. I like it,” she said, sliding her eyes to his. “Sometimes it’s too perfect.”

He nodded, dropping his glance to her lips, then leaned forward to kiss her gently. A touch. A sweet, sweet touch that said I see you, and Good morning, and I’m glad I’m here with you. It made her heart flutter and her toes curl, and she sighed contently, burrowing against him as he rubbed her back.

“Last night you said you needed to make some changes before you tell your family about the baby,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “What did you mean? What exactly?”

Priscilla’s hands were flattened against his chest, but she fidgeted now, scratching at the stark white fabric with her fingernail. “I don’t know…exactly. I’m trying to figure it out, but planning isn’t exactly my strong suit. But, hmm—let me put it this way: if Margaret announced her engagement to Cameron Winslow in three months, it would be a cause for celebration. Margaret has an MBA and runs her own vineyard. Cameron works for C&C Winslow. Both from good families. Neither ever married. They’re young and good looking. All of Philadelphia would be cheering for them. Accepting of them. Happy for them. And a baby would just be the cherry on top of the sundae.”

“Okay…” he said.

She sighed heavily. “No one’s going to be cheering for me, Shane. Or accepting. Or happy. Not right now. I returned from France under cover of night. Our fast, shotgun wedding will raise questions and start whispers. And…while maybe that wouldn’t matter if it was just me, I don’t want my child to have that beginning.”

“I see,” he said, his body relaxing a little. “So you’re not talking about changing you.”

She shook her head. “I’m me, for better or for worse.”

“For better, P,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong…you looked beautiful last night, but it wasn’t you. I—I like you. I really like you…just the way you are.”

“You do?” she asked, feeling a swell of pure happiness within her.

He nodded. “I do.”

“But I need to grow up a little,” she said. “It’s time.”

He grinned at her, kissing the tip of her nose, looking relieved. “How can I help?”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Well,” said Shane, rolling onto his back but holding her against his side, “what does Margaret have that you don’t? That you feel like you need?”

“For starters? A job,” said Priscilla.

“Mm-hm,” he said. “Well…she got fired on Friday. Your father needs an assistant.”

“You mean me?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “I don’t have an MBA. The most I’ve ever done there is clerical work.”

He shrugged. “Which is all Margaret was doing too. He’d hire you. He likes having one of his daughters there, and if I started taking you out to lunch every day…well, it would look…”

She leaned her elbow on his chest, looking up at him. “…like we liked each other.”

“I do like you,” he said, taking her hand and braiding his fingers through hers. “I meant it when I said it. Hell, I think about you all the time.”

“You’re just infatuated,” said Priscilla, grinning at him. “It’s that old chemistry having its way with you.”

“I think it’s more than that,” he whispered solemnly. “I want you to have your way with me, P.”

It was about as suggestive and daring a thing as Shane had ever said to her, and her breath caught as she stared into his eyes. Whether it was pregnancy hormones or her growing feelings for him, her libido went nuts every time he was around lately, and she actually thought—for a split second—about pulling off her yoga pants, unbuttoning his trousers, and climbing on top of him. She’d felt the thick hardness of his erection straining against her as she rocked against him on the couch last night. She was desperate to know what it would feel like for Shane to enter her, to feel her, to come inside of her.

The problem was, however, that as the more experienced of the two of them, she also felt a responsibility toward him and their arrangement. They needed to stay married for a year, and anything that could derail that plan for either of them needed to be considered carefully. She had no idea how he regarded sex—as a casual pleasure or as something infinitely more meaningful. But until she was sure they were on the same page, it would be up to her to, regrettably, put on the brakes.

“Do you?”

He nodded, his blue eyes mostly black. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Soon,” she whispered, leaning forward to bite his lower lip gently before letting it go. “Now stop distracting me. I’m coming up with a life plan.” She sighed, grinning at him. “I guess I could work for Daddy. For a little while. I’m supposed to dine with him at Forrester tonight. I’ll ask him then.”

He nodded. “What else does Margaret have that you don’t?”

“A Winslow.”

“Well, you’ve got me…I’m no Winslow, but ‘Olson’ is a pretty decent name in Manitowoc Creek,” he said, chuckling softly. “And as I’m sure you know…Manitowoc Creek is the Haverford of Wisconsin.”

She giggled with him, unaccustomed to him joking around and finding she liked it. So much. “Is that right?”

“Oh, yes. The five strapping Olson sons? In high demand.”

“Five boys! What are the chances?”

“Asks one of five girls!”

She laughed again. “This is a new side of you.”

“Are you saying I don’t kid around very often?”

“You don’t,” she insisted. “You’re always pretty serious.”

“I guess you bring out a lighter side of me,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it. “So you can get a job at Story Imports, and you’re married to an Olson. What else does Margaret have that you don’t?”

“Well…everyone would be watching her date Cameron before they got engaged. They’d be on board with the match before they were married.”

“Hmmm,” he said. “Then I guess we ought to start going out on a lot of dates, huh?”

“You barely like me.”

“False. I’m growing very fond of you.”

“You didn’t sign on for this.”

“False again. I agreed to marry you.”

“For a job.”

“We’ll get to that. For now, you need something else from me. Take it. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” she murmured, “with me.”

“With you,” he whispered.

His blue eyes were crystal clear and so trusting, Priscilla’s heart hammered as she realized the tremendous gift he was giving her and, in turn, the great responsibility she had to him. His dreams, his destiny, the plan for his life was now in her hands.

“Shane, I promise we’ll tell my father by September. I promise, no matter what, you’ll get your promotion. You’ll be in charge one day,” she vowed, her eyes sweeping his face tenderly.

“And that, my P,” he said with a grin, “is a great plan.”

My P.

My heart, my heart, my heart.

“I promise,” she whispered again.

He nodded, reaching for her cheeks and drawing her face to his for another sweet kiss. “I believe you.”