LITMIR.BIZ

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around in California forever making certain that Liv Thorson had a good time. She had no right to string him along for one minute beyond the day when they’d both know for certain if there’d be a baby or not.

      From the first time he’d proposed, that Sunday morning in Gullandria, she’d told him she’d take a test as soon as she could. It was only fair, only right, that she do as she’d promised. Only fair that he should know when that time would be.

      Liv snatched the calendar from him and threw it over her shoulder. It hit the heavy oak door behind her and slid to the shining hardwood floor.

      He looked puzzled but not especially surprised. ‘‘No need to start throwing things.’’

      She said, ‘‘My period is due Friday. If it doesn’t come, I’ll take the test Saturday morning.’’

       Chapter Ten

      Finn reached out and slipped his fingers around the back of her neck. He gave a tug—a tender one. It didn’t take more than that. He was, after all, only pulling her where she wanted to go.

      She landed with a sigh against him.

      He lowered his mouth so that it just brushed hers. ‘‘Was that so difficult?’’

      ‘‘Yes.’’

      ‘‘Why?’’

      She glanced away.

      ‘‘Look at me.’’

      She made herself do that. ‘‘I just realized I’m going to hate saying goodbye to you.’’

      He kissed her, quick and hard. ‘‘You won’t have to. You’ll be coming with me.’’

      She shook her head. ‘‘I can’t do that, Finn. You know I can’t. Not and continue with the plans I’ve made for myself. I can’t be in politics in California—if I live in Gullandria.’’

      He asked tenderly, ‘‘You want that so very much, to run this state of yours someday?’’

      ‘‘Oh, Finn. I do. I want…to make a difference. I want to leave the world a better place than it was when I got here.’’

      ‘‘There are other ways to do that than to be a governor or a senator.’’

      ‘‘You’re right, there are.’’

      He chuckled. ‘‘Say that again—the part about how I’m right.’’

      She wrinkled up her nose at him. ‘‘Okay. You’re right. There are other ways. But those other ways aren’t my way.’’

      He looked at her deeply. ‘‘Maybe you’ll reconsider. Maybe you’ll…how do you say it? Rearrange your priorities.’’

      ‘‘Maybe you’ll move to America.’’

      ‘‘I am Gullandrian.’’ He wasn’t smiling.

      She wasn’t smiling, either. ‘‘And I am American.’’

      ‘‘We have a problem.’’

      She nodded. ‘‘We do—or we might. It could, after all, turn out that I’m not even pregnant.’’

      He was studying her again, giving her that feeling that he could see down into her soul. ‘‘You’re saying that everything would be solved if you’re not pregnant?’’

      Would it?

      Uh-uh.

      With humor and heat and relentless tenderness, this man had left his mark on her. She would never forget him, whatever they found out when she took that test.

      ‘‘No,’’ she confessed on a breath. ‘‘It wouldn’t. Not everything. If I’m not pregnant, you’ll leave. I might never see you again. And I’ll miss you, so very much.’’

      He lifted a hand, traced the line of her hair where it fell along her cheek. ‘‘Four days, until Saturday…’’

      She felt a pang of sadness, sharp and also infinitely sweet. ‘‘It’s no time at all.’’

      ‘‘True.’’ His eyes glittered down at her. She could feel every glorious, lean male inch of him pressing so close. And all she wanted was to have him closer still.

      She lifted up, brushed her mouth once, and then again, across his. ‘‘Let’s not waste a moment.’’

      He whispered, almost as if it hurt him to say it, ‘‘Such willingness suddenly.’’

      She kissed his chin with its faint, masculine cleft. ‘‘Not so sudden. We both know you’ve been breaking me down for days now.’’

      ‘‘Breaking you down?’’ His eyes were hooded.

      ‘‘Oh, you know you have. With your endless stunning kisses, with your hand that won’t stop reaching for my hand, with the way you listen, as if mine is the only voice you’ll ever hear.’’ She laughed, low in her throat. ‘‘But I know all the women must tell you that.’’

      He gave her a smile—a faint one, the smallest hitch at both sides of his mouth. ‘‘How would I know, as yours is the only voice I hear?’’

      ‘‘Hmm. A question I don’t think we need to even try to answer.’’

      ‘‘Wisely said.’’

      She put a finger to his mouth, felt the feathery warm caress of his breath against her palm. He caught her hand, kissed the fingertips and then guided it up to encircle his neck.

      ‘‘Such softness,’’ he whispered, his mouth against hers again, ‘‘and pressed so close…’’

      ‘‘And we shouldn’t waste a minute, a second, a fraction of a second…’’

      His hand swept down her back. He tucked her snugly into him. She felt the firm ridge of his erection against her lower belly. And then he was kissing her—little, brushing butterfly kisses—up over her cheek to her ear.

      He smoothed her hair out of his way and he whispered, ‘‘What would you like, my darling?’’ He captured her earlobe and worried it tenderly between his teeth.

      ‘‘Oh!’’ She lifted her hips, pressing in shamelessly, making a cradle for him. ‘‘Everything.’’

      ‘‘Everything?’’

      ‘‘Oh, yes. Please.’’

      He took her face between his two hands and claimed her mouth—hard—his teeth punishing her lips. She moaned.

      He softened the kiss, teasing her mouth with his questing tongue, running it over the bow of her upper lip, tracing the slightly fuller bottom lip until she moaned again.

      He caught her lower lip between his teeth gently, dragging on it. ‘‘Open for me.’’

      With a small cry, she obeyed. His tongue slid in, slick and wet and wonderful. He swept all her inner surfaces, claiming them, branding them as his, leaving a hot trail of longing in his wake.

      Liv was melting, sighing, gone already. And all he’d done was kiss her.

      He turned her, one hand sliding down to catch her under the knees, one bracing across the widest part of her back. She shuddered as her feet left the floor.

      His tongue moved in her mouth, thrusting, retreating and thrusting again, in a blatant imitation of the motions of lovemaking. He started up the stairs carrying her high in his arms, never once breaking the hot rhythm of the shamelessly sexual kiss. At the top, he lifted his mouth just enough to ask ‘‘Which room?’’

      She flung out a hand toward her open bedroom door and dragged his head back down to hers. Four steps and they were there.

      Somehow, he turned her—how did

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