turning to lie on his back with Sunny half sprawled on top of him. She could feel his heart thumping under her cheek and it seemed to pulse through her own bloodstream. Into the haze of her mind slid the thought…This is my husband…and a sweet contentment accompanied it and lingered.
Sexually, what more could she ask for in a partner? He excited her beyond anything she had ever felt before. And she loved his physique. It was such a pleasure to look at him, feel him, and he was now hers to have and to hold—a fantasy come true—so she had every reason to feel content.
‘I think, if you want to save this bridal coronet of flowers, I’d better unpin it,’ Bryce gruffly remarked.
‘Mmm…’
‘It’s got a bit bruised, but it did look fantastic on you with the rest of you naked, Sunny. Still like a bride.’
Sexy pleasure in his voice—visual satisfaction as well as physical. Sunny smiled as she felt his fingers move gently through her hair, removing pins. She must have looked like some kind of pagan bride. Which led her to the thought that probably in primitive times, mating for life was all physical. The choice of instinct. Survival.
She certainly would have picked him out of any bunch of men. Why should it be any different now? The saleslady at the bridal boutique had it right. She’d won the prize.
Though, in a way, she’d won it because the sleekly glamorous status-holder, Kristen Parrish, had defaulted in the marriage stakes, demanding too big a bride-price. A child-price, as well. Which was particularly offensive to Sunny’s way of thinking. In fact, it was a cold, callous calculating thing to say—I won’t have your baby unless you pay me big bucks.
If anyone was ‘the pig’ in this agreement, Sunny decided it was Kristen.
Which raised a niggly little question.
‘Bryce?’
‘Mmm?’ Having removed the coronet of flowers, he was busy gently massaging her scalp where the pins had been.
‘Would you have married Kristen if you hadn’t met me?’
His chest rose and fell as he deeply inhaled and breathed out a heavy sigh. ‘She’s gone, Sunny. This is us,’ he said emphatically.
She hitched herself up to assure him she wasn’t being jealous or going down some negative path. ‘I know. And I’m glad it’s us. Truly I am.’
‘Good!’ He looked and sounded relieved.
‘I just want to know if you would have gone through with it, lacking me to replace her?’
His face tightened. She saw a flash of grim ruthlessness in his eyes. ‘Yes, I would have married her. But given the fortune she was demanding, I would have insisted on getting uncontested custody of any child we had.’
His child. Sunny believed him. In his world, his father’s marriages had come and gone, so Bryce probably didn’t set much store by them, but a child—his child—meant a great deal. And she understood he much preferred a wife who wanted to be a mother to his child, simply because being a mother was important to her, having a value beyond money.
His expression softened as he lifted a hand to her face, gently stroking the contours of it. ‘I know you’d never hold a child to ransom, Sunny. You want to share. You care what happens. You want what’s best. You’d ensure our child has…’ He smiled. ‘…emotional security.’
‘Money doesn’t give that, Bryce.’
‘I know. I want to give our child emotional security, too. Are you willing to throw your pills away now, Sunny?’
Decision time.
It had been a whole day of decisions.
There seemed no point in hesitating over this last one now.
‘Yes,’ she answered firmly. ‘It’s what we both got married for, isn’t it? To be parents.’
He laughed, his eyes twinkling wickedly. ‘Well, there are some fringe benefits, wife of mine.’ And he rolled her onto her back, exuding happiness as he began kissing her again. ‘I’m going to love every minute of every effort needed for us to make a baby.’
Sunny had no doubt she would revel in the process, too.
‘Though the sooner I get you pregnant, the better,’ Bryce murmured. ‘I want to take that load off my father’s mind. And give him a grandchild.’
His father… Bryce’s whole motivation for marrying.
A dark concern sliced into Sunny’s mind.
What if she didn’t get pregnant?
What if she couldn’t have children at all?
Everything hung on it.
Everything!
BRYCE was smiling as he picked up the telephone to call his father. His wife was still upstairs, getting ready for their flight to Sedona, and he’d left her smiling, too.
No problems left unresolved.
Everything was on track, just as he wanted it.
He dialled the number and Rosita Perez, the resident housekeeper, picked up at the other end.
‘Bryce Templar, here. How is my father this morning?’
‘A bit poorly, Señor Bryce, but I’d say it’s more grumpy humour than anything else. Do you want to speak to him?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Bryce waited, happily anticipating improving his father’s humour. Good news, it was said, was the best medicine of all.
‘About time you called,’ came the curt and typical greeting.
Bryce grinned to himself. ‘I’m flying to Sedona to have lunch with you. Does that suit?’
‘Of course, it suits. Darned carers won’t let me get up to anything myself. Doctors meddling all the time. Pack of quacks, if you ask me.’
‘I’m bringing my wife with me.’
‘Wife? Did you say wife?’
‘I did. We got married yesterday.’
‘Well, now…’
Bryce could hear his father smiling through the mellowed tone. Without a doubt, being presented with what he wanted was a fine lift to his heart.
‘…a done deed, eh!’ He actually chuckled. ‘Smart move, talking Kristen out of the big showcase wedding she was planning. Lot of nonsense.’
‘I didn’t marry Kristen.’
‘What?’
‘I said…I didn’t marry Kristen. I broke off my engagement to her and married a much better choice for me—Sunny York.’
‘What? Who?’ His voice rose several decibels.
‘Calm down, Dad. You wanted me married. I’m married. To a woman who not only has beauty and brains, but also a warm heart. Even her name is warm—Sunny. Please remember it when we visit.’
‘Sunny who?’
‘Sunny York. Now Sunny Templar.’
‘I don’t know any Yorks.’ His tone had dropped to querulous.
‘You’ll get to know her if you treat her nicely.’
‘Where’d you meet her?’
‘Here in Las Vegas.’
‘She’s not a showgirl, is she?’ Dark suspicion winging in.
‘No.