Her Christmas Pleasure (The Merry Widows 2)

Parting her lips, she encouraged him to linger by kissing him slowly, languidly, with her eyes closed. Emboldened, she dabbed her tongue against the corner of his mouth and earned a startled exhalation from him, which only filled her with more confidence.

She licked at his slightly parted lips with tentative flicks of her tongue, not sure what to do next to encourage his participation. With Lawrence it had been easy. He’d taken the lead from the beginning of their relationship. Never before had she behaved in such a forward manner.

Unfortunately, Damien didn’t seem receptive. Had she been wrong regarding the awareness flaring between them earlier? Maybe she was the only one who had experienced such heady sensations when their mouths first connected. Perhaps she’d been the only one completely enflamed from his touch, his lips…

A frustrated whimper escaped, and it spurred him into action. His hands tightened about her waist as he whirled her around and slammed her against the wall in an almost brutish—but exciting—manner. He pinned her with his large, strong body, her feet dangling and his hands curled about her waist. She opened her eyes to find him watching her. Her breathing accelerated, her almost overexposed breasts trembling with her every exhalation.

“Your tentative kisses leave something to be desired.” He cocked a brow when he noted her irritated expression. She formed her hand into a fist and gave him a gentle sock on the chest.

His broad, hard and rather alluring chest.

Frustrating man.

“Why would you say such a…rude and inconsiderate thing?” She frowned at the sound of her breathy voice. Who had she turned into? What sort of magic did this man’s touch hold over her? It was rather disconcerting. “Let me go.”

“No.” He smiled and angled his lower body against hers. His erection brushed against her, and an instant ache pulsed between her legs. “You know you don’t want me to.”

“Yes, I do,” she lied, her gaze shifting sideways.

Strong fingers grasped her chin, and he forced her to look at him. “Is this what you wanted, Celia? Me, taking the lead? Me, trapping you with my body like some sort of brute, so desperate to tear your clothes off and take you where you stand?”

Her nipples tightened at his words, chafing against the confines of her shift and corset. It was exciting, thinking of Damien making love to her like this. Lawrence had never been with her outside of his bedchamber. In the bed, at night and in the dark. He’d always been worried about her “delicate sensibilities.”

And here, Damien held her against the wall. Revealing he wanted to take her there—standing up. She hadn’t any idea men and women could do such a thing.

Celia frowned. Was she that naive? That uninformed in the conjugal act because of her so-called delicate sensibilities?

“You wouldn’t dare do such a thing. I know you, and you would never push yourself upon me. You wouldn’t push yourself upon any lady.”

His eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened about her waist. “You don’t know me at all, do you, Celia?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

He stroked her. A gentle brush of his fingers along the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. She felt his touch to her very core.

“I’m only a man. And a weak one when faced with the one temptation that has tormented me for ages.” He sounded in utter agony. His expression matched the unrestrained pain in his voice.

Her heart soared. He’d been tempted by her for that long? Why hadn’t he ever told her? “I didn’t realize I’ve been such torment.”

“Of course you didn’t. Not until some randomly placed mistletoe did you even realize I existed.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That’s not true. Of course I knew you existed.” She’d been aware of him for months. She’d secretly watched him, yearned for him, wished he would notice her too.

Gripping his shoulders, she examined the sheer breadth of him beneath her fingers. He was so broad. He made her feel dainty and feminine. Lawrence hadn’t been much taller than her. And though muscular, he’d been more on the lean side. Not quite as burly and…masculine as Damien.

Warmth speared through her as she imagined Damien unclothed. Would he be even more impressive without a stitch on? Would he take her breath away at the mere sight of him?

“Well, I assume you know I exist now.” His head lowered and his lips brushed against her forehead as he spoke. “Our timing is horrendous.”

“Why?” Her eyes slid closed as he trailed his lips along her temple.

“Because I’m leaving at the first of the year.”

Chapter Three

Celia pushed at Damien’s shoulders with all her might, her face screwed up in what could only be anger. Her pretty lips were twisted in a grimace he found positively adorable even though he knew she was none too pleased with his abrupt revelation. “Leaving? Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m leaving England, Celia.” I’m leaving you.