Suddenly, she found herself up and off him and flipped over onto her back, her arms pinned above her in one of his hands.
“Damn, you really are a ninja.”
That smile was back. The man didn’t smile often, but when he did, holy hell. “Marry me, Krista.”
She exhaled loudly and motioned to push him off her, even though her efforts proved to be futile. It was like trying to move stone.
Way to kill the mood, dude.
“Don’t ask me that again until you’re head-over-heels, can’t-imagine-your-life-without-me, in love with me, okay? Because until that’s how you feel, my answer will always be no.”
His head dipped, and he took a nipple through her nightshirt into his mouth. She squeaked, followed by a groan from the blooming heat that spread throughher chest and zoomed down between her legs.
“I do feel things,” he said softly, lifting his head and gazing down at her. Krista’s eyes went wide. “But if you’re not willing to agree to marry me right now, can we at least make each other feel good … as per our arrangement?” Levering himself onto one arm, he released her hands and went to work tearing off her pajama pants and relieving her of her shirt. She was already panty-free, so once the pants were off, she was bare.
She smiled. “We can definitely do that.”
His grin widened, and his eyes morphed from green to black in two seconds flat. He cupped her face and brought his lips down to hers.
The kiss was slow and romantic. A kiss that she wasn’t used to getting from this feral sex beast. Normally his mouth smashed down onto hers and his tongue challenged hers to a dance-off. But this kiss was gentle and so full of emotions that she had to suppress the lump that was forming in her throat. His hands traveled down her neck and body, cupping her butt and pulling her up to him, urging her to rock against him, accept him into her body. They both moaned as he finally entered her. The perfect fit.
His chest rumbled, and she was granted another rare smile before his teeth found her neck and his thrusts picked up vigor. Harder and harder he hammered into her, the sounds of their heavy breathing and bellies slapping the only noises in the room. And then, even though she was close to combustion, she couldn’t help the fleeting thought that interrupted her brain—thank God the mattress wasn’t squeaky, because they’d never hear the end of it in the morning.
“I … I’m close,” she panted, angling her head back into the pillows as his teeth raked down the vein. The vein that pumped her hot-for-him blood.
“Me … too.” He grunted.
“Look at me,” she ordered. “I’m still in charge. Look at me.”
Brock lifted his head and gazed down at her. What stared back at her in those endless pools of emerald was startling. A carnal need that mirrored her own along with a whole lot of other confusing feelings. And they did a bang-up jobof confusing her, too. She knew she had feelings for him. Strong feelings. Yes, he was an overbearing control freak, but he was also kind and caring, and the way he’d stepped up to the plate with the baby spoke volumes of his decency. She just had to figure out a way to get deeper beneath his tough shell. Chisel through to the heart of her hard Hart and find out what he was really all about.
And then she broke. Completely and utterly. The look in his eyes, the way his body took hers in such a perfect and all-consuming way, she fucking shattered. Squeezing her eyes shut on impulse, Krista bowed her back and arched up into him, letting her nipples rub against his hard chest and his pubic bone slam mercilessly and divinely against her throbbing clit.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip to stem her cries while Brock dipped his head again and smothered his grunts of release in her hair and the pillow as he poured himself inside her.
A few moments later, after Krista had hastily ducked out to the washroom to clean up, thankfully not seeing a soul—a big burly Hart, tiny matriarch Hart, or Santa Claus himself—she pulled her pajama shorts back on and climbed into bed.
“Should we talk about names?” she asked, running her tongue along the seam of her lips as she took in the sexy, sweaty beast of a man lounging on the bed. His eyes were shut, and his breathing had returned to normal, but a sexy dash of red still colored his cheeks, and his cock beneath the sheet hadn’t completely returned to rest.
“Names?” he grunted, seeming to be almost asleep.
Damn it, were the walls back up?
“For the baby.”
He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Oh. Uh … yeah, we can.”
“I like Hannah for a girl and Ansel for a boy. What about you?”
He shook his head and tucked his hands up and under it, the sheet shifting with his movements to reveal a dusting of pubic hair.
“All the men in my family have one-syllable names.”
Well, now they were getting somewhere. He was going to talk about his family. She’d just spent the evening with them but all in all still knew very little. She turned over onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow, giving him her full and undivided attention. “And that’s a tradition you want to stick with?”
He nodded. “Yeah. If you’re okay with it, I wouldn’t mind naming the baby after my dad, if it’s a boy.”
Krista nodded. She was a reasonable person. As long as his dad’s name wasn’t something atrocious or heinously feminine, she could probably go along with it. “What was your dad’s name?”
