Читать книгу A Dream Christmas - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 26

IT WAS INSANE. And it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She hadn’t made any decisions about Clint yet, and technically, regardless of the circumstances, they were still engaged. Which meant that she should tell Luc to get back on his side of the room.

And she should flee to the safety of the divider. Flee and put her clothes back on and lace her boots up tight so that she was too much trouble to undress.

That thought made her heart hiccup in her chest. Undressing? Was that where this was going? Was that what the look on his face meant? That undressing was imminent? That kissing was imminent?

He stood up and moved to the table, putting his palms flat on the table, on either side of her thighs, his dark eyes intent on hers.

“Just … kissing right?” she asked.

“Just kissing,” he said, lifting one hand and cupping her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Just lips.”

“I think … I think I can handle that.” Except she wasn’t sure at all. Because he was Luc, her boss, her almost-friend. And she hadn’t been kissed by anyone other than Clint in … ever. And it had been years since it had made her stomach knot up and her breath shorten. Years since it had mattered at all.

Clint had gotten comfortable like socks. And now that she knew his secret, she understood why. And she felt … unattractive. She felt unwanted. She felt as if he was keeping her around for comfort. And she wasn’t wrong. He wanted an ideal, a certain lifestyle. And she suited that.

It didn’t stop him from finding passion with someone else.

No, it hadn’t stopped him from finding passion with someone else. And catching him with a slightly damp, freshly showered man in a towel in his living room early this morning—was that really only this morning?—had explained a lot. But it was his response that shocked her, that kept the ring on her finger and made her feel as if … as if somehow she was the one doing the betraying if she suddenly had a problem with the status quo.

If she wanted something more than what they had.

Well, she did, dammit. She wanted to be wanted. She wanted to be kissed. If nothing else, she wanted to be kissed.

So she was the one who closed the distance between her and Luc. She was the one who angled her head and touched her lips to his.

His mouth was warm and firm, skilled. He opened to her, his tongue touching the tip of hers, sending a bolt of lightning straight down to her stomach, and parts lower.

He tightened his hold on her chin, holding her still as he deepened the kiss. She wanted to wrap her arms around him. To pull him against her, to press her breasts to his chest and do something to alleviate the ache that was building between her thighs.

But she was afraid to do that. Afraid to deviate from his plan. Because obviously he had one. He was so clearly in control of it all, his lips so practiced and perfect on hers.

He was, without a doubt, about a thousand times the kisser Clint was.

And it didn’t even make her feel guilty to think that.

He released his hold on her chin and put both of his hands on her hips, tugging her forward, stepping between her legs as he did, his mouth hungry on hers.

She was starving for this. Not just for the physical contact, but to be wanted. To have a man touch her as though it were essential to his well-being. To have him taste her as though she was dessert and not the salad he had to have to stay healthy.

That was what she was to her fiancé. And she realized it with blinding clarity, as Luc tugged her tight against his body, bringing the part that was aching for him into contact with his hardened arousal.

Oh … wow. Yes, this had been lacking entirely in her life for … ever.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, throwing herself into the kiss completely. Because she deserved it. Because she was so tired of being socks and salad.

Because she was tired of waiting for a man who just didn’t want her.

Luc slid his hands around her, cupping her butt and urging her forward. She went, wrapped her legs around his hips, everything lining up even more perfectly now. She gasped as a bolt of pleasure went through her, as her entire body shook with need. Need that she hadn’t even known had been in her.

She’d never considered herself an overly sensual person but she was doubting that assessment now. She slid her hands down over his chest, beneath his robe. Felt the hardness of the muscles there, the heat of his skin, and his raging heart, hammering against her palm.

He wanted this, too. He was shaking. He was losing control. He was hard for her.

The realization sent a surge of power through her. For the first time, she felt as if she had power as a woman. For the first time, she realized what she could do to a man. There was nothing wrong with her. The relief she felt … there were no words.

She moved her hands lower, and Luc pulled away, wrapping his hand around her wrist, tugging her arm upward, his focus on her engagement ring, his eyes fierce.

“No,” he said, his voice ragged. He moved away from her, running his hands over his face. “That should not have happened,” he said, bending down to collect his folded clothes from the chair. “It should never have happened.”

“Wait …” she said, reeling from the change in activity. He’d just been kissing her, drinking her in as if she were water in the desert, and now suddenly he was … across the room, and now behind the divider. Dressing. “What?”

“You are engaged,” he bit out, his tone uncompromising.

She stood up and eyed the screen. “Yeah, I am. And it’s my engagement, so I think it’s my … problem,” she said.

“But I am your boss, and that means I need to exercise a little bit more restraint than that.”

“Oh, boo. Why is it that everything I do is so … Why does everyone else get to just dictate the terms?” She wrenched her robe off and tugged her clothes on. “Why is it my function to make everyone else comfortable while … while I just atrophy?”

She jerked open the door to the massage room and walked toward the elevator. She got in and leaned back against the wall while the doors closed, her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes.

She was going crazy. Her neat and orderly existence had started to crumble this morning and she had no idea what she was supposed to do about that.

Except just … watch it fall.

Which was not what she wanted to do. She wanted to scream. And punch someone. And punch herself. Because she was an idiot.

She growled when the elevator doors opened, and stalked down the hall to their room. And realized that she had no key.

“Argh!”

She kicked the door and turned, leaning back against the wall and sliding down to the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her woolen tights would have to be enough to protect her modesty.

As if it mattered since she’d just crawled on her boss like a sex-starved maniac. Because she was a sex-starved maniac. There was no modesty left. No shame. She was embarrassment.

He’d kissed her. And he’d made her feel special, and sexy for a moment. And then he’d pulled back and been regretful. As if her status with Clint was more important than what she wanted, no matter what she said. Which … under normal circumstances she might have appreciated. But not now. Not in the throes of feeling as if she’d wasted nearly a decade of her life in the service of what benefitted Clint.

The elevator doors slid open and Luc walked out into the hallway.

“You don’t have a key?” he asked, looking down at her.

“No, Mr. Chevalier, I don’t have a key.”

“I do.”

“Oh, well, nice for some.” She slid back up the wall, vaguely aware that the wall texture was going to make her hair look ratty.

He put the card in the slot and the light turned green. “You’re angry with me,” he said, pushing the door open.

“Ding ding ding! Someone get the man a prize!” She walked into the hotel room ahead of him and sat on the couch, huffing loudly.

“Amelia, I’m not going to do this. This is what Blaise did to me. And I have too much respect for—”

“For a man you don’t even know? More respect than you have for me?”

“What’s the point, Amelia? We work together. Every day. And there is no good way for this to end. Either you start your marriage out with a lie or …”

“But that’s my problem! It’s not your problem.”

“No, it is, because I don’t want to be that man. I refuse to be that man.”

“What I want is just … so small to everyone, isn’t it? If I’m not making people comfortable and helping them live their convenient little lie then who am I?”

“What?”

She closed her eyes, fighting against the misery that was threatening to swamp her. “Clint cheated on me. I found out this morning.”

“What?”

“It gets better. Or worse. The thing is … the thing is that he wants me to stay with him. Because he’s sorry. And he was weak and he apologized. He said he still loves me.”

“Amelia …”

“But … the thing is, he told me that he’s gay.”

She might have laughed at the look on Luc’s face if she wasn’t so miserable. “Oh.”

“Yeah, well, it … definitely cleared some things up for me. But the thing is, I don’t know what to do with that. We’ve been together for nine years. And my parents love him. And his parents love me. And there’s this expectation that we’re going to be … I mean, I’ve known Clint since I was a kid. And they’ve always expected us to end up together. I expected us to end up together. But …”

“I’m unclear as to why he wants to marry you,” Luc said.

Amelia sucked her cheeks in, then released them with a smack. “Uh … I’m going to go ahead and give that some additional context and say this has more to do with his sexual orientation than the fact that you’re actually stymied as to why a man would want to marry me.”

“That is what I meant.”

“Ah, well, yay me. Knocking ‘em out of the park today.” She let out a long breath. “He told me, after a lot of apologizing, after his friend left, that … that it’s not what he wants for his life. That he wants the life we’ve been building toward for years because he thinks that would be better.” She bit her lip. “And what do I do?” she asked. “What do I do? He’s … I love him, Luc. And I don’t think I’m in love with him, if I’m terribly honest, but he is my best friend. He really is. And I’m angry because he didn’t tell me. And I’m angry because if I turn away from him now … because he’s made me feel like doing anything other than what we planned is a betrayal on my part. And the only thing I really do know is that kissing you felt really good. I just wanted to feel good for a while because otherwise, frankly, today has kind of sucked.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” he said.

“Then don’t tell me anything. Thankfully, we’re going home tomorrow. I’ll deal with Clint. And we can pretend this never happened. I’m under duress, so just … ignore it all.” She looked at the champagne that was still sitting in the ice bucket. “I am gonna take this.” She snagged the bottle. “And I’m going to go to my room.”

“Dinner?” he asked.

“I think I’ll skip it. Suddenly I’m not very hungry.”

Amelia turned and walked into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Tomorrow, they would fly back to New York. Then it would be Christmas. And she would just … go home to her family and pretend that nothing bad was happening. They would all spend Christmas together, even Clint and his parents, and then after the holidays she would figure out what to do.