Page 7 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

Camille realized lifting on her toes to reach him, the one man in the world who could break her into a thousand pieces, was a mistake. Realized skidding her hand over his broad shoulder, into his tousled strands, and drawing his lips to hers was another one.

She wasn’t even sure who kissed whom first.

She wasn’t sure what todo.

But he knew. And she followed.

Cradling her jaw, he tilted her head, arranging, like he’d done it a thousand times before, walking her back into the bench with a swift step. His ragged sigh, needful and anguished, dispelled her uncertainty like dew in harsh sunlight. Deliberately, gently, his mouth molded to hers, coaxing, pleading without words, a query not a demand, his tongue sweeping inside when she parted her lips on a low, surrendering gasp.

It was a tender kiss, a slow burn. And when it started to move faster, his arm circled her waist, and he swept her against his long, hard body.

Swept her into a miraculous world she’d dreamt about but never experienced.

His scent surrounded her as his taste became hers. The smell of frost and plums, cinnamon and tea, the flavor of passion, promise,yearning. She tangled her hand in his hair and arched into him, seeking more.More. She even whispered it, a breathy pant into his mouth that seemed to make him crazy, make him clutch her, hard, devouring her like he was parched and she cool, sparkling water. Sparks danced behind her eyelids, as bright as the pop of magnesium. From shoulder to hip, they were one. His pulse dancing beneath her questing fingers, the rock of his hips, a pleasure punch generating a forbidden, heavy pressure between her thighs.

She’d never imagined anything like this.

But she’d been right about her attraction even if her craving had begun long before she could satisfy it.

His hand trailed from her waist, and she purred when he reached her ribcage, her nipple pebbling in anticipation of its first caress.Yes, there. Maybe she even whispered that, too.

Tristan pulled back just enough to gaze at her, his breath ripping from his lungs to bat her cheek. Her fingers were twisted in his hair; her other hand clenched around the cambric covering his shoulder. He looked wild, his eyes glowing the deepest green she’d ever seen them, his skin flushed, his lips rosy-red and abused.

Power of a variety unknown to her until that moment streaked through her.

“Don’t,” she whispered when he pulled away.Not yet. Don’t let this end yet.She pressed her lips to his jaw and nibbled, softly, without reason, only knowing she wanted him, wanted this.

“I can’t think,” he rasped and took her by the shoulders, forcing her back in a startling move unlike his usual grace. For five hushed breaths, they stared, collecting reasons for staying, for going.

For breaking promises or making them.

Suddenly, like the shocking jab of a needle, she grasped what she was doing.

She was chasing the duke.

And thanks to her brother, the duke in question had alwaysknownshe was chasing him.

She turned in a fury, presenting her back, considered sweeping the row of ceramic pots on the bench to the ground. “Go, Mercer. Leave,now.” She pushed the heel of her hand against the thumping pulse at her neck. She’d never been so provoked in her life, never imagined the like. Her body aflame, vibrating with each beat of her heart. Her knees threatening to betray her.

And Ridley, dear heaven, what to do about Ridley?

Tristan sighed and stepped back. His footfall cracked the straw scattered over the stone floor. “May I have a moment to catch up without you getting angry? The kiss…I didn’t know…I didn’t expect…”

“Oh, bother,please. Considering your reputation, I assumed you’d be better at the après portion of this.”

He sighed again, this sound less forgiving, for which of them, she’d no clue. “Is it true, what Edward said? About you fancying me? That’s all I’m asking. I’m trying to put the pieces in place with, admittedly, half a mind at present.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she schooled her features into what she hoped was a bland expression while blood sprinted violently through her veins. “It was. Does that make you happy? And why, pray tell, at this late stage of the game, should it matter? You were my childhood fantasy of the perfect man. My heart galloped when you were in the same room. I staged a thousand silly plays with you as the hero.” She smiled, and she had no mirror, but it felt bitter. “But it was long ago, Your Grace. I grew up. And you left.”

His eyes flashed, his hands going into fists at his side. “I had to leave. And I’m no one’s hero.”

She lifted her head to stare out the streaked, stained greenhouse glass. “I suppose you’re right. Or we’re both wrong, take your pick.”

“Somehow, I’ve gone from wanting to tear your clothes off to wanting to spank you.” He laughed harshly and banged his boot against the bench. “Which can be done in the same session actually.”

“That’s revolting.” Wasn’t it?

“Princess, don’t judge until you’ve tried it.”