Mistletoe Not Required. Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.

      TWO

      Of course the guy was a mind-reader as well because he knew her instant preference for sin over safe and his body hardened against hers and his fingers tightened on her arms. Up close Olivia could see gold stardust in his irises and her own desire reflected back.

      And heaven help her, wild and wicked was exactly what she needed tonight. She wanted to lose herself to oblivion. To dive headlong into those dark depths and surrender to the promised pleasure she saw there—

      Except...this whole scenario was straight out of her private fantasies but now it was real and happening and moving too fast and she couldn’t catch her breath.

      ‘Wait.’ She dragged a hand up between them, pushed it against his chest. Hard as concrete. But warm and sculpted, and to her dismay her fingers spread over the undulating surface of their own volition. ‘Just. Wait.’

      ‘Are you okay?’ He loosened his hold and leaned back. ‘Because if you’re not s—’

      ‘I’m fine.’ She sucked in air. ‘Absolutely fine.’ Or would be if she could establish the same footing with this godlike, devilishly attractive being in front of her. Not surrender, she told herself. Equality.

      ‘Tell you what,’ he said, slowly. ‘Why don’t we—?’

      ‘Yes. Why don’t we?’ And before she changed her mind again she wound her fingers around the ends of her boa for a firm hold. Here was a rare chance to grab life and living with both hands and reel him in. She saw the glimpse of surprise in his dark eyes as she reached up on tiptoe, yanked him close and planted her mouth on his.

      And oh, this man didn’t disappoint. As their lips connected she was sure she heard a hiss. More of a sizzle, actually. Heat met heat and that smouldering spark that had been arcing between them since they’d first laid eyes on each other ignited. She felt it catch, deep down inside, sending showers of sparkles to every extremity.

      He pulled back a fraction. ‘Is control your thing, darling?’ A rogue’s smile danced over his lips and his eyes lit with amusement.

      In a different situation his condescending darling would have annoyed her, but she didn’t have time to be annoyed because he was already moving his lips over hers once more and playing the game—his way. He was mayhem and magic and completely irresistible.

      Determined to keep up, she matched his enthusiasm, leaning in and arching her body against his. Their lips softened and parted. Merged. His flavour invaded her mouth as breath mingled, tongues met and entwined.

      She tasted wealth and power and persuasion. Danger in a will that matched her own. And for the first time in her life she wondered if a man—specifically, this man—might be more than she could handle.

      But this was just a little harmless flirtation on a balcony. And Christmas Eve was about midnight madness and whimsical delights.

      With eager hands she acquainted herself with his body. Hard slabs of muscle, the soft indent below his Adam’s apple. The springy masculine hair that sprouted from the V of his open-necked shirt. He was a gift and she was a kid on Christmas morning.

      His hands were busy too, warm and firm on her shoulders, beneath her hair, down her back, toying with the top of her zipper. She gave an involuntary shiver—the tiny metal teeth were the only things holding up her dress and preventing her from standing here in nothing but red lace bikini panties.

      On a balcony metres away from a hundred or more guests.

      With a man she didn’t know.

      Someone had so spiked that cocktail.

      Or maybe it was time to live on the edge for once.

      * * *

      Damn. Jett managed, with difficulty, to pry his lips from hers. ‘I knew it.’ He leaned back and searched her face through a fog of lust. ‘Was that a fun shiver of delight and anticipation or do we need the festive foliage?’

      ‘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