“What’s money got to do with it?”
“If an unmarried woman becomes pregnant, she might look to marriage for financial security. I wouldn’t have to do that.”
“What about emotional security? Raising kids is hard work. Wouldn’t you want someone to share the load?”
“If that someone and I didn’t get along, the child would be worse off than being raised by a single parent.”
“I don’t want my child raised by a single parent.”
“I doubt I’m pregnant.”
With no warning at all, Jared shifted her on the bed and loomed over her. Though his hold was gentle, his expression brooked no argument. “I want to know. If you are, we’re getting married. No child of mine is going to be raised by one parent when he can have two.”
She swallowed. “I doubt I’m pregnant.”
“Well, if you are, you know how I feel.”
“Yes.”
He was staring at her, but increasingly the stare was more indulgent. “Why do I get the feeling that I lost that one?”
“Because I doubt I’m pregnant, and I feel foolish carrying on this conversation. We only met three days ago. Besides,” she winced, “I think I’m lying on my birthday flowers.”
He rolled away and retrieved the flowers. Taking them, she slipped from the bed and went off in search of a vase and water.
Jared watched her leave, watched the swirl of her robe behind her. Then he sat up and looked around the room. The last time he’d seen it, he’d been preoccupied with Savannah to the exclusion of all else. Now he wanted to see what clues the room gave.
It wasn’t a large room, though the high ceilings gave that impression. Savannah had furnished it simply in white wicker with a dresser and dressing table, an easy chair, a low table with several magazines on top, and a pair of nightstands flanking the double bed. The accessories were pale blue, and between the swirls of the wicker and that blue, the effect was feminine in an airy sort of way. It reflected her personality, he decided. As professional an appearance as she made, she was refreshingly feminine inside.
On impulse, he reached for the radio that stood on the nightstand. The music came through softly, a ballad that was high on the country charts. Grinning smugly, he flipped off the switch, climbed from bed and went to the window to see what it was Savannah saw when she awoke each morning. Propping an elbow high on the jamb, he gazed out over the chest-high, gathered sheers.
That was how Savannah found him. Her steps faltered just inside the door, and she stared, awed by the magnificence of his shape. He was a sculptor’s dream, a masterpiece of long limbs and handsomely carved muscle. Her view was mostly of his back, a broad expanse of smooth skin made dynamic by the slant of his arms. His shoulders were corded, his back tapered to a narrow middle and waist, his buttocks tight. His legs were those of a runner, long, lean and solid.
Just looking at him made her insides melt.
Catching sight of her, he dropped his arm and straightened. “I was getting lonesome,” he said in a deep, very Jared Snow voice. He started toward her.
Head-on, he was even more impressive than from behind. Without his clothes he seemed larger, more firmly developed. He wasn’t hairy; there was a spray of tawny down on his upper chest, but it quickly descended into a narrow line that disappeared into his navel. Below that, the hair was darker, thicker, and below that, he was amply endowed.
Savannah’s mouth had gone completely dry.
Taking the vase of flowers from her hands, he set it on the nightstand. Then he returned to her, framed her face with his hands, and kissed her very lightly, very gently. When he had satisfied himself with one angle, he tipped his head and tried another, and after he’d explored that with the same lazy curiosity, he tried a third.
By the time he raised his head and looked down at her, the gray flecks in his eyes had gone noticeably darker. He lowered his hands to her shoulders, whispering hoarsely, “I want you as naked as me,” and slid off her robe and nightshirt with the single sweep of each hand.
Taking a step back, he looked at her. She tried to cover her breasts, but he easily captured her wrists and held them away.
“You’re beautiful.”
She shook her head. “My sister’s the beautiful one. I’m the smart one.”
“You’re beautiful and smart.” Drawing her closer, he flattened her hands on his chest, moved them in slow circles over his nipples, then guided them lower. When they reached his groin, he closed her fingers around his erection. He saw her eyes widen, knew what she was thinking. “That’s how much I want you,” he said in a low rasp. “You’ve already taken all of me inside. I won’t hurt you.”
Savannah dropped her gaze to her hands. She moved them in a gentle caress, loosened them to touch the velvet head, then trace the length of the ridge underneath. The more gently she explored him, the harder he grew, and the harder he grew, the more she wanted him.
Trembling inside, she came closer. Her view was obstructed when Jared began to touch her nipples. Already tight, they grew painfully so, mirroring the knot that had gathered low in her belly. She let out a low moan, dropped her head back, and closed her eyes.
Nudging her around, Jared sat her on the edge of the bed, perched sideways next to her and covered her open mouth with his. His kiss was deep and wet, and while she was in the throes of it, he spread her legs and slid one finger, then a second, inside her.
