Betrothed by Christmas

by Jess Michaels

  She pressed what she hoped were persuasive kisses to the sensitive slide of skin beneath his ear. “Please, I beg you. I love you, Simon Cathcart, and I want to be with you. I need to be with you. Please, if you care for me, if you like me even a little, then you’ll do this for me.”

  “Tamsin.” He looked at her for a long time, it seemed, his eyes dark and unfathomable, in the low firelight. And then his hand came up to caress her face, carefully outlining each and every curve and plane, brushing his fingers lightly over her lashes, skimming along the outline of her lips. “You know I can’t resist you. And I don’t want to, either.”

  “Simon.” She pressed her mouth into the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat strong and steady beneath her lips.

  In answer, he cupped her face with his hands, drew her toward him and kissed her—a kind, gentle kiss that filled her with bittersweet hope.

  She felt the moment when his will weakened—the moment when his resistance gave way. His arms tightened around her and drew her snug against his chest, and he began to kiss her back in earnest. His tongue delved into her mouth, and he let his hands roam over her back, until they came up to rake through her simple braid, holding her still for a blistering kiss.

  “Yes,” she gasped. Heat began to pulse through her veins, warming her enough to drive out the cold that had been knotted there for far too long.

  She abandoned herself to the warm pleasure, losing herself in the blessedly forgetful force of each new sensation, until he finally broke away from the kiss, gasping for air just as she was.

  He looked down at her for another long moment, while his chest rose and fell, heaving with the effort to draw a collected breath. And then he picked her up, and began to carry her toward the narrow stair as if she weighed nothing. As if he was no longer the spent, sleepy man of the library, but another man entirely. A man of passion and action.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck and rested there, safe in his arms for a blissful moment, until he reached the top of the stair and turned for his bedchamber.

  The door gave way to his boot, and in another few steps they were at the foot of his bed. His dear, kind face was solemn in the wash of silver light from the window. “Tamsin, are you absolutely sure? This is…” He closed his eyes and tipped his head up to the ceiling as if he were seeking some divine guidance. “This is not part of any arrangement.”

  “No. This is different.” As different as he was. “This is just for me. And for you.”

  He set her down upon her own two feet, but held her close, brushing the hair that had fallen over her eyes away, tucking the strands carefully behind her ear. And then he traced the line of her spectacles back across her temples to the bridge of her nose. He kissed her there, and murmured, “Leave them on. I want you to see everything.”

  And then he cupped her face with his hands, tenderly caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, touching feather-light kisses upon her nose and cheeks, pressed infinitely light busses upon her lips.

  In answer she pressed her lips to his and deepened the kiss. He tasted of brandy and warmth and strength. She gave herself up to him, using her lips and tongue and the force of her love to convince him to become one with her, body and soul.

  She stepped back to unbutton her dress and shrugged it over her shoulders, rending the seam in her haste. But she wanted to be naked, with nothing between them, bare of all traces of cloth and restraint.

  Simon shucked off his own waistcoat and linen shirt over his head as he came to her. He reached out to deftly untie her stays, letting them drop into a heap at her feet, until she stood before him in nothing but her stockings and shift.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said quietly, all trace of the laughing, happy idiot long gone from his face. “Let me. Please.”

  He kissed her again, with heat and something more of insistence, before he scooped her up and laid her across the soft mattress. He came down next to her, and his hands immediately began roaming over her torso, lightly skimming over the sheer fabric of her shift, over the length of her body, up and down her arms, around her face and into her hair. Each touch, each whisper of his breath along her skin wound down through her belly until the sweet tension coiled throughout her body.

  “Yes.” There was no other answer. There never had been.

  He speared his fingers through her hair, unraveling her careless braid and spreading the long strands out around her head. He buried his face in it, inhaling deeply.

  “Tamsin,” he whispered into her ear. “My God, Tamsin, how I have wanted you. How I have dreamed and hoped for this moment.”

  Her eyelids crashed closed as his fingers traced the contour of her lips, so sweet and tender under the veneer of all that sunny, careless charm. So easy to adore as the soft, slippery sensations washed under the surface of her skin, seeping into her bones. Simon’s hands heated her skin and she let the glorious tension pulsed upward through her veins, leaping and tumbling along while he kissed and touched, touched and stroked over the curve of her hip and down around to grasp her bottom.

  His lips were at her ear, even as his hands cupped her, the words a heady, evocative murmur. “My sweet Tamsin. So lush, so sweet.”

  She needed little else to inflame her. The heat of his hands on her body, the touch of his tongue at her ear, were all she needed. She opened her eyes to watch him, wanting to see more of him. She reached up to touch his handsome face, holding his rough cheeks in her hands, guiding her thumbs across the strong planes of his cheekbones as she set herself to memorizing each and every facet of his dear, dear face.

  This was Simon, with the fair, sandy hair and deep green eyes. This was the man she had chosen—was choosing now.

  Tamsin ran her fingers up the sides of his temples to trace the faint crows feet at the corner of his eyes. Her hands delved into his short locks, and she could feel the strong cords of muscles in his neck as she pulled herself back up to his mouth.

  She slanted her mouth across his, deepening the kiss, heedless of restraint. She wanted and needed to feel the heat of his skin next to hers, to feel the comforting strength of his body wrap around her, and chase away the last vestiges of the cold inside.

  Tamsin abandoned herself to the glorious feelings. She gasped aloud with pleasure and relief from the sheer joy of the sensations streaking across her skin like lightning. Even her hands felt hot and tingly as she ran them over his body, so different from her own. His skin was pale and golden and warm, and the strong, corded muscles in his neck and shoulders flexed as she ran her fingers across his taut flesh, tracing the sleek, sculpted curves of his chest, marveling at the sprinkling of sandy hair that lightly abraded the sensitive tips of her fingers and palms.

  “That’s it, lass,” he encouraged on a whisper that was more of a groan. “Just like that.”

  She needed no more encouragement to reach down between them and tug up the hem of her shift, baring herself to the friction of his body. Baring her to his gaze.

  Her breath began to come faster, in audible pants that should have embarrassed her, but she was beyond embarrassment, beyond even the recall of sanity. Simon was here, next to her, and she would have him now. Now, before he changed his mind. Before anything or anyone else could come between them, or stop them. She would have this one perfect night, so she could live off its memory for years to come.

  Tamsin trailed her hands down his long torso, to the edge of his breeches, loosening the buttons on the close, grazing her fingers across the growing bulge at the apex of his thighs.

  “Easy, sweet,” he whispered on a low laugh, covering her hands with his own, guiding her hands to clasp his firmly. “Patience, love. We have all night.”

  She ignored his instruction and returned to slide her hand beneath his linen and close her hands around the rigid length of his cock. “I’m tired of being patient.”

  He kissed her hard, pressing her head into the mattress. “I’m tired of being clothed. I’m especially tired of you being clothed.” He d
ragged the shift off over her head and pinioned her wrists there. “I’ve waited a very long time for us to be naked and I aim to look my fill.”

  He traced the sensitive underside of her breasts, before his hand brushed lightly across her nipples—first one breast and then the other, until she felt the pink flesh contract into an almost painful burst of bliss.

  She gasped, a sound of need and desperation, and arched her back, pressing herself forward into his hands.

  “Please,” she said again.

  Above her, Simon looked down and smiled. “Now that is an excellent arrangement.”

  Chapter 22

  Simon had never seen anything so beautiful. Or so beautifully ardent. He had anticipated a slow seduction—Tamsin was, for all their arranging and embracing and kissing and carriage rides, a young woman who ought to need easing into the fuller intimacies of sex, not the young woman making insistent, highly erotic sounds, and calling his name in a voice laced with desperate, carnal need.

  Damn him, but he had never met a lass who seemed so determined to be well and truly ruined.

  “Tamsin, love,” he murmured again, but she was entirely heedless. She drove her hands into his hair, directing his mouth to her breast, insistent with need. A need he hastened to fulfill. He ran the edge of his tongue lightly across the sweet peak of her nipple, wetting the lovely tight bud before he abruptly nipped, abrading the sensitive flesh against the sharp edge of his teeth.

  She cried out, and threw her head back, her eyes clenched shut tight to absorb the intense sensation. As he watched her, some of her wild abandon began to creep under his skin, heating the fire of need deep in his belly. He rasped the other peak while his hand dove down across the sleek scoop of her belly and into the nest of soft curls between her sweet thighs.

  “Simon.” She was almost keening now, urgent little panting cries that rose with each shallow, rapid breath.

  He rose over her, and ran his free hand all the way down her shapely legs, kneading the straining muscles rhythmically until she caught the cadence and began to move her hips in time, riding his hand as it covered her mound.

  “That’s the way of it. ” He slowly slid one long finger inside and felt her inner muscles close around him, hot and slick and delicious, and his need to join her, to put his arching cock within her, gripped him like a fist.

  But he would control his need until he met hers.

  Simon kissed her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers in rhythm with his hands. When he felt her body ease a fraction, he slid another long finger alongside the first. A rush of heat and desire ripped into his gut as Tamsin let out a high moan and lifted her hips off the bed. She was so bloody close, he resisted the urge to tear off his breeches and instead concentrated on grazing his thumb ever so lightly against the sensitive nub shielded by her petal-soft flesh. She arched wildly one last time and he swallowed her cry as her climax shuddered through her.

  Simon kissed her again and slowly withdrew his hands from her body as she drifted on the ebbing tide of her ecstasy. Her skin was beautifully flushed a silvered pink from the sheen of her heat even in the chill of the dark room.

  When her ragged breathing began to slow and ease, he ran his hand down the long, sinuous line of her side, stirring her to anew, relishing the way her body rose again to passion. Her arms, which only moments ago had been still and relaxed against the sheet, reached to bring him back within her embrace.

  He dipped his head and kissed her again, closing his eyes and indulging his other senses, letting his hands flow lightly over her sinuous, responsive body. Her skin felt so soft and inviting. His cock twitched insistently, as if to remind him of his own need.

  He wanted her so badly he ached. For her, this strangely determined, tiny lass in his arms, and he wanted to make the most of the precious time he had with her. God knew what might happen on the morrow—she was here, now, and they were together, and she was naked.

  And she was his and no other’s.

  He kissed her again, and again his hands delved into the silky glory of her hair, sliding it across his palms. He meant to kiss her lightly, to give her time to recover, but she stirred and nuzzled delightfully at his throat, and his lust and his cock rose with each supple stir of her body, every subtle rustle of the soft sheets. Moonlight glanced over the dewy slide of her skin, illuminating the beautiful contours of her small, lush body.

  He nosed her damp hair aside to kiss the sensitive hollow of her neck, and her eyes fluttered open on a beguiling, inviting sigh.

  And then she laughed and removed her fogged glasses. “I don’t need these anymore—you’re close enough that I can see.”

  Simon rose on his arms so she could see all she wanted. Could watch as he joined her body. Watch and feel as they became truly one.

  Merciful God, but he couldn’t wait another moment to have her.

  Tamsin lingered in the satiated twilight as long as she could. But when she felt an unwelcome chill all along her front—Simon had raised himself above her, and was toeing off his boots. Getting naked at last.

  She eased back onto her elbows and watched with fascination by the cool silver light of the moon as he stood at edge of the bed and peeled his tight doeskin inexpressibles and drawers off, leaving them in a heap at his feet.

  Tamsin’s mouth went dry and tight at the sight. His arms and torso were sculpted, as if from warm golden marble. His skin was pale and tawny, his chest lightly sprinkled with hair, as sandy blond as his head. It glinted in the moonlight, leading her eyes down to where the hair trailed lower past his waist. She could feel heat flush up her neck and across her face. And lower, where the hot pulse of bliss stirred restively.

  He didn’t seem to mind her stare. He reached to light a candle on the small table next to the bed. “I want to see you.”

  “I want to see you, too,” she agreed quietly.

  Simon went momentarily still, looking down at her. Then he kissed her again, lightly tracing the indentations of her dimples with his tongue, before he followed the angled line of her jaw up to her ear. “With my body I thee worship,” he whispered against her ear.

  Tamsin’s heart expanded and filled with something deeper and more profound, something more exalted than mere physical bliss, and she kissed him back with all the love and heart-wrenching, bittersweet happiness she felt. But kisses alone, no matter how glorious, were not enough.

  She ran her hands down his smooth chest and then lower, curiously seeking the firm length of his cock.

  “Oh, God, yes. That is indeed the way of it,” he bit off, the words deep and guttural with gratification.

  He kissed her more deeply as her hand settled firmly about him, hungrily delving into her mouth with his tongue, until she felt the urgent press of his pelvis against hers, and he pushed her legs wide with his knees.

  Then he replaced her hand with his own, and she felt the blunt push of his body as he guided his cock into her quivering flesh.

  Tamsin felt stretched and pressed, but interestingly, surprisingly so. Glorying in the curious sensation of her body stretching to accommodate his, she pulled up her knees to give herself more room, to feel the exquisite pressure more deeply within her. The glorious, slippery sensation strengthened and then receded. She tried to get closer, arching her pelvis toward him, and he nudged his hips against her again, and lowered his head to her breast, suckling her in time with the pulse of his body into her center.

  Tamsin felt the erotic cadence catch hold inside her, urging her hips to move in time to meet his. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the rhythm, and the wonderful, powerful sensations skating under her sensitized skin. Her palms tingled with the need to touch him, and she ran her hands up the living sculpture of his sleek, powerful arms, kneading the sinuous muscles there, before riding upward around his neck, over his wide shoulders, and down onto the contoured plain of his chest. She danced her inquisitive fingers across his curiously flat nipples, and he made an inarticulate sound nearer to pleasure than pa
in.

  Tamsin opened her eyes to see him rising above her, his teeth gritted and bared in something too much like anguish. “Simon?” She whispered her question.

  “Do that again.”

  “This?” She ran her hands across his chest again, slower this time, her fingers tracing over his nipples in imitation of the way he had touched hers. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes. Like that.” He rose higher upon his knees, pulling her tight against him before he let go of her hips, and molded his hands to cup her breasts. He flicked the tight, rosy peaks with his clever thumbs.

  A carnal sound of encouragement and need broke from her mouth on a cry. Her eyes crashed shut as she felt the first wave of pleasure push deep into her belly.

  In response he ran his hands down over her hips and around to her bottom. He traced the curve of the taut globes with his palms, kneading her flesh as he rose upon his knees and pulled her up high against him. She felt a jolt of such intense, joyous pleasure streak through her, and something inside, some last vestige of restraint came untethered and ran riot—a heady, insistent, intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure that rose higher with each escalating thrust.

  His body surged into her, stronger and stronger, feeding the need, stoking the fiery heat that built where their bodies touched.

  Tamsin felt herself slipping away, losing herself to the inexorable whirl of sensations. She clutched at the sheets, fisting up the smooth, fine linen, trying to anchor herself against the relentless onslaught of pressure and pleasure.

  Oh, she wanted. She wanted, she wanted.

  She planted her feet flat against the sheet and angled her body higher, trying desperately to appease the furious, needy ache, but he was rocking into her now with such force that she slipped, her feet sliding out from under her.

  Simon reached away and grabbed a pillow from the headboard and stuffed it under her bottom, leveraging her up. But it wasn’t enough—he was too tall and the feeling was slipping away.