My Kind of Christmas
Page 14

“Are you sure you’re twenty-three?” Patrick asked her.
“My sisters and I are not very much alike,” she said. “We’ve always enjoyed different things. We sometimes throw in with one another when it’s not our number-one choice. Baby girl is an athlete—I go to as many games and meets as I can because it shows support. I’m not going to dump her because her athletic events bore me or are inconvenient—she’s my sister! But sometimes I read while she’s running track or playing basketball and even that makes her think I don’t love her.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask—but the middle sister?”
“Piano and violin. Concert ready. I enjoy that a little more than basketball, track and other sports. But, hey, these are the same sisters I sent to the emergency room when I started experimenting with mixing household cleaners. I think I owe them.”
He laughed at her. “I think you do. A piece of advice—before you have children, be sure you can afford full-time watchdogs.”
“I know, right?”
He leaned toward her and kissed her briefly, looking into her eyes. “Your lips are soft,” he whispered. “And perfect.” He kissed her again, this time deeper. He slipped an arm around her waist and gently lowered her to the floor. He could feel her body responding to his, her hands reaching up to wrap around him, to encourage him. As much as he wanted to keep going, a small part of his conscience tugged at him. “Listen,” he said, pulling back slightly, “we shouldn’t. We’re just passing through.”
She simply looked up at him with those sweet, pretty eyes and, against his better judgment, he kissed her again. This time he tongued open her lips and played inside her mouth, moaning low in his throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair, as though trying to pull his mouth even closer to hers. Against her lips he whispered, “Why do you have to taste so damn good, feel so good. Angie, I want you and you’re the last person I should be wanting.” He leaned over her, his hands busy with her torso, running up and down her sides, grazing a breast, devouring her mouth with his. “My ears are ringing. Tell me to stop before this—” But Angie shook her head, her lips red and swollen from his deep kisses, her eyes filled with longing. “Stop me,” he whispered. “Push me away. This is such a bad idea. Before I go completely deaf, tell me no....”
“Patrick,” she whispered. “Paddy…”
“Yes?” he asked, his eyes sleepy and sexy and gazing into hers.
“Do you always talk this much?”
He smiled for just a second before he took her mouth by storm and rolled with her on the floor until his body covered hers. His lips on her neck, her ear, her temple, her mouth again, always looking for a better, even deeper taste of her. When he broke away for a moment she said, “I like that.” She was a little breathless.
“We’re going to go real slow, just take our time getting to know each other. Nothing happens that you’re not ready for. All you have to do is put one hand on my chest, like this,” he said, taking her hand and placing the palm against his chest. “You don’t even have to say anything. This is all about you, Ange. I don’t even have to kiss you again unless you feel like it.”
She was still for a second. Then she grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists and pulled his mouth against hers.
Patrick took full advantage of her decision, moving along her with sweet passion. She moaned against his lips; her urgency thrilled him. Mouths open, tongues playing, lips sliding, tilting right, then left, he devoured her. He couldn’t get deep enough into her mouth. This response from her had him hard in an instant, but he was determined to move slowly even though her body felt tight with needy determination.
Patrick knew that, by her age, a lot of young women had had more than one serious boyfriend; they at least knew what they wanted. Patrick had been with a number of women, beginning when he was seventeen, and many of them, though young, had things to teach him. He sensed this was not the case with Angie. She’d had other concerns—like being valedictorian to every class she attended, even coming out with two degrees. You didn’t get honors like that by spending a lot of time making out.
He pulled her fully into his arms, her body flush against his, and kissed her wildly, madly. He gently and slowly toyed with one breast, waiting for that hand to stop him. Instead, she grabbed his wrist and slid his hand under the soft fabric of her sweatshirt where he found… Ahhh, naked. Her perfect, small breast filled his hand and he groaned, running a thumb over a hardened nipple.
His lips slid to her neck and he kissed his way from her ear downward. Then he whispered, “How do you feel about ditching the shirt?”
“Excellent. If you ditch yours.”
“I can do that,” he said.
He yanked off his own, almost ripping off buttons. So much for slow, he thought. He couldn’t get down to skin fast enough and he hoped, no, he prayed she was ready to take a chance on going further. Once his chest was bare, he slowly lifted her sweatshirt over her head and just gazed at her as she sat in front of him.
There were a few scars—a small line a few inches below her left breast, a thin but longer scar along her abdomen and a lump on her collarbone where it looked as if it had once been broken. He traced each mark with his finger, then leaned forward and retraced the same path with his lips. Eager to see her spread before him, he leaned her back to the floor and entertained himself with her lovely br**sts, stroking, kissing and licking them with equal attention. Angie sighed, her eyes drifting closed. Hovering over her, his thumbs teasing those perfect ni**les erect again, he watched with a sense of pride as she moaned and arched her back, her br**sts reaching up to him for more.
With a force he didn’t have all that much control over, he was pushing his erection against the vee where her legs met…and she pushed back. She rolled her h*ps beneath him, wanting. Begging. He made use of a secret weapon—an erection in a pair of tough jeans right against her most sensitive part. He gently pushed apart her legs and held himself between them, rubbing those hard jeans against her. And then he dipped his mouth to her nipple and gently tugged it into his mouth, teasing with his tongue before sucking.
Her hands were in his hair, holding his head; her head tilted back and her back arched farther as she pushed against him. A soft primal sound came out of her. She stiffened; she shuddered. He held that nipple tight between his lips while nature took its course and had its way with her. God, what a beauty; what a hot, amazing beauty. It was a long few seconds before she collapsed beneath him and he traded the nipple for her lips.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “It just happened.”
He brushed her hair back at her temple. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for good things that happen between us. It’s a wonderful thing. You’re a passionate girl.”
“Woman,” she corrected.
He smiled and then chuckled. “All woman,” he admitted. “Baby, you have no idea how special you are.”
He kissed her lips, ear, neck, chin, br**sts, leisurely getting to know her body. And then, giving her plenty of time to put that hand against his chest, he slowly slipped his own hand lower, skimming her stomach and moving down past the waist of those loose sweats. Once again, paradise came in the form of no underwear. As he slid his hand lower, she opened her legs and lifted her hips, welcoming him. He growled against her neck as his fingers pushed lower into the warm silk of her folds.
And she purred back at him, pushing against his hand.
“What do you think, Angie? Too much? Too fast?”
She just shook her head, biting her lower lip, eyes closed.
He stilled his hand. “Look at me, Angie,” he whispered tenderly. “I have to see your eyes.” She opened them dreamily, a small smile on her lips. He couldn’t resist her. “I’ll make love to you if you want me to.”
“I want you to. You have to promise to tell me what feels good to you, though. I’m not sure I’ll know.”
He smiled down into her eyes. She had a look of satisfaction on her flushed face. “I promise,” he whispered. “Somehow I think you’re the only thing I need.”
Because he was a gentleman, he disrobed first so he wouldn’t leave her n**ed and waiting. He sat back, pulled a condom out of his wallet and got rid of his jeans, tossing them after the shirt over the back of the couch. As he rolled on the condom, she raised onto her elbows to look at him.
“Hoo boy,” she said softly.
He just grinned at her before gently sliding off her pants. She was so beautiful his mouth watered. He carefully lowered himself over her; all he wanted in the world right now was to be sure she never regretted this.
“You’re trembling,” she whispered.
“I know. I’m trying to be careful with you. But the truth is, I can’t get into you fast enough....”
She ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek. “I’m okay, Paddy. You can let go.”
“Sweetheart, if I let go, I’m afraid I’ll tear you apart, I want you that bad.”
She reached down between their bodies and gave him a brief stroke before positioning him. He had barely touched her when, with a will of its own, he slid into her. Her eyes widened for just a second, then gently closed. He held her still, filling her, and the trembling stopped at once. “Better,” she said.
Patrick moved cautiously, slowly at first, but when she started to lunge toward his thrusting h*ps he pushed harder, loving the soft sounds of pleasure she shared with him. When she cried out, he took her mouth and kissed her ravenously while she gripped him with all her internal muscles. He held on. And on. And on…
When she had exhausted her pleasure and relaxed, he grabbed her behind and let himself go. The power of it shocked him. As he felt his orgasm release, it started another shuddering inside her and she wrapped a leg around him to pull him deeper. “God,” he said. “God, Ange…”
It took a long time for him to catch his breath. He started to pull away from her and, that fast, the palm of her hand was against his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered.
“I won’t leave you, sweetheart. Let me grab the quilt.”
She allowed this, and in just one second, he had pulled it over them and was holding her. She was so soft in his arms. He turned her so that he could cradle her against his chest, her back against him, listening to her breathe evenly. Don’t talk, he told himself. Don’t say a word, not a single word. With her head on his arm, she curved into him. He held one hand against her chest and with his lips pressed against her neck, he began to drift off. He couldn’t help himself. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m better than ever,” she whispered.
And they slept.
* * *
In the cool light of morning, Angie realized she was alone, but she could smell the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Just as she was sitting up, Patrick handed her a cup. He wore only jeans—no shirt, no shoes. The fire blazed with new logs.
“Mmm,” she said, taking the cup in both hands and bringing it to her lips. Nice. Patrick sat on the only chair in the room, elbows on his knees, leaning toward her. “Oh, Ange, what did we do?”
She laughed softly. “What did we do three times, you mean?”
“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
“Why? Are you planning to bolt now?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. But I have commitments. At the very least, there’s likely a big gray boat with my name on it. And you have a world to save. We have to face the facts.”
“Maybe I should be asking if you’ll be all right,” she said.
“Maybe so.”
“Paddy, I can’t stand that you’re so sad on the morning that I’m so happy.”