Page 8 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

‘No.’ She shook her head in the tiniest movement and her last hint of caution melted. ‘My lips are so cold they’re numb.’ The scare from her almost fall must have addled everything.

‘Numb?’ He was looking deep into her eyes in a way that obliterated rational brainpower.

She nodded, felt that squeezing inside as his gaze dropped to her lips.

‘I don’t believe you.’ His mouth had that cheeky quirk to it.

‘They are,’ she insisted. ‘I have to be careful with my coffee or I might burn them.’

His lashes swooped up and she was pinned in place—just where she wanted to be. ‘Well, we can’t let that happen.’

Bluer than the brightest summer sky, his eyes gleamed. Spellbound, she watched as he came nearer and nearer.

The kiss was butterfly light. The faintest brush of his mouth on his. Not remotely long enough or hard enough or deep enough to satisfy Imogen’s burgeoning desire.

‘Still numb,’ she said, as his mouth lifted and hovered near millimetres from hers. Her challenge was unmistakable.

His smile widened—and then she got to taste it as his head lowered. Her eyes closed and in her mind she was floating in those skies of blue. His lips were warm, gentle, teasing, before they lifted again, still too soon.

She sighed, resigned. ‘I can’t seem to feel a thing.’

His brows shot up, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. ‘I’ll have to try harder.’

This time she met his mouth with her own, wide and hungry. This time he put his hands on her. This time it was longer and harder and deeper.

Imogen moaned. He slid one hand down her back, pulling her against him while at the same time taking the last step closer. She was sandwiched firmly between the bridge railing and him. Yet still she wanted to be closer. She hadn’t lied. It was true she couldn’t feel a thing—other than pleasure radiating within her. Emboldened by that madness, she kissed him deeply, searching out with her tongue, desperate to taste more of him—all of him. Her arms lifted, locking around his neck. Their bodies strained together, arousing, intoxicating, suddenly in an embrace so tight it almost hurt. Until finally he lifted his head and let them both breathe.

But it wasn’t sobering oxygen that she inhaled. It was all Ryan. ‘Are you sure you don’t wear contacts?’

‘Imogen.’

She closed her eyes and lifted her chin for more. Almostheardhis smile. Felt him move impossibly closer, his legs imprisoning her. Feeling them against hers, she was teased by the idea of having all his weight on hers, pressing her down into a big bed, parting her thighs. She ground her hips against his. Heard his groan as he lifted his head a fraction from where his mouth had been sliding kisses along her throat.

‘I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I found you trying to break into my hotel room.’

‘Mmm.’ She ran her fingers through his hair and held on tight.

‘This feels really good.’

Too good.

She moaned when he stood back half an inch. Almost managed to start up her defunct brain. But then he undid the big buttons on her wool coat.

‘This is nice, but it’s so bulky…’

She trembled as she heard the rough desire threaded in his voice. Underneath was the green silk shirt she had bought after his spell earlier in the week. She had to admit she liked it — and she knewheliked it. Her resistance to his attraction was clearly slipping.

‘Such a beautiful colour on you.’ He bent and pressed his lips just north of the top button. His hand was between her coat and her shirt now, and still not where she wanted. Bare skin. The idea tormented her. As if he’d heard her mental plea his fingers moved, lifting the shirt, sliding beneath onto the skin of her back.

Gasping, she lifted her chin and he caught her mouth again. All teasing patience gone. Now his tongue demanded—intimately searching, tasting, knowing, as he crushed her to him. His hands moved possessively under her shirt, one running down her back, the other cupping her breast, fingers spreading down on her stomach, firmly sliding further down… pressing hard on her lower belly, right where deep within she was aching and yearning for deeper, more intimate contact. She arched her back against the bridge, thrusting her hips harder into his body.

He tore his mouth from hers. ‘If we don’t stop soon, I’ll be warming you up from the inside out.’

Panting, she opened her eyes. Turned her head and saw the footpath, the people studiously not looking their way. The truth of what he had said hit her. She was plastered to him, grinding herself against his massively exciting erection, and it was before eight o’clock on a weekday morning in the middle of a busy street.

Oh, no!

His hands loosened. Moved. Not letting go of her, but stopping the intimate invasion. He rested them on her hips—but on the outside of her coat. It was more to stop her toppling over than to turn her on.

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