His bags fell from his hands with a loud thump and he threaded his fingers into her hair, held her face for his kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Her smile gave him her answer before she even spoke. “I didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing.”

She had gone to trouble for him. The candles, the nightgown and—he noticed now that his head had stopped ringing—soft, smoky jazz playing on the stereo.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly. He’d had people do things for him before. Countless people trying to get on his good side, trying to earn his favor. But Ivy had done this for no other reason than to make this moment, this night, special.

He was humbled. Grateful. To show her, he kissed her deeply, gently, letting the hunger between them build again, a slow burn that grew hotter and hotter.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned back. Slid his hands down the sides of her body, the silk cool beneath his palms. Lifting the hem, he pulled it up, exposing her upper thighs, her stomach and breasts, before pulling it over her head.

His fingers flexed on the nightgown still in his hand. He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “You are so damned beautiful.”

Her skin was golden, her breasts were fuller than before, the pink tips jutting out as if begging him to taste. Dropping the nightgown to the ground, he fell to his knees and laid his palms on either side of her stomach. It was so hard, the skin stretched taut. He kissed her, just above her belly button. Felt his child move beneath his hands.

Smiling, C.J. straightened. Led Ivy to the bed. He cherished her with his hands and his mouth. His only thought was to bring her pleasure. To finally make her his. He reveled in each and every sigh, his excitement building with each moan. And when she climaxed, he watched her, knowing he’d never see anything as beautiful.

He hurriedly undressed and when he joined her again, she reached for him, her breathing ragged, her skin flushed. He made love to her slowly. Carefully. Every movement, every kiss, meant to show her how much she meant to him. She tightened around him with a soft cry and he emptied himself in her. Gave her everything he had.

Gave her his heart and soul.

* * *

IVY PURRED AND rolled over, her hands seeking Clinton’s skin. They’d made love—twice—and he had, indeed, kept his promise all those months ago to worship her. Her body was lax and loose and very, very satisfied.

In between their lovemaking, Ivy had explained they had the entire B and B to themselves. Taking advantage of their seclusion, they’d gone down to the kitchen—Clinton in just his pants, her in her nightgown—where she’d made them French toast with fresh berries and whipped cream. It had been fun, cooking for him, feeling his heated gaze on her bare legs while he sipped the chilled champagne she’d put in the fridge.

By the time they’d finished eating, their hunger for each other had returned. She smiled, remembering how he’d made her come in front of the kitchen sink.

She grinned. She was never going to be able to do dishes there again without thinking about it.

Outside the sky was cloudy and gray, the rising sun doing little to dispel the gloominess.

But inside, in bed with Clinton warm and solid beside her, Ivy had never felt happier.

“That,” she murmured, “went well.”

He chuckled and pulled her against him so she could lay her head on his chest. “I’d have to agree.” He rubbed her back, his touch sending tingles of pleasure through her body. “You put a lot of effort into it.”

“Some,” she admitted lightly, trying to brush off what had actually taken planning and work.

Yes, she’d set the mood, had tried to create a romantic atmosphere, but she hadn’t done it just for him. She’d wanted to make this moment memorable.

Special.

Her throat tightened. It didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean she’d become one of those women who confused lust with love. Whatever this was between her and Clinton, it was still too new. Too fragile to try and make it more than what it was.

He sniffed the curve of her neck. “You smell delicious.”

She’d rubbed scented lotion all over her body, and he’d shown his appreciation by loving each and every inch.

He’d been enthralled by her stomach, had rubbed it and kissed it and talked to the baby, making her laugh, making her, for some crazy reason, want to cry. And the way he’d made love to her, so gently, so carefully, their fingers entwined, had threatened to break her heart. She hadn’t been able to think at all, could only feel.

She snuggled against him, felt his heart beat against her cheek.

“Thank you,” he said, playing with her hair. “For going to that much trouble. For letting me love you.”

His words caused a shiver of panic to climb her spine. She tried to ignore it. “You’re the one who did most of the work,” she teased. “And believe me, I got much more than I gave. As a matter of fact, one of us is ahead, five to two. Not that we’re keeping score.”

She lifted her head to grin at him, but he was watching her seriously, not smiling, his gaze unwavering. “No, I mean...I’m falling in love with you, Ivy.”

She froze. Shook her head at the quiet, intense words, at the look on his face, the truth. Denial flowed through her. No. She didn’t want this.

She would have gotten up, would have gotten out of the bed, but he must have sensed her intent, because he held her arms, forcing her to look at him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked quietly.

She forced a laugh. “Well, now, you’re not the first man to tell me that after sleeping with me.”

“Don’t joke,” he ordered, his accent heavy despite his soft tone. “Not about this. Not with me.”

She swallowed. “Clinton, let’s just... Let’s go downstairs. I’ll make us some coffee, maybe something to eat. Then we can come back to bed, make love again. Just let’s...let’s not ruin this.”

She thought for sure he’d agree, that he’d want to get past this moment as quickly as possible, that he’d want to go back to the way things were between them, the way she needed them to stay, at least for a little while. But he sat up, shaking his head.

“I think you should move to Houston. I think you should move in with me.”

She yanked her arms free. “What?”

One side of his mouth kicked up, but she saw the nervousness in his eyes, the fear and the hope. “I care about you. You’re having my baby. I want you to move to Houston. I want you to live with me.”

She put both hands in her hair. Pulled. Hard. “God. Would you please stop saying that?”

He didn’t mean it. Couldn’t. Didn’t all men say those things to get what they wanted, because the words were what they thought women wanted to hear? Except she’d already given him what they’d both wanted, and he kept right on saying them.

“Don’t say what?” he asked, his tone warning her that their perfect moment, their perfect night was over. “Don’t say that I have feelings for you? That I want to be with you?”

“Yes,” she snapped, sliding off the bed and grabbing his shirt, since her clothes were in the bathroom. She shoved her arms into the sleeves, ignoring how it smelled of him. She buttoned it at her breasts, but they wouldn’t reach over her stomach. She scooped up her panties and pulled them on. “Quit saying all of it. You are not falling in love with me, I am not moving to Houston and we are not going to live together.”

He got to his feet, unconcerned with his own nudity. Why should he be, when he was so glorious? “I think I’m smart enough to know my own feelings. I started falling for you the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

She was shaking. Cold and scared and so terrified of losing what they had. But she wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to reach for what she really wanted. It was safer to pretend she didn’t want it. That she didn’t want him. Better to lose him now, like this, than to think they could have had it all.