Millionaire Under The Mistletoe: The Playboy's Mistress / Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed / The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
the faint antiseptic hospital scent and a distinctive male fragrance she could smell him—not just his soap or cologne, but him! Panic was just a heartbeat away—or was it capitulation she could sense…?
‘This one…’ His intention was written clear on his dark, impassioned features.
Desperation and panic flared in her wide eyes just before they reflexly closed. The uncoordinated flailing movements of her hands brought them in contact with the iron-hard thighs pressed either side of her hips; she froze and her fingers spasmed, relaxed, then tentatively spread out over the hard-muscled expanse.
‘That’s good,’ he approved.
Darcy gave a sigh; it was. She felt his breath as it moved over her cheek, felt it tease the quivering line of her trembling lips in the moment before his lips purposefully parted hers. The sensual, silken, smooth stab of his tongue melted her last resistance.
Darcy gave a lost little cry and sank deeper into the seductive velvet blackness inside her head. The explosive force of his hunger was something she’d never encountered before. Almost more shocking was the equally unexpected raw response that uncoiled within her. She gave herself up totally to the seductive exploration, only stopping when she could no longer breathe.
They drew apart, but not very far. Her forehead was resting against his, her fingers were twisted in the glossy strands of his dark hair.
‘I forgive you totally for waking me up.’
And, given he kissed like an angel, she was prepared to forgive him for sounding so smug. He knew all the moves all right; even now Darcy didn’t want to admit even to herself that it wasn’t simple slick technique that had made her respond to him that way.
‘Ever undressed inside a sleeping bag?’
Darcy stiffened slightly but didn’t draw back. She only had herself to blame for this situation—if she hadn’t kissed him back like that…
‘Isn’t that a bit of a leap from a kiss?’
‘There are kisses and then again there are kisses.’
Again he was right. Until that particular moment Darcy hadn’t known how great the gap between the two was. She was pink all over already, and the shade deepened perceptively as she encountered the sensuous warmth of his eyes.
‘It’s a challenging proposition…’ she admitted, a responsive smile in her voice. Yesterday she would have laughed her socks off if someone had suggested she would be seriously considering sleeping with a man she barely knew.
‘I can hear a “but” coming on,’ Reece predicted gloomily.
Reluctantly Darcy released her hold on his hair and straightened up. She became aware for the first time that at some point during the embrace Reece had removed her windcheater. She stood there shivering, but not from cold.
‘I think it would be a safer bet all round if you invest in a heated blanket,’ she explained regretfully.
‘No electricity.’ His gesture caused the candles to flicker and dance in the draught he created. ‘And if you’re worried on a safety basis I’m a prepared sort of guy.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You ought to be; you don’t know me.’
She blinked. Is he lecturing me on safe sex…? ‘Which is one of the reasons I’m not about to sleep with you.’
‘The others being…?’
‘You have several broken bones.’
Reece impatiently disposed of this objection. ‘We can work around that.’
Just imagining what ‘working around’ might involve made her skin burn.
‘You know you want to.’
Darcy gasped. ‘That,’ she bit back with tremulous contempt, ‘is an incredibly arrogant thing to say.’
‘Maybe, but it’s true,’ he returned imperturbably.
‘What are you doing…?’ she squawked as he got to his feet.
‘I can’t make love to you if we’re on opposite sides of the room.’
This would have been even truer if I had stayed safely tucked up in my own bed—only I didn’t. Why didn’t I…? Did I want this to happen…? She shook her head in feverish denial but the idea clung stubbornly on.
‘I find you quite incredibly exciting.’
His honeyed drawl froze her to the spot, the dark reckless glow in his eyes liquefied her bones, and held her there. Eyes a little wild, she tilted her head to maintain eye contact as he came closer…and closer.
‘I think you must be thinking of someone else…’
‘You smell like summer.’
‘I do…? When you said we could work around it…are you sure…?’
Reece took her small face between his big hands. ‘I don’t say things I don’t mean.’
‘You’re quite sure…’ Darcy felt his low laughter against her ear, smelt the male muskiness of his arousal.
‘Shut up and kiss me, woman.’
THE impetus of the kiss made them stagger backwards into the makeshift table. A small bottle of tablets fell onto the dusty floor; Darcy automatically tried to avoid stepping onto the contents.
‘Your painkillers…’ Fortunately the bottle of whisky set beside it on the table hadn’t fallen.
The arm around her waist didn’t slacken.
‘To hell with them,’ he slurred.
‘Good God!’ she gasped. ‘You’ve mixed tablets with booze, haven’t you?’ she accused hoarsely. ‘That explains it.’
‘Explains what?’ He didn’t sound terribly interested in her reply.
‘This!’ she indited shakily, stabbing a finger at her chest and discovering in the process that at some point during the kiss he’d managed to remove her sweater.
If undressing women ever became an Olympic event he would win gold with one hand tied behind his back—quite literally, she thought, her eyes sliding to his immobilised arm.
Flushing deeply, she gathered the lightly elasticated neckline of her pyjama top in one fist, which didn’t so much conceal what was going on underneath the thin, silky fabric as draw his hot-eyed attention to it.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but hell, you taste good.’ He pushed a hank of her silky hair aside to press an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point on her neck.
Darcy’s head fell back and she groaned, the sensual shock of his touch juddering through her responsive body. ‘You don’t understand.’ She valiantly struggled past the passion barrier to make him listen.
‘Reece, I think it’s probable you’re having a reaction to your medication.’ Depressing as it was, it did perfectly explain away the inexplicable—a man like him being so deeply in lust with an average type like herself.
‘So that’s what this is.’ He firmly unglued her fingers and peered down the open neckline; what he saw seemed to afford him considerable pleasure.
She got even hotter. ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.’
‘Believe me,’ he grated hoarsely, ‘I’m taking this very seriously.’
‘You don’t really want me,’ she whimpered.
Reece’s jaw tightened. ‘Is that a fact…?’