Page 292 of The Christmas Wife

"So now it’s Fire, is it?"

"You set my world on fire."

I half-laugh, then turn away. I shake my head, try to gather myself, and I’m all too aware of his big body taking up so much of this small, enclosed space, of his dark scent that envelops me, the cloud of heat that spools off of his chest and pins me in place, the strength of his dominance which is a palpable presence, one that turns my throat dry, that wrings my insides into coils of tremulous anticipation, and oh, god, I’m losing myself. I’m going to hell for what I’m going to do next, but I can’t fight this… Can’t fight us anymore.

I square my shoulders. "So…" I turn to him. "That scenario you painted earlier, do you want to recreate it?"

40

Hunter

"Which one?" I take in her gleaming eyes, her thick hair put up in some intricate hairdo that I’ve been itching to get my fingers into, just so I can pull out the pins and see her hair down in thick strands about her face again. Clearly, she’s been processing our conversation and come to some kind of conclusion in her head, the results of which I’m about to experience.

"This one." She rises to her feet. Then, in a move that has my breath catching, she hitches her dress above her hips, and straddles me.

My heart slams into my ribcage. My pulse rate shoots up until I can feel the blood thudding in my ears. I slide my palms up her thighs to squeeze her hips.

"Fuck, Zara, you don’t have any panties on," I growl.

"Oh, so it’s Zara, is it? Is that because you’re trying to scold me for being impudent? I wonder."

"You’re playing with fire, Fire."

"And maybe, this time, I need you to be brimstone. To allow both of us to burn in the time it takes us to reach the gala."

"Sir, Mr. Whittington, it’s eight minutes until we reach our destination, sir." My chauffeur’s voice comes through the speaker.

She frowns.

I raise my fingers to her forehead and smooth out the wrinkles in that beautiful brow.

"I told him to give me a warning when we were close."

"Because you expected us to be in this situation?"

"Maybe?"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, and just when I thought, perhaps, you weren’t as much of a tosser as you made yourself out to be." She begins to slide off, but I hold her in place.

"Just kidding you again, baby. No. For once, my intentions in wanting you with me were purely so I could spend time with you in a legitimate fashion, on a professional basis."

"Being photographed arriving together is barely going to make it seem professional."

"You’re with me as my PR specialist. Sure, you’re my plus-one for the evening, but we’re not hiding anything. If anything, being seen together openly will only make it even more obvious that there’s nothing between us."

"Or maybe, people will pick up on the chemistry between us." She frowns.

"If you were that concerned, why didn’t you say anything earlier?"

"It was the dress…and the shoes… And the bag." She glowers at me. "You blindsided me with my favorite brands. I’m a proud woman, but even I bow at the altar of Armani. Add Manolo Blahnik and Birkin to the mix, and you knew I was not going to return them." She stabs a finger into my chest. "Especially not, after I tried on this dress."

"I prefer you even more dressed in only the Blahnik's and nothing else." I wrap my fingers about her delectable arse cheeks and massage the rounded flesh.

It’s her turn to groan.

I pull her even closer so her soft core grinds down into the tent over of my crotch.

This time, both of us exhale sharply.

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