Page 136 of The Christmas Wife

Weston swings.

I gasp.

Liam laughs.

I stand on tip-toe, throw my arms around Weston’s shoulders… Or as much of him as I can reach, considering how big he is. "Stop it," I snap. "Now."

He blinks, arm raised. Huh? The alphahole stopped in his tracks? Guess Rosie’s not the only one who’s able to bring them to heel. Maybe I picked up something from her, after all.

"Wes," I lean into him, push my breasts into his chest, dig my fingers into his uninjured shoulder, "look at me, babe."

His big body shudders; his chest planes seem to go rock hard.

"I should fucking thrash him for laying a finger on you."

"But you won’t," I declare.

I peer up, to see his throat move as he swallows. The tendons of his beautiful throat flex; the pulse beats at the base of his neck.I reach up and kiss him there, suck on that space where his scent is most profound. Dark edginess, cool pine, warm cloves… My senses cloud with Weston.

"Wes," I tip my chin up, "kiss me."

He glances down, those colorless eyes filled with an emotion… A hint of something that is so very close to… No, not that. He doesn’t feel that for me. Oh, he wants me all right, he lusts for me, needs to possess me and claim me, so no one else can, but love… Ha! The alphahole only loves himself. "Kiss me," I insist. "Do it."

He drops his head, closes his mouth over mine. He swipes his tongue in between my lips and drinks from me. He curves his arm around my shoulders, yanks me to him, crushes me to that beautiful, broad, gorgeous chest of his, and kisses me, and kisses me. My head spins; I swear I see stars. He kisses me until my knees tremble, and I hold onto his sleeves, and then I am kissing him back. I open my mouth wider, grind my pelvis into the hard column that tents his pants and I pour myself into that connection between us, where his mouth takes from me and I offer myself up... Completely, wholly, absolutely. His hand comes up to cup my neck, he tilts his head, softens the kiss, until it’s his lips on mine, nibbling on my mouth, brushing over mine, tasting of me, inviting me, enticing me, to slide my tongue inside his mouth, to partake of him, to drink from him, to open myself to accept what he is offering—his past, my life, our future together, what I am, what he is, a shared path, for he is mine. And I am his. His, and only his. I tear my mouth from his, so fast that my teeth catch on his lip.

He winces.

I stare at the drop of blood that blooms on his lower lip.

"I’m sorry," I whisper.

"I’m not." His lips curl.

"I am leaving you." I peer into his eyes.

"No." He frowns.

"Yes," I reply, "let go of me."

"What?" He shakes his head. "I can’t."

"You can," I thrust out my chin, " and you will."

"No fucking way," he growls.

"Yes, way." My lips tremble and my voice cracks, "Goodbye, Wes."

He looks into my eyes, really looks, and the color fades from his cheeks. "Princess," he whispers. His fingers curve around the nape of my neck. A shiver runs down my back and my sex clenches. Hell, when he does that… Holds me like I am his, promises with his gaze to fuck me like I am his... When he stares at me like I am the only thing in the world that matters… Then I know...

It’s time I get away from him. I hadn't meant to fall in love with him... How could I allow myself to feel so much when I was still the woman he'd paid to bring home to meet his family? I don't mean anything to him. I'd been a challenge... Someone to seduce, to buy with his wealth and use as a fuck-toy to pass the time. Hell. The pressure builds at my temples. I am only making this worse on myself. I need time away, time to process everything that has happened. I needed to get away from here.

"Please," I mumble, "let me have this."

His throat bobs and the skin around his eyes creases. Then he lowers his hand.

I step back, walk around him.

"Princess."

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