Millionaire Under The Mistletoe. Janice Maynard
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flesh and crisp body hair too. She ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips to lubricate them and gave her head a tiny shake, but neither act totally dispelled the disturbing image.
‘Did I hurt you?’ she asked hoarsely. She knew she hadn’t been a submissive victim.
He touched the side of her face softly and sent an illicit little shiver through the tense body. Darcy couldn’t afford the time to worry if the tremor had been transmitted through his fingertips—it was taking all her energy convincing her knees they didn’t want to fold under her. To make matters infinitely worse, the debilitating weakness wasn’t just affecting her limbs…at best, her brain was functioning on a very basic, fuzzy level.
‘Do you want to?’ Finger on the angle of her jaw, he tilted her face up to his.
Darcy shook her head—she didn’t want to think about what she’d like to do to him; it wasn’t decent. His face was swimming in and out of focus as she stared back at him.
‘I don’t like hurting people. Do you…?’
Reece didn’t reply; he simply took her by the shoulders and drew her unresisting body towards him, parting his thighs to let her rest within their confining circle.
‘Are you quite sure that concern for my health was the only reason you came here, Darcy…?’
She had to do something to throw cold water on the escalating intimacy and danger of a situation that was fast getting out of hand.
‘What other reason could there be?’
Underneath 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