A.C. Arthur - Winter Kisses

“No complaints from me. But if you were planning to wear that to a business dinner I'd say you would be guaranteed to have all the pieces you wanted to show at the Black History Exhibit.”

“Ha-ha,” she scoffed. “Let's get this over with.” She flicked the arrow on the dial. “Right foot yellow.”

“Guess that look means I'm first,” he said with a chuckle. She was beyond bossy. It was kind of attractive so he did as she said and put his right foot on a yellow circle.

“Right foot blue,” she said.

“That's here next to me,” Alex said, knowing she'd never stand that close to him. The kiss had rattled her, too, he knew from the way she'd remained quiet when it had concluded. Not that he'd stuck around to hear her comments, but if she had anything to say on the subject she certainly would have said it as soon as he'd come back into the room. Instead she had remained quiet about the situation, probably hoping her silence would make it go away.

It didn't. He felt the sexual pull to her stronger now than he had in the kitchen. The kiss had made the attraction to her all the more potent. He only hoped he'd have the good sense to keep his hands off her. At least for now.

She surprised him by placing her foot right next to his on the blue circle. He looked down, then up at her face.

“I don't like to be cold,” she said, turning her attention back to the dial.

He wasn't going to say anything about her fuzzy black-and-white-striped socks. If nothing else they did look warm and she had packed to come to a ski resort. “I didn't say a word,” he added with a smile.

For whatever reason she seemed awfully self-conscious about what she was wearing. In fact, he thought for a second, she seemed a little off balance since she'd changed out of her sleek Ice Queen outfit. Almost as if she didn't know how to act without the whole Monica Lakefield Businesswoman facade.

“Left foot green,” she announced. Alex maneuvered himself until his left foot was on the green circle while his right was still on the yellow.

“Right hand blue,” she said, then looked down at the mat.

“I'll do the spinning,” he said, taking the dial from her hand. Her last bit of control.

She frowned at the loss then leaned forward and placed the palm of her hand in the center of a blue circle.

This put her in an interesting position as she'd turned her back to him so that now her bottom was strategically centered in his line of sight … and a nice bottom it was, he readily admitted.

After his next spin put him closer to her left ankle, which had found its home on a red circle, Alex's resolve against touching Monica again was melting. From the way she moved to one circle after another he could tell she was flexible, her long body limber and graceful. She probably worked out obsessively. That would be the only way she ever did things, he figured. Always to be the best. He wondered how long it would take her to figure out she'd most likely hit that mark years ago.

Without another word he wrapped his fingers around her ankle then moved his hand gently upward, stopping at her calf when she sucked in a breath and angled her head to stare at him. She didn't say a word so he let his fingers continue to walk up her leg, gliding along the satiny pattern of her pants before stopping at her inner thigh. Her gaze had gone all glossy then, her lips parted slightly. His own breathing grew faster as his fingers rested right there at the muscle of her thigh. Through the pants he swore he could feel her pulse thumping wildly at his touch. With a move so smooth and gentle it almost felt as if he'd practiced it, Alex repositioned both of them so that she was sprawled beneath him on the mat. Her heart was pounding, he felt it right up against his own as he looked down into her eyes. There was no fear there, not that he'd expected any. More like a question—a why and not a when—and he almost faltered.

No way was she wondering why he was making a move on her. She was an intelligent and confident woman—she knew damned well how sexy she was and that he'd been insanely attracted to her ever since the first day they met. She had to know.

Just like she had to feel his arousal throbbing fiercely for her now. Her lips parted farther and he thought she was going to say something, a protest maybe, or some smart retort that would shatter this mood. So instead of waiting for the cold water to be splashed on him, Alex plunged, taking her mouth in a kiss guaranteed to warm even the Ice Queen all the way to her toes.

It was officially a lost cause. He wanted this woman, badly. And she, well, she wasn't putting up much of a fight. In fact, her arms had twined around his neck and her thighs trapped his between them as he deepened the kiss. He could take her right here, in front of the dwindling fire with the snowstorm raging outside. But he wouldn't.

This would not be a quick romp or a sudden release of the day's frustrations. When he took Monica Lakefield he wanted to take his time, to explore every nuance of this intriguing woman. It was going to take all the strength he could muster, but he wasn't having it any other way.

So Alex lifted his head slowly, delaying the parting of their lips for as long as possible. Breathing erratically, they stayed in that exact position, both with eyes closed for seconds that seemed to go on forever.

“I won,” she said finally, her warm breath whispering over his face.

He wondered if she'd deal with this like she'd dealt with the last kiss—speak no evil, etc. Not sure how that thought made him feel, Alex opted for the cool comeback. “That's why I rewarded you,” he said, opening his eyes to stare down at her.

She was not amused.

“My reward's the bedroom, as I recall the terms of our agreement.” With that statement she used her palms to push at his shoulders, signaling him to get off her.

He thought about staying; clearly he outweighed her and could overpower her. But that wasn't his style, either. So instead, he shifted, rolling off her and watching as she quickly stood and rubbed her hands down her thighs. Thighs he'd felt flexing beneath him just seconds ago.

“I'll put your bags in the hallway,” she said then turned to leave.

He could have gotten up, stopped her, made her address this attraction between them, but decided against it. He grabbed the plastic mat, doing some kind of folding job before stuffing it into its box. For anything to happen between them, Monica would have to want it; she would have to be on the same page as he was in her wants and desires. No way was he going to force himself on any woman, especially not this one. So tonight he'd sleep on the couch and convince himself that it was as comfortable as that king-size bed in the other room.

Monica hated the night.

Hated all the shadowed memories it held and replayed for her at will.

Taking a deep breath, she burrowed deeper under the comforter and closed her eyes, tighter than they had been before. Maybe if her eyes were closed tight the memories couldn't find their way inside her head. It was childish and probably sounded way beyond crazy, but this was her nightly ritual. All day long—from the time she woke up, usually at five, until the time her workday normally ended, around eight or nine in the evening—she was just fine. Nothing and/or nobody could throw her off her game. But the minute she changed into her nightclothes and sank into bed, the problems began.

Her past wasn't an easy one to forget. On most days she figured it was best not to forget—that way she wouldn't be likely to make the same mistakes twice. On other days she wished for something to come along and wipe her memory clear—like an IT tech would a hard drive. But Monica had no such luck, never did. Sometimes she wondered if she'd just been born in the wrong place at the wrong time.