Millionaire Husband by Leanne Banks Page B

as if she were back in pretending land again.
    He nodded and released her foot. Her ankle felt surprisingly bereft. “Sleep tight, Amy,” he said and turned to leave.
    Oddly miffed, she sprang up from the couch. “Sleep tight? That’s it?”
    He glanced around at her with one lifted eyebrow. “I stuck to my proposal. One question,” he said. “Did you want something else?”
    His voice was like a velvet invitation over her skin. The way he looked at her reminded her she was a woman. She fought the urge to rub away the effect of his touch on her ankle. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “No. G’night.”
    After watching him leave the room, she stoodthere for several moments, trying to regain her calm, but it had vanished like Houdini. She climbed the stairs and entered her bedroom, stripped and pulled on a cotton nightshirt. As she climbed into bed, Amy tried not to think about the fact that a dark, masculine stranger lay just down the hall from her, and that the dark masculine stranger was her husband.
     
    Justin lay in a lumpy bed in a room one half the size of his walk-in closet. His bride, who possessed a body designed to make him burn with lust every wretched night of his immediate future, lay approximately twenty-five feet away. He hoped God was very happy.
    Justin was waiting for the peace he’d expected in exchange for fulfilling at least the initial phase of his purpose on earth. Instead, when he closed his eyes, he saw Amy sprawled out on the sofa downstairs, her hair a riot, her eyes filled with sensual curiosity. Even her ankles got to him, slim, creamy and delicate. He had wanted to trace his finger up her calf to the inside of her thigh and higher still.
    Justin wondered if hell could possibly be worse than being married to a woman who resented you and needed you at the same time. He stifled a groan. Then he thought of the kids and the tight feeling in his chest eased slightly. Even though they were nosey, noisy and expensive, he wouldn’t wish his upbringing on them. He admired Amy for her commitment and sacrifice. In a strange way, their shared goal bound them together.
    All fine and good, he thought as he rolled over on the soft mattress, but he wondered if the next two years would drive him quietly insane and totally broke. That image kept him awake for hours.
    Justin finally drifted into a dreamless sleep. A sound permeated his deep slumber. He buried his head further in the pillow, but the sound persisted. It wrenched at something deep inside him before he even identified it.
    A child was crying. Justin sat upright and listened. “Nick.”
    Hustling out of bed, he ran into the hall and collided with Amy. He instinctively closed his arms around her when she began to fall. She gasped, and he dimly noted her breasts heaving pleasurably against his chest. Her fingers closed around his biceps.
    “Omigod, are you naked?” she whispered.
    “Boxers,” he said, feeling the brush of her thighs against his. Nick let out another sob that would rip the heart from Atilla the Hun. “Nick’s crying.”
    “I know,” she whispered, disentangling herself. “He does this every few nights. It used to be every night. I think it’s part of his way of working out his grief. I’ll take care of it.”
    She carefully opened the door and moved quickly to his side. Quietly following, Justin watched hertouch his arm and whisper to him. “It’s okay, baby.”
    “Aunt Amy?” he asked in a husky voice, giving a hiccup.
    “It’s me,” she said, stroking his face. “You’re okay.”
    “I had a scary dream. I was at Chica’s Pizza and everybody left me. I was all by myself and I couldn’t find you.”
    “That’s not gonna happen,” she said. “You’re stuck with me. Do you want to get a drink of water and use the bathroom?”
    He nodded. “Can I pee the way Justin taught me?”
    Justin smothered a chuckle and stepped forward. “Yep, and I’ll help,” he said, offering his hand