Best Man Under the Mistletoe

Her eyes darted to his lips and he knew he’d just knocked another brick off that barrier she kept around herself. She still clung to him and Gabe’s last shred of control snapped.

He eased closer, keeping his eyes on hers as he lowered his head. “You plan on stopping me?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Not yet.”

The second he covered her mouth, she melted against him. There was no other way to describe the way she simply let go and let him take the lead. But he wasn’t naïve. Chelsea held all the power here. As much as he wanted her and was more than ready to seduce her up against this tree, she would ultimately have to give the green light.

Gabe rested one hand on her hip and thrust the other through her hair as he shifted his head and dove back in for more. More was the theme where Chelsea was concerned. He wanted as much as she would give...then he wanted even more.

She arched against him, groaning into his mouth. Gabe trailed his lips across her jaw and down the column of her throat. The neckline of her tank top mocked him, tempted him. So much exposed skin to explore...and still not enough. But he had to tread lightly. Chelsea wasn’t just any woman, and their situation was extremely delicate.

“Gabe, please.”

Easing back slightly, he took in her flushed cheeks and decided he couldn’t leave her hanging. He was a gentleman, after all, and as gently as he needed to treat her, he also planned on giving in to her every desire.

“You don’t have to ask twice.”

Sliding his hand beneath the hem of her tank, Gabe kept his eyes locked on hers. If she showed the slightest bit of hesitation, he’d stop. But the way she bit on her lower lip and kept her eyes shut, he had to believe he was doing everything right.

He flicked the closure on her jeans, pleased when her hips surged forward. Glancing over his shoulder, he made sure no one was taking a late ride. But they were hidden behind the horses and around the side of a large cypress.

Gabe slid his hand inside the waistband of her panties and kicked her feet apart with the toe of his boot. He rested his forearm alongside her head, against the tree, and dipped his fingers into her heat. The moment she cried out, he covered her mouth with his.

Yes. Finally, this. He had wanted to see her come apart, had wanted to experience every bit of it, and now she was seconds away. He didn’t want to just feel it, he wanted to taste it.

Chelsea’s fingertips dug into his shoulders as she jerked her body against his. Then she exploded. There was no other way to describe it. She tore away from the kiss and tipped her head back, her mouth open in a perfect O as she clung to him.

Chelsea Hunt was letting every single guard down and giving in to her desires, and it was absolutely the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. He wished he could watch her forever, but he quickly pushed the idea aside. Forever wasn’t in his vocabulary.

As she came down and her trembling ceased, Gabe knew for certain that he needed her in his bed. His entire body was wound so damn tight, but he’d have to wait. This was about Chelsea, about her needs and getting her to see that he was serious about this all-consuming need to have her.

But most of all, he wanted her to realize that he wasn’t a liar and had never done anything to hurt her or to tarnish her reputation.

The horses shifted behind him and Gabe started to lean forward to kiss her, but she pushed against his shoulders. Her bold green eyes lifted to his and he instantly saw regret.

They’d made too much progress for her to have those walls come back up. Little by little, he was going to make sure she pushed beyond her fears. Why did she have to start letting her doubts and reality si

nk back in?

He removed his hand and stepped back, giving her a chance to right her clothes.

“I’m not going to apologize.”

Her hands froze on the snap of her jeans as she glared up at him. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“You’re angry.”

“With myself. Not you.”

Well, that was something. But he didn’t want her in any way angry about this situation.

“Are you upset because you let yourself feel or because you hate me?”

She finished straightening her clothes and shoved her hair behind her ears. That defiant chin lifted an extra notch as she squared her shoulders and focused solely on him.

“I don’t hate you,” she retorted. “I just don’t make a habit of getting involved with people I’m still on the fence about.”

Raking a hand through his hair, he turned away and headed back to his stallion.