Page 24 of Husband for the Holidays

His lizard brain exploded with the image of her nude form all shiny and soapy, eyelids heavy with relaxation, mouth curved into a smile of invita—

No.

He yanked the leash on his libido.

She’s Ilias’s little sister. She’s vulnerable.

She trusted him. And he’d already lied to her. He’d told her he wouldn’t notice she was in the bed beside him, but he doubted he would sleep a wink.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ELOISEWAITEDINthe bed while Konstantin brushed his teeth, telling herself this was no different than sharing the flat with her roommate where she took the sofa and her roommate had the murphy bed that came down from the wall.

This was very different, though.

This is what marriage would be like.

Routine intimacy. A shared bed during the most vulnerable time: sleep.

Going to bed together after a fight.

Not that they’d fought. No, it was worse than that. She had thrown herself at him and he’d turned her downagain. They’d spoken in stilted tones after her bath, agreeing they should get some sleep. She’d waited until he was in the bathroom to take off the robe and put on her T-shirt and underwear to sleep in, then she’d climbed into bed and was trying to fall asleep by sheer willpower, hoping to be unconscious by the time he joined her.

The door opened and the light went off. Konstantin found his way to the bed. She didn’t know what he was wearing. Behind her, the covers lifted and the mattress dipped. The blankets settled and he exhaled.

She stared blindly at the paisley pattern she couldn’t really see in the wallpaper, trying not to move, but how was she supposed to sleep? She used to think about sharing a bed with himall the time. Sharing herbody.

What diabolical biology made her obsess over him this way? She’d had plenty of offers from men over the years, but the kisses she’d invited had been pleasant rather than moving, the caresses more ticklish than erotic. No one had ever made her react the way she did to Konstantin, even though all she had with him were fantasies. She didn’t even knowhowto make love. She’d never done it outside her imagination and that had always been with the man in this bed.

She tried not to let her mind wander down those avenues, tried not to move, even though she wanted to look at the clock. She distracted herself with trying to predict what would happen tomorrow. She berated herself for not making more of an effort when she’d first gone back to university, then spent some time listing all the solves for the world’s current events. Nothing made her less aware of the man beside her.

Was he asleep? Or awake like her?

She couldn’t sleep. She felt ripe. She felt as though her skin were thin and sensitized, her blood flowing fast beneath it. Her erogenous zones pulsed a signal of yearning, calling out to him, inviting his touch.

Then, miraculously, his hand was between her thighs, both soothing and inciting. His hot body surrounded hers; his lips caressed her nape. He said something against her ear that she didn’t catch. She was too enthralled with the way he was sliding his touch between her folds. She was soaked and throbbing with arousal. His finger slid and teased and drew her closer and closer to climax, making her moan.

“Eloise.”

She snapped awake to the silver light of early morning. Konstantin loomed over her, propped on his elbow. His hand on her shoulder flattened her to the mattress.

“Are you having a nightmare?”

“No.” Her voice was throaty with the lust still gripping her.

He was close enough that she saw the way his pupils exploded, swallowing up the dark chocolate of his irises with inky black. His nostrils twitched and his gaze dropped to her mouth.

She reacted purely on instinct, not sure if it was dream or reality, but she rolled her hips toward him, reaching across to find his waist—his naked rib cage and the indent of his spine, inviting him closer.

With a noise that was half agony, half aggression, he dropped his head. His mouth capturing hers the way it had in Athens so long ago, with such ferocity she should have been alarmed, but she only curved closer while his hand swept behind her, drawing her even more fully under him.

If this was a continuation of the dream, she didn’t care. The feel of him was glorious. His smooth back was beneath her splayed hand. His heavy chest crushed her aching breasts. His tongue sought her own, spearing excitement through her.

When his naked leg brushed hers, she moaned in supreme pleasure and luxuriated in the feel of his leg hair against the inside of her thigh and calf. He reacted by pushing his knee with more purpose between hers, pressing the ironlike tension of his thigh firmly against her mound.

Stars of sensation shot through her. She clamped her thighs on his, rocking her hips to increase the pressure, arching and rubbing, thrilling when his hand ran to her bottom and clenched into her cheek, possessive and encouraging her to keep rolling and writhing—

Climax struck. It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t already been halfway there in her dream, but here she was, thrust into the explosive joy of orgasm. She might have scratched his back. She definitely moaned long and loudly into his mouth.

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