Mine to Take (3 page)

I swallow a chuckle.

She may be innocent.

She may even be a virgin, if what she put on her application is true.

But she’s not afraid of a dick.

She can’t become my wife soon enough.

Mila

Confession time.

Again.

Wow, am I warm. Really, really warm.

Sure, I’ve seen Jace’s pictures. I knew he was built like a freaking god before I came here. And I knew those bulging muscles and lean bulk hadn’t come from pumping iron at a gym. He’d earned every inch by working for it. Working hard.

Gotta say, the results are impressive!

Something else is impressive as well.

That cock. Holy shit!

I’ve seen a dick or two in my time. I’m not a total prude. I've even touched one...once. But neither one (okay, so there’d only been two) had been anywhere close to as big and thick as Jace’s.

He’s big all over. Big and strong. Big as a bear.

Speaking of bears…

I peer out the window, blinking into the darkness, searching the shadows for something moving. I see nothing.

I try to slow down my breathing—when had I started huffing and puffing like an asthmatic? Probably about the time when Jace flung open his blanket.

I fan my face and try to listen for bears outside. The thumping and scraping sounds are gone.

I think.

Looks like I’m safe.

Safe from big, scary beasts outside the  house.

Maybe not from the one
inside
though.

That very
erect
erection tells me my maybe-future-husband is thinking some naughty thoughts about me.

I jump into bed and bury my head in his fluffy pillow. It smells so good. I wonder if it’s his soap I smell on the pillowcase. Or him.

I close my eyes. Images of Jace’s huge body flash behind my eyelids. My insides get warm and my girl parts start to throb.

That’s my future husband out there. At least, I think he’s still my future husband. After what happened earlier I’m not one hundred percent sure we’re getting married. He promised to talk about that in the morning.

I check the clock.

It’s four AM. That’s…I do math…eight AM in Ohio. My body’s still on Ohio time. It thinks it's time to get up. Despite the fact that I've gotten maybe three or four hours of sleep.

I dig through my trash bag for some fresh clothes, makeup, and some hair stuff then make my way to what appears to be the one and only bathroom in the house. I crank on the water and check out the contents of bathroom cabinets as I wait for the water to heat up.

I’m no bathroom snob, I mean, the bathroom we had at our house, growing up, was not any nicer than this one, nor any better stocked. But that was because of my parent’s religious beliefs. The Amish don’t believe in opulent homes or clothes.

Why would an English
billionaire
choose to live this way?

After checking the water temperature I jump in and quickly wash up. There’s no saying how long the hot water will last. As soon as I’m done scrubbing and rinsing I cut off the water, towel off and get dressed. I spend a little more time than usual on my hair and makeup, since I’m in no hurry. I’ll admit I want to make a good impression on Jace. Should I say, a better impression than I did last night.

About an hour later I leave the bathroom smelling like soap and hair products and, after dumping my dirty sleepwear in the bedroom, quietly tiptoe to the kitchen to address the issue of my rumbling stomach.

Jace is still sleeping on the couch. At least, I think he is. His breathing is slow and steady.

Hoping I won’t wake him, I flip on the light above the stove then check the refrigerator to see what I can whip up. Growing up on an Amish farm may not have prepared me to prosper in the English world, but it did provide me with one skill.

I can cook.

I can cook well. From scratch.

I gather some ingredients and turn to the stove, crashing into a huge man who hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The eggs, cradled in my arms, slam against his abdomen—his
bare
abdomen.

His bare,
chiseled
abdomen.

Oh no. Is he naked still?

I yank my gaze from said abdomen, lifting it to his face.

I’m not going to check.

Am not…

Going…

To check…

My gaze slides south, halting at his broad chest, the crop of dark fur growing between the slabs of muscles.

“Early riser?” Jace asks, capturing my elbows.

My skin tingles where he’s touching me. Other parts of my body tingle too. My gaze jumps up to his face again. “Yes, though not usually four AM. I’m on Ohio time still.” Stepping back to put some distance between the carton of eggs and Jace’s concrete-like physique, I lift the egg container. “I was just about to make some breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, thank you.” He moves back, releasing my elbows. “I’ll be right back.”

I turn toward the stove and try not to take a peek, to see if he’s naked.

Of course, I peek.

Tell me, who wouldn’t?

Nope, he’s wearing sweatpants.

Darn!

I crank on the gas burner and get some butter sizzling. By the time the first omelet is finished cooking, Jace has returned to the kitchen, his hair drippy wet. He’s dressed, too. From head to toe.

Now wearing a button-up shirt and slick black pants, he resembles a real billionaire.

“The food smells delicious.” He audibly inhales.

“Thanks. Growing up Amish, I didn’t learn much that’s useful in the English world, but I did learn to cook. From scratch.”

“Which is something I will appreciate.” He watches me working, his steady gaze tracking my movements, making me feel a little uncomfortable.

I quickly finish up the second omelet then grab both plates and carry them to the table.

Jace waits for me to sit before he takes a seat. But he doesn’t wait for me to take a bite of food before he does that. He eagerly digs in. “The courthouse opens at nine o’clock.”

Courthouse.

I’m guessing he’s not sending me home?

“It does?” I ask, my heart thumping hard in my chest.

“There’s a three-day waiting period before we can be married. But we can take care of the application today. And we can pick up supplies while we’re in town.”

Married.

Three days.

I am getting married.

I will be Mrs. Jason Tomaras in three days.

A flash of fear blasts through me, quickly replaced by giddy excitement.

I’m going to be Jace’s wife in three days!

God, I pray I’m not making a mistake.

Well, I have three days to find out.

“Okay.” We don’t speak while we eat. But the silence is not uncomfortable or awkward. Maybe that’s because Jace keeps looking at me and smiling. He has such a friendly, playful glint in his eyes.

I’m completely smitten.

When we’re done, Jace grabs both plates and runs them under the faucet before putting them in the dishwasher. He checks the clock. “We have a couple of hours to kill yet. Come here.” He takes my hand and leads me to the door. “Let me show you around.” He holds a heavy jacket by the shoulders. “You can wear this for now.”

I turn around and try to remember to breathe as he slides the coat on me. I tingle all over at his nearness. And when he scoops my hair up to pull it out of the jacket’s collar, a flare of heat blazes through me.

In three days he is going to be my husband. In
all
ways.

Although he told me he doesn’t want children, he did suggest he was looking for more than a live-in companion—a true wife.

In other words, he is expecting
sex
.

The way I’m feeling around him, that won’t be a problem.

My face burning, I follow him outside, into the crisp spring morning. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the eastern sky is glowing a neon tangerine orange color. The air smells cold, like Ohio winter air. The ground is crunchy, the scrubby grass frozen, as we make our way to the big outbuilding next to the house. “This is my workshop.” He rolls the big door open just wide enough for us to pass through and waves for me to enter.

I step inside. It’s dark.

Until he flips on the lights. Then it’s blindingly bright.

I see machines. Tools. A snowmobile. A four-wheeled motorcycle-like vehicle. Probably the stuff of most English men’s fantasies. I pretend to be impressed.

He leads me to a pile of wood, sitting on a workbench. “I started to make something for you. But…it isn’t finished yet.”

I run my hand over a buttery-smooth plank. The wood was beautiful, though I have no idea what kind it is. It isn’t pine. I know pine. Or oak. My father worked with oak a lot.

“It’s rosewood. I ordered it special,” he tells me. “It’s to be a dressing table.”

A dressing table. He is making me a dressing table. Where I can sit to do my hair and makeup. I’ve never had a dressing table. Never thought I would have one. And this sweet man is building me one. With his own hands.

Never, in my whole life, have I received such an extravagant gift. And it isn’t even a holiday.

My parents gave us small presents twice a year, at Christmas and our birthdays, with an emphasis on
small
. But here is this man, who I barely know, making a dressing table. With his own two hands. Something most Amish girls have no use for. He's making it for me.

I blink. Good grief. I’m not getting all teary again, am I?

Must be from the stress of the traveling and moving.

“Is something wrong?” Jace asks, catching wind of my emotional reaction, despite my effort to hide it.

“No. It’s just…so generous. Thank you.”

“It would have been finished if I had… never mind.” He shakes his head. “I’ll work every night between today and our wedding day. I’ll have it finished by the time you’re officially my wife.”

That vow deserves a hug.

Growing up Amish, I’m not accustomed to physical affection. My parents showed my twelve siblings and me very little. And, although it’s clear they must have been physically affectionate with each other in order to have produced
thirteen
children, my parents showed no affection outside of their bedroom.

Maybe that’s why some odd current of energy buzzes through my body when he envelopes me in his arms.

And maybe that’s why my breath leaves my body in a whoosh.

And my heart starts thumping against my breastbone.

And my knees feel like they’re about to give out.

Jace crushes me to him and cups my chin, lifting it. Our gazes lock. The air crackles with static, at least that’s how it feels. And then…he kisses me and I’m completely and utterly lost.

Lost in pleasure.

Lost in need.

Lost in throbbing, pounding heat.

His tongue pushes at the seam of my mouth, begging entrance, and I part my lips.

He tastes fresh and sweet as his tongue caresses mine and our bodies mold together. I feel him scoop me off my feet. He’s carrying me somewhere. I didn’t know where. I don’t care. All I care about is the magic sensations his kiss ignites and the burning in my core.

I want something…something I don’t understand yet. I hope he knows what it is. Because I want it bad.
Need
it bad.

He sets me down on a raised surface and wedges his body between my knees, pushing forward, toward me, forcing my legs apart. His kiss grows more aggressive, his tongue plunging into my mouth. His hands slide under the coat, up my sides, stopping just under my arms. Then his fingers walk, walk, walk, over the sides of my breasts, toward my…

Ohmygosh!

My nipples are so sensitive. His fingers flick over them and needles of sensation zap through my body, stopping
down there
, between my legs. I ache down there and am oh-so-glad his big, warm body is pressing against me there.