Sarah Morgan - Snowbound Seduction - A Night of No Return / To Claim His Heir by Christmas / I'll Be Yours for Christmas

‘It’s true that I work for you. But it’s wrong to dismiss that relationship as a purely economic arrangement. I’ve worked closely with you for two years. I care.’ She bit her lip. ‘I was with you this time last year when you emptied a bottle of whisky and slept in your office, although I doubt you remember.’

It came back to him instantly. The blanket. She was the one responsible for the blanket. It was a question that had bugged him on and off over the past twelve months and now he had the answer.

Emma.

She hesitated and then held out her hand. ‘Stop drinking, Lucas. You’ve tried that and it hasn’t worked. We’re going to find another way to get through tonight. And before you make another caustic comment involving all sorts of physical alternatives, I should point out that there are a million other options that aren’t going to make it embarrassing to bump into each other in the morning.’

‘What options?’ His mind had been so full of those physical alternatives that it took him a minute to focus on what she’d said.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘We could play chess?’

‘Chess?’ Did she even realise that he could see through the shirt? No, presumably not or she wouldn’t have been standing there so confidently.

‘I’m a brilliant chess player.’ Her fingers closed over his, soft and warm, her grip surprisingly firm.

Instead of removing his hand from hers as he should have done, Lucas found himself staring at her mouth. ‘You don’t want to challenge me to chess. It would end in tears.’

‘Your tears, I presume.’ A half smile tilted that mouth at the corners. ‘There’s no need to make excuses. If you’re too scared to play, I understand. There’s always Scrabble. But I should warn you that I know all the words in the Chambers dictionary containing Z and X and I’m a ruthless player. I will not hesitate to use a Q on a triple word score.’

Ruthless? He looked down at her sweet face and almost laughed. She wouldn’t know ruthless if she passed it in the street. ‘These are your best suggestions for distraction? Chess and Scrabble?’

‘Unless you’re up for an all-nighter, in which case I’m a whizz at Monopoly.’

‘You think it’s wise to play Monopoly with an architect?’

‘Why not? If you’re trying to scare me you won’t succeed. If you were a building contractor, perhaps I’d be nervous of your capacity to build large hotels on your property, but an architect like yourself who is capable of nothing more impressive than pretty drawings—’ she shrugged ‘—no challenge. So—which is it to be? Chess, Scrabble or Monopoly? Do you want to play?’

Yes, he wanted to play.

But none of the games she was suggesting. The game he wanted to play was far, far more dangerous. He wanted to play with fire. He wanted to kiss that mouth, strip off that shirt that barely covered her and seek oblivion in the most basic way known to man. And he wanted to do it again and again until his mind was wiped of everything except her. Until he forgot. Until the pain was drowned out by other sensations.

Why not? Nothing else had worked. Nothing else had helped.

And then he remembered that this was Emma.

And that she was absolutely and completely off-limits.

He forced himself to extract his hand from hers. ‘I’ve never met anyone who could beat me at chess,’ he said coldly, ‘and I can’t think of anything worse than property development with toy money. I put a bowl of soup in your room. If it isn’t enough then help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen.’ He turned his back to her and waited to hear the outraged tap tap of her footsteps retreating towards the stairs as she responded to his rude rejection.

Instead he felt her arms come round his waist. ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she said hesitantly, ‘but I know it couldn’t have been your fault. I know that. She didn’t die because of you.’

Something inside him snapped. ‘You don’t know anything.’ His voice savage, he turned so violently that her hands dropped. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about and you have to leave this alone. You have to leave me alone.’ Somehow his head was close to hers, his stance so threatening that she should have instantly backed off but she didn’t move.

‘I won’t leave you alone.’

‘No? Then maybe this will change your mind. There is only one other form of distraction I’m willing to try. Are you willing to play that game, Emma?’ Somehow his hands had buried themselves in her hair, the softness of it engulfing his fingers and flowing over his wrists. Without pause or hesitation he took her mouth, his kiss rough and demanding, hard against soft, bitter against sweet. He was driven not just by lust, but by desperation. By some deep, primitive need to try and drive out the agony that possessed him. He was drawn to her warmth, as if being close to her might somehow melt the thick layer of ice inside him. As if something in her might be able to heal that damaged part of him even though everything else had failed. He took greedily, selfishly, ruled by his feelings, by the pain, by the need to seek oblivion wherever it was offered. He could feel her shivering against him and he had no idea if she was cold or whether some other more complicated emotion was responsible for the tremors. His thinking wasn’t clear enough to make sense of it. All he knew was that he wanted this and he wanted it right now and, unless she stopped him, he wasn’t stopping.

His mouth still on hers, one hand still in her hair, he used his free hand to untie his robe. Still kissing her, he shrugged it off and when her arms came round his neck he scooped her off her feet and lowered her to the rug in front of the fire. Part of him, a small distant part that had virtually no voice in the madness that engulfed him, told him to slow down, to take his time, to think of her—but there was only him and the madness inside him. He didn’t want to think of her. He didn’t want to think of anything.

He wasn’t interested in a slow seduction.

With hands that shook, he ripped the shirt from neck to hem, exposing her completely. Somewhere in the depths of the madness that streaked through him he heard her gasp but he blocked that out as he parted her thighs.

‘Lucas—’ She whispered his name and he lifted his head, his vision hazy as he tried to focus on her.

The warmth of the fire had given her cheeks a rosy glow, or perhaps she was embarrassed by the intimacy with which he touched her. Either way, her body offered up a sinuous, sensual invitation, an erotic escape from his own painful brand of reality. But even in forgetting, there was one thing he remembered, and that was to grope in his robe for the contraception that had never once been out of his reach for the past five years.

His mouth was hungry on hers and then he slid his hand down her sleek body, losing himself in her curves and her softness. His touch was bold and explicit, the sexual urge so shockingly powerful that it drove aside every other emotion and drowned out the ache. Part of him knew that he was taking this too fast, but she was like a drug. The more he consumed the better he felt and the better he felt the more he wanted. He was out of control and he knew it. He knew it as he spread her legs and heard her soft intake of breath. He knew it as he slid his hand under her and lifted her and he knew it as he thrust into her body, propelled by an almost desperate urgency that didn’t allow him to hold back.

Heat engulfed him. A heat intensified a thousand times by the tightness of her body gripping his shaft. He felt every ripple of her body in the most intimate way possible. Never before had he experienced anything like it.

‘God, Emma—’ Her body clasped his and he wanted to pause, to make it last and prolong the moment, but he couldn’t hold back. Physically he was stronger than her. Much stronger. And he used that strength as he surged deep. Through the heat that blurred his brain he heard her moan his name. Felt her fingers grip his back and heard the breath catch in her throat. Perhaps he should have slowed things, whispered soft words or gentle endearments but Lucas could no longer access soft or gentle. He was deaf and blind to everything except his own need. He felt slick silken muscle tightening around him and he gave into it, gave into the rhythm and the wildness, his performance driven by instinct, not technique. Everything about it was raw and primitive, each sure thrust of masculine possession designed for his own gratification. The bite of his hand on her soft skin held her where he wanted her. The scent of her made him dizzy and the softness of her skin drove him wild. He took greedily, he plundered all that she offered and more and, in that single moment, those few suspended seconds of sexual oblivion, he was aware of nothing but the pleasure of release. And as his body emptied, so did his brain. Emptied of everything except this woman.