Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection
“Don’t make a joke of this, Joss.” She whirled on him, wanting to fling herself into his arms and hold him forever. Wanting to punch him hard for putting himself in danger for something as insubstantial as honor. “You could have died.”
“I’m sorry.” With clumsy movements, he tugged off his shirt and let it fall to the floor. All urge to clout him evaporated, as did every drop of moisture in her mouth.
In the firelight, his chest was magnificent. Golden and powerful. Crisp black curls outlined his pectoral muscles and trailed down his flat belly to disappear beneath his leather breeches.
She bit her lip and stared at him wide-eyed. He limped close enough for her to smell the outdoors on his skin, and beneath that, the unforgettable essence of Joss himself.
“Don’t be angry, sweetheart.” His hand curled behind her neck, and he cupped the back of her head. “I’m safe.”
She wasn’t, and she knew it. But when he called her sweetheart, nothing could stop her sliding her arms around him. His skin was chilled, and she cuddled closer to share her warmth.
The intimacy of the embrace was extraordinary. She felt each breath he took and the subtle shift of muscles across his back, as he moved his hands up and down her spine in wordless comfort.
“You’re a wild and reckless fool,” she muttered into his chest.
He twined his arms around her. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” he whispered, leaning his chin on her head. “I won’t do it again.”
“You’d better not,” she said indistinctly, pressing her nose into his skin. As he warmed up, the glorious scent of Joss overpowered the scent of snow and wind.
“I promise.”
The tenderness in that bass voice banished the last of her anger. Anger that was purely a reaction to overwhelming dread. If he’d died out there…
If ever she’d doubted how deeply her feelings for Joss Hale went, her quaking, unreasoning panic at the thought of losing him told her that she was in real trouble. When he’d left her, her world had turned cold and unwelcoming. But the idea of a world without him in it somewhere, even if far away, had been more than she could endure.
Inexplicable, illogical, unlikely, but she’d fallen desperately in love, and she had a grim premonition it was a lifelong affliction.
Still, she hadn’t completely lost all connection with the mundane world. She stirred in Joss’s arms and prepared to step away.
Joss tightened his hold to keep her close. “Where in blazes do you think you’re going?”
“To put Emilia in the stables.”
He didn’t release her. “She’s safely in her stall. I fed and watered her, and put a poultice on her leg before I came inside.”
Maggie couldn’t believe what she heard. “You looked after her when you were so close to collapsing?”
“My father taught me—care for yourself only after you’ve cared for your horse.”
Her heart took a dizzying swoop, and she closed her eyes against a hot rush of tears. Curse him. What chance did she have against him?
She knew what state he was in, yet he’d seen his mount settled before he sought shelter and warmth for himself. “You’re a good man, Josiah Hale.”
He gave a grunt of self-derisive laughter. “No, by God, I’m not.”
She knew he meant the words as a warning, but in her ears, they were a promise of sensual expertise. Maggie met those deep-set eyes, and a quiver of need set up low in her stomach, until her whole body was shaking. Tonight, tomorrow, perhaps the day after, but soon, she’d give herself to this man. And words like sin and virtue, and right and wrong would have no power to stop her.
Because her fate opened up before her, for good or ill, she was content to postpone the difficult decisions that lay ahead. “What about your breeches?”
He was wise enough not to tease her this time. “The leather keeps the water out.”
His arms tightened, before abruptly he staggered away. She wasn’t feeling too solid either. Standing on her own two feet had her struggling to lock rubbery knees. The rush of blood to her head left her giddy and disconcerted.
Because touching his naked skin hadn’t been entirely about comfort and shared warmth. How could it be? Maggie wanted this man, and she knew he wanted her. As the effects of his ordeal wore off, she’d noticed how he responded to her nearness.
She touched him because she wanted to. She touched him for desire. For pleasure.
For…love.