The Mills & Boon Stars Collection

CHAPTER FIVE

FORTY THOUSAND FEET above the South China Sea and wanting to break the hours of interminable silence, Sophie turned towards the brooding figure who was seated beside her. ‘I’m surprised you don’t have bodyguards.’

Rafe looked up from the papers he’d been reading, his eyes narrowing, clearly irritated at having been interrupted from the work which had consumed his attention since they’d first boarded the aircraft. ‘Why the hell should I have bodyguards?’

Sophie waved a hand to encompass all the luxurious fittings of his private jet. ‘Why not? You travel like a royal. You’re rich as Croesus. Aren’t you worried that somebody might kidnap you and spirit away your vast fortune?’

His grey eyes glittered. ‘I have a black belt in both karate and judo,’ he said silkily. ‘I’d like to see somebody try.’

Sophie absorbed this as he picked up his papers again and she stared at the white clouds billowing outside the aircraft window. Her comparison hadn’t been made lightly. Their journey from Poonbarra had been so smooth that at times it had felt like being part of a royal convoy again. Yet she’d been sad at having to say goodbye to the Outback station where everyone had just accepted her as she was. To them she was an ordinary woman who’d learnt how to cook and mop floors and use a dishwasher. She had been dreading the moment of confessing her identity to Andy and the other men, knowing it would change everything. But she had been wrong, because they’d acted as if it meant nothing. They’d gruffly told her they wished she weren’t going. And hadn’t tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the car had left Poonbarra for ever, her feeling as though she was leaving behind a peace and a freedom she would never know again?

They had flown in a light aircraft to Brisbane airport, where Rafe’s private jet had been fuelled and ready to go. He’d made her telephone her brother and tell him that she was flying to England under his protection. And although Myron had been angry, his relief at being able to speak to her after so long, and knowing she was ‘in safe hands’, was almost palpable. And now they were flying towards the UK and it felt unreal. It was unreal. She was going to England to meet the family of a man who clearly couldn’t stand her—and she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do afterwards.

Her heart sank. Everything had been fine until he’d turned up at Poonbarra. She’d thought she’d have another couple of months before she needed to make any major decisions about her future, but Rafe Carter’s seduction had changed everything. Should she ask him about flights to Isolaverde once the ceremony was over? She stared at his proud, carved profile. Maybe not right now. Why not prepare herself for what lay ahead instead?

She cleared her throat. ‘Maybe you should tell me something about your family.’

He looked up, his face not particularly friendly. ‘Like what?’

‘A few facts would help. Who’s going to be at this Christening. That sort of thing.’

Answering questions of a personal nature was an activity Rafe habitually avoided and, besides, he wasn’t in the mood to talk to Sophie. He was still angry with her. For her deception. For not telling him who she really was. For coming onto him and failing to tell him she was a virgin.

Yet his body was refusing to listen to the disapproval which was clouding his mind. The single thought which consumed him was how much he wanted to have sex with her by daylight—with the sun streaming in through the cabin windows and illuminating her creamy body. His throat thickened as he imagined her arching that elegant back, those long legs stiffening helplessly as she came. He didn’t usually bring lovers on long-haul flights because being trapped in an enclosed space for so many hours meant the possibility of boredom was very high. But for once there had been no other option.

Pushing his erotic thoughts away, he met the questioning look in her eyes.

‘It’s my nephew’s christening,’ he said shortly.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘So is it your brother or your sister who is the parent?’

‘My half-brother. Or at least, one of them.’

‘Right. And how many half-brothers do you have?’

With a barely stifled sigh of irritation, Rafe put down his pen. ‘Three. Or at least, three that I know about,’ he answered. ‘And a half-sister named Amber.’

‘Gosh. That’s a lot. How come?’

His instinct was to snap back: how do you think? Until he remembered that her privileged life had probably protected her from the worst excesses of relationships—of children born in and out of wedlock and illicit affairs which wrecked marriages.

‘Because my father liked women. Ambrose Carter was something of a darling in his day, which is probably why he married four times and why I have so many half-siblings. There’s Amber, Chase, Gianluca and Nick—he’s the one who’s just had the baby—or rather, his wife, Molly, did.’

‘Are they’re all going to be there?’

‘Everyone except Chase. He’s in South America, halfway up the Amazon. Molly’s parents are both dead.’ There was a split-second pause. ‘But her twin sister is going to be there. Like I said, it’s complicated.’

‘Okay.’ She shifted her gaze to his. ‘And does your father—Ambrose—have a good relationship with his children?’

‘As much as each mother would allow.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘Because a child’s welfare is primarily down to the mother, isn’t it? And the kind of woman who marries a man for the size of his wallet probably isn’t going to be the kind of person who puts her child’s welfare first.’

Sophie hesitated. ‘And was...was your mother that kind of woman?’

‘You could say that.’ His laugh was bitter. ‘My mother was the kind of woman for whom the term gold-digger might have been invented.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why be sorry? It’s the hand I was dealt and I learned how to play it.’

‘And was it...tough?’

For a moment he thought about ignoring her probing questions, until he reminded himself that he was over this stuff. He shrugged. ‘A lot of her behaviour was thoughtless and I was left alone to fend for myself a lot of the time. But something like that is probably outside your level of understanding.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Presumably you’ve always been protected from the more sordid side of life.’

Sophie hated his assumptions—the same ones people always made. As if the material wealth which accompanied a royal title made you immune to the pain and hurt every human being had to contend with. As if you lacked the imagination to realise what most people’s lives were like. ‘Yes, I’m just a poor little rich girl,’ she said. ‘Scratch my skin and I’ll bleed oil.’

‘If you’re trying to play on my sympathy, Sophie, don’t bother.’

‘I doubt whether you’ve a sympathetic bone in your body,’ she bit back. ‘ People think it’s so easy, being a princess. That you swan around all day wearing a diamond crown.’

‘Poor you,’ he mocked.

She glared at him, wanting to make him see the reality, wanting him to understand instead of being so damned judgemental. ‘Try to imagine never being able to go anywhere without people knowing who you are. Everyone listening to what you say so that they can tell their friends—or a reporter—what they thought you meant. Imagine people watching every move you make. Analysing you. Assessing you. Obsessing about your weight. Working out where you bought your outfit and how much it cost and deciding that colour makes you look washed out, or plain, or fat—and then writing a whole article about it. Imagine everyone knowing that you’d been saving yourself for your fairy-tale prince, only he decided at the last moment to have his fairy tale with someone else and their new baby.’

‘I can imagine that must have been difficult,’ he conceded.

She stared down at her bare hands, before lifting her gaze to his once more. ‘Imagine suddenly realising that the sweet woman you bought a pair of earrings from is now using your photograph on her website to promote her brand.’

‘Oh, I can imagine that pretty well,’ he said, and suddenly his voice hardened. ‘Somebody who wasn’t everything they seemed. Ring any bells, Sophie?’

Sophie met the accusation which burned like hot steel from his eyes. ‘I thought I explained why I didn’t tell you who I am.’

‘I’m just amazed that I fell for your story,’ he said. ‘Amazed I should have thought you were different from any other woman with your lies and subterfuge. And you aren’t, are you? So maybe it’s time I started treating you in the way I know women like to be treated...’

She didn’t realise what he was going to do until he pulled her across the seat onto his lap and her eyes widened as she felt the hard throb of his erection pushing against his trousers.

‘Rafe?’ she breathed uncertainly.

‘Do you like that?’ he taunted.

She wanted to say no, but she couldn’t—even though she didn’t like the look in his eyes. But the hot rush of desire flooding through her body was powerful enough to make her forget about his anger and his mockery. All she wanted was to press her groin against that throbbing ridge of hardness which had brought her so much pleasure last night.

‘Rafe,’ she said again, her voice sounding thick as she struggled to get the word out.

‘Shh. You don’t have to say anything.’

Deliberately, he tilted his pelvis, so that she could feel his erection pushing against where she was hot and wet and aching, and Sophie’s throat dried. It was scary and exciting all at the same time. It was making her aroused, but, more importantly, it was blotting out the pain of thinking about Luc’s new baby, which she wasn’t over—no matter how hard she tried to be.

‘I’m still very angry with you, Sophie,’ he said softly. ‘But that doesn’t stop me wanting you. Can you feel how much I want you?’

She swallowed. ‘I...yes...’

‘And you want me, don’t you? Even though you’re trying very hard not to?’

Hating him for his perception, Sophie found herself powerless to push him away. ‘Yes,’ she said, between gritted teeth.

‘Then we’d better do something about it, hadn’t we? And very quickly, I think.’

Now the excitement was unbearable. Sophie felt honeyed heat rush to her groin—but social conditioning went deep as he spread his fingers over one aching breast. ‘The...crew?’

‘Don’t worry your pretty head about the crew. They’re trained never to disturb me unless I call them. Satisfied?’ he questioned, rucking up her T-shirt to reveal the cotton bra she’d bought at the discount store, and Sophie gasped as he cleaved his thumb across a nipple which was straining frantically against the thin material. ‘Because I’m sure as hell not.’

Insecurity made her say it, even as he impatiently tugged the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. ‘I expect you do this kind of thing all the time? Make love on planes?’

His hand stopped from where it had been just about to undo her bra and his eyes darkened with an emotion which went deeper than desire. ‘Don’t ask,’ he said. ‘And don’t project, because if you can’t enjoy this for what it is, then it isn’t going to happen. Understand?’

And suddenly she couldn’t bear not to do it. Who cared how many women had come before her, or how many would inevitably follow? Why couldn’t she just live in the moment and take what he was offering? And what he was offering was sex. Amazing and beautiful sex for the second time in her life. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes.’

He didn’t say anything more, just reached down to unfasten the button of her jeans before sliding the zip down and dipping his hand beneath the elasticated edge of her panties. His middle finger tangled luxuriously in the soft fuzz of hair there, before beginning to stroke rhythmically at her slick, wet flesh and she couldn’t stop the small yelp of pleasure she gave.

‘No!’ Frustratingly, his fingers stilled. ‘I choose my staff for their discretion, but I have no desire to provide a floorshow by having you moan out loud when I make you come,’ he ground out. ‘So either you enjoy this in silence or we’re both going to have a very frustrating journey ahead of us.’

His clipped words were so outrageous that Sophie was tempted to tell him to forget the whole idea, but the sensation of his fingers against her aroused flesh was much more tempting and suddenly the last of her pride shrivelled beneath the heat of her desire. Did he sense her capitulation? Was that why, with a sensual dexterity which dazed her in every which way, he laid her down on the floor of the aircraft and tugged her panties and jeans down to her ankles. She waited for him to tug them off but he shook his head and answered her unspoken question.

‘No. The jeans stay. You’ll be able to spread your legs for me, but only so far. It’ll make you feel...wicked, which is exactly how I’m feeling right now.’ He unzipped himself and pulled his trousers down, his erection springing free as he lowered himself down to position himself between her restricted legs. ‘You need to try dirty sex—’

‘D-dirty sex?’

‘Mmm.’ He stroked on a condom. ‘Surreptitious, partially clothed and very...’ he thrust into her suddenly ‘...urgent.’

He powered deep inside her and Sophie gripped onto his broad shoulders as her body began to accommodate his stroke. He was still almost fully clothed, she thought, yet somehow that only added to her mounting excitement. Some of what she was experiencing was the same as last night—that blood-racing exhilaration and rapid acceleration of pleasure—but some of it was radically different. And he was right. The fact that her jeans were restricting her movements only added to the excitement of what was happening. She was his prisoner, she thought weakly. His willing prisoner.

She lifted her face, her lips seeking his, eager for a kiss which would blot out the urgent cries which wanted to bubble up from her throat. But there were other reasons for wanting to kiss him. She liked the way his lips made her feel. Because even if it was nothing but an illusion, they made her feel cosseted. But it was too late for kisses because suddenly her body began to spasm and just as suddenly he began to buck inside her with a ragged groan of his own, as he made those last few, final thrusts.

She waited for him to say something which might imply an ending of the undoubted hostilities which were still shimmering between them. Something to acknowledge that what had just happened had been beyond fantastic. Again. He’d told her she didn’t have the experience to know that the sex was amazing, but she could just about work out for herself that it was.

‘Better go and freshen up,’ he suggested softly, giving her bare bottom a light tap. ‘And then I’ll ring for some coffee.

Her heart contracted with disappointment at his careless reaction but she made sure she didn’t show it, silently picking up her rucksack and carrying it to one of the bathrooms at the far end of the cabin. She emerged some time later, with her hair neatly brushed and a clean T-shirt tucked into her jeans, but the cursory gaze he flicked over her wasn’t particularly warm.

‘You’re going to need something to wear for the ceremony,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything suitable in your rucksack?’

‘Not a thing, I’m afraid.’ She forced a smile, wishing he would at least acknowledge the intimacy they’d just shared, instead of staring at her so coolly. ‘I left all my silks and satins behind at the palace.’

Rafe nodded as he reached for the phone. ‘In that case I’ll contact one of my assistants and arrange to have some suitable clothes brought to the aircraft when we land.’ He paused. ‘And in the meantime, perhaps you could find something to amuse yourself with for the rest of the flight. Something which doesn’t involve looking at me alluringly with those big blue eyes and asking personal questions. Because I have work to do and you’re distracting me, Sophie.’

CHAPTER SIX

THEY ARRIVED AT just past midnight when huge white flakes were tumbling from the night sky as if someone were having a celestial pillow fight. Rafe’s limousine negotiated the final bend of the narrow road and it began to inch its way up the long drive towards his brother’s Cotswold mansion.

Sophie peered out of the window at the night-time English countryside, thinking that if circumstances were different she might have enjoyed the snowy beauty of rural England—especially in contrast to the beating heat of Australia. But for now she was just grateful for the fact that the big house was shrouded in darkness—the faint, fairy-lighted glow gleaming behind the glass over the front door indicating that everyone had gone to bed. Thank heavens. She wasn’t sure if she could face a reception committee and wondered if Rafe had arranged that deliberately by insisting they stop at a small pub for dinner on the way here. Perhaps he’d been delaying the inevitable meeting with his family because he didn’t know how to introduce her. It meant she’d eaten her first ever meal in a British pub, enjoying the shepherd’s pie the landlord had recommended though less keen on the warm beer Rafe had insisted she try.

In the back of the car were a large selection of clothes which he’d ordered to be delivered to the plane when they touched down in England—and she was now wearing some of them. Gone were the cheap jeans and T-shirt and in their place was an exquisite cashmere dress, which clung to every curve of her body, along with a pair of beautiful leather boots. They were the kind of clothes she was used to wearing, but along with her sudden change of image came that familiar sense of being on show again. She stared straight ahead, realising how much she had enjoyed her uncomplicated life of anonymity and realising it was about to come to an abrupt end.

‘You okay?’ Rafe questioned as the car slid to a halt in front of the house.

‘Not really. I feel as nervous as hell,’ she said truthfully.

‘You?’ In the shadowy light, his eyes narrowed. ‘But you must have met hundreds of new people over the years.’

Probably thousands, she thought—but never like this. Meeting somebody’s family on equal terms was something she’d never had to do before. Mostly people knew who she was and had prepared accordingly and everyone was always on their best behaviour when a princess was around. She stared out of the window again and it seemed that the sleeping house had been nothing but an illusion, because the moment their car swished to a snowy halt the front door opened and a woman appeared in the doorway as if she’d been listening out for them. Her greying hair matched a dress which was clearly a uniform and Sophie saw immediately what the glow behind the front door had been—a giant Christmas tree, dominating a vast and imposing wood-panelled hall.

Rafe smiled as the woman in the uniform stepped forward.

‘Sophie, I’d like you to meet Bernadette, our housekeeper,’ he said, ‘who has been with different factions of this family for many years. And if she wasn’t the soul of discretion, she could earn a living writing about the exploits of the infamous Carter family, couldn’t you, Bernadette?’

‘Sure, and who would want to read anything about you lot?’ answered Bernadette, her accent warm and Irish. ‘And aren’t you forgetting your manners? Who’s this beautiful young lady?’

Rafe introduced her simply as ‘Sophie’ and Bernadette seemed content with that. And at least Sophie was able to chat easily to the housekeeper. Six months ago and her observations would have been stiff and formal, but working at Poonbarra meant she could now identify with the housekeeper in a way which would have been unthinkable before. She had learnt how to mix with ordinary folk, she realised—and for that she must be grateful.

‘Is everyone else here?’ Rafe was asking.

‘No. You’re the first.’ Bernadette closed the heavy oak door on the snowy night. ‘Some of the others are flying in tomorrow. Your father’s got the four-by-four so he’ll be okay. And Sharla rang to say she’s coming by helicopter, so she’ll be here about midday.’

Sharla.

It was an unfamiliar name which sounded vaguely familiar, but Sophie’s interest was heightened by the sudden tension which had made Rafe’s body stiffen. She glanced up to see a hardness distorting his taut features—and a darkening look which made him seem like a stranger.

But he is a stranger, she reminded herself fiercely. You don’t really know anything about him. All they’d done had been to fall into bed where he’d made her feel stuff she hadn’t thought she was capable of. Made her long for things which were way out of her reach.

A sense of unease whispered over her but she said nothing as they were shown up a grand staircase into an enormous bedroom, dominated by a king-size bed covered with a brocade throw in deep shades of claret and gold. Beside the bed, crimson roses glowed in a bronze bowl and, against huge windows, velvet curtains were drawn to blot out the snowy night. A huge crackling fire had been lit in the grate, scenting the air with the crackle of applewood, and the glitter of the flames was reflected in the overhead chandelier. The overall effect was almost medieval and Sophie unbuttoned her new coat and hung it up in the old-fashioned wardrobe before slowly turning round.

‘Who’s Sharla?’ she questioned.

Rafe was reading something on his cell-phone and didn’t look up as he answered. ‘You’ve probably heard of her. She used to be a model.’

Wondering if his reply had been deliberately casual, Sophie nodded as she realised why she’d half recognised the name. Of course. How could she have overlooked that rare level of fame achieved when somebody was known simply by their first name? ‘You mean the Sharla?’ she questioned. ‘The supermodel with the endless legs—the one who’s married to the rock star?’

‘That’s the one.’ He looked up then and the expression in his grey eyes was curiously flat. ‘And just for the record, she isn’t married to him any more.’

‘Right.’ She looked at him. ‘But why is she here? I thought you said it was just family. A low-key affair.’

‘She is family.’ There was a pause. ‘I told you. She’s my sister-in-law Molly’s twin, although I don’t tend to think of her as family.’

She wondered how he did think of her. Why a sudden harshness had distorted his voice and why he’d tensed when Bernadette had mentioned the supermodel’s name. But it was none of her business. She was here because they were supposedly doing each other a favour. And yes, they’d had sex on the plane, but that didn’t mean anything—he couldn’t have made that more apparent if he’d tried. He hadn’t exactly pushed her away afterwards but he might as well have done. His attitude had been cool and distant. Careless might be the best way to describe it, as he’d tapped her bottom in that rather insulting way—which hadn’t stopped her wanting his fingers to linger there a little longer. So did sexual intimacy give her the right to quiz him about his thoughts or his feelings? It did not.

She peeped out behind one of the heavy velvet drapes. The snow was coming down hard now—great drifts swirling down and covering the ground by the second. Rafe switched on one of the bedside lamps and the rich brocade of the counterpane was illuminated by a golden glow. Yet Sophie felt awkward as she watched him moving around the elegant room. He looked so far away, she thought. Any closeness they had shared now seemed to have been forgotten. He hadn’t touched her once in the car and now she was supposed to be sharing a room and a bed with him and she didn’t have a clue how that was going to work. How any of this was going to work. What did other women usually do in this kind of situation? But she had wanted normality, hadn’t she? Maybe now was the time to embrace it.

Pulling the band from her hair, she shook her ponytail free. ‘What have you told them about me?’

‘Nothing. I told my brother I was bringing someone, but that’s all. They can find out who you are when they meet you.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Given your great love of understatement, I thought you’d prefer no forewarning.’

‘And they won’t think it’s odd that you’ve turned up with a runaway princess?’

He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I come from an unusual family, Sophie. Where the odd is commonplace and people break the rules all the time. They might remark on it but they certainly won’t have their heads turned by it. And don’t worry—people won’t bother you or ask you predictable questions, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Now,’ he added softly. ‘It’s late. Aren’t you going to get ready for bed?’

His words sounded scarily informal, which seemed crazy when she remembered being pinned to the floor of the plane, her jeans trapped around her ankles. But that didn’t prevent a sudden flash of nervousness as Sophie grabbed her wash bag and went into the bathroom. The clothes which Rafe had ordered to be delivered to the plane contained nothing as warm or practical as a nightshirt—but there was no way she was walking back out there naked. So she kept her knickers on and pulled a T-shirt over her head. Rafe’s eyebrows rose when she returned and climbed quickly into bed, though he said nothing as he went into the bathroom himself.

She switched off the bedside lamp and lay shivering beneath the duvet, listening to the sounds of taps being run and teeth obviously being brushed. The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slowly before the bathroom light was eventually turned off and Rafe came back into the bedroom. But it was long enough for her to see that he had no similar qualms about nudity and the image of his powerful naked body seemed to burn itself indelibly onto the backs of her eyes.

His words filtered through the air towards her. ‘Why are you hiding away in the darkness?’

‘I’m not hiding.’

‘Really?’ A hint of amusement touched his voice. ‘Are you suddenly turning shy on me, Sophie?’

‘Of course not.’ How could she tell him that this felt...weird? That she didn’t want to leave the light on because she didn’t know what to say or what to do. She wondered what had happened to the woman who’d been so uninhibited on the plane. Why she’d suddenly morphed into someone who was feeling swamped by hazy fears. The bed dipped beneath his weight and she held her breath as she heard the rustle of bedclothes.

‘Maybe you’re jet-lagged?’ he suggested.

‘I think I am, a little,’ she said hopefully, because surely sleep would blot out the tension which was growing by the second and making even the tiniest sound seem amplified. Surely the best thing would be to close her eyes and pray for oblivion to come, so she could wake up in the morning refreshed and able to cope with what lay ahead.

But sleep didn’t come. She lay there stiff and unmoving, terrified to move in case she rolled against his hard, warm body—wondering how she was going to get through a whole night like this—when a soft laugh punctured the semi-silence.

‘I know you’re not asleep.’

‘How?’ she questioned indignantly, before realising that her answer had given the game away.

‘Because you’re trying to make your breathing sound regular and shallow and people don’t really breathe like that when they’re asleep.’

‘I suppose you’re an expert on women’s breathing habits in bed?’

‘I do have some experience.’

‘I’ll bet you do.’

And then his hand slid around her waist and Sophie froze.

‘Just relax,’ he said softly, as he cupped her breast with his other hand. ‘Lie back and think of Isolaverde.’

And unexpectedly, Sophie started to giggle. ‘You’re...oh!’ His thumb grazed across her nipple and she swallowed. ‘You’re outrageous.’

‘So they tell me. Now, isn’t that better?’ he said as his hand slid down over her belly, and then down further still. ‘Why are you wearing knickers in bed? They’re going to have to come off.’

‘Rafe,’ she said thickly.

‘Shh. What did I just tell you?’

‘I...d-don’t remember.’

‘Then try.’

He slithered the panties down over her thighs and, with his foot, kicked them away from her ankles. But he left the T-shirt on as his fingers returned to burrow in the tangle of hair at her groin before slipping down to find her molten heat. Now the only sound in the room was the increasing rise of her unsteady breathing. He didn’t say a single word, just continued to touch her with a lightness and delicacy which was sending her out of her mind.

‘Rafe,’ she said again, only now an urgent desperation was making her voice crack.

‘What?’

‘I...oh!’ Her nails dug into his shoulders. ‘Oh, oh, oh!’

Her hips arching upwards, her body jerked with helpless spasms as he lowered his head to kiss her. She felt the honeyed rush of heat as reality splintered into countless unbearably bright pieces and then dissolved into a dreamy daze. Afterwards she lay there, sucking ragged breaths of air back into her lungs. She felt lazy. Luxurious. Heavy and wonderful—but as her eyelids began to grow weighty, some nagging notion of inequality made her stir. Peeling her lips away from where they were glued to his bare shoulder, she touched her fingertips to the rough rasp of growth at his jaw.

‘You must show me how to...’ She hesitated, too shy to say the words. Or maybe it was because she didn’t know how to say the words, and maybe he guessed that.

‘Pleasure me?’

She licked her dry lips. ‘Yes.’

‘Go to sleep, Sophie.’ He sounded almost kind as he brushed away the lock of hair which had fallen over her cheek and dropped the briefest of kisses onto her nose. ‘Just go to sleep.’