Читать книгу Christmas with Him: The Tycoon's Christmas Proposal / A Bravo Christmas Reunion / Marry-Me Christmas - Jackie Braun, Christine Rimmer - Страница 15

DAWSON could think of a million reasons why he should stop the kiss before it progressed any further. First among them was the fact that he and Eve were outside lying on the snow-covered ground. She apparently didn’t mind. When he started to pull away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him in place, taking where a moment ago she’d been the one giving.

Her arms weren’t the only thing wrapped around him. Her legs were, too. One was hooked over his calf, the other angled over his thigh, anchoring him in place. Their bodies fit together perfectly. He could tell that despite the layers of their clothes, and it fueled both his imagination and his desire.

It had been a long time—a very long time—since he’d lain atop of woman. His body had no trouble remembering the pleasure. Need surged through him with tsunami force, shredding his control until it hung by a thread. Though Dawson knew he was playing with fire, he rocked forward slightly anyway.

Eve moaned.

He did it again.

This time they both moaned, and that last frayed thread of his control snapped. It was only when Eve’s icy hands moved beneath jacket and sweater and came into contact with the bare skin just above the waistband of his jeans that reality came slamming back.

“This is insane,” he said as he came up for air.

There didn’t seem to be enough of it, especially when he glanced down at Eve. She was still lying in the snow, dark hair fanning out around her head. In the moonlight her eyes glowed with an arousing mix of awareness and humor.

“Absolutely insane,” she agreed on a chuckle. “My butt is numb.”

Parts of Dawson had lost all feeling, too. Unfortunately, his back wasn’t one of them. He discovered this when he levered away from Eve and rolled to one side. Long into the night, and in more ways than one, he would be paying for this spontaneous and very sensual tussle.

Grimacing as he rose, he reached down to help Eve to her feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I will be.” After a couple or four painkillers. He’d also be calling Wanda for a therapeutic massage first thing in the morning.

They entered the house through the French doors that led from the patio directly into the kitchen. Dawson always hated entering the house in the evening when his staff had gone home. The place was so quiet and seemed so … lifeless. Eve chased away the gloom by stamping her feet and giving her damp hair a toss.

“Ingrid has gone home for the night, but I can make some coffee or a cup of tea, if you’d like.”

“Your housekeeper doesn’t live here?”

“No.”

“What about your driver?” she asked.

“His rooms are over the garage.”

“And that masseuse I saw the first day?” she asked as she removed her scarf and unzipped her jacket.

He chuckled ruefully. “At the moment I wish she lived here, but no. I prefer my privacy.”

“Nothing wrong with privacy,” she agreed. After tucking her scarf into the sleeve of her jacket, she draped it around the back of one chair. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”

“I … don’t know. Possibly.”

“I’d prefer that to tea or coffee if you have it. Chocolate in any form trumps all else,” she said.

“My sister has made the same claim.”

“Ooh, and little marshmallows. I love those little marshmallows.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best to accommodate your request. In the meantime, we probably should get out of these wet clothes.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lips with an index finger.

“What?” he asked as he put his coat on the back of another chair.

“I’m trying to decide if you’re being chivalrous with that suggestion or merely clever,” Eve said.

He smiled. “A man can be both.”

“Okay, you can prove that by helping me out of these boots. The leather is wet and they feel like they’ve become a second skin.” She took a seat and smiled up at him, managing to look prim and provocative at the same time.

He knelt because it was warranted and pushed up the damp hem of one pant leg so he could find the zipper on the side of the boot. The leather was high quality and soaked. He had a bad feeling her boots might be ruined.

“These aren’t exactly practical footwear for Denver winters,” he said.

“No, but they’re sexy as hell.”

She had a point. It took a little effort, but Dawson managed to free the boot from her foot. Though she hadn’t asked him to, he peeled off the damp stocking beneath it, revealing a set of chilly pink toes whose nails were painted fire-engine-red. He rubbed the foot between his hands, chafing some warmth into it and hoping to cool down his libido in the process. Since his first days of dating, he’d had a thing for red toenails on members of the opposite sex. He wasn’t sure why. Something about them screamed sexy. That was especially true in the winter when no one else was likely to see them. It made this glimpse more intimate and almost like a secret.

He groaned.

“Is your back giving you trouble?” Eve asked, sounding concerned. “I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to help me. Sorry. I can probably do this myself.”

“Oh, no.” He moved on to the other foot. “I’m fine.”

Dawson was one hundred and eighty degrees the opposite of fine, but he didn’t want to deny himself a single second of this sweet torture. So he performed the same ministrations on the second foot as he had on the first. And, even though he knew the nails on its toes would be painted red also, he felt a potent kick of lust upon seeing them.

Afterward, he put her boots over a heat vent on the floor and straightened. “I have a robe you can put on while your clothes are in the dryer.”

“Not offering to help me off with those, too?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Would you return the favor?”

She gave him a considering look, but said nothing.

Sweeping his arm, he said, “Right this way.”

Eve followed him down the hall, past the formal dining room, great room and study. She’d seen some of the rooms earlier today and on a previous visit, but she couldn’t help but be curious about the rest of the house. People’s homes said a lot about them. Dawson’s told of a fondness for fine things. All of the rooms were large and lushly appointed. She wouldn’t call the furnishings fussy or ornate, but they definitely were of the highest quality.

The bedrooms were located on the second floor, up a staircase that curved dramatically around the two-story foyer. Her nerves were humming along on high by the time they reached the master suite.

To one side of the room was a fireplace with its own cozy sitting area. She chose to concentrate on it rather than the king-sized bed. With the touch of a couple buttons, flames shot to life and soft lighting illuminated the room’s periphery.

“I think your bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment,” Eve remarked as Dawson disappeared into a large, walk-in closet. He emerged a moment later with a sumptuous terry cloth robe in one hand and a fresh change of clothes for himself in the other.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the robe. “You can change in here. The bathroom is right through that door.” He backed up a step, looking endearingly flustered when he added, “I’ll just … uh … use one of the rooms down the hall.”

“Shall I meet you downstairs afterward?”

“Sure. I’ll start the cocoa.”

“Don’t forget the marshmallows,” she called as he was closing the door.

Alone, she made fast work of changing her clothes. She was shivering now, gooseflesh puckering her skin. Cold was the culprit rather than pent-up need. Still she wanted to blush when she recalled the wanton way she’d clung to him out in the snow. She hadn’t wanted to let go, knowing that once she did he would retreat again to that isolated prison he’d constructed out of guilt and grief. He hadn’t withdrawn completely, though his emotions were once again firmly in control.

The robe was too big. No surprise there, but the fact that it smelled like him had her insides curling. Eve turned up the sleeves and cinched the belt as tightly as she could, knotting it just to be on the safe side before gathering up her damp garments and returning downstairs. She found Dawson in the kitchen, standing in front of the six-burner gas stove. He was stirring a pan of milk. He glanced up at her arrival.

She felt suddenly shy. “Hi.”

He was dressed in jeans and a chamois-cloth shirt, which he’d left untucked. It was the most casual she’d ever seen him, and by far the most domestic. The wealthy and resourceful Dawson Burke was heating milk to make hot cocoa.

“Hi.” His gaze meandered down to her bare feet and she saw him swallow before he looked away. “I should have thought to give you a pair of socks.”

“I’ll be fine, especially if I can prop my feet in front of a fireplace. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of those in this house.”

“No. It has four. All of them gas.” He motioned for her to come closer. “Here. Why don’t you take over stirring while I throw your things in the dryer?”

“Are you sure you know how to operate one of those?” she asked dryly.

“I think I can figure it out.” Tongue in cheek, he added, “Of course, that’s assuming I can remember where the laundry room is.”

On a chuckle, she handed over her jeans and socks. “Only the back hem of my sweater was damp and since it’s cashmere, I left it to dry in front of the fireplace in your room along with some of the, um, more delicate items.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed a second time. “Okay.”

When he continued to stand rooted in place staring at her, Eve added, “The regular setting on the dryer is fine for those.”

Dawson cleared his throat. “Regular setting. Right.”

When the cocoa was ready they moved to the sitting room where Eve had sipped tea on her first visit to Dawson’s home. After he started the fire, she lowered herself to the rug just in front of the hearth. Making every effort to preserve her modesty, she put her feet as close to the flames as possible.

“Mmm,” she said on a sigh. “This feels wonderful.” Dawson was still standing. Eve glanced up at him. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“I was planning on using a chair.”

“Why would you do that when there’s a perfectly good patch of floor right here?”

She patted said patch of floor. Her smile turned the benign gesture into a dare. Grabbing a couple of throw pillows off the sofa, Dawson joined her. Eve wasn’t the only one who refused to back down from a challenge.

“So, how’s the cocoa?” he asked.

“Good.” She sipped it as if to back up her pronouncement, leaving a fine layer of froth on her upper lip, which she then licked off.

He resisted the urge to groan, but not the urge to touch her. “You’ve still got a little …” He traced her top lip with the tip of his index finger.

“All gone?” she asked.

“I think so.” Still staring at her mouth, he said, “Sorry that I couldn’t find any of those little marshmallows to go in it.”

“That’s all right.” Her lips curved. “It was a tall order. You don’t strike me as the sort of man who drinks hot chocolate with little marshmallows.”

He shook his head. “Not often, no.”

“Of course, you didn’t strike me as the sort who would tackle me in the snow, either.”

“I didn’t tackle you. I tried to break your fall,” he said.

“Yes, but I only fell because you chased me.”

“I only chased you because you threw a snowball at me. Two, in fact,” he reminded her. “And I did give you fair warning before you fired a second time.”

She took another sip of her hot cocoa and gave him a considering look. “Okay. I’ll give you that. Of course, I’m going to want a rematch. And the next time I can promise you I won’t be wearing a pair of high-heeled boots that are far more suited to fashion than they are to function.”

“Too bad. I really like those boots.” He tortured himself with a glance at her bare feet.

“I loved them.” Her lips pursed. “They’re probably ruined now.”

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he offered magnanimously.

“That’s nice of you, but no need. It was my own fault.”

“Agreed,” Dawson said and enjoyed watching her scowl. “So, what will you wear for our rematch?”

“A pair of waterproof hikers and my ski bibs and down parka.”

“You ski?” he asked, marginally surprised.

“Not really, but I look absolutely amazing in the outfit. Like something out of a magazine.” She winked.

Dawson didn’t laugh, though she’d obviously intended the words as a joke. “I don’t doubt it. I’m beginning to think you’d look amazing in just about anything.”

He allowed his gaze to skim over the curves that were partially obscured by thick folds of terrycloth.

“I … I … hmm.”

He rather liked knowing that he’d made Eve tongue-tied since the woman had had that effect on him more than once in the past couple of weeks. Though he knew he was playing with fire, he said, “I like what you have on at the moment.”

She coughed and recovered enough to joke, “What? This old thing?”

“You know, I never really cared for that robe … until now.” He knew he’d never put it on again without thinking of Eve and remembering just how provocative she looked with firelight and curiosity reflected in her eyes.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He set aside his mug. She followed suit.

“You should,” he said.

The space between them diminished fractionally with each breath they took until their faces were mere inches apart. He smelled chocolate, was eager to taste it, but he knew that wasn’t the reason he suddenly felt so starved.

“Your hair is still damp,” he murmured, reaching up to run his fingers through the loose tumble of curls.

“Dawson.” Eve sighed his name and closed her eyes, and just that fast he knew he was doomed. But as he followed her down onto the fire-warmed rug, it felt far more like a resurrection than it did an execution.

He started at her neck, nibbling the spot just below her jaw where he could feel her pulse beating.

Life. It was right there under his lips, inviting him, enticing him.

And so he moved lower, alternately kissing and nipping his way down to the curve of her shoulder. Her skin was soft and as smooth as satin. When he pushed the robe off her shoulder, it all but glowed in the firelight.

He glanced up to find Eve watching him. Her expression was serious. Her dark eyes were wide and still filled with questions. Dawson wasn’t sure he could give her any of the answers she sought. Come right down to it, he had plenty of questions himself.

He started with the most pressing.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

She paused a moment, an eternity. When she finally nodded, he stood and helped her to her feet. They didn’t speak a word as, hands clasped, he led her through the quiet house back upstairs to his bedroom.