Page 41 of Husband for the Holidays

The taste of her sent a sweep of heat through him, like a sip of fine scotch. He wanted to get drunk on her. To gulp her down, but therein lay the danger. He had to keep some control in this.

Still, as he made himself lift his head and say, “I’m going to shower,” he couldn’t resist adding, “I won’t lock the door. Join me if you want to.”

He left her with heat searing from her lips to the pit of her belly. With a sense of being abandoned, but of wanting to abandon herself.

Take me, she thought.

But he wanted something that was infinitely more difficult. He wanted her to give herself to him. That took bravery and trust. It might even cost her soul.

But he was already in possession of it.

Was she being a complete fool? How well did she really know him? Barely at all! Her brother had trusted him and Konstantin felt a compelling debt toward Ilias, but what did he feel forher? Nothing so deep as what she felt toward him.

It made the act of going to him more than just a conscious decision. It was a huge risk, but she wanted to believe that if she had the courage to take this step, she might find the deeper regard and loving relationship she was looking for.

She kicked off her shoes and walked on unsteady legs into his room, dropping her gown to the floor along the way. She came up against the cracked door where she could hear the quiet rustle of clothing. She slowly pushed it open.

He turned from hanging his trousers on a hook, naked but for the snug black underwear that outlined his erection straining the front. His gaze ate up her powder-pink strapless bra and matching lace cheekies while she admired the bronzed cast that was his chest and muscled shoulders and tense abdomen.

His attention came back to her face and he said, “I should have got the pink ones.”

She touched her ear. “I should, um...” She removed her jewelry, leaving it in the empty soap dish with her hairpins. Then she used a couple of the complementary makeup removal wipes, aware of him standing so close she could feel the heat off his body, but he didn’t touch her.

“You’re not going to start the shower?” she asked as she dropped the little pads into the bin.

“I’m enjoying watching you. And don’t be mad when I say this, but I’m surprised how short you are.”

She dipped her chin in warning.

“It’s because you have a very sunny personality. I saw it tonight. You make people smile and when you tell a story, people want to hear it. It makes you seem bigger than you are. I think that’s why I didn’t recognize you right away in New York. I genuinely remembered you taller than you really are.”

“Thank you, I guess?” she said wryly.

“I mean it as a compliment. I hate parties and you made tonight bearable.”

“That’s another compliment? Maybe if we workshop them before delivery.”

His mouth twitched. “See, like that. You’re funny and engaging.”

He leaned into the shower and wrenched the taps on. As the hiss of the water filled the room and the air grew so thick it was hard to breath, he very casually skimmed down his underwear and stepped out of them, then straightened to his full intimidating height. His erection jutted out, unabashed.

“Let’s not waste water,” he chided, and nodded at her to finish stripping.

Her stomach pitched with nerves as she reached behind herself to release her bra, letting it fall to the floor before she rolled her cheekies down her legs, too shy to look at him as she stepped out of them.

He held the door for her like a gentleman, then followed her into the cubicle.

It wasn’t the spacious shower of his New York penthouse and she didn’t have it all to herself. This one was big enough for two, but just barely. His body brushed hers beneath the spray and his arm grazed her breast when he reached for the soap. He rolled the bar between his hands, then he slid his soapy hands over her skin, dragging her close and planting a wet hungry kiss across her mouth.

A glorious rush pulsed through her. She gave in to her wicked, greedy urge to slick her hands over his sides and back and up to his shoulders, then rubbed her breasts against the lather in the fine hairs on his chest and welcomed his tongue with the brush of her own.

He groaned and pressed her into the cool tiles. There was a dull thud of the soap falling. His hands covered her breasts, massaging and flicking her nipples in a way that sent wires of electric heat deep between her thighs, making her writhe.

His erection was a thick insistent shape against her abdomen and she started to touch him, then hesitated.

“Go ahead,” he rasped, easing back enough that she could stroke the steely shape of him.

“Show me?” she asked shyly.

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