Postcards At Christmas. Cara Colter

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      He caught her earlobe between his teeth and worried it lightly. Then he whispered, “Will you be guided by me?”

      Another sound escaped her, more tender than rough. She shifted her fingers up into his hair, pulling his head down into the warm woman-scented curve of her throat. “Yes. Please. That’s what I want. For you to teach me.”

      He took her shoulders then and gently held her away from him—just enough that he could meet her wide, dazed eyes. “First of all...”

      “Yes?” Breathless. Hopeful. Impossibly sweet.

      “We don’t have to hurry.”

      She groaned and then pressed her lips together.

      He touched her hair. Like living silk. “Say it. Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t hold back.”

      She winced. “Well, it’s just that, um, yeah, we kind of do have to hurry. I mean, it’s already Saturday morning. I’m flying home tomorrow. We need to get this done.”

      He wanted to laugh at her total frankness, but he didn’t. He held her gaze. “As your friend, I must warn you against men who say ‘trust me.’ But trust me.”

      She laughed then. “Oh, Dami.”

      “Do you trust me?”

      She didn’t hesitate. “I do. Absolutely.”

      “Good.” He caught her hand. “Come with me.”

      * * *

      Dazed, amazed, excited and very nervous, Lucy went where he led her.

      To his bedroom.

      It was a large room with a high, coffered ceiling from which hung a giant iron chandelier. The bed had an intricately carved headboard and finials shaped like crowns. The turned-back sheets were cobalt-blue satin, the bedding in deep blue and gold and red.

      Unreality assailed her. Alone with Dami in his bedroom. Who knew?

      He turned on a torchère lamp beside the bed nice and low. The chandelier was on, too, but also low. She could see clearly enough, but everything was soft and shadowed. Which was great. The pleasant dimness eased her nerves.

      At least a little.

      He took her shoulders again, his long fingers warm and sure against her bare skin. Still, she shivered at the touch, scared and also excited for what was to come.

      “Second thoughts?” he asked.

      Her mouth went dust dry. She swallowed to try to get some moisture going. “No. Really. I want to do this, I truly do....”

      His smile was way too knowing as he stepped back from her and began to undress, first dropping to a chair to remove his shoes and socks, then sweeping upright again and getting rid of everything else. Quickly, so gracefully, all his beautiful clothes were gone in what felt to her like an instant, as she just stood there staring.

      At least the saliva had flooded back into her mouth.

      He was a magnificent man, honed and tanned, with a broad, deep chest and shoulders and a belly you could scrub your laundry on. Her gaze trailed down over hard, narrow hips. The muscles in his long thighs were sharply defined. Even his feet were beautiful, long and perfectly shaped.

      She did more absurd gulping as she let her glance stray upward again. This time, she allowed herself to look directly at the most private part of him. He definitely wanted her. His manhood curved up, thick and fully aroused, from the dark nest of hair between those powerful thighs.

      That he wanted her was good. Excellent— Well, except for the definite largeness of him. She couldn’t help it. She wondered what all virgins probably wondered.

      “Seriously, Dami. Are you sure it’s going to fit?” The words were out and hanging in the air between them before she stopped to think how ridiculous they would sound.

      But he didn’t laugh at her. He only brushed a finger slowly down the outside of her arm, bringing the goose bumps to bloom where he touched. And he said in a low rumble, “I promise you, Luce. We’ll take all the time we need. You’ll see. It will fit. That’s how it is with men and women. We are made to fit.”

      “Well, of course I know that. But it’s still, um...yikes. You know?”

      He went very still, waiting—and watching her so closely, his eyes that strange deep black-green right then, dragonfly green. He asked, “Do you want to stop? Any time you want to stop, all you have to do is say the word.”

      “No. Uh-uh. I absolutely do not want to stop.”

      One corner of his sinful mouth quirked up. How did he do it? How did he stand there in front of her without a stitch on looking so comfortable in his own skin he almost didn’t seem naked at all?

      His finger started moving again, across the slim rolled-satin belt at her waist, pausing at the jeweled butterfly pin. He traced the shape of it and then he let his finger trail upward. He touched her breast just with that single finger. He found her nipple beneath the satin, inside the thin cup of her strapless bra. He rubbed his finger up and down until the nipple hardened.

      Lucy gasped. She couldn’t help it.

      And then he used his thumb, too, rolling it a little, until she felt a certain flooding of heat down low, felt a thin, shimmering cord of desire forming, connecting her breast to her core. She drew another ragged breath as he moved to the other breast and repeated the process.

      Then he leaned close. He licked her at her temple. The moisture made a cool spot, right there where her pulse beat above her ear.

      He blew on that spot, increasing the coolness. And then he whispered, “Take off your belt....”

      She did it, fumbling a little, removing the vintage pin and unhooking the clasp beneath. He took them from her and set them on the bedside table.

      “Luce.” He licked her temple again, caught a bit of her hair between his lips and tugged. Then he pressed his mouth to her hair. She felt his warm breath sift over her scalp. “Luce?”

      “Yeah?” Her own voice sounded...different. Tentative. And breathless, too. She wished fervently to be more experienced, not to be so obviously out of her depth. Her wish was not granted.

      And somehow Dami made that seem all right. “Please turn around.”

      She remembered to breathe again and the air rushed into her hungry lungs as she ordered her feet to move. Three careful steps and she was facing away from him, staring at the shadows in the corners of the room, at the waiting blue satin sheets on the wide carved bed.

      He touched her shoulder, as though to steady her. And then he took down her zipper in one long, slow glide. The dress dropped around her ankles.

      He wrapped one of those big hard arms around her and kissed the side of her neck. “Step out of it. Careful, now....” She lifted one satin stiletto and then the other, cautiously stepping free of the gown. “Don’t move,” he warned softly. He let go of her long enough to scoop СКАЧАТЬ