His Black Sheep Bride by Anna DePalo Page B

of her dress. Her head fell back, and she moaned again as his hand brushed aside her panties.
    They both held still as his hand caressed her, his fingers delving into her moist heat, stroking her. From beneath her lashes, Tamara noticed Sawyer’s eyes glittering down at her, his face intent with arousal.
    â€œAh, Tamara,” he breathed. “Ah, Goldilocks…”
    Sawyer’s free hand went to his belt, but then he suddenly stopped, his head tilting.
    A moment later, Tamara heard it, too—the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
    Someone was coming up the stairs.
    Just as Tamara frantically jerked away, Sawyer stepped back, his expression turning smooth and businesslike even as he took care to straighten her dress.
    Sawyer was a practiced master of seduction. The thought flashed through her mind a second before she peripherally noticed someone walk past their open doorway.
    â€œI hope you’ve enjoyed our tour, Tamara,” Sawyer said in a voice loud enough to carry.
    His eyes laughed down at her, his expression gently mocking.
    â€œWho was that?” Tamara whispered urgently.
    Sawyer bent his head toward hers.
    â€œI believe a person sent by the weekly housecleaning service,” he said with a grin, matching her low and urgent tone.
    Argh. Gathering her dignity, or what remained of it, she stepped away from him so that she was no longer cornered by the bedpost.
    â€œNo need to be concerned,” Sawyer said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t have been too surprised to discover an engaged couple locked in an embrace. Embarrassed, maybe, surprised, no.”
    Sawyer had acted deftly to avoid embarrassment to an outside employee. Unfortunately, Tamara thought, her own mortification was unabated.
    She should be thankful that Sawyer had again been thwarted by the unexpected arrival of a third party. Instead, she was concerned, very concerned, by her reaction and increasing susceptibility to his charms.
    â€œWe’re not really an engaged couple,” she responded with false composure. “Or need I remind you of our agreement?”
    Sawyer’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but then his lips quirked.
    He reached out and smoothed her hair. “What’s the harm in a little pleasure along the way?”
    What indeed. She took another step back, and he dropped his hand back to his side.
    â€œWe don’t suit,” Tamara said firmly, “and we never will.”
    His expression turned mocking. “We suited just fine a minute ago—”
    She made a sweeping movement with her arm, gesturing to the room around them.
    â€œThis is not my world,” she said, putting aside her earlier charmed reaction to his town house. “And I’m not going to trade away who I am in exchange for it.”
    He arched a brow.
    â€œWe may need to put on a convincing show that our marriage won’t be a complete sham,” she continued stubbornly, “but we don’t need to be too convincing. And you don’t need practice!”
    Sawyer gazed at her thoughtfully for a second, and then laughed throatily.
    She turned on her heel.
    Unfortunately, this Goldilocks had made her bed, but she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to lie in it.

Eight
    T amara stood at the base of the steps of Gantswood Hall and surveyed the picturesque hills in the distance. From her vantage point, she could see the white dots of grazing sheep on the hillsides under the July sun. The stately home that was Sawyer’s ancestral family seat sat amid the Cotswolds, and like most of the neighboring architecture, was made of an inviting honey-colored limestone, worlds away from the bleak, drafty castle she used to imagine him in.
    A car that Sawyer had sent to pick her up from the airport stood parked near the front entrance of the Tudor mansion, its driver unloading her luggage.
    Tamara breathed in the crisp country air, fragrant with the smell of grass and leaves and fresh streams.
    The truth was