A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle. Catherine Spencer
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of her shoes slide on the black ice beneath the snow. He heard the snap of one high heel. Saw her stumble back—
He caught her before she could fall. He cradled her against his chest. She looked up at him with an intake of breath. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart. She was so light she seemed to weigh nothing at all. That damned diamond tiara probably weighed more than she did, he thought. And as he looked down into her eyes, he felt dizzy for a reason he couldn’t explain. As if he were the one in danger of falling.
A flash of fire burned through him as he felt her tremble in his arms. And he knew that nothing on earth would prevent him from possessing her tonight.
Grace would be his.
Without a word he carried her toward his hotel. As they were about to turn near Savoy Hill, he paused in a nearby alley to lean her against the rough wall and kiss her, hot and demanding. She was all woman, he thought, warm and pliant and willing…but with an elegant hesitation and restraint that heated his blood. He wanted nothing more than to take her against this wall, to fill her up, to slide inside her and thrust deeply until she screamed his name.
“Don’t deny me, Grace,” he whispered against her skin after he’d kissed her. “Don’t deny us what we both want.”
The dreamy look had returned to her eyes. “You’re right,” she said so softly he almost couldn’t hear it. “I can’t fight you.”
She was looking up at him with desire, yes. But also something else. Faith? Trust? Pushing that disquieting thought away, he carried her around the corner toward his hotel. But when he saw the brightly lit porte-cochère of his luxury hotel, he hesitated again in spite of himself.
He wanted her so badly that his whole body hurt from it. But he also had a sour taste in his mouth. Because of guilt? Because he’d lied? He’d lied to get revenge against Barrington. To win back the merger. To possibly take back Francesca.
But most of all…he’d lied to get Grace in his bed.
She’s no innocent virgin, he told himself again. And she wanted him as he wanted her. Maksim had nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing at all.
The doorman saluted respectfully, pretending he didn’t see the captive woman in Maksim’s arms. “Good evening, Your Highness.”
“Good evening,” Maksim replied shortly.
He carried Grace straight to the waiting elevator and upstairs to his penthouse. He would make her moan with pleasure, he told himself fiercely. He was so hard with need he couldn’t imagine letting her go now.
He couldn’t.
Damn it, he wouldn’t!
He unlocked his door with one hand then kicked it wide, carrying her over the threshold like a bride. He walked past the stark black-and-white furniture, the black leather sofa, the large flat-screen television above the fireplace.
The curtains had been left open. Below, he could see the dark Thames beneath moving lights of the barges, and steady traffic across the bridges. He saw the gleaming buildings of the city across the river and, to the far left, the brilliantly illuminated dome of St. Paul’s.
A fittingly celestial image for the heavenly things Maksim intended to do to Grace. He couldn’t even make it to the bedroom before he started kissing her.
In answer, her lips moved against his with gentle hesitation, a light tease that made him plunder her mouth with greater desire. Her kiss was like nothing he’d ever known before. Women had always kissed him so eagerly and desperately, matching his fire or surpassing it. Her unusual restraint fired his blood, increasing his need until he panted from it.
Still kissing her, he set her down on the big white bed. He paused to look down at her. Her blond hair was mussed and tousled. Her eyes were deep pools of blue green, like clear pools of mountain water from newly melted snow.
He trembled as he reached down to touch her, stroking down her neck to the soft silk of her teal dress, down the valley between her breasts to her flat belly. She was so soft and warm. So beautiful from her rose-pink lips to her unpolished nails. He leaned over her, brushing blond tendrils from her face to kiss her cheeks, her neck, her throat. Finally kissing her mouth, he teased her tongue with his as he cupped his hands over her full breasts. Discovering that she wasn’t wearing a bra, that those high, firm breasts were unassisted by fabric or padding and were all her, he nearly gasped. He touched her in wonder and felt her nipples pebble and harden beneath his fingers. It was too much for him.
Lowering his head, he suckled her through the silk.
She gave a small hushed cry, arching involuntarily against his mouth. Wanting more, he roughly pulled down the neckline and tasted her flesh. She fell back against the bed with a shudder, exhaling her breath in a little mewling sound that made him harden to painful intensity. Lying on top of her, wrapping his hands possessively around her naked breasts, he suckled her more forcefully, not letting her go even as she twisted beneath him. his body was hard against hers. Feeling her beneath him, he wanted nothing more than to pull up her cocktail dress, unbutton his pants and push all the way inside her with one hard, deep thrust.
The thought made him groan aloud.
He shoved her dress up to her hips, revealing simple white cotton panties. Even that surprised him, compared to the lacy, tarty panties his lovers typically wore to entice him. The simplicity was just like Grace, and revealed the perfection of her curvy hips, her creamy thighs. She didn’t need to even try to seduce, to drive any man mad with need…
“Stop,” she suddenly whispered. “Please stop.”
He realized he’d already pushed up her dress to her waist and had started to unbutton his pants. Damn it to hell, after promising himself he would take his time and make her explode with pleasure, had he really been planning to fill her with one thrust, to roughly and savagely take her body like an animal?
Yes.
What the hell was this sweet insanity? She caused him to lose control. No woman had ever done that before.
“I’m sorry,” Maksim said roughly, pulling away. His hands shook with the difficulty of holding himself back. “I didn’t mean to go so fast.”
“You’re not.” She licked her swollen, bruised lips. “I’m just…new to this.”
He looked at her with a sudden frown. “How new?”
Propping herself up on her elbows, she admitted, “Completely new.”
He sucked in his breath.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”
Her cheeks went red. “Don’t say that word!”
“How else would you describe it?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I’d describe it as being helplessly infatuated with a boss who’s barely noticed I’m alive, except for one kiss.”
“He kissed you?” he demanded. The ferocity of his sudden jealousy surprised Maksim. He’d never felt jealous before, not even when Francesca had delivered her little ultimatum and taken off with another man as promised. But then, Maksim’s claim on Francesca had always been territorial. His possession of Grace felt…personal.
Very personal.
She looked at him, surprised. “Why are you so upset?”
Yes, why? “Because…because it’s sexual harassment,” he stammered furiously. “He’s your boss. It’s illegal!”
“Sexual harassment?” Grace laughed, then shook her head with a tearful little hiccup. “One drunken kiss before he passed out on the office couch? Then he met Francesca, who I’m sure is perfect at everything. That’s why I wanted you to know,” she said in a rush. “In case…in case I’m not so perfect. I’m sure I’m very clumsy.”
Clumsy?
That