Page 350 of The Christmas Wife

"You will not come without my permission."

"What?" I open my eyelids, turn to him. "Why?"

He merely jerks his chin. "Bring your fingers to your mouth and suck on them."

My breath hitches, my gaze caught by his fiery eyes, the look in them so insistent, I know I can’t disobey. I raise my fingers to my mouth and suck on them.

"How does it taste?"

"Sweet, complex and tangy, with an underlying saltiness." I hold out my fingers. "Do you want to taste?"

10

Edward

Fuck, yes.The sweet scent of her arousal wafts over to me, and my already thickening cock extends further. My blood drains to my balls, and my thigh muscles are so rigid, I’m sure I’m going to split my pants. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to lick the glistening ends of her fingertips. And if I do, I’m going to hell.

I swore never to fall for another woman. Yet here I am, in an enclosed space, with the most dangerous woman I’ve encountered sinceher. Maybe even more thanher. I can’t remember feeling this out of my depths withher. But Belle… She is a constant surprise.

Mirabelle Young, daughter of one of the most powerful families in the world, a woman whose purple streaked hair indicates she's trying to change what's in her control—ergo, she can’t change many of the bigger things in her life. The woman who's twelve years younger than me—not twenty, or fifteen, as she’d guessed. The woman whose beauty struck a blow to mychest the first time I saw her, so much so, those big blue eyes of hers had seared themselves into my soul.

The creamy expanse of her neck had made me want to dig my teeth into the skin and mark her where her shoulder met her neck; the flare of her ample hips had invited me to dig my fingers into them and hold her still as I bent and swiped my tongue across her cherry blossom mouth. She's perfect. From the top of her blonde hair, whose shine not even the purple streaks could hide, to the imprint of her nipples that can be seen through the layers of her blouse and her jacket, to the thick thighs that beg me to wear them as earmuffs—to sink to my knees and push my face into the delectable treasure between them. Fact is, since meeting Ms. Mirabelle Young, everything about my carefully structured life has been upturned.

The force of her beauty touches that dead organ in my chest, the one I thought would never revive—indeed, did not want to be revived. Her presence is grace and light, with an awkwardness that awakens my protective instincts. It’s why I offered her a job as my assistant. This way, I can watch out for her. I can make sure she’s safe. But I cannot allow myself to develop feelings for her. I cannot act on this attraction I feel for her. Besides, if she sees the truth of the man I am, she’ll hate me. She’ll never want to see me again. My only role is to ensure she’s protected. That what happened to me as a boy never happens to her.

When I showed her the NDA, I was sure it'd discourage her from accompanying me on this little sojourn. But Little Miss Gorgeous—whose face I almost jerked off to twice today—surprised me… Again. It made me want her more.

Not to worry; I can resist her allures. I stayed celibate as a priest. Until I didn’t, and see how that worked out for me. Nope. I’m not falling for a woman again. And definitely not for her.

I step out of the car, hit the electronic lock, then walk around to open her door. "Ready?"

"Always." She tucks her handbag under her arm and brushes past me, only to trip on a crack in the pavement.

My heart slams into my ribcage. I grip her shoulder and straighten her.

"Do I have Tiny to blame this time? Of course, not," she mumbles. She tries to pull her arm from mine, but I tighten my grip.

"You can let me go."

"Can’t have you breaking your neck on my watch." My voice comes out harsher than I intended.

She winces, then a shudder grips her.

"You’re cold."

"Don't be ridiculous,” she huffs.

"What did I say about lying?" I glare.

She pales, then slowly, nods. "I am…a little."

I shrug off my jacket and place it about her shoulders. It’s big enough to envelop her completely and comes to mid-thigh. She burrows into it. Then, as if unable to help herself, turns her face into the collar and sniffs. She draws in a long breath, holds it, then sighs. Then, as if she realizes what she’s done, she whips her head around in my direction. "Did I sniff your jacket?" she bursts out.

When I nod slowly, the color on her face deepens.

"I… I didn’t." She bites down on her lower lip, and goddam her, I feel the tug in my groin.

I step away from her. Pretending not to notice the disappointment on her face, I stalk forward, without waiting for her.

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