The Inconvenient Bride by Anne McAllister Page B

Again.
    Physically. Only physically, he assured himself.
    But, ye gods, he sure as heck wanted her physically. What would she think if he woke her and wanted to make love with her again?
    He squelched the thought. A glance at the clock on her dresser said it was already ten past seven. He needed to get up and get out now—preferably before she woke.
    He didn’t know how to deal with morning-after awkwardness. Except for the night in the motel with Sierra, he’d always left before dawn. He didn’t know what one did upon waking up with a woman—and he damned sure didn’t know how to handle waking up with a wife!
    The one thing he did know was that it would be a whole lot easier if he were dressed and not primed to pop at her merest touch.
    Carefully, holding his breath, Dominic slid his body out from beneath her. It wasn’t easy. Whenever he moved away, she snuggled closer, cuddling in, wrapping her arm around his waist.
    Worse, he liked it. He liked the feel of her fingers tucked against his side. He liked the weight of her in his arms. He liked the softness of her skin against the roughness of his own.
    He wanted to stay right where he was.
    He didn’t. One centimeter at a time, he edged his way off the futon, bunching up the comforter and tucking it against Sierra’s sleeping form so she wouldn’t miss him when he was gone.
    His heel touched the floor. He squirmed the last few inches—and came free. Silently he got to his feet—and stood looking down at Sierra.
    She looked vulnerable. How odd. With her outrageous hair and wild clothes, not to mention her stubborn chin, smart mouth and flashing eyes, she’d always seemed hard-as-nails and extraordinarily well-defended.
    Not now. The purple hair framed a surprisingly innocent-looking face.
    Innocent? Sierra?
    It didn’t seem likely. But she certainly looked it now.
    Because, he told himself, at this very moment she wasn’t trying to cut him to shreds or shatter every last bit of his control.
    She got enormous joy out of doing that. She’d done it again last night.
    But he’d done it to her as well, he thought with grim satisfaction. He’d made her crazy—exactly as she’d made him.
    The itch to do it again now was almost overpowering.
    But he wouldn’t.
    He was rational this morning. Determined. In control.
    He was Dominic Wolfe, after all, and he had more important things to do.
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    Sierra awoke to see Dominic standing in front of her closet door mirror, knotting his tie at his throat.
    â€œOh!” she exclaimed, startled because she’d been having luscious, erotic dreams about Dominic Wolfe—dreams in which that tie played a prominent part—and to wake up and realize that those dreams had been based on the night’s reality made her cheeks burn.
    What was even more shocking was remembering that a few hours before that she’d married him.
    At her exclamation he turned, giving his tie one last tug. “Morning,” he said briskly. He gave her a quick smile, but didn’t look at her.
    â€œMorning,” Sierra replied huskily and found herself dragging the sheet more closely around her, though he’d already seen everything there was—and seemed completely uninterested in looking again now.
    He was grabbing his suit coat and shoving his arms into the sleeves. “Gotta run,” he said. “I’m going to be late.”
    Sierra scowled at the clock. “It’s just past seven-thirty.”
    â€œRight. But I have to go home first. Change clothes. Shave.” He rubbed a hand over stubbled cheeks. “I have a meeting at nine.” He picked up his briefcase and started for the door. “’Bye.”
    â€œEr…’bye,” Sierra said. But before he could get away, she hoisted herself to a sitting position, sheet clutched against her breasts. “Wolfe?”
    He glanced back. “What?” He was all impatience