"Feehan, Christine - Lover Beware 03 - Brand, Fiona - After Midnight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feehan Christine)

his shaft long and muscular, his testicles heavy and pulled up tight against the shaft.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, the movement tilting her hips and deepening the penetration. His thumb eased up from the place they were joined, and slid over the tight bud of her clitoris, once, twice, and heat spasmed through her again and she began to climax. His arms came around her and she felt him thicken inside her, the long, hard pulsing of his release.
Eventually, he lifted his head from the curve of her shoulder, his expression soft and faintly wry. "You see why I spent so much time away? If I'd stayed in Tayler's Creek, Tucker would have resurrected some old law about adultery, locked me up, and thrown away the key."
His arms tightened around her, and he lifted her from the bench, collected the lantern from the table, and carried her upstairs.
She indicated which room was hers, and he set her down on the bed, pulled a fistful of foil packets from his jeans, and placed them on her bedside table alongside the lantern. "I can use these if you want, but it's too late for them now."
The breath stalled in her throat as he peeled out of his jeans. Way too late. And he'd come over with more than just a handful, he had a supply.
She caught the edge of a male grin. "I've been carrying them since I got home. You had to know I was going to try and get you into bed."
He pushed the covers back, climbed into bed with her, and pulled her close. "But the hell I wanted to use them."
Fully naked, he was beautiful; his shoulders wide, his chest broad, his belly flat and ridged, his legs long and muscled. She touched a scar that curved over his stomach, another that made a puckered shape just above one hip. When she questioned him about the injuries, he answered with typical male brevity, then switched to questioning her, seemingly more interested in the small day-to-day details of her life, and the complicated dynamics of her large, extended family-who were mostly resident in Auckland-than the fact that he had nearly died, twice. As the conversation ebbed and flowed, the tension that had gripped her when she saw the injuries dissipated, and she was happy to simply wallow in the totally unexpected contentment of just being with Rider.
A series of heavier than normal gusts of wind buffeted the house hard enough that the entire structure shook, and for long

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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

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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.

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Rider's arm tightened around her, telling her that he was awake.
The creak came again, out of sync with the steady whine of the wind, as if someone were peeling corrugated iron from the roof.
A chill ran the length of her spine. She could feel the coiled tension in Rider's body. Another short, sharp creak practically made her jump out of her skin, and suddenly she was sure.
"There's someone on the roof."
"He's in the ceiling."
A finger pressed on her lips, signaling quiet, then Rider slid from the bed and pulled on his jeans. Jane climbed out of bed and slid drawers open as quietly as she could, extracting underwear and a fresh shirt and shorts by feel. When she was dressed, Rider's hand locked around hers.
He bent his head and spoke close to her ear. "Stay here, so I know where you are." He pressed a cold, smooth object into her hand, which she realized was his cell phone, which he must have had in his jeans pocket. "Call emergency services, and don't let up until they dispatch a police cruiser. Get Tucker if you can. Tell him we've got his boy-if he's interested."
Rider disappeared into the hallway, then just as quickly reappeared, flattening himself against the wall and motioning for her to get down. Jane ducked down beside the bed and began dialing, keeping an eye on the inky opening of the doorway as she strained to see in the darkness.
A large shape coalesced out of the thicker shadows, and a weird elongated shape slid into the room. Cold welled in her stomach when she realized the strange shape was the barrel of a gun, and the reason it was so high was because the stock was resting against a man's shoulder.
There was a flurry of movement. A grunt erupted, followed by a vicious curse, then Michael's figure merged with the intruder's as he gripped the gun and wrenched it down. The detonation of the gun firing split the air with a flat crack, and a voice sounded in her ear, distant and disorientingly normal, so that it was long seconds before she registered that emergency services had picked up her call. Sweeping the panic from her mind, she answered the voice, holding a hand over her free ear to block the sound of the two men locked in combat.

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The fighting surged toward the bed as she gave her details to the operator. She shuffled back, crouching in the corner, keeping a wary eye on the struggle as the intruder fell back against her dressing table. Glass shattered, and he reeled to his feet and lunged at Rider. The edge of the bed caught Rider in the back of the knees, and he tumbled back, off balance, and rolled to the side, evading the charge by inches, and almost landing on Jane as she scrambled to the other side of the room. Rider gained his feet and the attacker came at him again, frighteningly fast, but instead of stepping in close, Rider took a step back and jerked the shadowy figure with him. This time the attacker landed on her dressing table chair and the dainty antique snapped like kindling as the two men went down on the floor.
She heard the soggy thud of a fist connecting, a heavy grunt, then Jane darted forward and retrieved the gun, which had been dropped on the floor.
Backing into the hallway, she slid the cell phone, which was still connected to emergency services, into her shorts pocket, and ran her hands over the weapon. She was almost certain it was a twenty-two, the same as her gun, which was under the bed. She didn't want to use the weapon. She didn't want to touch it, but the alternative was trying to get across the bedroom to retrieve hers without getting caught up in the fighting.