Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery (Lakeside Mountain Rescue 7)

His breathing was uneven as he brought his mouth back down on hers, his kiss so disturbingly erotic that Hayley’s mind blanked. Heat pooled in her pelvis and she tried to shift against him, instinctively trying to relieve the delicious burning that had become her entire focus. The dangerous throb and ache became so intense that she sobbed against his mouth and he muttered something against her lips and then slid his fingers inside the elastic of her panties.

His touch was unerring, his fingers so impossibly skilled that Hayley was left in no doubt that he knew more about her body than she did. Without warning she exploded in a climax that made her cry out in shock, the sound muffled by his mouth, every contraction intensified by the fact that his fingers were deep inside her. His mouth still on hers, he gently removed his hand and Hayley was dimly aware of him altering her position slightly—and then there was a brief pause before she felt the hard probe of his erection against her hot, molten core. He entered her with a smooth, decisive thrust, the strength and power of his body robbing her of breath. And he felt so shockingly good that she arched her hips, responding to the rhythm he set. His mouth stayed hot on hers, his body virile and demanding as he slid his hand under her hips, hauling her closer still, increasing the contact that was already driving both of them wild.

Neither of them spoke—not a word was exchanged—all communication channelled through their bodies and expressed through the ragged drag of their breathing.

When he finally lost control Patrick’s hands tightened on her hips. His rhythm altered and that subtle change was sufficient to boost Hayley over the same precipitous edge until both of them were tumbling, spinning, falling through a kaleidoscope of sensations.

Hayley had long since lost track of time but eventually Patrick dragged his mouth from hers and dropped his head to her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck. ‘That was…’ His voice husky, he struggled to finish his sentence. ‘Sublime.’

She lay there, too drugged to move, her body still trembling. It was only when he shifted above her that she felt the hardness of the kitchen table pressing into her back.

Patrick registered her wince of discomfort with a wry smile of apology. He hauled her upright in a decisive movement and scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

Hayley wound her arms round his neck. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury.’ Eyeing her jeans on his kitchen floor, she wondered whether she was destined to leave clothes in every room this man inhabited.

‘You don’t weigh anything.’ He took the stairs that led to the bedrooms, pushing open the door that led to his room. As he laid her down on the bed, Hayley realised that he was still wearing his coat.

‘One of us has the dress code wrong,’ she muttered. ‘Either you’re wearing too much or I’m wearing too little.’

‘We’re both wearing too much,’ he drawled, his eyes glittering like sapphires as he shrugged off his coat and reached for the buttons of his casual shirt.

Her mouth dried. ‘Patrick—’

‘Hayley?’ The shirt went the same way as the coat and his fingers slid to the snap of his jeans.

Her eyes were on his board-flat abdomen and then he was on the bed beside her. Reaching out, he dimmed the lights and then pulled the duvet over both of them. ‘Now—where wer

e we?’

Hayley lay still in the darkness, feeling the warmth of his arms around her. He hadn’t bothered to close the blinds in the bedroom and tiny lights glowed like stars in the fir trees outside the barn. Through the thickness of the glass she could hear the dull roar of the beck as it raced down from the fells.

‘You’re very quiet.’ Patrick’s voice was low and masculine. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘What makes you think there’s anything wrong?’

‘Because normally you don’t stop talking,’ he said dryly, curving her against him in a possessive movement. ‘I’ve learned that when you’re quiet, it’s time to worry.’

‘That isn’t true.’ She resisted the temptation to snuggle into him and heard him sigh.

‘Hayley, I can tell there’s something wrong. Do I have to put the lights on and interrogate you?’

‘I’m fine, Patrick, really.’

‘Why are we whispering? We’re on our own in the house. Apart from the kittens, of course, and I don’t suppose they’re interested in us.’

His words hastened the deflation of her happiness. It was like going from a slow puncture to a blowout, she thought miserably. Her emotions crashed and with it her desperate attempt to keep her feelings to herself.

Hayley shot out of the bed but his arms caught her easily and he pulled her back.

‘Leave me alone, Patrick,’ she muttered, her voice thickened by tears she desperately didn’t want to shed.

‘Hayley, now you’re really worrying me.’ His voice concerned, he flicked on the bedside lamp and shifted above her, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘I just hate myself, that’s all.’ Hayley turned her face away from the light, aware of the tension in his powerful frame.

‘You hate yourself? For spending the night with me?’

‘Yes!’