Lover Beware

hard enough that the entire structure shook, and for long minutes they were silent, their attention riveted to the sounds of the storm and the creaking protests of the old house. When the wind dropped to a more normal velocity, Rider propped himself on one elbow and stroked hair back from her face. “What will you do if you get pregnant?”
    “Probably jump for joy.”
    Some of the wariness left his face. “You don’t mind?”
    A baby…Her stomach tightened on a kick of excitement. If she was pregnant, there was no question in her mind; she wanted her baby. “What about you?”
    “You might regret asking that question.” His gaze was direct, and without a shred of humour. “Ever since I first saw you I’ve fantasized about getting you pregnant.”
    Emotion swelled in her chest. Marg Tayler’s terse statement that Rider was “taken” popped into her mind, and a tension she’d barely been aware of dissipated.
    Rider wanted her—enough that he’d waited for her for years. At the first opportunity, he had bound her to him in the most primitive of ways by stripping and penetrating her on her front lawn. He hadn’t taken the time to remove his jeans, and he hadn’t sheathed himself when it would have taken him only seconds to do so. He’d wanted to be naked inside her, and he had wanted to make her pregnant.
    What Rider had done had been ruthless and dominant, and she’d gloried in it. She hadn’t cared that they’d both gotten soaked, or that he could make her pregnant. After years of closing him out—of repressing the most feminine, vulnerable parts of herself—she’d needed him to be wild for her, she’d needed the raw, earthy shock of lovemaking.
    Urgency rose up inside her, fierce and sharp. She didn’t regret all of the years they’d put this relationship on hold, because Patrick had been important to her; he had needed her. But it was their time now . She touched Rider’s jaw, and felt the tension there. “Then let’s do it.”
    Possessive heat flared in his eyes, but this time, it was going to be her way. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed him flat and took a moment to admire the body that had been driving all of the women of Tayler’s Creek—single or married—crazy for years.
    His dark gaze flashed over her as she straddled him, and his hands cupped her waist. “When you get pregnant,” he said flatly, “we get married.”
    As Jane wrapped her fingers around his shaft, she thought he muttered, “If not before,” and a peculiarly female satisfaction curled through her. Three days ago, she’d thought of herself as civilized to the nth degree, and driven by logic rather than emotion, but in the space of those few days her world, and her view of herself, had been turned upside down. In any other circumstances Rider’s hard-ass male demand that she marry him would be considered outrageous in the extreme and ignored. As proposals went, it was a disgrace, but in this case, what mattered to Jane was that Rider was vulnerable enough that he wanted to make certain of her.
    Fitting the broad head of his penis to her opening, she slowly lowered herself, hovering at the brink of penetration until the exquisite pressure was almost beyond bearing. They’d already made love three times, but this time her awareness and sensitivity were heightened to an almost painful degree.
    Taking a deep breath, she increased the downward pressure until the first tight constriction was breached and she took him inside her in a slow, hot glide, heat pouring through her at the massive sense of impalement.
    She settled herself more firmly over him, shimmying slightly to ease the tight fit, her eyes briefly closing at the exquisite sensation of fullness. “You’re supposed to have a ring, Rider.”
    His hands slid to her hips, locking her tight against him. His gaze fastened on hers, dark and hot, and lit with humour. “Michael. The name’s Michael. And don’t worry, I’ve got the ring.”
     
    WHEN SHE WOKE it was still dark, but greying, as if morning was close.
    She wasn’t sure what had pulled her from sleep, and she was surprised she’d woken at all, because she felt heavy and exhausted. Vaguely, she noticed that the wind was no longer buffeting the house, although it was always possible that an extra strong gust, or even a flash of lightning, had woken her. Yawning, she allowed her lids to drift closed, then a rending creak jerked her back to full awareness.
    Rider’s arm tightened