Her Christmas Pleasure (4 page)

Damien pouted like an insolent child. He slouched in the wingback chair facing the crackling fire, glowering, reluctant to admit his sins. He clutched a cut-glass tumbler in his grip, half-filled with liquor that did nothing to numb his drumming heart or his heated blood.

He was hard and aching for her, and he hadn’t even touched her beyond a brief press on her arm. Yet his entire body pounded for release. His limbs were taut, and muscles strained from the tension. Last evening’s kiss in the hall ran through his mind again. He closed his eyes, savoring the image. Wishing to make merry with the delicious widow under her family’s noses, he was an absolute cad.

His eyes snapped open. She was angry with him. Livid, really. She’d snapped at him, eyes blazing and lips tight. She hadn’t even given him a chance to explain. He’d been trying to confess his feelings for her, blast it all.

With a grunt, he brought the glass to his lips and drained it, savoring the burn of the liquor as it slid down his throat and settled in his stomach with a warm glow. Drowning his frustration with spirits wasn’t the answer. Going to Celia and fucking her senseless wasn’t the answer either. She’d probably refuse him.

Or would she?

No.
The single defeating word echoed through his mind, reverberated throughout his body. It would do no good, sampling the lovely woman who twisted his insides and tore at his heart. Once he had her he would never want to let her go. And above all else, he was honorable. He didn’t indulge, rarely drank and never gambled. He was safe. Cautious.

Tonight he damned his cautious nature. Cursed his safe actions. What did it get him but enough frustration to make him want to explode?

He wished to drink more but was too lazy to leave his warm chair and pour himself another. The glass slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor with a thud. It rolled on the thick rug, empty and quickly forgotten as he stared once more at the flames of the dying fire. He saw the sinuous limbs of a certain troublesome woman within the flickering light, twisting and beguiling him. Beckoning him to taste, to sample, to indulge in her for one night, for many nights.

Forever…

Damien shook his head and chuckled low. He was utterly ridiculous. She’d done something to him, and the damage couldn’t be repaired. Everywhere he looked, every thought that crossed his mind—hell, he closed his eyes and all he saw was her, angry and flinging her accusatory words at him, all the while the hideous music playing in the background. Earlier at the pond, skating and laughing with Theo, she’d yelped when she nearly slipped and he’d been there. Catching her fall, he’d wrapped his arms around her, and her soft, voluptuous body pressed against his for a brief, agonizing moment.

She tortured him. There were so many facets to her, a few of them new and intriguing. He wanted to explore them further. How passionate she’d been when he kissed her. The sounds she’d made, the way she’d touched him. Her soft lips and wandering hands…
Christ.

He could frig himself. Relieve this pressure with a few strokes of his clutched fingers. Spend into his hand with great, jerking shudders until he was hunched over from the power of his climax, spent and lonely. So lonely he would grow disgusted for
doing it in the first place.

So he chose not to. He would let the frustration simmer. Let it irritate him so damned much he’d realize he never wanted to experience such a thing again.

Ha.
He was a fool. He would always want Celia. Would always think of her as his, if but for a fleeting moment.

His Celia. Beautiful Celia. He shook his head. A man grew most melancholy when he brooded too much about the woman he lost.

Of course, a man didn’t lose a woman he never had in the first place.

A soft click sounded behind him. He turned but couldn’t see anything. The chair was too wide and tall, and he hadn’t the urge to stand and see what or who it might be. His temporary valet, perhaps? At his personal residence he did without, but the moment he arrived at the Urswick estate, the Danvers made sure he had someone to attend to his needs.

They spoiled him. Having Celia so near spoiled him as well. He needed to resume his solitary life, and soon. He had new responsibilities to attend to. Managing the grand estate of the marquis in the French countryside sounded like difficult but satisfying work.

So why wasn’t he eager to leave?

Another click, and this time he knew it was the door shutting. Someone was in the room. “Who goes there?” He waved a listless hand. He hadn’t the energy to even do that. “I’m not in need of your assistance this evening, Roderick. Good night.”

Silence was his answer. Footsteps whispered across the plush Aubusson rug, and the scent of sweetened lavender filled the air.

Damien stilled, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles went white. He knew who was in the room. There was no doubting it could be anyone else.

Celia.

“You should leave.” He stared unseeingly at the fire. If she so much as rounded the chair and appeared before him, he couldn’t be held responsible for what he might do.

“You don’t mean that.” The sound of her soft, lilting voice made his eyes close, and he leaned back against the chair, feeling weary. Weak.

So weak.

“I do,” he said without conviction, opening his eyes so he could stare at the fire once more. “It’s not proper for you to be inside my chamber unaccompanied.”

“I’m a widow, not some virginal debutante. And you’re practically a member of the family.” She paused. Did she realize what she said? How she made him sound like a trustworthy, doddering ninety-year-old servant? “I won’t come to harm by your hand.”

“Perhaps not, but your reputation could be in tatters if we’re discovered,” he pointed out. “Go, Celia.”

“No.” The firm defiance in her tone was shocking. He’d never seen her behave in such a contrary manner before. “I’m not leaving, Damien. We must talk.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Oh, but I believe there is.” She approached the chair. He could feel her presence draw closer, smell her distinctive scent even more strongly, and he knew she stood directly behind him. Was sure if he reached back he would touch her. She waited by the
chair, her hands most likely clutching the edge nervously.

He’d known her long enough to understand her habits, how she moved and what she did. He knew everything about her.

And he still wanted her. He loved her even, if he could call his near obsession with her that.

“I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior,” she said after he refused to utter a word.

“Apology accepted.”

“I didn’t let you say a word, and I was rude.” Her hands smoothed across the back of the chair. Hell, he swore the tips of her fingers edged along his hair, touching him. “I’m just so incredibly confused, Damien.”

“By what?”

“By you.” She remained silent for a few minutes too long and he grew impatient.

“What happened last evening,” he finally said in a low growl, “what happened between us should’ve never…
I
should’ve never thrust myself upon you in the hall. Or kissed you beneath the mistletoe in front of your family. It wasn’t seemly.”

“I don’t give a hang what they saw. Surely you must know this.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“I do.” She rounded the chair so she stood before him, resplendent in a thin, cream-colored dressing gown. The fire set a fiery glow along her every curve and dip, and the light of the flames illuminated her from within. He could practically see through the fabric of the robe and nightgown beneath it. The shapely length of her legs, the womanly curve of her hips.

His mouth went dry at the sight.

“I’m a fool,” she whispered. “To never see what was so plainly staring me in the face.”

“What do you mean?” He took offense at the word
plainly.
He should take offense that she hadn’t noticed him, ever. What sort of man was he that he moved through her life like a ghost she didn’t even see until it was almost too late?

“You.” She wrung her hands together. Facing him, admitting such a thing, took a lot for her to do so. “Will you forgive me?”

He stared at her, incredulous. What did he have to forgive her for? Not noticing him? Not realizing he’d pined after her for so many years he didn’t know what it was like
not
wanting her? He could remain angry and not offer his forgiveness. Hold on to the emotion, allow it to fester and grow within him. It might make his leaving that much easier.

But life was too short to be so bitter.

“What do you need forgiveness for, Celia?”

“Not seeing, not realizing what we shared. And how I wish I’d said something sooner, for now you’re moving away. You’re going to go gallivanting around the world and experience new adventures while I sit at home.”

“I wouldn’t call my endeavors gallivanting.”

Her brows rose. “Oh, really?” She took one step closer toward him, casting herself in shadow. Hauntingly beautiful as her temper rose and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Lord, she was gorgeous when she was upset. “You’re a handsome bachelor, Damien, with no ties. You could do whatever you want and see whatever you want. Be
with—” she choked on the words, “—whomever you want. I envy your freedom.”

She envied him? Well, wasn’t that rich? “You don’t know what you speak of.”

“Oh, but I do!” A flurry of pale silk flew out behind her as she rushed toward him. She knelt before him like an adoring mistress, her delicate hands clutching his suddenly trembling knees. She touched him with such ease, implored him with a beseeching expression. “I have always envied you, Damien. You’re kind, loyal and true, and it’s so ingrained in you. You never seem to question your actions. You just…do. You decide you’re leaving England, so you put forth the plan. I could never be so…carefree. There are too many who rely on me.”

“You also rely on them. You have a loving family that takes care of you. And a son who loves and needs you.” She had everything he did not.

“And I appreciate them all, I do. I’m an orphan much like you, you know. My parents both died soon after I married Lawrence. Fever took them. And I wasn’t there to offer my care. I’ll never forgive myself for that.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her hands clenched his knees so tightly her fingernails bit through his breeches. “I cling to Lawrence’s family because they’re all I have. But I want more. I—I need more.”

“What do you want? What do you need?” Hope rose within him; he batted it down. He was foolish for even imagining what her answer might be.

She stared at him, her hands forcibly pushing his knees apart. Heat radiated from her lithe body, and her silken robe brushed against the insides of his thighs. His erection twitched, eager for her nearness, and he swallowed hard.

“I want you, Damien. I need…you.”

Damien stared at her as if she’d lost her head. His mouth dropped open, his fingers clutched the thick arms of the chair. She had no choice but to rest her shaking hands on his thighs for fear she’d crumple to the floor. The moment she touched his solid, muscular legs, heat ricocheted through her. Her entire body sprang to life, nipples hardening, chafing against the soft linen of her nightgown.

Touch me
, her mind screamed.
Take what I offer.

It was as if he heard her silent pleas. He came to life, moving so fast he turned into a blur of movement. He pulled her on top of him. She straddled his hips, resting her hands on his shoulders. His insistent erection brushed against the very core of her, and she sighed. Gasped when he thrust his fingers into her hair and tugged her down so she had no choice but to kiss him.

Their mouths crashed against each other, open and wet, his tongue seeking hers. The kiss was wild and unrestrained, brutal in its intensity. Unlike any kiss she’d ever experienced. She clawed at him with trembling, eager fingers. Stroking his silky soft hair, his cheek, the strong, square jaw shadowed with bristly whiskers. They scraped against her palm, thrillingly male, and she moaned low in her throat.

He groaned in reply, pulling her closer, as close as she could get. Her knees and thighs clamped about his hips, cramped by the confines of the chair. How she wished she could snake her legs completely around him. Lock her ankles around each other and feel the hot thrust of his erection move inside her.

Her eyes flew open at the wicked thought. Had she ever wanted Lawrence like this? Had she ever imagined him moving inside her, filling her, exploding within her? Their lovemaking had been enjoyable, but not like this. Not all-consuming and needy. She hadn’t even experienced the true force of Damien’s lovemaking yet, and already she
knew it was so much…more.

That didn’t make her feel guilty as she believed it might. She was free.

Free.

He tore his mouth from hers and dragged his lips along her jaw and chin, down the length of her neck. All the while he whispered her name. Again and again, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was in his arms, as willing and eager as he. She murmured his name in return and pressed her lips against his temple while stroking his luxurious dark locks. His lips blazed a heated trail, sent tingles down her spine as he licked her throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. Nibbled there with his sharp teeth.

She gasped at the sensation. No one had ever bitten her before. It was rather…delicious.

Lost in the attention he lavished on her neck, she wasn’t aware of his busy hands. Only when he fumbled with the tie on her robe, brushing his long fingers against her stomach as he undid the length of silk, did she realize what he was doing—undressing her with a haste she found sweetly thrilling.

He shed the robe from her with ruthless efficiency, pushing the fabric from her shoulders. It hit the floor, and she opened her eyes to find him examining her with a devilish gleam. Drinking her in with such wonder she felt like a goddess. The way he looked at her made her feel like a goddess in simple linen.

Who shouldn’t have such an effect on a handsome, capable man such as Damien Morton.