by C J Burright
And the loneliness threatened to consume her.
“Your drink, miss.”
Gia turned from the stage and quietly thanked the bartender as Mr. Hamilton concluded his speech and handed the gift-giving duties to Ian. She drained her margarita as Ian’s smooth-as-private-stock-whiskey voice escaped the microphone and slid over her skin, a cruel reminder that she remained trapped between two worlds—the one she’d wanted with Joey and the future—where she was alone and had no guarantee she’d find someone who’d love her unconditionally and remind her on a daily basis that she was special, someone who would make her believe it, someone who would make her feel alive and free and…significant.
She was alive and simultaneously dying.
Instead of ordering another drink, she turned toward the ballroom exit and kept walking until she was beyond reach of the flashing party lights, holiday cheer and sexy voices over the loudspeaker, until the click of her heels on marble softened on pavestones and winter nipped at her bare skin.
Gia sucked in a deep breath of frigid air and fought against the sudden urge to sob. She crossed a small patio covered by open slats twined with ivy and tiny white lights, offering a glimpse at the stars. She wanted more than a peek at the heavens, and despite the cold and no coat, she walked to the edge of the pavers.
She stepped onto the grass, thankful that her stilettos didn’t pierce the frozen earth, and moved into the open arms of winter. The maze hedge stretched in a dark mass before her, the opening dimly lit by two iron lampposts and guarded by a marble faun with a pan flute. She wasn’t dumb enough—or desperate enough—to take that challenge. The last margarita had lent her a pleasant warmth and a lightheadedness that hadn’t yet helped ease the pang of sorrow.
Away from the competing lights, she stopped and lifted her gaze. Stars peppered the velvet night sky, beautiful and untouchable and so unreachable that her heart ached until she thought it might crack. She wrapped her arms around her ribs, holding it all together, a temporary fix. None of the night’s magic remained and any enchantment had twisted into an inescapable curse.
“I hope you don’t intend to stay out here until midnight simply to avoid me. I’d hate to burn my lips on the icicle you’d surely become and get my tongue stuck, frozen to yours. You know how it is with double-dog dares.”
Gia closed her eyes at Ian’s familiar voice behind her. Ian was part of the curse, but she wasn’t sure if he was merely the weapon or the warlock himself—not that it mattered. She opened her eyes when his soft sweater brushed her arm, not yet numb enough to miss the contact or his heat.
“I thought you were handing out presents.” She resumed watching the stars. If she didn’t look at him, maybe he wouldn’t get under her skin.
“I am.” He handed her a box glittering with silver and tied with a pink satin bow.
Sighing, she took it. “How did you find me?”
“I…had an inkling and followed my suspicions. I suppose I got lucky.” His voice tightened as he lifted the leather jacket folded over his arm and draped it around her shoulders. “How long have you been out here in the cold? While I appreciate your dedication to playing winter fashion queen, frostbite isn’t required.”
She hunched into the soft lining and pulled his coat tight, too late realizing she’d wrapped herself in Ian’s scent. It surrounded her, coaxing, but she couldn’t find the willpower to give his jacket back.
“I could have picked up my present later, but thanks for bringing it all the way outside. I’ll return your coat when I go back in.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you dismissing me, Ms. Hellman?”
Ms. Hellman. It was another reminder that the sparks between them, no matter how hot, weren’t even deep enough to use first names. She couldn’t even work up a pretend smile.
His smirk faded as he studied her, and she didn’t want to know what he saw in her expression, didn’t want to know how he’d manipulate it. He held out a hand. “Dance with me.”
She stared at his hand, both tempted and unnerved. If she accepted, it would be a sweet surrender—and she was suddenly weary of playing games. Yet conceding hinted at betrayal, of her memories of Joey and what he’d seen in her.
But Joey wasn’t coming back. She was on her own. How much damage could one dance do to her comatose heart?
Gia met his gaze, a last-ditch effort to control the magnetic pull between them. “I see several problems with that request.”
“Which are?”
“For one, the music is too far away to hear.”
“Music isn’t required for dancing.” He sniffed with a hint of annoyance. “I’ll hum if you wish, although I must warn you that I can’t keep a beat. If you find it too offensive, I’ll use my phone.”
She couldn’t deny the small smile working at the corner of her mouth. “I told you I didn’t want to dance with you.”
“Women change their minds all the time.” His eyes glittered like the stars above, but warmer, nearer, full of mischief. “Asking twice isn’t a crime, Ms. Hellman.”
Since Ian was involved, she wasn’t so sure about that. “Dancing with you puts me at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to mistletoe.”
He canted his head. “If I wanted to sabotage you with mistletoe, I could have done so a dozen times already tonight. Besides, there are no witnesses to confirm any kisses by either party.”
“I wouldn’t lie about it.” Even though it would suck to lose, she’d take the hit and maintain her integrity.
“I know.” Watching her, he waited, his hand still out, expecting her to take it.
She shouldn’t take it. Even though the stars seemed brighter and the night cozier, she should walk away. It was a fantasy believing he wanted anything beyond her body, that being in his arms would affect the state of her loneliness.
This is such a bad idea.
“One song,” she said, sliding her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and settling her hand into his.
“I’ll make it a long one.”
“And if you renege and drag out even a leaf of mistletoe, I’m gone.”
Tightening his grip on her fingers, he pulled her close. He slipped his free arm beneath his jacket and around her waist, holding her gently but firmly captive. “My stakes in the bet aren’t money,” he said softly. “I won’t renege.”
She swallowed, unable to look away. His embrace was strong and possessive, his fingers branding her hip with their heat. His features were calm, bland, no sign of the triumph she expected to find, but his eyes flared, hot and brilliant.
He began to sway to some slow beat only he could hear, his gaze never leaving hers. He caressed her knuckles with his thumb in slow circles and she couldn’t resist relaxing.
With a sigh, she looped her arm around his back and laid her head on his chest. A surprising tremor rolled through him, as if her concession affected more than his ego or physical stimulation, and whether he’d intended to or not, he tightened his hold. His sweater was sinfully soft beneath her fingers, his chest exactly as she’d imagined—deliciously hard with muscle—and with his mild, spicy scent and warmth surrounding her, she closed her eyes and let the fantasy take over for a few minutes.
Their shoes made a hush on the frosted grass as they moved together at the same, slow tempo, in sync as if they alone existed in eternal night, connected by gossamer threads. A tune drifted from far off, so distant that she could only make out a strain here and there, and whether it was the one-too-many margaritas or her imagination fueled by Christmas magic, she’d swear it held an unearthly edge, like the stars themselves sang in a language human ears couldn’t quite decipher.
I’ve absolutely had too many margaritas.
“I’ll probably regret saying this,” she whispered against his sweater, “but I’d rather dance with you than Chuck.”
Low laughter hummed beneath her cheek. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” Still swaying as if he, too, could hear the distant music, he tilted her chin
up with one finger, drawing her gaze to his. The heat there threatened to engulf her. “And I’ll never regret saying this.” His voice rasped, husky. “I’d prefer to kiss you over anyone else.”
“You can’t know that,” she said unsteadily. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at his lips, the margaritas in her blood urging her on, dredging up the desire she’d tried—and failed—to dismiss. “You haven’t kissed me before. You might hate kissing me. I could be the worst kisser in the universe.”
“You’re right,” he murmured, his hand still beneath her chin, his whiskey-scented breath warm on her cheek. “But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Her heart thumped a hurried beat as his gaze drifted to her mouth and remained there. The night seemed to go quiet and draw close, shutting out any intrusion from the world. When Ian brushed her lower lip with his thumb, molten heat rippled along her nerves. She might have been able to escape if she’d walked away after he’d delivered her present, but it was far too late now. All the times she’d imagined kissing him during the past week demolished what remained of her defenses, which hadn’t been much beyond a shallow moat tonight, anyway. Losing a stupid bet in exchange for knowing what it felt like to kiss him, to let her fantasies free for a few more minutes, would be worth it. She lifted her face to his in silent invitation.
Ian splayed his fingers along her jaw and bent his head. His lips brushed hers with unexpected softness, slow and sensual, which for some reason was far more igniting than the carnal assault she’d expected, as if he intended to give her a mere sample to get her hooked, the first step to addiction. He kissed her with a lazy friction meant to lull and lure. It wasn’t hard at all to understand why so many women would settle for one night with him. With every slide of his velvet mouth over hers, he dug his fingers possessively into her hip and the fire in her veins rose higher, hotter.
And he hadn’t even used his tongue yet.
A noise she didn’t intend to make emerged from deep inside her, needy and desperate, and when she fisted the back of his sweater and pressed closer, his responsive groan held the echo of a dam cracking, opening wide.
Ian slid his hand into her hair and curled his fingers around her skull, holding her still, and the push of his hips against hers made it impossible to ignore the evidence of his arousal. She gasped against his lips, and it was stolen by the slide of his tongue against hers. The silken thrust slammed all her senses into high alert and stroked her right between the thighs. He tasted of whiskey and life and reckless decisions, and she wanted to get drunk on him.
She reached beneath his sweater and clawed at the shirt below, needing to feel his skin under her fingertips while his mouth devoured hers, relentless and urgent. He crushed her against the firm heat of his chest, as if he shared the same frantic thought that as close as they were, it wasn’t nearly close enough. All thoughts numbed beneath the electric current coasting through her like a summer storm, and it was only when her back hit the solid surface of a wall that she realized he’d guided her step by step beneath the portico outside the mansion. He nipped and licked a path to her throat, his lips wicked and sweet, and shackled her wrists above her head.
Gia closed her eyes and let her head loll back against the cold brick of the building, melting into him. Her body ached, her blood simmered and it was nowhere near enough. The past, future and everything in between blurred into insignificance. Only this moment mattered, only Ian and the way he made her world shimmer to pulsing life. She’d been wrong, wondering if he was the creator of the curse or its weapon. Ian himself was the magic, and with every kiss, she slipped further under his spell, soaring free.
Chapter Seven
Drowning. Ian was blissfully drowning, his body strung tight, fire in his veins, pounding, aching with demand. Losing himself in anyone or anything wasn’t a luxury he could allow, but with the unexpected wavering of his control, he realized that one night with Gia might not be enough to eradicate his unhealthy fascination with her.
He was beginning to question his judgment. One night had always been enough to satisfy the intrigue with any woman, and he’d never regretted his strict adherence to the rule, had never second-guessed not allowing a second night or a third.
But kissing Gia, with her perfect breasts pressed against his chest, her hand tangled in his hair and her fingertips skimming the bare skin of his back beneath his shirt and sweater, he suspected he might have thoroughly underestimated the situation. She tasted of lime and tequila, of sunlight and summer, and he couldn’t quite catch his breath. He couldn’t stop kissing her sweet mouth, couldn’t stop touching her silken skin.
And they were too out in the open and in the public eye for all the wicked and private things he wanted to do to her.
He broke the kiss and traced the curve of her ear with his tongue, enjoying her responsive shiver, her moan of both protest and encouragement. “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost a growl, rough with need. “Just a few steps.”
Beautifully disheveled, her lips swollen from his kiss, her blue eyes slightly glazed, Gia didn’t argue as he ushered her quickly into the country club mansion. She clung to his hand as if he was all that kept her from floating away, up into the stars.
Her response gave his ego an additional edge, but he was far from being done with her.
He pulled her into the first room they came to, grateful it wasn’t a supply closet. At the brief intrusion of light as he opened the door, he caught a glimpse of a small desk, shelves and copy machine, then he shut the door and enclosed them in complete darkness.
“Ian?” Gia wobbled, and he briefly wondered if he’d also underestimated how much she’d drunk tonight, but then she wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed against him, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses on his throat, and he was lost to her again.
After being outside in the cold, the interior heat was nearly unbearable. He dragged his sweater over his head and tossed it into the darkness. Now that they were truly alone, he banked urgency and let it simmer. Slowly, he slipped his jacket from Gia’s shoulders, memorizing the satin glide of her skin beneath his fingers, the delicate curve of her collarbone, the smooth line of her arms. The deserted office of the country club while their co-workers and peers partied only a short walk away wasn’t the ideal location to be taking his time, exploring the landscape of Gia Hellman. It wasn’t the place he wanted to be with her while he made her moan and gasp, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d meant to seduce her.
He hadn’t intended to be seduced himself.
He couldn’t afford to be seduced.
His jacket fell to the floor with a soft thump, leaving nothing between them but jacquard, tulle and cotton. He should go while he still had some semblance of reason and control, leave the fascination intact and suffocate it in whatever way he could that didn’t include Gia, day by day, until it fizzled out. But the whispering of her dress against his legs as she eased close seemed to be a siren’s song, and even knowing the danger, he leaned in and licked the pulse in her neck.
The soft, desperate moan in her throat threatened to undo him.
“Kiss me again,” he murmured The words held the same desperation, too much, too intense. Without waiting for her answer, he took her mouth with his and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the vicinity of where he believed the desk to be. Never breaking the kiss, he only fumbled into a chair once, before finding the flat surface he searched for. Something metallic rattled as he pushed it aside to clear a space, and the sound of pens scattering mingled with their gasps for breath. He sat and settled Gia on his lap.
She fit so perfectly against his heat, her body a soft give to the hard tension of his. The rustling of her skirt as she shifted toward him made his blood race hotter, the torture of her moving against him the sweetest pain. To his great annoyance, the thunder of his heart echoed in his head and his hand shook as he caressed the curve of her breast through the thin shield of her dress.
She suc
ked in a breath and sank her hands into his hair. Her fingernails skimming his scalp, she kissed him with a wildness that summoned the deepest, darkest need in him, impossible to resist.
He’d been with his fair share of women, had never made a secret of it, but with Gia, it was as if he’d been starved of touch until this moment. Her fingers left an imprint wherever she touched and the slide of her tongue against his wrapped him deeper in her silken web of seduction. As he nibbled and sucked her lips, conquering her mouth, he trailed a hand along her leg drawn up over his, pleasantly surprised to find it bare. Her skin was smooth there, too, tight over lean muscle. Unable to stop himself, he continued beneath the frothy layers of her skirt to her perfect thigh.
Control slipped its leash and hung on by only a single length in the chain. His pulse pounded, shuddering in every extremity. The temptation to keep going, to forget where they were, to take his pleasure quick and hard, fought for dominance. A few minutes with Gia wouldn’t be enough. Surviving this ravenous craving she inspired in him would require enough time to devour every inch of her, to sate the unholy fire that made him relentlessly shake and throb. Stolen moments in a back room wouldn’t erase the effects of her sunshine smile on the shadows in his heart. He needed multiple rounds, an unknown number of hours, but certainly more than one night.
Ian broke from her beguiling mouth and struggled to steady his breaths. He framed her face between his hands to keep her at a distance, to make it possible to think. “Come home with me.” His voice rasped, somewhere between a snarl and a groan, and when her clever hand slipped into his waistband, he shuddered. “Let me enjoy you properly. Let me pleasure you properly. I don’t want this to be a quickie in a dark room at an office party.”