Jackie Braun - Christmas with Him

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think I broke my heel.”

“Are you in pain?”

She laughed as she clarified, “The heel of my boot. It got caught on something. What are you doing, anyway? We were supposed to be having a snowball fight.”

“We still are.” And with that he brought up his snow-filled hand and rubbed it over her cheek. It wasn’t only the cold that had her shivering. Dawson had shifted so that he was now mostly on top of her.

“You know, when I was a kid I didn’t believe in taking any prisoners. But I’ve decided to make an exception in your case. You’re too pretty to annihilate.”

“So, I’m your prisoner.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” She pulled a considering face. “I guess this isn’t so bad.”

“That’s because the torture hasn’t begun yet.” His gaze was on her lips.

“Torture?” she repeated in a husky voice she barely recognized as her own. “What kind of torture?”

“This,” he whispered just before his mouth met hers.

DAWSON could think of a million reasons why he should stop the kiss before it progressed any further. First among them was the fact that he and Eve were outside lying on the snow-covered ground. She apparently didn’t mind. When he started to pull away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him in place, taking where a moment ago she’d been the one giving.

Her arms weren’t the only thing wrapped around him. Her legs were, too. One was hooked over his calf, the other angled over his thigh, anchoring him in place. Their bodies fit together perfectly. He could tell that despite the layers of their clothes, and it fueled both his imagination and his desire.

It had been a long time—a very long time—since he’d lain atop of woman. His body had no trouble remembering the pleasure. Need surged through him with tsunami force, shredding his control until it hung by a thread. Though Dawson knew he was playing with fire, he rocked forward slightly anyway.

Eve moaned.

He did it again.

This time they both moaned, and that last frayed thread of his control snapped. It was only when Eve’s icy hands moved beneath jacket and sweater and came into contact with the bare skin just above the waistband of his jeans that reality came slamming back.

“This is insane,” he said as he came up for air.

There didn’t seem to be enough of it, especially when he glanced down at Eve. She was still lying in the snow, dark hair fanning out around her head. In the moonlight her eyes glowed with an arousing mix of awareness and humor.

“Absolutely insane,” she agreed on a chuckle. “My butt is numb.”

Parts of Dawson had lost all feeling, too. Unfortunately, his back wasn’t one of them. He discovered this when he levered away from Eve and rolled to one side. Long into the night, and in more ways than one, he would be paying for this spontaneous and very sensual tussle.

Grimacing as he rose, he reached down to help Eve to her feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I will be.” After a couple or four painkillers. He’d also be calling Wanda for a therapeutic massage first thing in the morning.

They entered the house through the French doors that led from the patio directly into the kitchen. Dawson always hated entering the house in the evening when his staff had gone home. The place was so quiet and seemed so … lifeless. Eve chased away the gloom by stamping her feet and giving her damp hair a toss.

“Ingrid has gone home for the night, but I can make some coffee or a cup of tea, if you’d like.”

“Your housekeeper doesn’t live here?”

“No.”

“What about your driver?” she asked.

“His rooms are over the garage.”

“And that masseuse I saw the first day?” she asked as she removed her scarf and unzipped her jacket.

He chuckled ruefully. “At the moment I wish she lived here, but no. I prefer my privacy.”

“Nothing wrong with privacy,” she agreed. After tucking her scarf into the sleeve of her jacket, she draped it around the back of one chair. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”

“I … don’t know. Possibly.”

“I’d prefer that to tea or coffee if you have it. Chocolate in any form trumps all else,” she said.

“My sister has made the same claim.”

“Ooh, and little marshmallows. I love those little marshmallows.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best to accommodate your request. In the meantime, we probably should get out of these wet clothes.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lips with an index finger.

“What?” he asked as he put his coat on the back of another chair.

“I’m trying to decide if you’re being chivalrous with that suggestion or merely clever,” Eve said.

He smiled. “A man can be both.”

“Okay, you can prove that by helping me out of these boots. The leather is wet and they feel like they’ve become a second skin.” She took a seat and smiled up at him, managing to look prim and provocative at the same time.

He knelt because it was warranted and pushed up the damp hem of one pant leg so he could find the zipper on the side of the boot. The leather was high quality and soaked. He had a bad feeling her boots might be ruined.

“These aren’t exactly practical footwear for Denver winters,” he said.

“No, but they’re sexy as hell.”

She had a point. It took a little effort, but Dawson managed to free the boot from her foot. Though she hadn’t asked him to, he peeled off the damp stocking beneath it, revealing a set of chilly pink toes whose nails were painted fire-engine-red. He rubbed the foot between his hands, chafing some warmth into it and hoping to cool down his libido in the process. Since his first days of dating, he’d had a thing for red toenails on members of the opposite sex. He wasn’t sure why. Something about them screamed sexy. That was especially true in the winter when no one else was likely to see them. It made this glimpse more intimate and almost like a secret.

He groaned.

“Is your back giving you trouble?” Eve asked, sounding concerned. “I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to help me. Sorry. I can probably do this myself.”

“Oh, no.” He moved on to the other foot. “I’m fine.”

Dawson was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of fine, but he didn’t want to deny himself a single second of this sweet torture. So he performed the same ministrations on the second foot as he had on the first. And, even though he knew the nails on its toes would be painted red also, he felt a potent kick of lust upon seeing them.

Afterward, he put her boots over a heat vent on the floor and straightened. “I have a robe you can put on while your clothes are in the dryer.”

“Not offering to help me off with those, too?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Would you return the favor?”

She gave him a considering look, but said nothing.

Sweeping his arm, he said, “Right this way.”

Eve followed him down the hall, past the formal dining room, great room and study. She’d seen some of the rooms earlier today and on a previous visit, but she couldn’t help but be curious about the rest of the house. People’s homes said a lot about them. Dawson’s told of a fondness for fine things. All of the rooms were large and lushly appointed. She wouldn’t call the furnishings fussy or ornate, but they definitely were of the highest quality.

The bedrooms were located on the second floor, up a staircase that curved dramatically around the two-story foyer. Her nerves were humming along on high by the time they reached the master suite.

To one side of the room was a fireplace with its own cozy sitting area. She chose to concentrate on it rather than the king-sized bed. With the touch of a couple buttons, flames shot to life and soft lighting illuminated the room’s periphery.