Rachael Stewart - Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas

I turn to face him. My apartment is a building away now. Sanctuary is close. I just need to hold it together a few more moments.

‘I’m not the kid I was then. I won’t jeopardise my work for some…’ I struggle for the right phrase and settle for the easiest, most innocent. ‘Some silly distraction.’

His laugh is low, seductive, and he takes advantage of my stationary state to close the distance between us, reaching out his hand to cup my jaw. I want to move away, to stop the frisson at his touch, but I can’t make my body obey.

His thumb is soft, warm as he brushes it over my cheekbone, and my eyes are lost in the darkness of his, so close I can just make out the rim of brown, the flecks of gold that dance in the snow-white lights adorning the trees that line the street.

‘There’s nothing silly about the way I feel right now.’

Dammit, does he have to look so sincere?

A group of revellers round the corner and start moving down the street, their voices deep and loud as they roll out a rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas’.

‘Seems we’re destined to have spectators,’ he says.

And as my lips part on no words I’m swamped by the memory of our previous encounter and the fear that I want him to kiss me. So much it hurts. But it’ll be my undoing. A ten-year-old memory stoked, refreshed, and my feelings with it.

And a hope for something that just isn’t possible.

My tongue sweeps across my lower lip.

It’s nerves. I’m just nervous.

My clit pangs painfully, mocking me.

‘Please, Lucas, this has to stop.’

I think of his mouth, his tongue, the dizzying pressure he administered so expertly over me. Stop. Don’t stop. My thoughts are as chaotic as the blood racing through my veins.

‘Tell me to leave…’

He steps forward, close enough to stop the chill wind breaching the gap between us, and now I’m just hot. Hot and confused.

‘…and I will.’

‘I… I…’

‘ Tell me.’

‘Please…’ I try again and fail. I don’t want to breathe—don’t want to inhale his scent, his warmth, his appeal. All my barriers are collapsing.

‘Evangeline…’

My name rolls over his tongue and his head dips. The air sits in my lungs as I neither rebuke him nor pull him in. And then he sweeps past my mouth, along my cheek to my ear, his lips gently brushing over my skin with his words.

‘I want you.’

A strange whimper sounds, and as he lifts his head, his lips curving, I know it’s come from me. I see the triumph in his gaze as he moves for my mouth and a slice of sanity erupts.

‘Don’t kiss me.’

I palm his chest and he frowns.

‘Don’t make this about more than sex.’

His head tilts to one side as he studies me, the meaning of my words sinking in. ‘Last time I checked, kissing was quite an essential element—quite an irresistible element.’

He looks to my mouth, eyes hungry, and as though emphasising his point he runs his teeth over his lower lip. God, yes. My tummy contracts on a rush.

‘Oi-oi! Get yourself a room!’ one of the passing revellers declares, and there’s a string of cheers and laughter from his crew.

Lucas doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even back away. ‘A room sounds like a good idea to me.’

He reaches around me with his other hand and brings me closer. Close enough to feel his hardness pressing between us. Damn suits and their forgiving cloth. I didn’t need any confirmation of his impressive trunk. Not when I’m hanging by a thread.

My hands soften against him. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

‘ Au contraire. I see it as the only way to get our business off on the right foot.’

He leans back in, his mouth hovering by my ear once more.

‘I need to know how it feels to be inside you…to cease the raging fantasy and know the real thing. I need to know so I don’t spend every meeting thinking about what it would be like to bend you over and fuck you hard.’

Air flutters past my lips. I could come just listening to his dirty talk. No one has ever spoken to me like this. No one.

‘Lucas…’

It’s not his name that betrays my every want. It’s the husky intonation, the plea-like quality of my voice. I don’t care that the revellers are now wolf-whistling and cheering, entertained by our display.

My body surrenders and my lashes close… ‘Your room or mine?’

SHE OPENS HER eyes and for a second, I wonder if she will still refuse me.

Something vulnerable, something edgy persists in her gaze, but then she turns and walks away.

No refusal, then…

I follow.

She hasn’t told me to go. She hasn’t told me to stay.

But one thing I’m sure of, Evangeline does what she wants and I’ll go along with it until she tells me otherwise.

Hell, I don’t want this to be about more than sex either. It will only muddy the waters, exposing us both to a future headache neither of us needs.

But not kissing her?

That’s like being gifted a three-course dinner without the main course.

And those lips…

She turns to look at me now as she pushes the door open and holds it for me. They curve a little and her lashes lower as I step forward. I want to taste them…to feel them part beneath my pressure…to swallow her moan with the one I know I’d give.

Because I’ve only tasted them once, and the memory is burned into my soul.

She says nothing as we cross the harsh white vestibule. It’s all glass, high ceilings and bright lights, but she lifts its starkness just by being there and I can’t look away.

A warning sparks in my gut—a warning I want to ignore.

So much time has passed since I loved her. The sweet, feisty, fun-loving girl that she was. So many women have come and gone since, none of whom have inspired a need for more or warranted a trust I feel incapable of giving. I date. I have fun. I move on. They’re not relationships as such. Merely acquaintances who satisfy the basic urge for companionship, sex.

I want it to be the same with her. Safe.

But it’s not.

I had so much to lose back then and it served me well, kept me protected.

But now there are no barriers against what’s burning between us, and I should be running the other way.

But I’m not.

We reach the lift and she presses the button to call it. I half expect her to turn, tell me she’s changed her mind, but she doesn’t and the warning starts to trickle through my spine: Are you sure you can keep a lid on this?

She sneaks a look at me from beneath her lashes, her thoughts hidden as she nibbles over her lip—that deliciously full lip that I want to trace with my tongue—and a tide of longing drowns out the panic.

The lift opens and we walk in. It’s vacant and small. I expected it to be vast, to give me room to stave off the heat her nearness is driving. I’ve wanted her for so long. Fantasised about it even when I knew I shouldn’t. And now I’m going to have her I want it to last—not to erupt like my teenage self would have done.

But it’s impossible to put down the semi-permanent erection I’ve been sporting since sitting between her legs. Hell, even before then. From the moment she gave me that look across the room, daring me to follow her. It was there with her intent, her desire.

I fist my hands inside my pockets, fix my gaze to the lift doors and count to ten…twenty… The ground shifts to a gentle stop. The top floor. The penthouse. Only the best for the Beaumonts.

As the doors slide open there’s more white, more glass, more coldness. It’s similar to my place, further into the city, but it reeks of her family—not her. Not the girl I knew. But as for the woman… What do I truly know?