“Erik.”
“Yes? God, you feel good.” He shifted over her, matching them up. Legs, pelvis, torso.
“Listen, I want to—”
“You have the most gorgeous skin, Sandra.” He kissed her shoulder, her cheek, her forehead.
“Thank you.” She gathered her courage again. “Erik, I—”
“And your breasts are works of art.” He showed her with his mouth his deep love of art.
“Thank you. I’m trying—”
“I want to make love to you all—”
“For God’s sake, Erik, I’m trying to tell you I love you. Will you shut up?”
He froze in shock, staring down at her.
They both burst out laughing. Then stopped at the same moment.
“Sandra.” Erik kissed her as if he was never ever going to stop, which she bloody well hoped he wouldn’t.
The kisses turned hot and hotter, then he was sliding inside her, arms tight around her, making her feel adored, not confined.
This was what it was like, then, loving and being loved. Something she’d been after all her life, often without realizing it. This was safety, not risk, this incredible connection, making love to each other on a level of intimacy she’d never experienced. Knowing unconditional love for the first time in her life.
If only it could last forever.
Careful, Sandra. Nothing lasts forever. At least not for you.
She blocked the worrisome thoughts and relaxed into the slow, beautiful pace of their lovemaking, a pace that inevitably sped up when their mutual arousal demanded it.
And then she was clutching him, not holding him, he was plunging not sliding, and she was panting and straining for the climax that hung just out of reach until he changed his angle, making her lift her hips higher. And then, yes, there was the wonderful onrushing ecstasy that burst over her.
Yet through it all, the ultimate surrender, she was always aware of the man in her arms, always aware of them in this together, aware of his pleasure and climax as well as her own.
So different.
Then the gradual slowing of his breathing, the husky tone of his voice when he whispered her name. The deep sigh of contentment that relaxed him, and the echo of hers.
“Sandra.”
“Mmm?” She couldn’t be bothered to form an actual word.
“I want to show you those rocks now.”
Her peaceful face wrinkled into disbelief. He could not be serious. “Now?”
“Yeah. They’re great. I got five of them.”
“Five rocks.”
“Uh-huh.” He pulled out of her and got up to get rid of the condom.
Sandra lay on the bed, glaring at its wrought iron foot. Rocks. For crying out loud, this was the guy she had to fall in love with?
A smile curved her lips and she stretched her arms deliciously over her head.
Apparently.
“Here.” He sat on the bed, reached for his stupid rocks. “But I’m only giving them to you because I love you.”
“Sure, okay.” She struggled to sit up.
And froze.
Velvet box. Man holding it out to her. Deep love in his eyes.
Rocks.
“Oh my God, Erik.” She grabbed at the sheet, then realized she was instinctively trying to cover herself, and made her hand stay still. “What have you done?”
“I told you. Bought rocks.” He spoke lightly, but his eyes were anxious, vulnerable. “They’re for you.”
He opened the box. A ring. She couldn’t quite believe it until she saw it, sitting right there. A tiny part of her had still been thinking he might have a special box of rare and expensive minerals.
But no. These were diamonds, four of them, flanking a spectacular sapphire.
Five rocks.
“I’ve been looking for you all my life, Sandra. Half the time I didn’t know it. More than half. But I’ve found you now, and it would make my life truly complete if you’d agree to share it.” He slid from the bed and got down on his knees, which meant only his head showed over the top of the mattress. She would have giggled, except his beautiful face was so sincere, and so solemn. Her lovely, sweet Erik, truly hers now, for the rest of her life.
“Sandra McKinley, will you marry me? And yes, money comes with the deal. Because I don’t want you alone and struggling, either.”
“Yes, Erik. Yes, I will marry you.” She touched his face tenderly, happy tears spilling over onto her cheeks. “But I swear I’d take you even if you didn’t have a cent.”
16
“OKAY.” ALLIE STEPPED into the cottage and turned to face Jonas. Rain had blackened his hair and tamped down his curls and was running in droplets down from his temples. His blue eyes were searching. She held up the champagne. “Let’s kill this bottle.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Any left?”
“Not much. Got any more?”
“Not of that stuff.” He took the bottle from her and strode over to the refrigerator, and took out another champagne, an outrageously expensive one. “Looks like if we want any more, we’ll have to make do with this.”
“Oh, for—” She glared at him. “Don’t you do anything like normal people?”
“Um, actually.” He winked at her, suggestively, looking sexier than any man had a right to. “Yes.”
“Oh. Well. That.” Allie found herself smiling at him, when she should be staying strong and letting him know what was what. All of which was a little fuzzy at the moment.
“Jonas.” She drew herself up tall. “I want you to know that I really don’t care about your money.”
“Good.” He took down two flutes from the cabinet and poured out the rest of the Taittinger, a full glass for each of them, which under the circumstances was plenty. “I only care about money in that it makes life easy and comfortable, and I can afford to be generous.”
“Oh. Well, yes. I meant that your money isn’t the issue for me.”
“No?” He turned, holding the glasses.