A New Year Marriage Proposal (Harlequin Romance) (13 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

W
HEN
C
ARISSA
OPENED
her front door and smiled, Quinn’s knees went weak. While he’d been seeing their neighbours safely back to their own homes, she’d loosened her hair; now it flowed over her shoulders like spun silk. And that dress was a knockout. She looked like all his dreams rolled into one.

‘Come in,’ she said.

‘It’s just you and me?’ he checked.

She nodded. ‘Just you and me.’ She looked suddenly nervous. ‘Is that OK?’

‘More than OK,’ he said softly.

‘Sorry, I should’ve told you earlier that I normally do Christmas here in the mews. I cook a Christmas dinner for those who won’t really get one otherwise.’

He smiled. ‘Being a fairy godmother.’ Her favourite thing, he’d come to realise.

‘I just like making people happy.’ Her eyes were wide and entreating. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘And I enjoyed today.’

‘Really?’ She looked uncertain, vulnerable, and he wanted to hug her and tell her that everything was just fine.

‘Really,’ he said. ‘I’m not just being polite. I had a good time.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘Come up.’

In her living room, she poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to him. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said.

‘Merry Christmas,’ he echoed, lifting his glass. ‘And here’s to you.’

‘Me?’ She sounded surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Because you’re what’s made Christmas special for me. It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed the day in years and years.’ Maybe the first time ever, though he didn’t want to make her feel bad by telling her that.

‘Even though I had a house full of people?’

‘That’s what makes you
you
,’ he said, and smiled. He took a sip of champagne. ‘I guess the skating rink won’t be open tonight, or if it is it’ll have been booked up for months. Otherwise I’d take you there tonight.’

‘How about a second-best alternative to skating?’ she asked.

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Dance with me?’

Which meant she’d be in his arms. Perfect. ‘I’d love to.’

Unlike Quinn, Carissa kept her music in hard copy. He’d noticed that she’d been playing a mix of seasonal pop songs and Christmas carols all day, and assumed it would be more of the same. When she put on a CD, Quinn recognised the tune as soon as the first few bars floated into the air. The song he’d kissed her to at the Winter Fantasia.

‘All I Want for Christmas is You.’

‘I remember them playing that at the Winter Fantasia,’ she said quietly.

So she was thinking of that night, too? He looked her straight in the eye. She was so soft, so sweet—and he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his life. ‘Me, too. And that’s a very appropriate song choice,’ he said, equally quietly.

Her pupils were huge, as if she was remembering the way he’d kissed her that night. The way he wanted to kiss her right now. ‘Carissa,’ he said, and drew her into his arms. He wished she’d chosen something smoochy. This song was slightly too fast to sway to, really.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ she confessed.

That made it was easy for him to admit it, too. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you either.’

‘So what are we going to do about this?’ she asked.

‘I know what I want to do right now,’ he said, and stroked her face. ‘I want to kiss you again. The way I kissed you that night.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed.

He dipped his head and brushed his mouth lightly against hers, and every nerve end in his lips tingled. It was good, but not enough. Never enough. He caught her lower lip between his, nipped gently, and she opened her mouth to let him deepen the kiss.

Time seemed to stand still. He could stay here, kissing her, for ever, with his arms wrapped tightly round her waist and her arms wrapped round his neck. He loved the way her body felt against his, pliant and curvy and utterly delectable.

All the lights on the Christmas tree were twinkling, and the scent of clean, sharp pine mingled with the soft floral scent she wore.

He drew back slightly so he could look her straight in the eye and whispered, ‘You were right about the magic of Christmas, Carissa. It exists all right. And it’s you—it’s all you. The way you make me feel amazes me. I never thought I could feel like this.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘When you smile at me, it’s as if the whole room’s lit up with starbursts.’

It was how she felt, too; there was a kind of sparkle in the air and, for her, it came from him.

She laid her palm against his face. Although he’d shaved that morning, now there was the faintest hint of stubble against her skin, and it made a shiver of desire skitter all the way down her spine. ‘Quinn.’

‘I should go home right now,’ he said.

But she could see in his face that he didn’t want to go. He was trying to be honourable and do the right thing by her.

Maybe she didn’t want him to do the right thing.

Maybe she wanted him to do exactly what she thought he wanted to do. Hoped he wanted to do. ‘Or else?’ she tested.

He was actually shaking now. ‘The other night,’ he said, ‘when I carried you to my bed, you were warm and soft and sweet. And I very nearly climbed into bed beside you. I wanted to hold you close, pillow your head on my shoulder, and wake up with you in my arms.’ He stole a kiss. ‘But then again you were spark out. It wouldn’t have been fair to you. But, just so you know, it tore me apart to leave you.’

Quinn O’Neill was a man with a good heart. An honourable man. A man, Carissa thought, that she could trust. And this time it wouldn’t all go pear-shaped. He wasn’t angry and self-centred, like Justin. And he would never, ever hurt her.

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘what I really wanted to do was carry you to my bed while you were wide awake and kissing me, wanting me every bit as much as I want you.’

That was what she wanted, too.

‘We’re in my house,’ she pointed out.

‘Three doors down. Which isn’t that much further to carry you.’

The thought made her weak at the knees.

But she didn’t want him to know quite how much he affected her. ‘Caveman,’ she teased.

‘Goes with the Y chromosome,’ he shot back.

‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘I’d rather you conserved your strength.’

‘Ah. So all she wants is the use of my biceps to haul another Christmas tree around.’

‘Not necessarily,’ she said.

‘So what do you have in mind?’

Something very, very delicious. Something she thought he might want just as much as she wanted. ‘What exactly,’ she asked, ‘would be the difference between carrying me to your bed and carrying me to mine?’

‘For a start, I know where my bedroom is.’

‘Did you know there’s such a thing as directions?’ Sparring with him like this was fun. And it took the edge off the sudden fear and worry that this would all go wrong, the way it had with Justin.

‘Directions? Hmm. So there are.’

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, and when he lifted his head again his mouth was swollen and reddened. She’d just bet hers was in a similar state.

‘Supposing I do this?’ he asked, and lifted her up. ‘Now—these directions you were talking about?’

She slid her arms round his neck. ‘Out of the door, up the stairs, first left. Or maybe you’d prefer me to walk up the stairs.’

‘No chance. You’re not heavy.’

‘And you have good biceps,’ she teased. ‘For carrying Christmas trees.’

‘And for carrying you,’ he said, and proceeded to carry her out of her living room and up the stairs. He paused outside her room. ‘Here?’

‘Here,’ she confirmed.

He set her back on her feet but he made sure that her whole body was plastered against his on the way down. And it sent a thrill all the way through her.

‘I love that dress,’ he said huskily, ‘but right now I really want to take it off you. Unwrap you.’

Like a Christmas present, she thought—except it was a mutual one and she wanted to do exactly the same to him. ‘Sounds good to me.’

‘So can I?’

In answer, she sashayed into the room and switched on her bedside light. She was glad she’d closed the curtains earlier. She paused long enough to light the scented candle she kept on top of her bedside cabinet, then turned the bedside light off.

The light was gentle and kind: bright enough for her to see him but dim enough for her not to feel exposed and raw.

He followed her in to the room. ‘Turn round,’ he said.

She did so, and he unzipped her dress to her waist. Very, very slowly.

Gently, he moved her hair over her shoulder and then pushed the crimson velvet over her shoulders, baring her back.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said. ‘It makes me want to do this.’

She felt him kiss his way down her spine, and shivered. She wanted this, too. So very much.

He undid the zip the rest of the way and let her dress fall to the floor. Then he pushed the shoulder straps of her bra out of the way and kissed her bare shoulders. She loved the feel of his lips against her skin, warm and gentle and coaxing.

Then he turned her to face him.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Your skin’s so soft and you smell so good.’

She stroked his face with a shaking hand. ‘And you’re fully clothed still.’

‘I’m in your hands,’ he said. ‘Do what you will with me.’

It was an offer she would enjoy accepting.

He wore a plain cream shirt with a button-down collar. The copper-coloured buttons glinted in the candlelight and she undid them one by one, stroking each centimetre of skin that she uncovered.

‘Smart is
definitely
the new sexy,’ she breathed, when she’d finally finished taking off his shirt.

He gave her a half-smile that made her pulse speed up a notch. ‘Thank you.’

She spread her hands across his pectoral muscles. ‘You’re beautiful, Quinn. And you feel as good as you look.’ And she couldn’t ever remember wanting anyone so much.

He took her hand, brought it up to his mouth, kissed her palm and folded his fingers over the kiss. Carissa’s knees went weak again. How did he affect her like this?

Then he unsnapped her bra; she felt shy now, but he wouldn’t let her cover herself with her hands. Instead, he caught them and drew them to his mouth, this time kissing each knuckle in turn. ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.’

She knew that, and let her hands fall to her sides. ‘Condom,’ she whispered. ‘Do you have one?’

Shock skittered across his face; clearly he hadn’t been planning this either. ‘Give me a second,’ he said, took his wallet from his pocket and opened it.

She thought, If he doesn’t have a condom, then we have to stop right now. On Christmas night, nowhere would be open to sell condoms. Embarrassment and shame flooded through her.

But then he exhaled sharply. ‘Yes, I do.’

At least she knew now that he hadn’t come here expecting to sleep with her; he’d come to drink champagne with her, to spend time with her. But the spiralling need for each other had taken them both by surprise.

‘OK,’ she said, feeling much more confident. ‘Now lose the trousers.’

‘You want me to strip for you?’

‘It’s Christmas. Humour me.’

He laughed, and stripped very, very slowly.

And now they were both down to their underwear.

He stripped off his socks, and gestured to her.

She stripped off her tights.

And then she would have felt shy, except Quinn took her hand and drew her gently to him, then kissed her until her knees had turned to mush and her head was going the same way.

And then he pushed her duvet aside, lifted her up, and settled her back against the pillows, and she stopped thinking altogether.

* * *

Quinn woke the next morning feeling warm and comfortable. He was flat on his back; there was a head on his shoulder and an arm round his waist.

Carissa.

He thought about the way they’d made love last night, the way she’d given herself to him. The connection had been like nothing he’d ever known.

It was still relatively early. He considered waking her with a kiss and making love with her again; but then he remembered that it was Boxing Day, and he knew she was planning to spend the day with her family.

Would she ask him to go with her, the way she’d asked him to join them all for dinner after the opening of the Wylde Ward? Though this time she’d be introducing him to everyone as her partner rather than her colleague.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

He’d liked the members of her family he’d met admittedly, and he’d got on well enough with them—but that had been when they’d seen him as her colleague and her neighbour. Their reactions to him might be very different when they knew he was more than that.

He wasn’t good at closeness. And he didn’t want to hurt her or to make her feel he was rejecting her or her family when he finally had to let her go, as he inevitably would. How was he going to fix this?

Normally, when he needed to think about something, he went for a run. Maybe that was what he needed right now: a run through Grove End Park, so the wintry morning air would bring back his common sense and give him a sense of perspective.

He didn’t want to wake Carissa and explain—right now he didn’t have the words to do it—but once he’d got his head in the right place again maybe they could talk.

Gently, he moved her hand away from his waist and slid out of the bed. He’d just grabbed his clothes and was intending to tiptoe out to the landing to get dressed without waking her when he heard Carissa ask quietly, ‘Quinn? Where are you going?’

Too late.

She was already awake.

And she’d caught him in the middle of sneaking out.

‘I—um...’ He still didn’t have the right words to explain; he couldn’t even really explain it to himself. But it was a sick, sliding feeling of panic and he couldn’t stop it.

‘Were you going to leave without telling me?’

Put like that, it sounded bad. Not just sounded—it
was
bad. He turned to her face her. ‘I’m sorry.’

She sat up, holding the duvet round herself, looking hurt. ‘I thought, after last night...’