The Millionaire's Proposal by Janelle Denison Page A

hadn’t argued when she’d requested the guest room next to his huge master bedroom, though the rogue had pointed out that the arrangement seemed a bit incongruous, considering that they’d already shared a bed.
    Ultimately, he’d respected her wishes with minimal fuss, and that’s all she cared about. She wasn’t trying to make their relationship difficult, just bearable for her. She wasn’t ready to share nightly intimacies with a man she was uncertain of. If she had to spend the rest of her life with Ford, then she planned to learn everything about him, past, present and future, before giving him free access to her heart, body, and soul.
    He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his stance casual and relaxed as he watched her. “You know, I have to confess, I thought the wedding ceremony was lacking.”
    She shrugged while tucking a stack of t-shirts into the dresser drawer. “The ceremony was short, simple, and to the point.”
    “But . . . lacking,” he insisted.
    The light from the lamp on the dresser caught the ring on her finger, dazzling her with a thousand-watt sparkle. There was certainly nothing lacking about the extravagant and obviously expensive bridal set he’d chosen for her to wear. “We promised to honor and cherish one another, until death-do-we-part. What more could you possibly want?”
    “What more could I possibly want . . .” he repeated the question thoughtfully, as if pondering a multitude of wicked desires. Pushing off the doorframe, he strolled slowly toward her. His stride was lazy, but the gleam in his smoky violet eyes was very masculine and filled with purpose. “How about to kiss my bride?”
    Awareness zinged to life within her, and she moved to the bed where her suitcase lay open, putting distance between them before he trapped her near the dresser. “That’s not a necessary part of the ceremony.” Damning her quivering voice when she wanted to appear unaffected by him, she picked up the silk chemise she slept in and folded it, keeping her hands busy.
    “It’s necessary to me,” he said, coming up behind her.
    He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the heat of his body down the length of her back. The warmth of his breath tickled the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, and the citrusy cologne he wore made her senses spin. Her nerves tripped all over themselves, and a rush of pure, undiluted longing nearly overwhelmed her.
    His hand appeared at the side of her waist, and he gently tugged her nightgown from her idle fingers, depositing the slip of silk into her half-empty suitcase. His large palm flattened on her abdomen, slid gently around her waist, pressing her back to his chest.
    She swallowed hard, but didn’t move.
    “Kissing the bride is a tradition,” he said, his low voice rumbling near her ear. “And it’s a nice way to seal the vows we took.” With a subtle pressure, he coaxed her to turn around in his embrace, keeping their bodies flush by splaying a hand low on her spine. “I’d really like to kiss my bride,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth.
    Her hands curled around his arms, mainly because she didn’t know what to do with them. Through the sensual fog quickly settling over her, she realized that Ford was asking for her permission, not taking what he believed was his due. That knowledge chipped at her will to resist him.
    But she knew what happened when they kissed, knew that every responsible thought short-circuited once their lips touched, and she did very foolish things. She clung to that shred of instinct, tried desperately to ignore the warm, large hand stroking over her bottom, urging her intimately closer.
    “I really don’t think we should.” The husky quality of her voice mocked her words.
    He lowered his head, placing a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth, making her ache for more. His lips skimmed to her neck, the tip of his tongue tasting and teasing . . .
    Her control slipped a serious