Page 23 of Riding Dirty for Christmas

She puts her hand on my chest, probably to keep some distance. But her fingers curl into my shirt, holding rather than pushing.

The heat of her touch burns through the fabric, making it hard to focus.

“We can't all guard our hearts forever,” I say, watching how the Christmas lights play across her face, deepening the shadows in her eyes.

“I'm not—” She swallows hard. “This isn't about—” Her free hand waves vaguely between us, but she doesn't move away.

Her hand stays on my chest. I cover it with mine, feeling her pulse race. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I can tell by her sharp breath that she feels it too.

“Isn't it?”

I study Eden's face in the dim light, seeing past her careful mask to the vulnerability underneath.

Her eyes meet mine, filled with the same conflict I'm feeling. Protection versus connection. Safety versus risk. The tension between us is almost visible, making the air feel heavy.

Without thinking, I brush a strand of hair from her face. She leans into my touch, and guilt wars with desire in my chest.

This could complicate everything - our parents' happiness, the wedding, our careful dance around each other. But the way she's looking at me now pushes all those worries aside.

My fingers find the knot of her apron, tugging it loose. Eden's breath catches as I pull it free, letting it fall to the floor. I run my hands up her arms, feeling her shiver.

“We really shouldn't,” Eden whispers, but her fingers tighten in my shirt. She sways closer, almost unconsciously.

“Probably not.” My voice is rough as I work the elastic from her hair, watching it fall around her shoulders. I can't help running my fingers through it, using the gentle grip to tilt her head back.

She laughs softly, the sound turning to a gasp as I brush my lips against her throat. “You're not helping.”

She's my father's future stepdaughter. She's leaving soon. But everything in me knows she's mine. Has known since that first moment.

Eden studies me, her eyes searching mine in the dim light. Her breathing is quick and shallow, pupils wide. Whatever she sees in my gaze makes her decision. She tilts her chin, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parting on a soft sigh.

I capture her mouth with mine.

For a heartbeat, she's still. Then she melts, fingers curling into my shirt as she kisses me back with a matching desperation. Finally, I think. Finally.

The kiss starts gentle, then grows hungrier as she responds. Her hands slide up my chest, trembling against my skin through the thin fabric.

My fingers thread through her hair, cradling her head as I deepen the kiss. When I pull her closer, she fits against me perfectly, like she was made for me.

Like she's always been mine, just waiting for this moment.

One hand stays tangled in her hair while the other finds her hip, my thumb brushing the bare skin where her shirt rides up. Every inch of exposed flesh is a temptation.

Eden breaks away, breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her hair wild, her neck marked by my attention.

“What are we doing?” she whispers against my mouth, even as her fingers slip beneath my shirt to trace my skin. “This complicates everything.”

The thought of stopping, of letting her go, is painful. Not when she fits so perfectly in my arms. Not when every part of me recognizes her as mine.

I pull back enough to frame her face, my thumbs stroking her cheeks.

“If you want me to stop, tell me now,” I challenge, my voice rough. The words hurt, but I need to give her this choice. Need her to choose me.

Her eyes search mine, conflicted but dark with desire. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Something fierce and triumphant roars in my chest. I claim her mouth again, slower this time, pouring every ounce of possession into the kiss.

When Eden nips at my bottom lip, a growl rumbles from deep in my chest.

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