Millionaire Under The Mistletoe. Janice Maynard
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Reece’s face as he looked into her flushed, aroused face. ‘If you think that was good, wait until you get a taste of no hands.’
A confused frown drew Darcy’s feathery brows together as she puzzled over his words, the meaning of which was brought crashing home to her seconds later.
Shock tensed her muscles for a split-second before she gave a languid sigh and relaxed. She moaned his name out loud and writhed restlessly as his tongue flickered lower over the soft curve of her abdomen. The excitement built to fever pitch as he continued his merciless ministrations.
The zip on the sleeping bag gave way as he brought her knees up and knelt between them, but Darcy didn’t register the blast of cold air. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain; she cried out in protest but she cried out even louder when he stopped.
He kissed her, stilling her inarticulate protests.
He tasted and smelt of her and sex; it was a mind-shattering combination.
‘I want you so badly!’ she moaned, leaning her face into his neck.
‘Then take me, sweetheart,’ he urged throatily. ‘Take me.’
Darcy lifted her head. ‘I can. Can I…?’ she gasped wonderingly. He whispered things in her ear that convinced her she could—she could do anything she wanted to.
Darcy stared down gloatingly at the magnificent man beneath her—his eyes were closed, his skin glistened with sweat. Her muscles tensed, she bore downwards. The cry of relief and triumph that was wrenched from her throat as she lowered herself upon him echoed around the room.
Reece’s eyes snapped open. ‘Oh, my God, sweetheart!’ he groaned. ‘You are…’ A red mist danced before his eyes; he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think, he could just thrust and thrust…
She rubbed her gritty-feeling eyes. Someone had carefully tucked the sleeping bag around her while she slept. Someone nothing. Her eyes went to the only other person in the room.
‘Sleep well?’ The fully clad figure bent over a portable keyboard didn’t lift his dark head, but seemed to sense her wakefulness.
‘Yes, thank you.’ She tucked her nose below the covers. So this was that embarrassing morning-after feeling. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Sending a few e-mails.’
What sort of person sent e-mails at this time of the morning…? The sort of person you slept with last night—a stranger, her mental critic added, just in case she didn’t feel bad enough already, a beautiful stranger.
‘Right…’ She cleared her throat. ‘What time is it…?’ she asked, more out of a desire to fill the yawning gap in their conversation than a genuine desire to know.
‘Almost seven.’
‘Seven!’ she yelped, shooting upright. ‘Oh, God!’ she groaned, clasping her hands to her bare breasts.
Reece closed the lid of the laptop with a click and turned to face her. His gently ironic expression made her even more aware of the absurdity of displaying inhibitions the morning after the night before—especially when the night before was the one they’d shared!
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Dad and the boys will be up for breakfast,’ she agonised.
‘Can’t they do anything without you to take charge?’
‘Of course they can,’ she responded, exasperated. ‘And I don’t “take charge”.’ Did she really strike him as a bossy, organising female? ‘I just want things to be…’ A frown puckered the smooth skin across her broad, seamless brow.
‘The same?’ he put in gently, drawing her startled gaze.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Sure you do—you’re trying to step into your mother’s shoes. Has it ever occurred to you, Darcy, that maybe she wants her absence to be noticed…?’
A flicker of uncertainty made the soft corners of her mouth droop for a few tell-tale seconds before her expression hardened. ‘You know nothing about it,’ she blustered angrily. ‘Mum isn’t a frustrated housewife and she isn’t menopausal.’
‘Is that what the menfolk think…?’
Nick had put forward this theory but Darcy had soon put him right. ‘Anyway, you’re missing the point.’
He looked mildly perplexed. ‘I am…?’
‘They’ll wonder where I am.’
She watched his sensual lips twist. ‘And you don’t want to broadcast the fact you spent the night with me.’
The sad part was her reputation could probably survive intact. She’d learnt a long time ago that people didn’t think of her and steamy sex in the same thought. She was doomed to be the eternal Mary Poppins figure. Which was pretty ironic when you had an almost ruined marriage on your conscience.
‘Do you blame me?’ she asked him scornfully. He didn’t respond but a nerve along his jaw-line did some flexing. ‘Relax,’ she sighed disconsolately. ‘Even if I did want to tell, nobody would believe me.’
Reece got to his feet and strolled towards her. ‘Put this on—you look ridiculous.’ He handed her her pyjama top.
His scornful contempt of her maidenly modesty was even more infuriating because she shared his opinion; even so, she couldn’t bring herself to expose herself to the full glare of his scrutiny, which was, she reasoned gloomily, bound to be a whole lot more objective than it had been last night.
‘If you’re waiting for me to turn my back you’ll be waiting a long, long time,’ he drawled, taking up a grandstand seat on the packing case. He stretched out his long legs and casually crossed his booted feet at the ankle.
‘You’re no gentleman.’
He seemed to find her accusation amusing.
With an angry toss of her tousled hair she pulled the garment over her head.
It was a classic case of more haste, less speed. With her head halfway through the arm-hole she took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. So she didn’t have the best boobs in the world—they were more than adequate…some might even say ample…what did it matter if he didn’t grade them in the top ten per cent…? After all, they were only ships that had passed—and collided—in the night.
The rest of the manoeuvre was performed with a bit of belated dignity. She smoothed the fabric into place.
‘I’m perfectly at ease with my body,’ she declared defiantly. Why not just give him a list of your insecurities to peruse at his leisure and be done with it, you idiot!
‘Oh, it shows, sweetheart, it shows,’ came the bone-dry response.
Whilst his facial muscles didn’t budge an inch, the sardonic amusement in his eyes said it all. Then suddenly he wasn’t smiling any more and something was added to the atmosphere that hadn’t been there a second before—something that made her heart-rate pick up tempo.
‘Last night…’ he began heavily.
Here was the point where he explained it had been great but… She jumped in to beat him to the punchline; no way could she endure the big brush-off she sensed was heading her way!
‘Last night!’ For some reason she found herself grinning in a manic kind of way across at him. ‘Yes, mad wasn’t it…?’ She shrugged in a way that suggested that kind of madness came her way on a regular basis.
‘Mad, bad…’ his deep voice lovingly caressed each syllable and became diamond-hard as he continued ‘…mind-blowingly great sex…is that what you are trying to say?’
Darcy wasn’t trying to say anything; she was trying to remember how to breathe!