‘Definitely fun.’ She smiled, those effervescent starlight eyes sparkling. ‘No mistletoe required.’
‘Thank God for that, then; I’ve no idea where to find any.’
‘What did you mean by: you knew it?’ she asked.
He hadn’t intended to say it aloud and blamed it on working all day after last night’s all-hours drink-fest. He slid his hands over lush feminine curves, lingering on her hips. ‘That you’d be a refreshing surprise at the end of a very ordinary day.’
Her hands covered his. ‘Not trouble?’
He touched his nose to hers. ‘You’re big trouble.’
‘I can live with that.’ Unrepentant, she entwined their fingers and rubbed her lips over his. ‘How about you?’
He sucked her sweet taste from his lips. ‘Mmm...’ Strawberries and pineapple with a dash of vodka. ‘So can I,’ he murmured before leaning down for a second helping.
More of this out-of-control feeling he’d not experienced since his teens. His erection throbbed and ached and burned as if it were his first time. His head spun with the fragrance of her skin, her hair and the way she shifted against him—breasts, belly, thighs all aligned perfectly, as if she’d been made to order. It wasn’t his lack of sleep sending him slightly insane—it was her.
Crazy was good—so were her lips: warm and pliant and mobile. He’d been working manic hours for months now; he needed a change of pace and didn’t everyone need a bit of wholesome crazy now and then? As she said, it was Christmas. It wasn’t called the silly season for nothing. ‘Maybe there’s something in this Secret Santa business after all,’ he murmured into her ear.
Her cheek lifted into a smile against his. ‘Definitely,’ she agreed, winding slender arms that smelled of sun-warmed apricots and cool cucumber around his neck.
With a growl, he walked her backwards until she butted up against the wall. He might have stopped a moment to admire the Titian-haired picture of perfection before him but patience had never been one of his strengths when it came to beautiful, willing women. He ground his pelvis against her and was rewarded when she arched her hips in response and sent up a little whimper of longing and capitulation. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and she moaned.
‘Yes, darling, I’ve got what you want.’ One hand cupped the back of her head to hold her in place while he continued to savour the sweet delight of her mouth, the other glided over a breast, finding a taut little bead that hardened instantly beneath his touch.
He rolled it between his fingers through the fabric and she moaned again—the soft yielding sound compelling him to put his lips there. His teeth. To nip at the silk, to close his mouth over the bud and suck. To soothe her while he tortured himself with what he couldn’t do. At least, not here.
But the sounds of the party below seemed muted and irrelevant in the shadows. He looked into her desire-drenched eyes while he smoothed his palms over her dress, sliding the skin-warmed silk up her thighs. Up, over her hips. ‘You like what I’m doing to you.’
She pressed her lips together but a little mewing sound escaped.
‘There’s more,’ he promised, his fingers finding and exploring the smooth flesh of her inner thighs. Her head rolled back against the wall and her eyes darted towards the stairs. ‘No one’s going to come up here,’ he reassured her in his best persuasive tone. ‘Trust me.’
Wide-eyed, she looked back at him, disbelief etched between her slim brows. Her arms slid down to her sides, apparently incapable of holding on any longer.
Satisfaction rolled through him. She was his. Or would be, before the night was done.
‘Hey,’ he murmured, inching his hand higher, drawing tiny circles with his fingertips and feeling her legs start to tremble. ‘You chose sinner over Santa, work with me here.’
She shook her head. ‘I...’
‘A good choice.’ His fingers found satin and lace. Hot and damp satin and lace, and he knew they were halfway to where they both wanted to go.
But then she tensed. Sucked on her bottom lip.
‘Hey, it’s Christmas,’ he teased gently.
‘But—’
He cut off her protest with a slow, soothing kiss until he felt her soften once more. ‘Okay, forget sinner,’ he said against her lips. ‘We’ll play Secret Santa instead, and he won’t do anything you don’t want him to. You’re in the driver’s seat, and a few dozen guests within earshot over the balcony will tell you the same.’
In the driver’s seat? Olivia might have laughed but she was half out of her mind. Delirious and blinded by a desire and an urgency she’d never experienced.