Page 66 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

She snorted—actually snorted—and stretched up on her toes to hang the cranberries more carefully. “He had better not, if he knows what is good for him. This is my promised Christmas celebration, after all.”

The temptation was too great; with her arm raised, she was in the prime position for him to wrap his arm around her and drop his lips to her neck. “Promised, eh?” Demon murmured against her skin. She always smelled good enough to eat, but today she smelled like his soap.

It shouldn’t be arousing.

Remembering her kneeling in his tub with his cock in his mouth was, however.

The fact he’d been naked, scars bared to the world, didn’t even detract from that memory.

He might’ve expected her to stiffen against him, but instead she tilted her head to one side so he could nibble under her ear. “You were the one who told me I might decorate for Christmas, Demon.”

“Aye, and now my servants are conspiring against me and plan to serve roast duck for the holiday meal.”

He felt her smile, which should be impossible.

“Oh dear.” She patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, even as his hand dropped to her arse. “That is horrible, my lord. Having to endure roast duck, tsk-tsk.” She actually said the last part aloud, rather than tsking. “At least you have not heard their plans for the chestnuts.”

He jerked his head up and glared at her, which was the response she wanted, judging from her giggle.

“What chestnuts?”

Georgia’s lovely, changeable eyes widened in mock surprise. “Forget I said anything, my lord.”

Instead, he pulled her flush against him, so she might feel the growing bulge in his trousers. The bulge she’d cupped so boldly yesterday.

Her breathing had hitched, and he hummed as if in contemplation as he traced the line of buttons holding the front of her simple gown closed. “Here’s a chest,” he murmured. “A verra nice one indeed. A verra nice clean chest, I can attest.” He quirked a brow at her.

She was clearly trying not to laugh as she huffed a put-upon sigh. “Oh dear. If only I knew where to find a pair of nuts.”

In response, he flexed his hips forward, and she burst into laughter. Planting her palms against his chest she pushed away, still laughing and shaking her head as she reached for the cranberry strand once more.

“Allow me to finish decorating, Demon, then you may snap your fingers.”

The reminder jolted him. When he snaps his fingers, I’ll bend over and lift my skirts and be grateful for the opportunity to service him. She’d agreed to that, and had been loyal to her end of the bargain. But…

What they’d shared, here in the library…what they’d shared yesterday in the tub… That hadn’t been because he’d snapped his fingers.

So his voice sounded strained to his ears when he tried for nonchalance. “Is that what ye want, lass?” Was it easier for her to agree to be touched by him, if she thought it was part of the contract?

But Georgia merely sent him a slightly exasperated smile as she hung the next strand. “You can snap twice, Demon, if you will only help me finish this task beforehand.”

“Always bargaining, eh?”

She just laughed and nudged the crate toward him with one foot. “Go eat another cookie, and help me!”

He came back with two cookies, and when she turned to ask him something, he shoved one in her mouth. Her expression of shock was priceless. He raised a brow in challenge as he ate the other.

“What do ye want me to do?” Demon waved the nut-half of the cookie man as he spoke around the chest-half. “With yer tree, I mean.”

She was adorable as she tried to find a polite way to eat the cookie. “Just…” She held up a finger, then swallowed, and tried again. “Bend down, Demon, pick up something from the crate, and then—this is the difficult bit, pay attention—hook it on a branch.”

Pretending to concentrate, he crouched. “Just like this—”

His voice faltered as he picked up another glass ornament, then he slowly rose again. “I remember these.” He stared down at the delicate decoration. “Mother… These used to hang on the tree in the nursery.”

That was before he’d learned to dislike the holiday season’s flash and grandeur and glitter. Back when he’d wanted Mother’s approval and cared about her friends’ opinion of him. Before he’d become his own man.

And hidden yerself away at Endymion like a fool?

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