Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

Still she wouldn’t look at him. “I promise I won’t embarrass you again.”

“What?” The few inches she’d managed to claim back between them disappeared as he caught her with ruthless hands and shoved her onto her back. He loomed over her, big and powerful and, unless she was mistaken, fuming.

She ought to be frightened. But she’d sunk so far into sin since she’d met Channing that her wanton blood surged with female excitement. And a much overdue return of spirit.

“You’re to blame. You made me think you like me.”

He stared at her as if she was losing her mind. “I do like you.”

She raised her chin and glared at him. “I mean…like me.”

“I do.”

He clearly didn’t understand. Which was odd. He was one of the most perceptive people she knew. “You kissed me.”

“I did.”

She frowned as her temper spiked. “If you’re not attracted to a girl, it’s wicked to kiss her.”

“It’s wicked to kiss her anyway.”

“Exactly,” she said, so desperate to score a point against him that she hardly knew what she agreed to. “And it’s wicked to single her out and call her pretty and…and make her feel special.”

“You are special.”

Bess immediately dismissed that as another attempt to soothe her hurt feelings. “It’s wicked to touch her, and take her arm, and look at her as if you want to kiss her again.”

“The way I’m looking at you now?”

Something in his voice choked any answer in her throat. Confused, she stared up into his face. The unwavering regard of those deep green eyes had her heart performing drunken cartwheels.

Channing indeed looked as if he intended to snap her up like a bonbon between his straight white teeth. He leaned over her, caging her between his impressive chest and the arm he propped against the pillow near her head. Against her side, his body was pleasingly heavy and hot.

“Y…yes,” she finally forced out between lips that felt as dry as sand. Her pulse throbbed so hard, it shook her whole body. She began to tremble, not to her shame with fear, but with frantic anticipation. “Just like that.”

His eyes darkened in sizzling concentration. Nobody in Bess’s whole life had looked at her with such burning focus. Her breath hitched, and her head swam until all she saw was his face. His lips curled in a smile that made her giddy with longing.

If this was more teasing, she’d never forgive him.

“At last, a right answer.”

“Does that mean…” she stammered, as without conscious command, one hand slid up his arm to shape his shoulder.

“That I’m about to compound all the wickedness you accuse me of by being very wicked indeed? Aye, it does.”

“Oh…” she said faintly, then didn’t speak again because Lord Channing’s lips stole her breath.

This was shatteringly different from the last time he kissed her. That had been a question. This was a conquest. He lashed his arms about her and rolled to the side so they lay face to face. His warmth and masculine scent surrounded her. That rich essence flooded her senses with the promise of excitement and adventure and daring. And home and lifelong sustenance and safety.

She shouldn’t feel safe. After all, he was a pirate and a seducer, and she’d known him less than a week. But none of those good sensible warnings touched her heart. Her heart told her that she was home.

Rory Beaton was her home.

So when his tongue flicked against her lips, she obeyed the silent prompting and parted. He explored her mouth with shocking carnality. She tasted chamomile and raw spirits, delicious when combined with Channing’s distinctive flavor.

When she moved her tongue against his, he growled encouragement. She did it again, and the kiss became an incendiary dance of lips and tongues. A deep pulse pounded in the pit of her stomach, making her feel empty and needy and jumpy. She wriggled to get closer, frantic to ease that hot, painful craving. Every rule she’d lived by tumbled around her like fallen ninepins hit square by the ball. Nothing outside the circle of Channing’s arms mattered. All that mattered was the passion flaring between them, and her need to know more, feel more.

He teased at her lips, nipping and licking and taunting her. She caught on quickly and teased him back until he, the worldly rogue, groaned and gave her more of those long, desperate kisses. As if he perished of thirst in the desert, and only Bess offered sweet, fresh water.