Temporary Husband by Day Leclaire Page B

her again.
    “Jake?”
    “I’m right here,” he murmured gently. “Try to get some sleep.”
    “What about your requirement—that we consummate the marriage tonight?”
    “Forget it,” he said, slinging an arm across his eyes. “It was an unreasonable demand.”
    “If you say so. But if you change your mind…”
    “I won’t.”
    Silence reigned for a moment or two, then, “Jake?”
    “What is it?”
    “I really am glad I married you.”
    He swallowed the thickness blocking his throat. “Me, too, elf. Me, too.”
    Jake awoke in that timeless moment between the black of night and the first light of dawn, not quite certainwhat had disturbed him. A whispery sigh drifted from the other side of the mattress and he turned his head. Wynne lay facing him, sound asleep, and in that instant reality came crashing down. He was married—a condition he’d sworn he’d avoid—and this slip of a woman was his wife. He gritted his teeth, calling himself every kind of a fool. What had he been thinking, marrying someone so clearly out of her element? He must have lost his mind.
    She murmured a name—his name, perhaps—and he propped himself on one elbow, studying her. She’d kicked off her covers during the night and her nightgown had ridden up, hugging her slender hips. She had beautiful legs, lean and lightly muscled, legs that begged to be touched. He gave in to their allure, stroking the silken skin of her thigh, inching his hand ever upward. Slowly, carefully, he slipped beneath the thin cotton nightgown, his palm caressing the curve of her hip.
    She felt like heaven.
    He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the need to make this woman his. He wanted her. He wanted her as desperately now as he had last night. She was his wife, dammit all. He could take her and no one would object—including his lovely bride. But to fondle her as she slept, when she wasn’t in a position to object…What sort of lowlife was he? Using every ounce of strength, he removed his hand and opened his eyes.
    Wynne’s sleepy gaze met his.
    Her expression held open curiosity, and he stilled, reining in his desires, forcing his features into an impassive mask. His control was pointless. She inhaled sharply, comprehension dawning with the first glimmer of morning light. Her spring-green eyes never wavered, hope shimmering in their depths, and she shifted closer, trapped within the stream of scarlet rays just peekingover the windowsill. Sunrise bathed her in a russet glow, licking across her hair and skin like a flame.
    She greeted him with a shy smile. “Good morning, Mr. Hondo.”
    “Mornin’, Mrs. Hondo,” he replied gruffly. “How did you sleep?”
    “Not. bad. Thank you for joining me. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
    “I almost didn’t.”
    “What changed your mind?”
    “You asked so nicely. How could I refuse?”
    She grinned in response and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. The unstudied movement caused the bodice of her nightgown to gape, exposing her breasts. They were lovely, pale and round, the nipples the color of sun-ripened peaches. Unable to resist, he reached out and filled his palm, anticipating some sort of protest. It never came. Her only reaction was a muffled gasp, and then her eyes grew dark and slumberous.
    He glanced down at his hand, his copper-tinged skin a sharp contrast to the pure whiteness of her breast. She was beautiful, beautiful to the eyes and exquisite to the touch. And as one timeless moment followed another, he silently raged at himself for allowing lust to overrule common sense. With a bitten off curse, he released her.
    “Don’t stop,” she murmured shyly.
    His mouth tightened. “You’re joking, right?”
    “I’m not afraid anymore.”
    He jackknifed upright, looming over her, infusing his voice with a strong warning. “You will be if I don’t stop. I guarantee it.”
    “You wouldn’t hurt me.”
    “Oh, no?” He laughed at her naivete, the sound barren and humorless. “We’ve had