Page 25 of Husband for the Holidays

His whole body went taut. For long seconds, he held her in place, letting the waves of orgasm wash over her.

When it began to subside, he slowly, almost tenderly, lifted his mouth from her panting lips. He brushed a strand of hair off her eyelashes and asked in a lust-soaked voice, “Are you even awake?”

Reality crashed over her with such mortification she groaned, “No. I mean, yes, but—”

He was already leaving the bed, swearing as he threw back the covers and locked himself in the bathroom with a firm click of the door. The shower came on.

She rolled her face into the pillow and kicked her feet against the mattress, wishing she could run to the other side of the world.

Eloise was going to be the death of him, she really was.

Konstantin came out of a shower where he’d had to—had to—take himself in hand and relieve the urgency gripping him.

He found the room empty.Damn it. He knew he shouldn’t have touched her. Even as he had kissed her, a voice in his head had been bellowing that he should stop.

That kiss, though. He’d waited six long years to taste her again, telling himself he’d imagined how incredible she was, but that had been every bit as potent as he recalled. As he’d feared. She’d rolled into him and slid her leg along his and those signals of receptiveness had short-circuited his brain. There’d been no thought in his head except to plunder the mouth that was opening to him. To drag her closer and feel more of her.

When his thigh had notched against the cotton of her underwear, the heat of her had scorched his thigh, hardening him to acute anticipation. He had palmed her pert ass while she rolled her hips and then she had justdissolved.

It had been exquisite and exciting as hell, but that’s also when he realized she might not be fully aware she was in bed with him.

That thought was enough of a slap to regain control of himself, if not a cold enough shock to fully douse his arousal.

Who the hell had she been dreaming of, though?

The question grated in him as he hurried to dress, only realizing as he was pocketing his phone that there was a blurred shape standing on the balcony.

He yanked open the door. “What are you doing out here?”

“Questioning my life choices.” She had her coat collar turned up around her chin. Her eyes were big enough to swallow her face. “What are you doing?”

“Going down for breakfast. Do you want to come?” The moment the words emerged from his mouth, he heard the double entendre.

So had she. A fierce blush bloomed across her face.

He turned back into the room, leaving the door open for her. Normally, he dined in the privacy of his room, but they needed space and other people and the grating whine of a child who’d risen too early.

Otherwise, they would finish wrecking that damned bed.

Eloise didn’t want to talk about it, but had the impending sense that they should. Not that she was willing to bring it up in a busy dining room. All she managed to say was that her mother would serve at least three courses at lunch so they should eat lightly.

Konstantin nodded a curt acknowledgment, then ordered pastries and coffee for them. She kept her eyes on a French newspaper she stole off a nearby table. Konstantin exchanged messages with someone in a battery of muted buzzes from his phone.

This was excruciating. While she pretended to read, she was hyperaware of him. Her body was alternating between the heat of embarrassment and the heat of arousal. She couldn’t glance at his mouth without remembering how ravenous his kiss had been. Any small shift of his body reminded her of the imposing weight of him against her. When he absently cupped his coffee, she remembered the feel of his palm branding her bottom.

He’d been hard against her thigh, his heart slamming so hard she’d felt it against her breast. She’d been feeling sexy and desired and buttery with her receding climax when he’d asked her if she was awake.

Now he was Mr. Remote again, barely speaking to her.

“Do you need anything from the room?” he asked as they were finishing their second coffee. “My car is waiting.”

“We can’t go to Mom’s yet. She’ll still be in bed.”

“You need something to wear.” His tone was somewhere between patient and patronizing.

She looked down at the clothes he’d bought her in New York. They were a fast-fashion solution to an immediate problem and the few things she’d brought from the apartment were even more wrinkled and tired. She didn’t want to go further into his debt, but knew he was right. She couldn’t turn up like this.

“I just need my coat,” she murmured.

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