Pregnant By The Cowboy Ceo. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.
in spite of all that, she found herself drawn most to his eyes. Even from halfway across the ballroom she could see they were a mesmerizing mix of gold and green that shifted ever so slightly with the chandelier sparkling overhead. She’d worked with amber that color in her jewelry designs and the changeable nature of the hue fascinated her. His gaze swept over her, past, then back again.
Holding.
That shiver inside her turned into a full-fledged fire. Her hand trembled and she set aside her champagne glass, her body already drawn forward in an undeniable magnetic pull. The urge to find out more about him propelled her feet across the room in time with the live band playing a classic Patsy Cline love song. Amie walked beneath the oversize, multicolored paper lanterns that decorated the room, toward the mystery man as he angled past guests in tuxes and formal gowns.
Other women noticed him, too, some of them watching every bit as intently as she did. But his eyes stayed on her as he closed the gap one bold step at a time.
Who was he? She knew most of the guests but didn’t recognize him. Still, enough people nodded in greeting to him for her to know he wasn’t a party crasher.
His gaze stroked over her, his hazel eyes gliding along her body like whispery smoke, confirming the awareness was reciprocated. She let herself relish the feeling, because honest to God, the last year had drained her. The grief over her grandmother’s cancer, over the impending loss of the most important person in her life was heavy. Too heavy. From tip to toe, she hurt over losing her grandmother and, knowing Gran’s legacy, her company was in the process of being handed over to a new CEO. So much change. Not the way her family’s business was meant to be handled.
But right now, for the first time since her grandmother had announced her terminal brain tumor, there was a distraction from that ache in her heart.
A compelling, fascinating distraction.
She stopped in front of him, only a few inches apart. The crowd was so thick around them, the hum of their conversation and the band’s tune created a false bubble of privacy. He held his silence, just looking back at her with a furrowed brow. Nice to know she wasn’t the only one baffled by this moment.
She certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight, but she couldn’t deny the chemistry, the intense attraction, the connection that felt like more than simple lust. She understood physical attraction but considered herself beyond those superficial types of relationships. After all, her mother had trotted her across pageant stage from toddler days. Hair teased. Makeup. Ruffled custom dresses and shiny tap shoes.
Amie had been judged on her appearance, her walk, her smile for longer than she could remember. She’d seen enough backstabbing beauties with a Mona Lisa smile to know that the true value of a person went much deeper than the surface. Even knowing that, she couldn’t deny how much she wanted this man.
She meant to say hello or introduce herself or ask his name. Instead, she glanced at his hand. No wedding ring. No tan line. “Are you married?”
A dark eyebrow lifted in a brief flash of surprise.
“Are you?” His voice rumbled between them with a hint of twang.
Local? Not quite. But definitely from a nearby region. His voice tripped along her senses, a deep tone that shivered against her skin.
She shook her head. “I’m not married.”
“Me neither,” he answered simply, without touching her. “Are you seeing anyone?”
She liked that it mattered to him. That said something good about him. “No. Are you seeing anyone?”
“Only the woman in front of me.”
Oh. Damn. He was good. A small smile teased the corners of his mouth.
She wasn’t sure exactly who moved first, but somehow her hand was tucked in the crook of his arm and he led her to the dance floor where they moved silently, their bodies in tune, step for step, through a slower country-music classic. The thick clusters of bright paper lanterns made the room glow with a rainbow of colors.
She breathed in his scent, clean but spicy, too. Masculine. Heady. His touch warmed her where he touched her waist. Her hand.
How long had it been since she’d felt a man’s hands on her?
The energy between them crackled like static along her skin. Each chord from the string band strummed her oversensitive senses. She breathed in and he breathed out. Their steps synced effortlessly, her body responding to the slightest movement of his, shadowing his steps as she fell deeper into the spell of his gaze.
The dance gave her rare moments of pleasure in a year of hellish hurt and worry. No wonder she’d been drawn to him. She needed this. And in the same way that she could follow his steps, her body anticipating his next move, she could tell that he needed this, too. It was in his eyes. In the way his hand spanned her waist.
A step and swirl later and they were in the hall, then tucked in the deserted coatroom.
Then in each other’s arms.
The dim lighting cast the room in shadows as she arched up into his kiss, his arms strong around her, but loose enough she could leave if she wanted. But the last thing she wanted was to stop. Pleasure pulsed through her at the angling of his mouth over hers, the touch of his tongue to hers. The kiss went deeper, faster, spiraling out of control in the quiet of the coat closet—a seriously underutilized space since it was spring in Texas.
Still, someone could walk in, and while she wasn’t an exhibitionist, the possibility of discovery added an edge to an already razor-sharp need. The muffled sounds of music and partiers wafted under the door. She pressed herself to the hard planes of his body.
His arms moved up and he cupped her face, looking at her with those intense hazel eyes. “I don’t do this sort of thing, tuck into coat closets with a stranger.”
She covered his mouth with her hand. “We don’t need to make excuses we have no way of knowing are true. This moment just...is. I don’t understand why. But we’re here.” She took a deep breath of courage and said, “Lock the door.”
Without a word, his hand slid behind him and the lock clicked in the long closet. The simple sound unleashed her barely contained passion. She looped her arms around his neck and lost herself in the kiss again. In the feel and fantasy of this man.
Her breasts tingled and tightened into hard beads of achy need. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this turned inside out. She was thirty-one years old, not nearly a virgin. But she was unable to resist the draw of this stranger. The hard length of his erection pressed against her stomach, a heavy pressure that burned right through the silky dress she wore.
She couldn’t deny where this was headed or that she wanted this. Him. Now.
His mouth traveled down her neck, then along her collarbone. “Condom. In my wallet,” he said, his hands grazing under her breasts. “I’ll get it.”
He started to ease back and she stopped him, gripping his lapels.
“Let me.”
Slipping her hand into his tuxedo jacket, she let her fingers stroke across the muscled heat of his chest. This was a man, the very best kind, powerful in body and mind. She tugged his wallet from inside his jacket and considered for an instant looking for a name, ...but her thoughts were scattered by his hands over her hips, gathering her dress. She plucked out a condom packet and tossed his wallet to the floor.
His hands were back on her just as fast, roving, keeping the flame burning.
She unzipped his pants as he lifted her hem. Her gown bunched around her hips, he hitched her up onto the small corner table where the coat check would normally pass out tickets during colder months. The wood was cool against her legs and then she slid them up and around his waist as he pressed against her, into her, with a thick pressure that sent a moan rolling up her throat.
It wasn’t an elegant coupling. Her need was frenzied and his