I'll Be Yours for Christmas. Samantha HunterЧитать онлайн книгу.
You just made me remember that summer when your parents decided to try to add selling goat cheese to the winery business, and all of the goats got loose one weekend and ate some of my dad’s vines,” he lied, unable to look away from her face. Her eyes had landed on the scar behind his ear—the skin graft had healed, but it was visible. Did it bother her?
The definite sparkle of interest in her eyes said no, he assumed.
She laughed then, breaking the bond. “He was pretty nice about it, considering.”
Her honey-brown hair was soft and slightly curled, pushed back in a haphazard way that made him want to reach out and weave his hands into it. She didn’t wear makeup, which he found refreshing. She didn’t need to. Her skin was flawless, her cheeks pink and kissable. And those lips …
“Did you ever wonder?” he heard himself ask.
Her cheeks turned rosy again, her lips parting slightly, as if she knew exactly where his mind had gone.
“Wonder what?”
He paused. They’d had a nice evening, two old friends talking over high school times and getting reacquainted. Did he really want to step into other waters? He was only back for a month or so, or however long it took to sell the winery. And the faster, the better. Abby wasn’t one of his pit stops.
The women he knew in Europe were aware of his commitment-free lifestyle, his focus on his racing. They knew the score. They also had their own agendas, liking to be seen with a well-known driver, having their picture show up in the next day’s entertainment news.
Abby had no agenda. She was just … Abby.
He still had to ask the question.
“What it might have been like if we didn’t stop that night at the lake?” he said and noted the slight catch in her breath, but she didn’t look away.
“Sure, I wondered,” she said simply.
“I was about to ask you out, back then, when you took off,” he admitted.
“You were?”
“Yeah. I wanted to know what it would be like to be with you, for real,” he said. “I always liked you, Abby. A lot.”
“Oh” was her only response, sounding slightly breathless. He took that as a good sign and plunged ahead.
“Still want to find out?” he said, in spite of every bit of better judgment he had.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she stood suddenly, setting down her wine, her movements fluttering and nervous.
“I should go. We’re just tired. There’s the fire and the wine, and it’s easy to be caught up in old times, but really … I should go,” she repeated, and walked to the door.
Reece shot up, moving after her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, catching her arm, turning her to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you off.”
He wasn’t sure if he was talking about eight years ago or two minutes ago. He was sure he didn’t want her walking out the door.
They were close, and she looked up at him, her eyes somber.
“Listen, Reece, as much as I might be … curious, too, it wouldn’t be a good idea—”
“You’re curious?” His mind selectively honed in on the one thing he wanted to hear and he stepped closer. “About me?”
She licked her lips nervously, making his cock jerk, semihard already, against the rough fabric of his jeans. In his hurry, he hadn’t even pulled on briefs, so all that held him back was a bit of thin fabric.
“I—” She had started to say something, but he saw the pulse beating hard at the base of her throat, the desire in her eyes.
“What else are you curious about, Abby? I seem to remember you liked the excitement of being there, by the hedge, in public. Are you still up for that kind of adventure?”
He remembered how aroused she had been, and it had been just as hot for him, too. Did she still want that?
Reece liked risk, too. Hell, it defined him. He also had fantasies that not all of his lovers had satisfied.
What kind of sex was Abby into? He knew about her fondness for public places. Bondage, maybe? Something more creative? Role-play, perhaps?
He wanted to find out, imagining Abby tied to his bed or dressed in black leather. What if she wanted him tied up?
He could probably live with that. He was open to anything short of real pain or multiple partners—Reece wasn’t sharing Abby with anyone.
“Let’s just see, Abby, what it could be like between us,” he said, needing to know and pulling her to him, his hands traveling up her back and into her hair, as he’d thought about.
It was like silk. He wanted to feel it trailing over his stomach and his thighs, her mouth on him.
The thought made his kiss less introductory, less tentative, than it might have been otherwise. He took her soft lips and opened her wider, invading and rubbing his tongue against hers with a deep moan. She felt so right, like she had before, but better, the flames leaping between them.
Her arms went around his neck, and she rubbed back with her tongue, her lips and the rest of her body as she strained against him.
Green flag, he thought, but resisted accelerating, instead maintaining the steady heat of the kiss, learning her taste, her touch, until neither of them could take it any longer.
When her hands started undoing the buttons on his shirt, he walked her back against the wall by the window, pressing his hardness against her, moving his hands up to cover her breasts. She was firm and soft in his palms, the nipples budding hard.
Touching wasn’t enough, he needed to taste.
Moving his hands up under her sweater, he set the flimsy lace of her bra aside and bent to take one tight, beaded nipple in his mouth. He drew on it hard, murmuring encouragingly as she arched away from the wall, her hand at the back of his head, keeping him there.
He replaced his lips with his fingers, rolling the warm buds between his thumb and forefinger as he kissed her again, wanting to be everywhere at once.
He stood back, staring down into her flushed face, her passion-drenched eyes, raising a finger to touch lips that now looked like crushed cherries.
“Abby, I want you, but …” He let the question hang. He wanted her, but he’d back off now if she wanted him to, no matter what.
“Yes, please,” she said, her breathing short and hard.
She was incredibly sweet. He planned to take his time with her, he thought, and pressed her back, sliding a thigh between her legs, pinning her to the wall. He wanted to make her come as many times as he could before he got inside her, because once he was, he knew he wouldn’t last long. Not this first time.
He took her lips again and massaged those pretty breasts with both hands, moving against her until she was whimpering and grinding against him. Without warning, she arched, coming hard, moaning into his mouth as she rode it out. And he didn’t even get her clothes off yet, he thought with raw hunger, wanting more.
He pulled back, taking in her bemused expression, the surprised satisfaction he saw there making him swell harder.
He thought she might be shy, embarrassed, but she linked her arms around his neck and leaned in, nipping at his lower lip.
“More” was all she said as she looked him in the eye.
“Oh, honey,” he choked out. “There’s plenty more.”
Swinging her up into his arms, he turned to take her back to the fireplace, planning to dim the lights and strip that sweater off in the warm glow of the flames, when he stopped, his gaze drawn out the window.
He