His Black Sheep Bride by Anna DePalo

been kept at the historic family home set among thousands of rolling acres in the English countryside. But even with its nod to English décor, this town house was more the home of a twenty-firstcentury entrepreneur than of an aristocrat with a centuries-old title.
    After she and Sawyer had passed through the front parlor and dining room, they went downstairs to the kitchen and servants’ rooms. There, she was introduced to André, the chef.
    Thank goodness, Tamara thought, for the French chef. At least one person lived up to stereotype.
    Afterward, she and Sawyer took a private elevator to the upper floors.
    â€œThere are six bedrooms on two floors here,” Sawyer said.
    â€œI’ll take the one farthest from you,” Tamara replied. “In fact, since I won’t be here for long, and I’d really prefer to remain inconspicuous. What about the maid’s room in the attic?”
    Sawyer grinned, but Tamara didn’t like his too-knowing expression.
    â€œThere is no servant’s bedroom in the attic. That’s only on my Gloucestershire estate,” Sawyer deadpanned.
    â€œHow unfortunate.”
    A smile continued to play at Sawyer’s lips. “Wouldn’t you like to judge all the rooms and decide which one is to your liking?”
    Suddenly, Tamara became acutely aware that she and Sawyer were on this floor of the house all by themselves, and Sawyer was surveying her with lazy amusement, a gleam in his eye.
    She raised her chin. “Like Goldilocks, you mean? No, thank you!”
    Especially since one of those rooms belonged to Sawyer himself. She didn’t intend to be his latest sexual conquest—even if she was married to him.
    â€œOne bowl of porridge may be too hot, another may be toocold,” Sawyer teased. “One bed may be too big, another may be too small and another may be…just right.”
    His eyes laughed at her, and he murmured, “Am I remembering the story correctly?”
    Damn Sawyer. He’d somehow injected sexual innuendo into a fairy tale.
    â€œI’m not so discriminating,” she said, tight-lipped.
    Sawyer quirked a brow. “Really? Let’s put it to the test.”
    His hand enveloped hers, and he gently tugged her forward as he pushed open the bedroom door closest to them.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she demanded, her voice only slightly breathless.
    Peripherally, she noticed they’d stepped into a room with a four-poster queen-size bed and furniture in a gleaming walnut.
    Sawyer spun her forward in a dancelike move, and she landed, sitting, on the side of the bed.
    Sawyer smiled. “What about this one, Goldilocks?”
    â€œYou’re ridiculous!”
    â€œNot me, the bed. Too firm, or too soft?”
    She bounced off the bed. “Neither!”
    â€œJust right, then?” he said, irrepressibly. “Are you quite sure?”
    Before Tamara could react, Sawyer sat on the bed himself, and pulled her back down to him, his mouth settling on hers.
    Oh. All through lunch, she’d tried so hard not to think about kissing Sawyer.
    He kissed, she acknowledged again, in the same way he did everything else in his life—with an intensity and lazy self-assurance that was hard to resist.
    Sawyer’s hands came up to either side of her face, anchoring her, his fingers threading into her hair.
    He caressed her mouth with his in slow, leisurely strokes.
    â€œYour mouth drives me crazy,” he muttered, and thenstroked the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “It’s these lush, pouty lips.”
    â€œThanks very much! You make me sound like a stripper or a porn star.”
    He smiled. “Don’t ever disguise them with lipstick.”
    She sucked in a breath, but before she could say anything, Sawyer was off the bed and pulling her with him again.
    â€œWhere are we going?” she asked on a laughing gasp.
    She’d never seen Sawyer let go like this. It was so not in