Page 16 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

Stepping back, she rested her bottom on the desk. Tristan had located a study of some sort to hide in. Bookcases, armchairs, dark corners, dust. Nothing romantic about it. A room for reflection, not seduction. “Has this happened before?”

He flicked his fingers, dismissing the question. “No matter. But I think it proves a fine point, in light of our recent…transactions. Why I can’t marry. Why I can’t live with anyone. Sleep through the night with anyone. You think this was dreadful, the dreams are worse. The dreams are horrendous.” When she started to speak, he held her off with a stern look. “Not right now, Princess. Maybe not ever. You see, old Ridley is right about one thing, aside from his fascination with you. I’m no longer fit for society. I no longer belong.”

Camille gazed at his pensive silhouette, her heart seizing, wondering why she had to love such a complicated man. Because she did love him, she always had, and her continued feelings were a disaster in the making. Desire pulsed through her as she stood there, his scent—the faintest hint of smoke and sandalwood—drifting to her, the heat from his body crossing the short distance separating them and cloaking her like a woolen shawl. She recognized what she wanted. His hands on her body, his teeth nipping her skin, his lips claiming hers. She didn’t want this from Ridley, and she never would.

She’d not experienced true passion and had no idea how to make it happen, but she knew in her soul what she felt.

“What can I do to erase those memories?” she asked, thrilled by her daring but frightened by her absolute lack of knowledge.

He slowly lifted his head, his eyes as dark as baize in the candlelight. “Best not ask during a weak moment, because I’m not sure I can deny myself.” But defying himself, he stepped close, threaded his fingers through her hair, scattering pins as he tilted her head high. “If you only understood where this will go if I allow it. If I allow you to take me there.”

She gasped, her lids fluttering as his nails scored her scalp, a gentle abrasion that sent longing spiraling between her thighs, hardening her nipples to fine points beneath her shift.

“You smell like summer,” he murmured, his breath brushing her cheek. “Like cool ponds and wheat fields, like passion and promise andwant. The way the world was before I witnessed another side. The world I wish I could step back into. After a kiss that killed, is there more?” His lips brushed her jaw, the side of her mouth, lingering, teasing. “I think we’re both wondering.”

Grasping her waist, he set her fully on the desk, nudged her knees apart, and stepped in until their hips bumped. She sighed, her gaze dropping. Beneath his buckskin close, his rigid length tented his breeches. Long and hard and beautiful.

A burst of feminine power lit her from within. To have his body react to her in this way seemed no less than a miracle.

Astounded, she looked up at him in wonder.

In the milky candlelight, his face took on a thunderous cast. “You should be frightened, Camille. We aren’t playing; we’re no longer children.” He nodded to the door, a tight breath racing from his lips. “Locked in, I could seduce you, here, now. Tangle us both up in need, toss every plan you’ve made for yourself in the hearth, and turn your future to ashes. It’s happened a thousand times in a thousand parlors with a thousand people who later wished it hadn’t.” He exhaled again, irritated and torn. “Why aren’t you letting me do the right thing?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered and set her lips to his, knowing not what to do, only knowing she had to touch him.

Sliding one hand behind her neck, he released a primal sound and lifted her off the desk and into him. His lips moved over hers, again and again, until he sighed in frustration. Cradling her jaw, he tilted her head, the slight adjustment putting them in flawless alignment—and sending the kiss rocketing into an alternate universe.

There could be no two people who’d fit together more magically.

She wanted to learn, wanted to bring him to his knees, the girl who’d fought for his attention still very much a part of her. So she followed his every move, shyly touched her tongue to his, swirled it in the rhythm he was echoing below her waist, pressing the tantalizing part of himself, even harder than when they’d started, into her most secret of places. She matched him measure for measure, finally losing all reason, clutching his shoulders and kissing him back with nothing but a blind reach formore.

More contact. Deeper. Faster.Harder.

Perhaps she whispered her plea, because he was there. Setting her gently back on the desk, yanking layers of clothing high, reaching through the slit in her drawers, and touching her as she’d touched herself in her darkened bedchamber, but on this night, knowing exactly,exactly, where to go when she’d fumbled.

He understood—and brought swift pleasure.

Their kiss was impossible to maintain with his fingers circling, pressing, fondling, lighting a fire inside her, making her vision blur and her breath shorten. Her head fell back on a husky moan as she scooted forward, begging without words. If he would just…

“This is what you’re looking for, Princess,” he whispered into her neck. Sucking her earlobe between his teeth, he slid a finger inside her, a delightful breach, a delicious surrender. “Don’t think,” he added breathlessly as he invaded her body with sure, flawless strokes. “This is what I’m giving you. You fought for it, now take it.”

So she did.

Closed her eyes and let sensation override fear. Of losing her soul when he’d always owned her heart. Of recognizing no other man could touch her in this way, make herwantin this way.

Greedy and desperate, she consumed.

The feel of his long body curled over hers, lips at her jaw, his hair, soft and silky, brushing her temple. Hand gripping the nape of her neck, holding her steady as he plundered. A ticking clock. The call of a raven outside the window. The faint murmur of the orchestra belowstairs. Overridden only by her raspy cries, sounds she was unable to contain or classify.

She would have been embarrassed if she’d been able to be anything but his.

The feeling started as a buzz in her head, a swirl of anticipation in her belly. Her fingers tingled, her thighs clenched.

“That’s it,” he murmured and slowed his rhythm. His hand went to cradle her jaw, tipping her head back. “Open your eyes. My gift, what I’m taking, is to witness what color yours turn when you come.”

She followed his command, for once willing to, and found his gaze devouring her, his expression frenzied. He shifted his arm, swept his thumb over the peaked nub at the juncture of her core. Once, twice. Her lids fluttered as she ceded to his caress. “No, keep them open. Look at me when you crest.” He swallowed, his throat clicking. “Please,” he begged when she guessed he’d never begged for anything in his life.

It was too much. His voice, his touch.