Snow Crystal Trilogy: Sleigh Bells in the Snow / Suddenly Last Summer / Maybe This Christmas. Sarah Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ her mind but held herself together long enough to plant her hand firmly on his chest. He paused, eased his mouth away from hers with obvious difficulty.

      “Are you—Is that no?”

      “No.” Her voice was as husky as his. “I mean—it’s not no.” She could see he was fighting for control. The muscles in his shoulders were pumped up and hard, his jaw tense as they struggled to have a lucid conversation when all both of them wanted to do was finish what they’d started.

      “Kayla—”

      “I may not believe in Santa, but I believe in safe sex.”

      Silence pressed between them.

      His gaze held hers for a moment and then he cursed softly under his breath. “Yeah—I—” Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled away from her and reached for the clothes he’d discarded.

      The sense of loss shocked her.

      She felt a sick thud of disappointment, followed by a desperate desire to drag him back to her. And then she realized he wasn’t getting dressed. Instead he was digging something out of the pocket of his jeans.

      Seeing the condom in his hand, Kayla gave a laugh that was a mixture of nerves and relief. “Did that come with the pizza?”

      “It came with me.”

      “You—why?”

      “I thought if you got fed up eating pizza and talking about work, we could cement Anglo-U.S. relations.” His mouth was back on her neck, his tongue on her skin, tasting. “How do you think we’re doing?”

      She didn’t know whether to be shocked or laugh with relief. “I think this is going to be a hell of an alliance.”

      “I agree.” He came down on top of her, all sleek male muscle and coiled strength. She dug her fingers in his shoulders, felt the hard thrust of him against her and wrapped her legs around him, drawing him closer. She should have been cold, naked in the middle of this wintery scene, but she was hot, hotter than she’d ever been in her life as she lay in front of the warmth of the fire pressed against the heat of his skin. The need simmered inside her, strong, powerful and right, and she raised her hips as he surged into her, matching his low growl with a soft cry of pleasure as each hard, velvet thrust took him deeper. Her body tightened around him and for a moment it felt like too much—the pressure, the intimacy—and she wondered if he guessed because he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her, slowly and deeply, until she felt nothing except the need for this, for him.

      Perhaps he’d intended it to be slow, but it didn’t end up that way. They were both too desperate, the hunger too ferocious. His hand was locked in her hair, his mouth on hers as they moved together in a rhythm that was both wild and primitive. She felt flushed, feverish, bathed in a heat that had nothing to do with the flickering flames of the log fire, and with each thrust of his body she climbed higher and higher until everything inside her tightened and she balanced on that dangerous edge, held there by his skill and her own desperate need not to lose control. But she did, of course, because he drove her right over that edge, and she fell, tumbling, the contractions of her body gripping the length of his shaft, taking him with her. He groaned deep in his throat, a thickened sound, and then he was kissing her again, and he kept kissing her right through it so that they didn’t just feel it, they breathed it and tasted it.

      And as the storm faded, reality seeped back into her brain.

      Her surroundings, which had faded from her consciousness, came back into view, and for the first time she registered that they were both naked and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass.

      But outside there was nothing but the white silence of the watching forest, the trees the only witness to their uncontrolled passion. It was like lying in a glade on the forest floor, bathed in wintery silvery light with just the red glow of the flickering fire to warm them.

      It was the most perfect moment of her life and she remembered Elizabeth’s words.

      It sweeps you away and robs you of breath, and you know that no matter what happens in the future, this is a moment you’re going to remember forever. It’s always going to be there, living inside you, and no one can take it away.

      She knew this was one of those moments. But she also knew, better than anyone, that perfect moments didn’t last. And the more perfect the moment, the harder it was to deal with the emptiness that came after.

      Remembering that, she tried to ease away from him, but he rolled onto his back and covered them both with the soft throw from the sofa, his arm locked around her in a possessive grip.

      “Are you warm enough?”

      “Yes—” But inside she was cold, because she wasn’t used to feeling this.

      They lay in silence, watching flakes of snow float lazily past the windows, coating the trees in a luminous cloak of dazzling white.

      “Have you always hated Christmas?”

      She could have lied. She could have just kept their relationship physical, but she knew they were already past that, and it terrified her because if there was ever a man who was completely wrong for her it was Jackson. Jackson with his big, loving family and his unshakable strength and values. He was a man who deserved the truth. She couldn’t give him anything else, but she could give him that.

      “No. Once, I loved Christmas. It was my favorite time of year.” She spoke softly, as if her voice might somehow disturb the wonderful peace of the forest. “My dad traveled a lot with his job, but he always made sure he was home for the holidays. I looked forward to it. Like most families, we had our rituals.”

      His arms tightened. “Such as?”

      “We went to the forest to choose a tree, then we decorated it together… .” She remembered the family earlier. Remembering their delight and excitement brought back memories both sharp and sad. “My dad would hold the box of decorations and I would hang them and he would do the branches at the top that I couldn’t reach.”

      She lay tense, unable to relax. “On Christmas Eve I hung out my stocking. I was always too excited to sleep. Not because of the presents, although I always loved those, too, but because we were together. No work calls. No business travel. Family time. That was our Christmas every year until I was thirteen.” Pulling away from him, she sat up and looped her arms around her knees, staring at the fire.

      “What happened?”

      “It seemed like a typical Christmas. There was no suggestion it would be anything different. I came downstairs that morning and found my parents at the breakfast table drinking coffee. Nothing odd about that. They told me to open my stocking. Bright voices, no clues. Open your stocking, Kayla. See what Santa has brought you. Not that I believed in Santa, of course, but it was another of our rituals. We used to leave a carrot for his reindeer. My dad even put teeth marks in it. When I was four I believed it, and as I grew older it became one of our family jokes.” Her breathing was shallow, and she heard him curse softly and then felt the warmth of the throw on her bare skin as he wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her back down into his arms. He held her like that, tight and close, until her heart rate slowed and his warmth became hers. It was a whole new kind of intimacy.

      Outside, it had started to snow heavily, the flakes falling thickly, drifting past the glass as if the sky was crying in sympathy. СКАЧАТЬ