Page 167 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Jace!” she protests, but even as she says it, she wraps an arm around my neck. “What are you doing?”

“You shouldn’t walk on that.” I carefully place her on the sofa, her back against the arm. I sit down on the middle cushion and let her legs drape over my lap. “Let me see.” I push her legging up to her knee and wrap a hand around her calf. Sure enough, the muscle is hard, so I gently knead her flesh with my fingertips.

“Wha…what are you doing?” she stammers.

“Helping get rid of your cramp.”

“That’s not why I asked you to come over,” she says. Her hands are on either side of her body, gripping the sofa arm as though she’s bracing herself for something.

My fingertips are pressing and circling her calf. Touching her after seeing her dance like that is making my blood hot with need. The scent of her shampoo mixed with the faintest hint of sweat fills my head, and I want to touch more than just her calf.

“Why did you ask me to come over?” I rasp.

“I…” Her breath is coming in short pants as she stares at me, her eyes full of fire.

I hold her gaze as one of my hands slowly slides up her calf.

Her eyes widen, and she swallows.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” I press my fingertips into the back of her leg, above her knee, kneading and then stroking through the fabric of her black leggings.

“School…” She shakes her head. “Dance lessons. From when I was three until my senior year of high school.”

“Is that why you asked me over, Mary? So I could watch you dance?” It seems unlikely, yet she knew I was coming over. Even if I caught her by surprise.

“I…I had a margarita at dinner.”

I smile at her, but it feels predatory, my smile, even to me. I feel a strong urge to claim this woman as mine, and I’m struggling to rein it in. “You called me because you had a margarita.”

“And most of a glass of wine.”

My hand inches higher, midthigh now. My cock is twitching against her other calf, and she draws in a sharp breath.

“I was drunk…I guess, and I…”

Is she drunk now? I want her badly, but I won’t take advantage of her. If we do this, it’ll be because we both want it. Then again, the way her body moved just now was better thanany sobriety test. If she’d been drunk, she would have stumbled or fallen.

There might be enough alcohol in her to have given her the courage to call me and let me touch her like this, but she’s not drunk.

“Were you thinking of me?” I ask, inching my hand up a little farther.

Her legs part slightly. An invitation?

Jesus. The thought makes me light-headed as all my blood is shuttled to my dick.

She licks her full bottom lip as her gaze holds mine.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“You’re like an angel,” I say as I reach up to cup her cheek with my free hand. My thumb brushes her soft skin, and she leans into my touch, closing her eyes. Her hair, a mix of brown and auburn that never looks the same color, is a bit wild, and it surrounds her head like a halo.

If I were a better man, I’d get up and go sit in a different chair, but I’m not a saint and have never claimed to be. I slide my hand up her outer thigh and cup her ass as I pull her closer and lower my mouth to hers.

Her lips part with a small exhalation of surprise, and I kiss her lightly, trying to hold back so I don’t scare her off with the wildness building inside me. With the need to possess her.

But she cups my face and pulls me closer. I angle her head back, giving myself better access, and my tongue strokes hers, soft and coaxing. She begins to respond, as though she’s been asleep and my kiss is awakening her.

The thought that I’m bringing her to life is intoxicating, and some of my control slips. I growl, digging my fingers into the flesh of her ass, and my lips and tongue begin to devour her.

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