Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(24)

If there had been any doubt in my mind that she’d wanted this too, it was gone now—but did that make it right?

God, this was so fucking unfair.

I wanted to be the good guy for her, the patient gentleman, the anti-asshole. But I also really, really liked the feeling of her hair in my fingers and her tongue in my mouth and her hands grabbing my ass. It had been so long since someone wanted me this way—for no reason other than raw, unfiltered desire—and it felt so fucking good.

My mouth traveled across her cheek and down her neck. I inhaled the scent of her perfume and wished I could swim in it. Stroking her throat with my tongue, I reached down and hitched up her dress, bringing one of her legs up to my hip, gripping her thigh with my fingers.

“Henry,” she whispered. “I—”

But whatever she was going to say next was swallowed up by the loud chime of a clock on the mantle.

We jumped apart.





Seven





Sylvia





“Oh my God.” I placed a hand over my racing heart, my lungs working overtime. “That scared me!”

“Me too.” Henry grabbed the knot of his necktie and loosened it. “God, Sylvia. I’m so sorry. That won’t happen again.”

Wait—he was sorry?

Before I knew what to say, he was grabbing his suit jacket from the couch and shrugging it on. “Fuck. I left my overcoat at the party.”

“I can go back with you to get it,” I offered, although my legs felt so wobbly I wasn’t sure I’d make it.

“No.” He put a hand out, as if to stop me from coming closer to him. “You stay here. I’ll go back and get it.”

“Okay.” I twisted my fingers together at my waist. My insides were all tangled up. “Can I at least walk you out?”

“I’m good. I know my way.” Clearly wishing to keep his distance—and for me to keep mine—he gave me a wave and headed for the front hall, where a door would lead him down the private corridor to the inn’s executive offices.

I heard it open and close softly.

He was gone before I could even say goodbye. Or tell him not to be sorry. Or beg him to kiss me again.

What the hell?

Left standing there alone on trembling legs, I wrapped one arm around my jittery stomach and placed one hand over my mouth. A minute ago, Henry’s lips had been on mine. His hands had been on my skin. The hard length of his dick had been trapped between the heat of our bodies.

And I’d loved every second of it.

My God, how long had it been since I’d been kissed like that? Touched like that? Wanted like that? Because there was no doubt in my mind that Henry had wanted me—I’d felt it. I wished I could have felt more of it.

I glared at the mantel. Fucking asshole clock.

Lowering myself gingerly onto the couch, I took a few minutes to catch my breath. As my pulse slowed, my senses returned.

Maybe it was for the best that we’d been interrupted. After all, it’s not like we could have taken it much farther. Were we going to take our clothes off in front of the Christmas tree? At my parents’ house? With my children asleep upstairs?

No. Of course we weren’t. And that was a good thing.

Because as intoxicating as it had felt to be thoroughly ravished by Henry tonight, I wasn’t ready for more. And given the way he’d hustled out of here tonight, muttering apologetic words—that won’t happen again—he wasn’t either.

But damn.

The man could kiss.





Christmas morning, the kids woke me up before eight, bubbling over with excitement because they’d peeked downstairs and it was clear that Santa knew they’d moved to Cloverleigh Farms—there were all kinds of presents under the tree for them. Even if they no longer believed, they faked it convincingly and enthusiastically, maybe even just for me. But it made me happy.

Shoving my feet into fuzzy slippers, I threw on a robe and followed them downstairs, inhaling the smell of coffee brewing. My parents were in the kitchen, my mother mixing up waffle batter and my dad slicing bananas for a fruit salad. There was a fire going in the fireplace, and Bing Crosby crooned “White Christmas” over the speakers.

“Morning,” I chirped, reaching into the cupboard for a coffee cup.

“Morning, dear.” My mom smiled at me. “How’d you sleep?”

“Great,” I lied. In truth, I’d lain awake for hours reliving that kiss—and the things Henry had said to me right before it. But I didn’t feel groggy or anything. In fact, I felt pretty damn good. He’d told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Even if it wasn’t true, I’d loved hearing the words from his lips.

My dad came over and mussed my hair. “It’s so good to have you guys here on Christmas morning. It’s been a while since we’ve had kids in the house.”

“It’s good to be here, Daddy.” I kissed his cheek and poured myself some coffee, wondering what Henry was doing this morning. It made me feel sad to think of him all alone, especially since I knew now that he wanted children. His first Christmas on his own, without even a wife for company, was going to be hard, wasn’t it?

The thought stayed with me as we drank coffee, watched the kids open presents, stuffed ourselves with waffles and eggs and bacon and fruit salad, and cleaned up piles of bows, boxes, and torn wrapping paper. But I wasn’t sure what to do about it—call him? Invite him over? I didn’t even have his number. And I had the feeling that even if I did, he’d refuse to come. He’d say he didn’t want to intrude on family time.