Debbi Rawlins - Her Christmas Temptation - The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas / What She Really Wants for Christmas / Baby, It's Cold Outside

She kicked her legs to keep herself afloat. “You’re such an altruist.”

He gave a dramatic, self-effacing sigh. “This is true.”

“ And an egomaniac.”

He swam closer. “Well, you’re a tease.”

“I am not.” But she paused, reevaluating her behavior so far. “How do you mean?”

“Batting those come-dunk-me eyes, and then spoiling my fun.”

She splashed at him. “Poor baby.”

He grinned, then dove under.

Before she could react, his hand wrapped around her ankle. He tugged just hard enough to pull her below, then he instantly let her go, and she bobbed back up.

“Not fair,” she sputtered, kicking over to where she could grab the edge.

He glided up beside her and rested his hand on the pool deck. “Who said anything about fair?”

He inched closer, his skin glistening with droplets of water, his hair nearly black in the shadow of the deck chairs. His eyes grew heavy with desire, and his voice vibrated her very core.

His thigh brushed hers, sending licks of energy across her skin. Her stomach contracted, and her lips went soft. She could feel an invisible pull compelling her forward.

“I’ve had some really bad ideas in my time …” she breathed.

He lifted her chin with his index finger. “And we’re definitely going to talk about that someday.”

She stared straight into his slate-gray eyes. Her chest went tight with emotion, and her body tingled with blatant sexual desire.

He tipped his head, light mist curling around his face as he leaned in. “But right now …”

Her body shifted forward, and she closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of his strong arms, his broad chest and his hard, hot thighs coming up against her own.

Their lips met.

His mouth was silky-soft, warm and mobile, with just the right combination of moisture and pressure.

She leaned in, bringing her breasts flush against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, letting him keep them both afloat in the deep water.

His hand splayed across her wet hair, holding her close, deepening the kiss. His hard thigh inched its way between hers and sensation burst through her body, coming out in a moan and a plea for more around their passionate kiss. She wanted to rip off her suit and rip off his suit and make wild wet love right here in the pool.

He broke off the kiss, moving to her neck, then outward, nudging the bathing suit strap out of the way to plant wet kisses on the tip of her shoulder.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, flicking out her tongue to taste the salt of his skin. She threaded her fingers through his hair, tightening her arms, wanting to get closer, harder, tighter. Her legs went around his body, pulling him intimately between her thighs.

He slid his free hand up the tight suit, resting on her ribs, his thumb creeping along the underside of her breast.

She held her breath, as it circled higher and closer. When it rasped its way over her nipple, she groaned in his ear.

He swore in return.

Then he stilled, and slowly drew back, resting his forehead against hers.

“A little too public here,” he breathed.

When her world settled back on its axis, she nodded in agreement, even as she tried to put some context around the experience. “That was …”

“Unexpected,” he said.

She nodded again.

“Better make that surprising,” he continued. Then he paused. “No. Better make that astounding.”

He was right. On all counts.

“Tell you what,” he began, his voice growing stronger.

She fought an urge to melt against him again. She didn’t know what was happening here, but there was no denying she wanted more of it. They were both adults. And this was Vegas. If she got a vote, she’d vote they find someplace more private—say their hotel suite—to see where this all went.

“We’ll dry off,” he said.

She liked the plan so far.

“Then we’ll go somewhere very public.”

She started to nod, but then his words registered. Wait. The plan was off the rails already.

He drew back even farther, and the water sloshing gently against her felt cold again.

“And have ourselves a very decadent dessert.”

Did dessert mean what she thought it meant?

She gazed into his eyes to find out.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled.

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

“I mean why dessert in a public place?”

He smoothed her wet hair back from her forehead, and gave her a melancholy smile. “Because I really meant dessert. Like I said, I’m trying to be a gentleman here. You said you didn’t want to make love with me.”

“But—”

He put his index finger over her lips. “Truly, Kristy. I don’t want you to regret anything in the morning.”

She wasn’t going to regret anything in the morning. She’d said no lovemaking earlier, before she knew him, before she understood the power of the electricity and passion between them. They owed it to themselves, to the rest of their lives, maybe to the entire universe, to see where this was going.

“Would you regret it in the morning?” she asked.

He searched her face. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then—”

“Dessert,” he said, with a small shake of his head. “And then our respective bedrooms.”

A small part of her knew he was right. But a much bigger part of her railed against logic. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and drown in Jack’s arms, even if it was only for one night.

She wasn’t normally an impulsive person. But he brought out something latent and wild inside her, and she feared if she stopped it now she’d never get this chance again.

Maybe she’d regret it later, and maybe she wouldn’t. “I don’t see—”

“But I do see. Trust me on this one.” His look was deadly sober. “Because I’m right.”

Finally, she nodded, telling herself it would seem like a good decision in the morning.

AT 7:00 A.M., with sunlight streaming through the window of the hotel bedroom, Jack wished he still thought tucking Kristy into her own bed had been the right decision.

He wasn’t a man who normally questioned his actions. Once his decision was made, it was made. And for better or worse, he went forward from there. But at this particular moment, he was questioning. For one, he’d be in a lot less pain if he’d let last evening proceed to its natural conclusion. For another, she’d made no secret of wanting him.

And making love might have actually helped in his plan to romance her. He hadn’t been dishonest about his feelings. Deliberately romancing her had been the furthest thing from his mind for most of the evening. He’d simply been enjoying himself with a bright, beautiful, funny woman.

Now, while the daytime traffic came to life on the city streets below—just past that eerie lull between five and seven while the gamblers and partygoers crawled into bed and the bakers and city workers ate breakfast—the right or wrong of his actions last night pounded uncharacteristically through his brain.

Following a private opening of the hotel boutique for slacks and T-shirts, he and Kristy had dried off and changed. Then they’d shared a sticky, sweet, chocolate volcano in the restaurant.

Watching her spoon the smooth, dark sauce into that pert mouth would have broken most mortal men. But not Jack. He’d kept his hands to himself, all the way through dessert and all the way back to the suite.

There he’d behaved like a monk, and he’d been inordinately proud of himself at the time. Because her flushed cheeks and smoky sapphire eyes had transmitted the kind of invitation that made his body beg for mercy.