A Soldier's Christmas: I'll Be Home for Christmas / Presents Under the Tree / If Only in My Dreams. Leslie Kelly
her, making sure this wasn’t another dream.
“I’m real. I’m here,” she whispered.
“Thank heaven.”
No more words were needed. With hunger that bordered on desperation, he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her up against his chest, covering her mouth with his. His lips parted, his tongue thrusting deeply against hers. She welcomed him hungrily, loving his taste, wondering how on earth she’d survived so long without it. The kiss went on and on, seven years of longing wrapped up in it, and in that kiss she found the answers to so many questions.
Yes, he still cared. Yes, they still had incredible chemistry.
Yes. Oh, God, yes, this was definitely going to happen.
Her arms tight around his neck, she let him pick her up, those strong hands gripping her hips, his fingers squeezing and then cupping her backside. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, groaning deeply as her groin struck directly against his. He was powerfully erect, and she suddenly recalled how generously he was built. She shivered, remembering how that massive shaft had filled her to the brink.
Heat flooded through her, landing between her thighs so hard she had to rub against that huge erection just to gain some relief. He thrust back, and she cooed in delight as that hot ridge hit her clit and sent bolts of pleasure rocketing through her.
“Oh, Ellie,” he groaned against her mouth. “It’s been so long.”
“Forever.”
It hadn’t merely been ages since she’d had sex. But what she’d had with Denny, or with anyone else before him, just didn’t compare with this intense connection she had with Rafe. There was no thinking involved here, it was all instinct and innate understanding and such pure, utter connection. He had understood how to please her the first time he’d touched her. He still knew just how to kiss her, just how to stroke her, just how deeply to plunge and how gently to lick and how firmly to caress. Everything about him seemed tailored specifically to her.
And with him, she never experienced a moment of misgiving, not the slightest hesitation. She wanted to do and to be and to explore and to indulge. She wanted his mouth on her thighs, his tongue on her clit. She wanted to lick all that male heat until he was groaning and helpless, to suck him until he couldn’t remember one single day that they’d been apart.
A single snowy night somewhere in Pennsylvania could never be long enough to make up for all the nights they’d lost. But in case it was all they had—in case the passion was still there, but the emotions were not, or in case they had both changed too much to really work as a couple again—she was going to take whatever she could get tonight and deal with the fallout tomorrow.
They kissed until neither of them could breathe, tongues wild and hungry, their bodies twisting and thrusting, then drew apart to gasp for air. She continued to hold him tightly with her arms and her legs as he carried her to the bed and tossed her down onto it.
Ellie quickly jerked the covers down, pushing them out of the way, but didn’t recline and beckon for him. Instead, she sat up on the edge of the bed. Rafe was bending over to take off his boots, and she did the same, her fingers shaking on the laces, every ounce of her attention on him rather than on what she was doing.
Rafe straightened and was unfastening his belt when he saw her reach for her own waistband and flick the button of her jeans. He froze, staring, and Ellie smiled a little, savoring this heady anticipation. They were both anxious—frantic, really. But, despite the fact that they’d been lovers and had shared incredible intimacies in the past, there was certainly a newness now, as if they were experiencing each other for the first time.
She was no longer a skinny college girl, she had a woman’s curves and a woman’s confidence. So she made sure she gave him something to look at, wanting him out of his mind with need before he so much as touched her again.
Lying back on the bed, she unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them slowly. She thrust her hips up as if to scoot the fabric out from under her bottom, but she was in truth both issuing an invitation and making a promise.
Rafe continued to stare, his eyes glued to the tiny pink panties that remained in place once she’d pushed the denim out of the way. When she sat up enough to kick the jeans all the way off, letting her legs splay apart, he rubbed his hand on his jaw and opened his mouth to breathe deeply, trying to maintain control.
Silly man. She wanted him to forget the meaning of the word control.
Slowly rising again, she slipped her fingers under the elastic edge of her panties, stroking her hipbone. Rafe watched her closely, then moved his hand to his fly, flicking one button, and then another. He had to tug the material away from his stone-hard cock and she saw the way he stroked himself through his clothes as he studied her.
Rising onto her knees, she beckoned him closer.
“Let me help.”
He did as she asked, saying nothing as she began to unfasten the buttons on his heavy outer shirt. When she’d unfastened it completely and pushed it off him, she stared at the light green T-shirt he wore underneath, marveling at the way the cotton molded to that incredible body.
His chest was so broad, his shoulders massive, the muscles in his arms rippling and intimidating. He seemed fully capable of breaking her in half, though she didn’t have even the tiniest hint of fear. He would never hurt her. Despite what he’d been doing for the past seven years, she’d always known Rafe was a caretaker, a tender, loving protector who would sooner chop off his own hand than lift it in anger against any woman. He could never have changed enough to ever make her fear him.
She slid her hands under the bottom of his shirt, rubbing her palms against that hot, muscular stomach, and began pushing the fabric up. Delight washed through her as she stroked the ripples and ridges of his body, and she marveled at the beauty of every inch revealed.
Her breath suddenly caught in her throat, though, when she found the scars.
One was about three inches wide, on his side, between two ribs. The other was on his chest, below one flat nipple. She pulled away enough to look at them; the raw redness of the one on his ribs said the wound hadn’t been there long.
“What happened?” she whispered.
“Nothing.”
Tears came to her eyes as her mind tried to imagine how these marks had come to be on his body. But even these had a kind of beauty, told a story about the man he had become, so she didn’t press him for details. Rafe brushed the moisture away with his fingertips, just as silent. Finally, she moved on, continuing with the shirt, pushing it all the way up. He took over, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the floor, now wearing just his partly unbuttoned pants.
She sat back on her heels, staring at him, having to remind herself to breathe. He was just so amazingly perfect, so incredibly hot, her brain forgot to work. Her heart was falling down on the job, too; her heartbeat was a staccato jangle, all thuds and leaps. She wanted to kiss and stroke every inch of him, but just wasn’t sure which delicious spot to sample first.
“So,” he said, “one of us is wearing too much up top and the other too much on the bottom.”
She immediately pushed at her panties. “You mean these?” Yanking them down, she heard his hoarse gasp and laughed wickedly.
“Mmm, not exactly what I was referring to, but I definitely like the way you think.”
“Oh, wait, did you mean my shirt?” she asked, pretending to pull the panties back up.
“Forget it,” he ordered, pushing her hands away. He hooked his own thumbs in the nylon and tugged them down. She rose up onto her knees again so he could get them all the way off her, loving that his hands shook as he lifted the small bundle of fabric and shoved it into his pocket.
“Did you just steal my underwear?”
“Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Are