Page 18 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

His fingers went back to her thigh, gently sweeping up the exposed curve of skin.

‘But I don’t think I can make it to your hotel,’ she wailed, as hot need washed through her. She couldn’t say no. Not now. Not when she was so close.

His smile was beyond satisfied. ‘I’ll make it easy for you.’ He scooped her off the desk and carried her to the door. In the lift he leaned her back against the wall, kissed her senseless.

It was only as the door opened and he set her on her feet that she remembered his shirt and managed to fumble her way into doing the buttons up. Somehow they got through the store. Her lips felt three times the usual size. Dazed, she supposed she was walking, but she felt as if she were floating.

The instant they were out of the building he had her hand in his again, and flagged a cab with the other. His hotel was only minutes away, and every one was spent in his arms. Still not close enough. In the lift again, he pressed against her so hard she could hardly breathe. She could hardly breathe anyway, so excited, so desperate as she kissed him back, already working the buttons free on his shirt.

‘You’re the most wonderful challenge, Imogen.’ As the lift chimed, signalling his floor, he stepped back, looking almost cunning as he fished in his pocket for his key card.

‘Why?’ She asked, too mindless to be able to work out.

‘One night? You’re sure that’s all you want?’

‘That’s all.’

Determination deepened his reply as he opened the door. ‘I wonder if that’s what you’ll say in the morning.’

She didn’t get the chance to answer—even to think—as he locked her in his arms and backed her against the door to close it.

His kisses fired her until she was clinging and saying, doing everything she could to make him take hernow.

But he broke away. Stepping back distance and staring at her, he took in a long, ragged breath. ‘I want to slow down.’

‘I don’t.’

He laughed. ‘No. I already figured that.’

He walked. She followed, watching as he pulled a bottle from the fridge. She seethed with frustration, focused on reading the label to try and hide just how much she didn’t want to stop.

She lifted her brows. ‘Your standard drink?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve had it in the fridge since you said you liked bubbles that night in the bar.’

‘I said I liked bubbles atChristmas.’

‘But, Imogen,’ he said, all innocent-like, ‘this is better than Christmas.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

He’d known this would happen.

‘Optimistic.’

Inevitable. Her mood dimmed. She hated being a foregone conclusion. Had he already mapped out the rest of their affair? Undoubtedly. He was already betting there’d be more than one night. That made her even more determined not to follow his plan.

His grin didn’t disappear, but it gentled. ‘You can’t deny it. You feel it. I feel it. And together we’ll deal with it.’

He handed her a glass. She took a sip to soothe her dry throat. The bubbles hit the roof of her mouth and she closed her eyes, appreciating the sensation. Swallowing, she lifted the glass to have another mouthful—but he took it from her.

She looked at him.

‘Ah.’ He shook his head and teased, ‘Just a taste. I don’t want you blaming what’s about to happen on the demon drink.’

‘You think you can control me?’

He shook his head. ‘Never.’ He held the glass back to her. ‘Your call.’

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