One More for Christmas(53)



Samantha snatched the book from her sister’s fingers and slapped it facedown next to the bed, even though she’d abandoned all hope of maintaining a professional appearance.

Somehow, tomorrow, she would try and make a fresh start. In the meantime she just wanted this day to be over.

“We have everything, thank you.”

Brodie finally looked at her, and she saw that her sister was right about his blue eyes looking good with the dark framed glasses.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, turned and banged his head on the door frame. “Ouch.” He touched his fingers to his head and pulled a face.

“Are you all right?” Ella reached out, as if to save him from any more disasters.

“Fine. I’m completely fine.” He rubbed his head and gave Ella a rueful smile. “I need to remember to duck my head in these old rooms.” He backed away, stumbled slightly as his shoulder caught the door. “Oops—still fine—I hope you sleep well, Samantha.” His gaze met hers for a brief second and then he turned and bumped his way out of the room.

She knew there was absolutely no chance of her sleeping. None.

“Did you see that?” Ella’s whisper was so loud, she might as well have yelled. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He kept banging into things.”

“He banged into things because he couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. The man was terrified. Between the phone call and now this, he’s probably wondering if it’s safe to sleep in the house with me.”

“He is adorable.” Ella sighed. “And if you don’t want to unwrap the incredible gift that is that man this Christmas, you’re not the woman I know you are.”



Ella


Ella woke to darkness and was disorientated. She reached out blindly, found her phone and checked the time.

Three o’clock in the morning.

She put the phone down, flopped back against the pillows and waited for her mind to wake up properly.

It was almost Christmas, and they were in snowy Scotland.

She waited for the familiar warm feeling to creep through her body, but nothing happened. What was wrong? Where was the tension coming from?

She was here with her family. Michael, Tab, Samantha. And—

Her mother.

She sat up, breathing hard. Her mother. She was the one who had suggested her mother join them. What had she done? Christmas was always so smooth. An indulgence, as sweet as chocolate cake. Adding her mother into the mix could, and probably would, disrupt the balance.

What if she’d ruined Christmas?

Beside her, Michael stirred. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She lay back down and he pulled her against him.

“I know it’s not nothing. Is this about your mother?”

“Yes. It all feels so—wrong. She still hasn’t said anything to me about the fact that I didn’t tell her I was married with a child.”

“Maybe she realizes that is in the past now, and it’s time to move on.”

“My mother isn’t like that. She doesn’t let my bad decisions pass without comment.”

“You haven’t seen her in five years.” Michael’s voice was rough with sleep. “She could have changed.”

Or not. “What if this whole thing is a mistake?”

He pressed her back against the bed and kissed her. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever.”

Were they? He didn’t know their mother.

He slid his hand from her hip to her thigh, and then higher, and she decided that for now at least she’d leave him to his fantasies because she was having a few of her own.

“Are you making a move on me?”

“Several moves.” His mouth was on her jaw, her throat, her breast. She felt the softness of his mouth and the rasp of stubble over sensitive skin.

Desire, warm and wicked, unraveled inside her. He wasn’t her first lover, but she’d known from that first heated kiss they’d shared that he’d be her last.

Michael.

She slid her arms round him, curved her legs over his. “I love you.”

“Of course you do. You’re a woman of taste. Ouch!” Michael winced as she moved her knee. “If you think you’ll ever want a second child, you should be careful.”

“I don’t know if I want a second child. Would it turn out like you?”

“You mean smart and wickedly handsome? We’re a rare breed. I can’t guarantee it.” He kissed her, smothering her response.

She put her hand on his shoulder, ready to push him away and carry on talking, but then he deepened the kiss and she forgot what it was she’d wanted to say. The kiss turned from soft and deliberate to wild and urgent.

She felt the skilled glide of his fingers and the erotic stroke of his mouth against the most sensitive parts of her.

Only when she was pliant, writhing, desperate, did he finally ease into her. She wrapped her legs round him but he held himself still, kissing her until she was almost in a frenzy. When he finally started to move, it was a slow, rhythmic teasing of her senses, controlled to the point that she might have thought he wasn’t as desperate as she was, except that she knew him. She cupped his face in her hands, saw the feverish glitter in his eyes and knew the effort it was taking him to hold back.

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