Claiming King's Baby / Wyoming Wedding: Claiming King's Baby

Her breasts ached for his touch and as if he’d heard that stray thought, he pulled back from her slightly, just far enough so that his fingers could work the buttons on her pale pink silk blouse. Quickly, they fell free and then he was sliding the fabric off her shoulders to drop to the floor. She stepped out of her slacks, kicked off her half boots and slipped her lacy panties off.

Then he undid her bra, tossing it aside, and her breasts were free, his hands cupping her. His thumbs moved over her peaked nipples until she whimpered with the pleasure and the desire pumping fresh and new through her system. As if that climax hadn’t even happened, her body was hot and trembling again.

Need crashed down on her, and at her core she ached and burned for him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, drawing his mouth from hers, glancing down at her breasts, cupped in his palms. “So damn beautiful.”

“I want you, Justice. Now. Please, now.”

One corner of his mouth tipped into a wicked smile. His eyes flashed and in an instant he’d swept her up into his arms, stalked across the room and dropped her onto one of the wide sofas. She stared up at him as he tugged his shirt up and over his head. And her mouth watered. His skin, so tanned, so strong, so sculpted. God, she remembered all the nights she’d lain in his arms, held against that broad, warm chest. And she trembled at the rise of passion inside her.

She scooted back on the sofa until her head was resting on a pillow. Maggie held her arms out toward him. “What’re you waiting for, cowboy?”

His eyes gleamed, his jaw went tight and hard. He finished undressing in a split second but still Maggie thought he was taking too long. She didn’t want to wait. She was hot and wet and so ready for him that she thought she’d explode and die if he didn’t take her soon.

He came to her and Maggie’s gaze dipped to his erection, long and thick and hard. Her breath caught on a gasp of anticipation as Justice leaned down, tore the back cushions off the sofa and tossed them to the floor to make more room for them on the overstuffed couch. The dark green chenille fabric was soft and cool against her skin, but Maggie hardly noticed that slight chill. There was far too much heat simmering inside her, and when Justice covered her body with his, she could have sworn she felt actual flames sweeping over them.

“I’ve missed you, babe,” he told her, bracing himself on his hands, lowering his mouth to hers, tasting, nibbling.

“Oh, Justice, I’ve missed you, too.” She lifted her hips for him, parting her thighs, welcoming him home. He pushed his body into hers with one hard stroke. She groaned, loving the long, deep slide of his flesh claiming hers. He filled her and she lifted her legs higher, hooking them around his waist, opening herself so that she could take him even deeper.

And still it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough. She groaned, twisting and writhing beneath him as he moved in and out of her depths in plunging strokes that fanned the flames engulfing her.

It had been too long, she thought wildly. She didn’t want soft and romantic. She wanted hard and fast and frantic. She wanted to know that he felt the same crushing need she did. She wanted to feel the strength of his passion.

“Harder, Justice,” she whispered. “Take me harder.”

He looked down at her and his eyes flashed. “I’m holding back, Maggie. It’s been too long. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She cupped his face in her palms, fought to steady her breath and finally shook her head and smiled. “The only thing that hurts is when you hold back. Justice, I need you. All of you.”

His jaw clenched tight, he swept one arm around her back, holding her to him even as he pushed off the couch. With their bodies locked together, her legs wrapped around his waist, he eased her onto the oriental carpet covering the hardwood floors. With her flat on her back, he levered himself over her, hands at either side of her head. Grinning down at her, he muttered, “Told you when you bought ’em those damn couches were too soft.”

She grinned right back at him. “For sitting, they’re perfect. For this…yeah. Too soft.”

She lifted her hips then, taking him deeper inside. When he withdrew a moment later, she nearly groaned, but then he was back, driving himself into her, piston-ing his hips against hers and she felt all of him. Took all of him. His need joined hers.

He lifted her legs, hooking them over his shoulders, tipping her hips higher so that he could delve even deeper, and Maggie groaned in appreciation. She slapped her hands onto the carpet and hung on as he moved faster and faster, driving them both to a shuddering climax that hovered just out of reach.

“Yes, Justice,” she said, her voice nothing more than a strained hush of sound. “Just like that.”

Again and again, his body claimed hers, pushing into her soft, hot folds, taking everything she offered and giving all that she could have wanted. She looked up into his eyes, saw the flash of something delicious wink in their depths and knew in that one blindingly clear instant that she would never be whole without him.

Without him.

That one random thought hovered at the edges of her mind and filled her eyes with tears even as her body began to sing and hum with the building tensions that rippled through her senses.

He touched her at their joining. Rubbing his thumb over that one spot that held so many incredible sensations. And as he touched her, Maggie hurtled eagerly toward the enormous climax waiting for her. As her body exploded with the force of completion, she screamed his name, and still she heard the quiet voice in the back of her mind whispering, Is this our last time together?

Then Justice gave himself over to his own release, her name an agonized groan sliding from his throat. When he collapsed atop her, Maggie held him close as the last of the tremors rippled through their joined bodies and eased them into oblivion.

And if her heart broke just a little, she wouldn’t let him know it.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blurry haze of passion. But for a few necessary trips to the kitchen, Justice and Maggie never left the master bedroom.

After that first time in the living room, Justice made a call to his ranch manager, Phil, and told him to handle the ranch problems himself for the next few days. It hadn’t exactly been a promise of forever, but Maggie had been happy for it.

All the same, she was crazy and she knew it. Setting herself up for another fall. As long as Justice King was the man she loved, she wasn’t going to find any peace. Because they couldn’t be together without causing each other pain and being apart was killing her.

How was that fair?

She sighed a little, her gaze still fixed on him. The only light in the room came from the river stone hearth, where a dying fire sputtered and flickered. Outside, a winter storm battered at the log mansion, tiny fists of rain tapping at the glass. And within Maggie, a different sort of storm raged.

What was she supposed to do? She’d tried living without him and had spent the most miserable nine months of her life. She’d tried to lose herself in her work, but it was an empty way to live. The sad truth was she wanted Justice. And without him, she’d never be really happy.

He was the most amazing lover she’d ever known. Every touch burned, every breath caressed, every whispered word was a promise of seduction that kept her hovering on the brink of a new climax no matter how many times he pushed her over the edge. Her skin hummed long after he stopped touching her. She closed her eyes and felt him inside her. Felt their hearts pounding in rhythm and couldn’t help wondering, as she always had, how two people could be so close and so far apart at the same time.

Now she watched him get out of bed and walk naked across the bedroom. His body was long and lean and tanned from all the years of working in the sun. His dark brown hair hung past his shoulders. She’d always found that hair of his to be sexy as hell and what made it even sexier was that he was oblivious to just how good he looked. How dangerous. Her heartbeat quickened as her gaze moved over his back, and down over his butt. He moved with a stealthy grace that was completely innate. Everything about him was, she had to admit, fabulous. He was enough to make any woman toss her panties in the air and shout hallelujah. And she was no different.

He went into a crouch in front of the hearth. The fire was dying and he set a fresh log on the fading flames. Instantly the fire blazed into life, licking at the new wood, hissing and snapping.

Maggie watched Justice. His legs were muscled and toned from hours spent in a saddle. His back and shoulders were broad and sculpted from the hard work he never spared himself. As a King, he could have hired men to do the hard work around the ranch. But she knew it had always been a matter of pride to him that he be out there with those who worked for him.

Justice King was a man out of time, she thought, sweeping one arm across the empty space in the bed where he’d been lying only moments ago. He would have been completely at home in medieval times. He would have been a Highlander, she mused, her imagination dressing him in a war-torn plaid and placing a claymore in his fist.

As if he knew she was watching him, Justice turned his face to her, and the flickering light of the fire threw dancing shadows across his features. He looked hard and strong and suddenly so unapproachable that Maggie’s heart gave a lurch.

She was setting herself up for pain and she knew it. He was her husband, but the bonds holding them together were frayed and tattered. In bed they were combustible and so damn good it made her heart hurt. It was when they were out of bed that things got complicated. They wanted different things. They each held so tightly to their own bottom line that compromise was unthinkable.

But it was Sunday night. The end of the weekend. She’d have to return to her world soon, and knowing that this time with him was nearly over was already bringing agonizing pain.

The storm blowing in off the coast howled outside the window. Rain hammered at the glass, wind whistled under the eaves and, Justice noticed, Maggie had started thinking.

Never had been a good thing, Justice told himself as he watched his wife study him. Whenever Maggie got that look on her face—an expression that said she had something to say he wasn’t going to like—Justice knew trouble was coming.

But then, he’d been halfway prepared for that since this “lost” weekend had begun. Nothing had changed. He and Maggie, despite the obvious chemistry they shared, were still miles apart in the things that mattered, and great sex wasn’t going to alter that any.

Her red-gold hair spilled across her pillow like hot silk. She held the dark blue sheet to her breasts even as she slid one creamy white leg free of the covers. She made a picture that engraved itself in Justice’s mind, and he knew that no matter how long he lived, he would always see her as she was right at this moment.

He also knew that this last image of her would torment him forever.

“Justice,” she said, “we have to talk.”

“Why?” He stood up, crossed to the chair where he’d tossed his jeans and tugged them on. A man needed his pants on when he had a conversation with Maggie King.

“Don’t.”

He glanced at her. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t shut me out. Not this time. Not now.”

“I’m not doing anything, Maggie.”

“That’s my point.” She sat up, the mattress beneath her shifting a little with her movements.

Justice turned his head to look at her, and everything in him roared at him to stalk to her side, grab her and hold her so damn tight she wouldn’t have the breath to start another argument neither of them could win.

Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she lifted one hand to impatiently push the mass behind her shoulders. “You’re not going to ask me to stay, are you?”

He shouldn’t have to, Justice told himself. She was his damn wife. Why should he have to ask her to be with him? She was the one who’d left.

He didn’t say any of that, though, just shook his head and buttoned the fly of his jeans. He didn’t speak again until his bare feet were braced wide apart. A man could lose his balance all too easily when talking to Maggie. “What good would it do to ask you to stay? Eventually, you’d leave again.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d bend a little.”

“I won’t bend on this,” he assured her, though it cost him as he noted the flash of pain in her eyes that was there and then gone in a blink.

“Why not?” She pushed out of the bed, dropping the sheet and facing him, naked and proud.

His body hardened instantly, despite just how many times they’d made love over the past few hours. Seemed his dick was always ready when it came to Maggie.

“We are who we are,” he told her, folding his arms across his chest. “You want kids. I don’t. End of story.”

Her mouth worked and he knew she was struggling not to shout and rail at him. But then, Maggie’s hot Irish temper was one of the things that had first drawn him to her. She blazed like a sun during an argument—standing her ground no matter who stood against her. He admired that trait even though it made him a little crazy sometimes.

“Damn it, Justice!” She stalked to the chair where she’d left her clothes and grabbed her bra and panties. Slipping them on, she shook her head and kept talking. “You’re willing to give up what we have because you don’t want a child?”

Irritation raced through him; he couldn’t stop it. But he wasn’t going to get into this argument again.

“I told you how I felt before we got married, Maggie,” he reminded her, in a calm, patient tone he knew would drive her to distraction.

As expected, she whipped her hair back out of her eyes, glared at him fiercely, then picked up her pale pink blouse and put it on. While her fingers did up the buttons, she snapped, “Yes, but I just thought you didn’t want kids that instant. I never thought you meant ever.”

“Your mistake,” he said softly.

“But one you didn’t bother to clear up,” she countered.

“Maggie,” he said tightly, “do we really have to do this again?”

“Why the hell not?” she demanded. Then pointing to the bed, she snapped, “We just spent an incredible weekend together, Justice. And you’re telling me you feel nothing?”

He’d be a liar if he tried. But admitting what he was feeling still wouldn’t change a thing. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she told him. “The very fact that you’re willing to let me walk…again…tells me everything I need to know.”

His back teeth ground together until he wouldn’t have been surprised to find them nothing more than gritty powder in his mouth. She thought she knew him, thought she knew what he was doing and why, but she didn’t have a clue. And never would, he reminded himself.

“Hell, Justice, you wouldn’t back down even if you did change your mind, would you? Oh, no. Not Justice King. His pride motivates his every action—”

He inhaled deeply and folded his arms across his bare chest. “Maggie…”

She held up one hand to cut off whatever else he might say, and though he felt a kick to his own temper, he shut up and let her have her say.

“You know what? I’m sick to death of your pride, Justice. The great Justice King. Master of his Universe.” She slapped both hands to her hips and lifted her chin. “You’re so busy arranging the world to your specifications that there is absolutely no compromise in you.”

“Why the hell should there be?” Justice took a half step toward her and stopped. Only because he knew if he got close enough to inhale her scent, he’d be lost again. He’d toss her back into the bed, bury himself inside her—and what would that solve? Not a thing. Sooner or later, they’d end up right here. Back at the fight that had finally finished their marriage.

“Because there were two of us in our marriage, Justice. Not just you.”

“Right,” he said with a brief, hard nod. He didn’t like arguments. Didn’t think they solved anything. If two people were far enough apart on an issue, then shouting at each other over it wasn’t going to help any. But there was only just so much he was willing to take. “You want compromise? We each give a little? So how would you manage that here, Maggie? Have half a child?”

“Not funny at all, Justice.” Maggie huffed out a breath. “You knew what family meant to me. What it still means to me.”

“And you knew how I felt, too.” Keeping his gaze steady and cool on hers, he said, “There’s no compromise here, Maggie, and you know it. I can’t give you what you want, and you can’t be happy without it.”

As if all the air had left her body, she slumped, the flash of temper gone only to be replaced by a well of defeat that glimmered in her eyes. And that tore at him. He hated seeing Maggie’s spirit shattered. Hated even more that he was the one who’d caused it. But that couldn’t be helped. Not now. Not ever.

“Fine,” she said softly. “That’s it, then. We end it. Again.”

She picked up her slacks and put them on. Shaking her head, she zipped them up, tucked the tail of her shirt into the waistband and then stepped into her boots. Lifting her arms, she gathered up the tangle of her hair and deftly wound it into a knot at the back of her head, capturing that wild mass and hiding it away.

When she was finished, she stared at him for a long moment, and even from across the room Justice would have spared her this rehashing of the argument that had finally torn them apart. But this weekend had proven to him as nothing else ever would, that the best thing he could do for her was to step back. Let her hate him if she had to. Better for her to move the hell on with her life.

Even if the thought of her moving on to another man was enough to carve his heart right out of his chest.

Maggie picked up her purse, slung it over her shoulder and stared at him. “So, I guess the only thing left to say is thanks for the weekend.”

“Maggie…”

Shaking her head again, she started walking toward the door. When she came close to him, she stopped and looked up at him. “Sign the damn divorce papers, Justice.”

She took another step and he stopped her with one hand on her arm. “It’s pouring down rain out there. Why don’t you stay put for a while and wait out the storm before you go.”

Maggie pulled her arm free of his grasp and started walking again. “I can’t stay here. Not another minute. Besides, we’re not a couple, Justice. You don’t have the right to worry about me anymore.”

A few seconds later, he heard the front door slam. Justice walked to the windows and looked down on the yard. The wind tore her hair free of its tidy knot and sent long strands of red flying about her face. She was drenched by the rain almost instantly. She climbed into the car and fired up the engine. Justice saw the headlights come on, saw the rain slash in front of those twin beams and stood there in silence as she steered the car down the drive and off the ranch.

Chest tight, he watched until her taillights disappeared into the darkness. Then he punched his fist against the window and relished the pain.

Chapter Three

Justice threw his cane across the room and listened to it hit the far wall with a satisfying clatter. He hated needing the damn thing. Hated the fact that he was less than he used to be. Hated knowing that he needed help, and he sure as hell hated having his brother here to tell him so.

He glared at Jefferson, his eldest brother, then pushed up and out of the chair he was sitting in. Justice gathered up his pride and dignity and used every ounce of his will to make sure he hobbled only a little as he lurched from the chair to the window overlooking the front yard. Sunlight splashed through the glass into the room, bathing everything in a brilliant wash of light.

Justice narrowed his eyes at his brother, and when he was no more than a foot away from him, he stopped and said, “I told you I can walk. I don’t need another damn therapist.”

Jefferson shook his head and stuffed both hands into the pockets of what was probably a five-thousand-dollar suit. “You are the most stubborn jackass I’ve ever known. And being a member of this family, that’s saying something.”

“Very amusing,” Justice told him and oh-so-casually shot out one hand to brace himself against the log wall. His knuckles were white with the effort to support himself and take the pressure off his bad leg. But he’d be damned if he’d show that weakness to Jefferson. “Now, get out.”

“That’s the attitude that ended up bringing me here.”

“How’s that?”

“You’ve chased off three physical therapists in the past month, Justice.”

“I didn’t bring ‘em here,” he pointed out.

Jefferson scowled at him, then sighed. “Dude, you broke your leg in three places. You’ve had surgery. The bones are healed but the muscles are weak. You need a physical therapist and you damn well know it.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude,’ and I’m getting along fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Jefferson shot a quick glance to Justice’s white-knuckled grip on the wall.

“Don’t you have some inane movie to make somewhere?” Justice countered. As head of King Studios, Jefferson was the man in charge of the film division of the King empire. The man loved Hollywood. Loved traveling around the world, making deals, looking for talent, scouting locations himself. He was as footloose as Justice was rooted to this ranch.

“First I’m taking care of my idiot brother.”

Justice leaned a little harder against the log wall. If Jefferson didn’t leave soon, Justice was going to fall on his ass. Whether he wanted to admit it aloud or not, his healing leg was still too weak to be much good. And that irritated the hell out of him.

A stupid accident had caused all of this. His horse had stumbled into a gopher hole one fine morning a few months back. Justice had been thrown clear, but then the horse rolled across his leg, shattering it but good. The horse had recovered nicely. Justice, though, was having a tougher time. After surgery, he now carried enough metal in his bones to make getting through airport security a nightmare, and his muscles were now so flabby and weak it was all he could do to force himself to move.

“It’s your own damn fault you’re in this fix anyway,” Jefferson said, as if reading Justice’s mind. “If you’d been riding in a ranch jeep instead of sitting on top of your horse, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Spoken like a man who’s forgotten what it was like to ride herd.”

“Damn right,” Jefferson told him. “I put a lot of effort into forgetting about predawn rides to round up cattle. Or having to go and find a cow so dumb it got lost on its own home ranch.”

This is why Jeff was the Hollywood mogul and Justice was the man on the ranch. His brothers had all bolted from the home ranch as soon as they were old enough, each of them chasing his own dream. But Justice’s dreams were all here on this ranch. Here is where he felt most alive. Here, where the clear air and the open land could let a man breathe. He didn’t mind the hard work. Hell, he relished it. And his brother knew why he’d been astride a horse.

“You grew up here, Jeff,” he said. “You know damn well a horse is better for getting down into the canyons. And they don’t have engines that scare the cattle and cause stress that will shut down milk production for the calves, not to mention running the jeeps on the grasslands only tears them up and—”

“Save it,” Jeff interrupted, holding up both hands to stave off a lecture. “I heard it all from Dad, thanks.”

“Fine, then. No more ranch talk. Just answer this.” Justice reached down and idly rubbed at his aching leg. “Who asked you to butt into my life and start hiring physical therapists I don’t even want?”

“Actually,” Jefferson answered with a grin, “Jesse and Jericho asked me to. Mrs. Carey kept us posted on the situation with the therapists, and we all want you back on your feet.”