Millionaire Under The Mistletoe. Janice Maynard
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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…?’ He slid the silky fabric clear down her shoulders and with a muffled groan pressed his lips to the heaving contours he’d revealed. ‘Absolutely incredible…’
‘Sweet…sweet…mercy…’ Darcy tried to regroup but it was an uphill battle. His tongue had begun to travel very slowly over the slope of one breast. Did it really matter that he wasn’t in full possession of his senses…? ‘Listen!’ Fingers in his hair, she pulled his head back.
‘What the hell’s wrong now?’ There was a light sheen of sweat covering his taut, lean features, the dampness extending down the glistening column of his throat. His hot eyes kept sliding from her face in the general direction of her heaving breasts.
‘It’s the medication. I think you’ve had some sort of reaction to it. You can’t take alcohol with some sorts of analgesia. That’s why you’re acting like this.’ Miserably Darcy brushed a strand of hair from her damp face and found she couldn’t look him in the eyes—it was too humiliating… Her body was literally throbbing with arousal, aching for his touch.
‘You can’t think of any other reason…?’ The blood in her temples roared as his eyes slid in hot, sensual appraisal over her body. ‘A reason like I’m sexually attracted to you!’ She audibly caught her breath. ‘A reason like I’ve been lying here alone all night, wondering what it would be like to have you beside me, warm and soft, to be inside you. Then you’re here…’ His throat muscles worked. ‘And you want to stay.’ He smiled with grim satisfaction when she didn’t respond to the challenge.
Darcy couldn’t speak; the sound of his low, vibrantly masculine voice saying things no man had ever said to her was like a fist tightening inside her belly. She felt light-headed and dizzy and her blood seemed to hum hotly, pooling; the ache between her thighs was so intense she could hardly stand up, and, her breathing shallow and fast, she stared breathlessly up at him.
‘But the—’
‘Paracetamol. You can buy it anywhere over the counter.’ His sensuous lips curled contemptuously as her eyes widened. ‘The doc wanted to give me something stronger but I’ve never been keen on having my senses dulled.’
‘Then this is…’
Reece nodded. ‘The real thing. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re taking hallucinogenic drugs?’
The dazed look still in her eyes, she shook her head vigorously.
‘Does this feel real enough for you?’ he asked, pressing his lean, hard body tight against hers.
Darcy could feel him, thick and hard, pressing into the softness of her belly. ‘It…you feel incredible,’ she gasped.
‘Take my shirt off, Darcy?’
‘Because of your shoulder.’
‘Because I want you to.’
That seemed a good enough reason to Darcy.
Her hands were shaking as one by one she slid free the buttons and pushed the soft cord fabric aside to reveal his broad chest and flat belly. Expression rapt, she spread her fingers and felt the fine muscles just beneath the surface of his taut skin twitch and tighten.
Her hair looked silver by candlelight and all Reece could see of her as she leant closer was the top of her head and the exposed nape of her slender neck. It wasn’t an area he’d previously considered erotic—was it napes in general or this nape in particular…? That was a question for later—right now he needed to assuage the fire in his blood, the ache in his loins.
A deep line bisected her smooth brow as she examined the bruised area. ‘Tell me if I hurt you,’ she whispered, tracing a line across his belly with her fingernail.
‘I’m hurting,’ he told her thickly.
Alarmed, she raised her eyes questioningly to his. ‘Where…?’ she began. She saw the expression on his face and her voice faded away.
‘Here…’ he took her hand and showed her ‘…here and here,’ he elaborated thickly.
Darcy whimpered, the last remnants of her control evaporating.
‘I want to see you. Take your clothes off for me. All of them.’
Not doing as he requested—or was it a demand?—was never an option. Like someone in a dream she crossed her arms and began to lift the hem of her top up over her smooth stomach.
‘And, Darcy…?’
She paused.
‘Look at me.’
Darcy did. She could hear the harsh, uneven sound of his breathing, loud in the quiet room. Even in this light she could make out a definite flush of colour along his slashing cheekbones and the fire in his eyes— Did I really put it there…? How strange…how marvellous.
Their eyes locked, and her anxiety was instantly soothed; he looked just as needy as she felt. Despite the new confidence, her hands trembled uncontrollably as she did as he had bid. It was no slow, seductive striptease because even with a fire now blazing in the hearth it didn’t seem such a good idea to linger over disrobing.
‘You’re beautiful.’ She almost believed him.
He closed the small gap between them. Where he touched her Darcy’s skin tingled, and pretty soon she tingled all over. ‘And cold.’ He began to briskly massage her cold extremities. ‘Come on, get in here.’ Taking her by the hand, he led her towards the sleeping bag and blankets.
The cotton lining still retained the last remnants of his body heat. Darcy drew her knees up to her chin and waited for him to join her, anticipation pumping darkly though her. She watched as he shed his clothes, ripping the shirt as he tried to ease it too quickly over his injured arm; he was lean, lovely and very, very aroused.
He was actually so beautiful she wanted to cry—she was crying, hot tears sliding over her cheeks. He wiped away the dampness with his thumb when he finally came to join her but didn’t question their presence.
‘Come here,’ he whispered.
Darcy did; there wasn’t very far to go. They lay side by side, close but not touching, until with a hoarse groan he reached across with his good arm and drew her on top of him. His mouth reached hungrily for hers.
Darcy responded joyfully to the demands of his lips and thrusting tongue. It was intoxicating to have nothing to separate them any longer. Darcy wriggled to fully appreciate the sensation. His skin was warmer than hers; it was harder, and she discovered it had a deliciously smooth texture roughened by drifts of body hair that prickled against her breasts and thighs.