Page 351 of The Christmas Wife

I sense her surprise, then hear the clopping of her heels as she hurries to keep up.

We reach the waiting motorboat. The man at the wheel nods in my direction. I jump down into it, then turn and, without asking for permission, grab her hips and haul her down. Thewarmth of her skin sinks into my blood. My cock thickens, and my balls tighten. She draws in a sharp breath, and I have no doubt she feels the connection, too.

Fuck.I thought I was being clever when I invited her to join me as my assistant. I hoped I could keep a few steps ahead of this—whatever it is she's doing to me. I thought I was being clever by taking the lead and nipping this attraction in the bud. I took that entire 'keep your enemies close' dictum to heart. Apparently, she's not the one I need to be worried about.

It's me and my reaction to her that I need to control. And I have the rest of the night to prove to myself how wrong it was to have anything to do with her.

"Sit." I point at the bench set into the side of the boat, then heave a sigh of relief when she complies. I grab a life-vest and place it about her shoulders. She begins to protest but I shake my head. “That’s non-negotiable. I will not risk your life, Belle.”

She looks between my eyes then nods. “What about you?”

“I’m good.”

“I will not risk your life either, Edward.” She sets her jaw.

A frisson of heat squeezes my chest. I bat it aside, then reach for another life-vest and shrug into it. Then, I take a stance beside her. Not because I want to act as her shield from the wind, and definitely not because I want to make sure she's safe. She’s a grown woman; she can handle herself on a boat. The vessel leaps forward, and she lurches with it. I grip her arm until she finds her balance again.

"Thanks." She tilts her face up. Her hair flows across her features, and before I can stop myself, I’ve pushed the strands behind her ear.

In the moonlight, her blue eyes turn a translucent silver.

"Beautiful Belle," I murmur.

"Excuse me?"

I shake my head, stare ahead, but don’t let go of her.

"I like it when you call me, Belle." She whispers the words, and I shouldn’t hear it above the breeze, but I do. Only, I pretend I don’t.

When the motorboat reaches the stern of the larger ship, the driver cuts the engine, then throws the line to one of the waiting crew on the yacht. He secures it, then signals that we’re good to climb aboard. The man moves toward Mira, but when I glare at him, he pauses.

I reach for her and help her onto the boarding ladder. When I follow her up, I realize I made a mistake. From my vantage point, I have a clear view of her pear-shaped bottom in that too-tight skirt outlining her lush curves. My fingers tingle, and the blood roars in my ears. I raise my arm, needing to touch her twitching arse, then stop before I make contact.

Why is my control so fraught around her? Why does she reduce me to the most basic of instincts? Why does she turn my emotions inside out? Why does she affect me so? Why did I decide to bring her here?I thought I’d punish her for daring to tempt me, yet I’m punishing myself by her proximity. She reaches the yacht, and the steward helps her aboard. When he touches her, a burst of anger sweeps through me. I don’t question my need to hurry up and reach her. I step between them, and steward’s arm drops away. He looks between us, then lowers his gaze, signaling he understands my unspoken sentiment.

I shrug out of my life-vest, then help her slide off her own. I hand it over to the steward. He accepts it, then half bows his head, "Everything you asked for is ready," he assures me.

"Belle, are you ready?" I rap on the door to the room she disappeared into. I told her she’d find fresh clothes laid out for her. She protested, but I glared at her, and she paled. I softened then, and told her, since I’d spoiled her evening with her friends, the least I could do was make it up to her. She finally relented and walked inside to change.

That was half an hour ago. Truth be told, I'm getting impatient. I want to see how she looks in the clothes I chose for her. I want to see her features—those plump lips, those rosy cheeks, the vulnerable column of her neck, the pulse that beats at the hollow of her throat. Every part of her is enticing and alluring, and I want… No, need to smell her and see her and be in her presence again.

"Open up." I bang on the door. "If you don’t, I’m going to break this down and?—"

The door swings open. I stare.

11

Mira

"I’m not sure this looks good on me." I run my hands down the silken fabric of the dress which clings to my curves like it’s a second skin.

He runs his gaze from my feet, now clad in six-inch-Manolo Blahniks, up the gown which sweeps my ankles, over the slit which bares the length of my leg up to almost the top of my thigh, to the flare of my hips which are molded by the glossy material, to where it dips in the front to bare the valley between my breasts. His gaze stays there for a few seconds, and by the time he meets my eyes, I’m flushed to the roots of my hair.

"This wasn’t made for someone with my figure," I burst out.

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Don’t pretend you can’t see it."

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