Page 17 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
What he was doing to her was too much.
She fell against him, pressed her cry of pleasure into his shoulder, her shudders into his chest. He brought her close, kissed her brow, her cheek, murmured tender, meaningless words in her ear.
For a long instant, he continued to touch her, drawing bliss from her body as he would water from a well until she had to push him away. Until she was bone-dry. “No more…I can’t.”
Stepping back, he straightened her skirts, gathered her hairpins from the desk. All with his breath shooting from his lips, his breeches still deliciously tented, his hands trembling. Finally, with a sigh, he closed them into fists and came to a full stop.
“You,” Camille whispered in sudden realization. He was still in a state of need. Surely, she could deliver pleasure if he told her what to do.
Imagining such intimacy sent a dizzying burst through her. She guessed she’d be good at it if she tried. “Tell me what to do,” she said and reached for him.
Swearing, Tristan stumbled back, her hairpins scattering across the rug. “That’s not happening. Apologies for being vulgar, but if you touch me”—he grazed the heel of his hand down his shaft, unleashing the wild desire simmering beneath her skin—“I’ll spill like a schoolboy and have a mess in my trousersandmy head. Thank you, but I can take care of this later. I’m quite proficient, as most men are. The knotty business in my brain may take longer.”
“Iwant to take care of you. Here, now.” She sounded petulant, like the girl who’d annoyed him over the years when men didn’t usually seek out bothersome lovers.
He searched, found his glass on the window ledge and drained it. “Yes, that’s apparent.” Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes flashed in the chalky moonlight, the color of the first grass of spring. “It’s the tastiest offer I’ve had in my life. I want to say yes to anything you suggest we try, you have no idea how desperately, but I’m not going to.”
Scrambling off the desk, she came up behind him. “Why not? After, after…” She gestured to herself, an inclusive movement, not sure how to vocalize what he’d done to her. “Weknoweach other now.”
He hung his head and laughed, the sound filling the room with as much heat as a raging hearthfire. By the time he swiveled to face her, she was aroused and angry, vexed beyond belief after such unmitigated pleasure.
Perching on the ledge, he dangled the empty glass between his spread legs, likely to hide the situation beneath his trouser close, the cad. “We don’tknoweach other in that way. This, and the damned kiss that started it, only prove how well we work together. Chemistry. We have it. In spades.” He glanced down, kicked his boots around, then looked back at her. “I can see from the obstinate look on your face you don’t believe me.” Shrugging, his lips canted in a regrettable half-smile. “Do you know what I was thinking while I had my finger deep inside you? I was imagining the ways I could take you. Bent over the desk, filling you from behind. With my cock, not my finger, if I may be so bold. Dragging you to the floor and taking your hard nipples between my teeth as I discover what makes you forget yourself even more than you just did. Dropping to my knees and pleasuring you that way. Myfavoriteway.” He tapped his glass against his knee with a lost look. “You think my hand is wondrous? My lips aredestructive.”
His portrayal certainly didn’t match how ladies of thetondescribed sexual congress in heated whispers.
She had much, so much, to learn.
“I thought about putting my mouth on you, too,” she murmured, dazed by his speech and the images storming her mind.
“Go back to the ball, Princess,” he said between clenched teeth. “Before you push my unexpected streak of honor too far. Because I’m not going to do anything else I lie away at night hating myself for.” He tipped the glass her way. “Even for you.”
Shaken, she stalked to the door, flipped the lock with a curse she hoped he was surprised she knew. “I’m not sorry,” she said without looking at him. “I’m not going to be one of the thousand people in a thousand parlors who wish they hadn’t.”
She was in the hallway, five steps from the room, when she heard crystal shatter against the wall.
CHAPTER5
WHERE THERE IS SALVATION IN FALSE STARTS
The plums were a surprise, Camille concluded, cupping her hand around a fruit and pulling it loose. She’d nursed the tree through the fall and winter, checked water levels daily, and experimented with different fertilizers. But she hadn’t expected it to bud. And in the middle of winter, no less. The humid greenhouse climate the only reason it had. The poor thing didn’t realize it was December. In Yorkshire.
This tree was going to be the making of her as an amateur botanist. It would be the reason the society in London finally agreed to speak to a female. The gentlemen on the committee had no idea a new variety of plum had been located in Sussex.
She was going to enjoy telling them.
“Camille Elise, I can’t believe you’re awake after such a long night.” Her aunt entered the conservatory with a clatter, the door slamming behind her. She patted her head and smiled crookedly, carefully avoiding ceramic pots and bags of soil on her way to her niece. “Megrims, you know. Too much wine, too much dancing.” Giggling, she made a prancing swirl down the center aisle. “But it was such fun. The countess does throw a marvelous bash! Definitely her best in years. Mercer made the evening, showing up as he did. Though he didn’t stay long. But one cannot argue with success. You shared a waltz, and thetonis humming. Everyone’s so thrilled he’s back.”
Camille dropped a plum in the straw basket sitting at her feet. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
Her aunt stumbled and righted herself against the wooden bench housing a variety of garden tools. “What did you say? Something about Mercer?” She banged her ear with the heel of her hand. “You caught me on the bad side. That horrendous cold three years ago. I can’t hear the same out of it. Distressing, but what can one do? The local sawbones didn’t help one whit. Hot oil drops, posh!”
Camille looped the basket over her forearm and settled a linen napkin atop the bounty inside. “I’m jilting Ridley, Bel. I sent a letter in this morning’s post. A very humble, apologetic message, taking all manner of responsibility for the decision.” She glanced at her aunt, then away, through the wall of windows. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue. As sure as her decision. “But it’s jilting just the same.”
Bel puffed out her cheeks and released a gusty breath. “Not especially nice to announce this right before Christmas. His mother will be distraught, poor thing. You’ll be on her list, and I’ve heard she has a long one. Expect to be cut dead when you see her, for the rest of her life. The dowager viscountess never forgets or forgives.”
“Better that than marrying her son when I don’t love him.”
Picking a splinter of wood loose from the bench, Bel twirled it between her fingers. “No one believed it was love, darling.”