Cathy Yardley - Baby, It's Cold Outside

“Oh, Colin,” she panted. “No matter what happens after this, I want you.”

In that second, her statement pierced his desire-soaked consciousness long enough to force him to pause. With superhuman effort he rolled off her, practically falling to the rug. “Damn it,” he said, rubbing his hand over his face. “Damn it!”

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide, her voice breathless. “What’s wrong?”

“This. Us.” He closed his eyes, and a litany of curses rolled through his mind. “You said no matter what happens after this. You know this is going to be complicated.”

She huffed. “Maybe. But if anything did happen, I’d deal with it.” She sent him a shaky grin. “So far, you’re more than worth any consequences.”

While the compliment only threw more fuel on the fire of lust snaking through his system, he grimaced. “In other words, you don’t care what the fallout winds up being if this leaks out.”

“Basically.”

He frowned. “Wouldn’t you resent me for just leaving you holding the bag?”

“Colin, not to be callous,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but even if I hated you for it…honestly, what difference would it make? You wouldn’t be here to see it. And what are the odds we’re going to see each other again so you’d have to deal with them or me?”

Now, of all the things she’d said, that stopped him cold. She was offering every man’s dream—no-strings-attached, smokin’ hot sex without the need for so much as a phone call after. And he wouldn’t make it back to Tall Pines until next Thanksgiving at the earliest, so he would miss any repercussions.

So why did it feel so damned wrong?

“I know you think you mean this, Emily,” he said as neutrally as possible. “But you’ve admitted you haven’t had sex in a while. And I’ll bet you haven’t had sex with all that many people in your life, period. Am I right?”

She didn’t say anything, just drew her full, pouty lips into a tight line.

He was right. He knew he was right.

“I just think,” he continued reluctantly, “that when this is all over, you’re going to regret saying yes. Maybe for a long, long time.”

There. He’d done it. He was listening to his conscience rather than his body, for once in his life.

Emily stared at him, studying him. She seemed to almost crackle with an aura of frustration and need. Then she stood up, stalking back to her bedroom and shutting the door.

He swallowed the rest of his champagne without tasting it. Despite his various love affairs, sex wasn’t something he took lightly—and anything related to Tall Pines was a time bomb. He still felt guilty over the stupid stuff he’d done when he was a kid. He wasn’t about to compound it by doing stupid stuff as an adult.

He’d probably done the wise thing, although he couldn’t help but…

Suddenly the door swung open.

Emily stepped out, totally, gloriously naked.

He stared at her in wonder. Her lithe limbs stretched gracefully from her perfectly proportioned torso. Her waist nipped in before curving out into gently flared hips, and her full breasts were tipped by luscious raspberry-hued nipples that puckered appetizingly with arousal. She stroked one hand over the flat planes of her stomach, stopping just short of the thatch of auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs.

“I do want you,” she said quietly. “I do know what I want. And I can make my own decisions, thanks very much.”

He was taut as a bowstring, barely registering her words. She looked like an avenging goddess—one that, even if it cost him his life, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from.

“Now I’m going to my bed,” she said. “I’m waiting for you there. And I can guarantee the only thing you’d regret would be saying no.”

She turned, her saucy teardrop-shaped derriere making him groan out loud. Then she glanced over her shoulder.

“And, trust me, you’d regret it for the rest of your life.” Neatly tossing his words back at him, she disappeared into her bedroom but left the door wide-open.

Colin wasn’t made of stone—though it felt like it. And he sure as hell wasn’t a saint.

He paused for all of a second before following her soft footsteps. It might not be the wisest move, but as far as his body was concerned, there was no way he was leaving this place without giving one last, thorough, phenomenal Christmas present to Emily Stanfield.

EMILY WAS SHAKING by the time she’d made it to her bed. It had taken all her courage to make that dramatic speech. She’d never acted so cavalier about sex before, especially considering Colin had called it right on the money—she’d only had sex with two other people in her entire life. She wanted him, though, and she knew that if she didn’t act as if she could coolly handle a one-night stand, he was principled enough and compassionate enough to never touch her. So she’d put on a very convincing act.

Obviously sexual frustration was making her brave, not to mention revealing talents she didn’t even know she had. On the other hand, it might also be making her stupid.

Colin stepped into her room and she held her breath.

But this is going to be worth it.

He closed the door behind him. The bedroom was lit with candles, a multitude of votives washing the pale green walls with a warm glow. She had no silk sheets to trot out—her thick comforter and flannel sheets were meant to keep her toasty during the bitter winter nights.

She got the feeling staying warm would not be an issue tonight.

Besides, the last thing he seemed interested in was his surroundings. He only had eyes for her, and she shivered—not from any chill in the air but from the intensity of his gaze.

Emily leaned back on the bed, forcing herself not to cover up her body with her arms. She felt a delicious rush of anticipation roll through her and she rubbed her legs together, the friction lessening as her body began to get wet at the mere thought of him.

He took off his shirt, and she smiled in appreciation of the purely masculine beauty of his torso. His muscles bunched and flexed as he removed the rest of his clothes. When he stripped out of his boxers, she couldn’t help but goggle a little. It had been a while, after all, since she’d seen a naked man, much less one in all his erect glory.

He smiled. “Stop it. You’ll make me blush.”

She wanted to toss back some witty comment, but words seemed lodged in her throat. Instead she put her arms out, inviting him.

Colin spread out next to her on the flannel sheets, kicking the covers out of the way. He felt like a furnace, and she warmed herself against him, shuddering at the slide of skin over skin. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. His hand stroked gently over her hip before sliding up and cupping her breast.

She gasped softly as sensation seeped through her like a hot bath. When he started to pull away, she grabbed his hand, keeping it on her breast. Moaning, she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation as his mouth increased its pressure on her neck and his thumb gently circled her nipple. She stroked her leg against his, her breathing coming in soft, sweet exhalations.

“Emily,” he murmured, then his mouth found hers and claimed it with a slow thoroughness. His tongue teased hers, and she teased back, the back-and-forth a precursor to the joining she really wanted. His other hand found her other breast, and he stroked expertly. Her fingers dug into his firm shoulders in response.

After what seemed like a pleasurable eternity, he released one breast. She whimpered in protest, only to stop when his hand moved lower, reaching between her thighs and dipping into her moist heat. She bit her lip as the sensation overwhelmed her. He gently parted the folds of skin until he found her sleek clit and rubbed it with firm precision. She felt pressure building up in her and she arched her back, trying to bring herself in closer contact with the man who was causing her to react so strongly. He kept working at it, insistently, delicately, until she thought she would explode.