Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe (14 page)

M
eg nodded her agreement, the small movement moving both their heads. Reaching up, Luke pulled the mistletoe free, then led her past the Christmas tree slowing only enough to brush his lips across hers. Once, and then again. Light and shadows danced across his face.

They entered a hallway and he shut the door behind them, once again turning her, pressing her up against it as he kissed her, one hand holding the mistletoe above them, the other sliding up beneath her dress over nylon, encountering bare skin at the top of her thigh.

The hand stilled, the kiss stopped and the mistletoe dropped to the floor.

Luke drew back. “Stockings?” he asked, his voice hoarse but his fingers still burning against her skin.

Meg shrugged, her throat suddenly too dry for words. She hadn't meant the stockings for him; she preferred
them to pantyhose, but she also liked their risqué-ness, as she liked her lacy lingerie. It was supposed to be her
secret
weakness.

“Pretty, quiet, Nurse Meg. I knew there was more to you than met the eye. Be very, very grateful I didn't know that till now.” He took a step back from her. “Show me.”

She hesitated. She was no lingerie model.

“Show me,” he insisted again, his voice a command as though she were a siren, as though she, Meg Elliot, tempted him to danger.

“I can't.” Shyness warred with a budding sense of power. “Not here. Someone could come this way.”

Luke grasped her hand and tugged her down the hall way and into the first door they came to, shutting it behind them. Meg took a few steps into the library with its walls of books and its two-seater couch. She turned back to see Luke leaning against the door, watching her. “Show me.”

Somewhere in the last hour she'd stopped pretending to herself that she didn't desire him, hadn't always recognized that something in him called to her. One night with her husband. She was entitled to that much, wasn't she?

Slowly, her hands against her thighs, she walked her fingers to gather up the fabric of her dress, lifting it higher till the tops of her stockings were just visible, a stark line against her pale skin. She opened her hands and let the fabric fall back into place.

Luke stood utterly still. Never had she seen such naked desire in a man's eyes. And it was all for her.

He closed the gap between them and holding her gaze ran both hands beneath her dress and up the outside of her thighs till his palms cupped the strip of skin between
black nylon and red lace. His eyelids dropped lower and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath as his hands slid farther around, cupping and pulling her against him.

And then he kissed her, the way only he ever had, fitting his mouth perfectly to hers, slowly, sweetly, joining them seamlessly and with just his kiss transporting her, promising her pleasure. Heat and urgency and need that inflamed her with reciprocal need. Hooking his thumbs over the edge of her panties, he slid them down her legs and she stepped out of them—a scrap of lace on the dark wood flooring.

Large, warm hands skimmed back up her thighs, passing the tops of her stockings till they rested on bare skin.

She'd drunk only a few sips of champagne throughout the evening; the intoxication that governed her now was fueled by desire. Meg tugged the hem of his shirt free, sliding her own hands against the heat of him. She pulled his bow tie undone, and with frantic fingers worked at the buttons of his finely pleated shirt till she could push apart the sides and touch her palms, her fingers, to the strength and contours of his torso. She eased his shirt back from his shoulders. A raised scar ran across his right shoulder. The gash that had started the chain of events that led to now. She touched her lips to his shoulder, grateful for the first time for that injury.

Beneath her fingertips lay the heated silk of skin over hard, contoured muscle, the light abrasion of hair, she felt his deeply indrawn breath and the rapid beat of his heart, knew it matched her own.

He cupped his hand between her legs, slid a finger through her folds, found her wet for him. Silver eyes darkened to pewter. “Tell me what you want, Meg.”

No one had ever asked her that. And the answer was
both complicated and blindingly simple. “I want you. Now.”

He led her to the couch, sat and pulled her down on top of him, her knees straddling his thighs, she pressed her center against the hardness of him. Luke kissed her lips, her throat, her shoulder. He pushed the skirt of her dress up so he could freely touch the skin that seemed to so delight him. Enthralling her in the process.

He slipped the clips from her hair so that it tumbled loose around her shoulders. Finding the zipper at the back of her dress, he slid it down, peeled the dress from her so that it was now no more than a silken red pool of fabric around her waist.

“Show me how you like to be touched. I want to give you pleasure.”

Already he was. So much more pleasure than she'd ever known. Warm hands and warmer lips skimmed over every inch, every curve and dip of bare and lace-covered skin, caressing and teasing, adding fuel to the already-burning flames, till she writhed with need. She covered his hands with hers as he cupped her breasts and her head fell back.

For now, he was her husband. And she wanted him. Needed him. Hard and deep within her. For now.

“Condom?” Please, please let him have one because heaven knew what she'd do if he didn't.

He nodded, pulling a foil square from his pocket as she reached for his zipper and freed the straining length of him. Waiting just long enough for him to cover himself, she slid down onto the length of him, bringing him home, shuddering with pleasure as he stretched and filled her.

His gaze locked with hers, intent and powerful, as
she rocked against him, with him, over him. Passion turned his eyes storm-dark. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as his hands gripped her hips and they found a building rhythm of their own. Clamoring need and desperate desire drove them higher and faster till sensation, the effervescence of champagne bubbles, filled and overwhelmed her. She cried her arching completion moments before he drove his release home.

Meg fell forward, resting her head on the top of his and he snaked his arms around her waist and held her to him, his ear to her thudding heart. When he'd promised to make her forget her sorrows, she hadn't realized he'd make her forget her very self. That in his arms she would forget her inhibitions and become the woman she imagined she saw in his eyes.

The silence and stillness of the room stole over them as her heartbeat slowed and her gasping breath eased.

What now?
Too soon the taunting inner voice asked. What now, indeed. She had no idea, no answer. Her mind still reeled from the power and passion of their lovemaking. She pulled away from Luke, and his clasp loosened. She slipped her arms back into the sleeves of her dress. He helped ease the fabric up over her shoulders, planting a kiss between her breasts the moment before the spot was covered. She eased out of his lap and Luke stood, too.

Not meeting his gaze, she turned and searched for her panties. She bent to pick them up, but they were snatched out of her reach before she touched them. He slipped them into his pocket.

Wordlessly, they walked to the library door. She reached for the handle, but he covered her hand with his. And when she looked at him, he kissed her, gentle and lingering. They turned the handle together and stepped
out into the hallway. When she would have headed the way they had come he shook his head, and with a firm grip on her hand led her farther down the hallway. He stopped at the third door. The guest room. His room.

His seeking gaze searched her face. “This time I want you naked and beneath me.”

Meg caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Apparently finding what he sought, Luke opened the door and pulled her with him into the darkened room, whispering, “Never let it be said that I didn't utterly satisfy my wife.”

 

Meg woke in her husband's bed, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, her arm draped over his chest, her legs entwined with his.

He'd kept his promise and given her so much more.

Slowly, carefully, she disentangled herself and eased from the bed. He didn't so much as stir.

As she slipped back into her dress and gathered up her discarded stockings and shoes, she paused by the wide window. They'd slept with the curtains open and overnight a light snow had fallen, dusting the trees and boulders on the lake shore. The sight was so beautiful that it made her heart ache. Soon she'd be gone from here. She'd stepped onto a stage and played her part. But the time for her exit was drawing inexorably closer.

Feeling like an intruder, she slunk back through the still house. Bundling up against the cold, she took Caesar for his morning walk along the shore, tossing his stick repeatedly. Tempted by beauty's promise of stillness and serenity, she walked out to the end of the jetty and looked over the lake. The mountains on the far side were still obscured by heavy cloud.

At the sound of footsteps, she turned, a leap in her pulse. Not Luke but Jason. Her heart sank and she real
ized she'd hoped, wanted, it to be Luke. Wanted to see the man she'd made love to last night. Wanted to see his face and at the same time was afraid to. In the light of day would there be any of last night's tenderness and connection, or would it be regret and distance she saw there?

“I thought I saw someone down here.” Jason smiled, warmth in his voice. He looked a little like Luke. Similar build and coloring but his watery-blue eyes were always moving, scanning the surroundings.

Meg smiled back, but doubts gnawed at her. What had Jason done to cause Luke to dislike him so intensely? Intensely enough that he would rather marry her than have his half brother inherit from him.

“So are the rumors true? Has my brother come home?”

Half brother.
Meg nearly said that out loud. Luke was always careful to draw the distinction. “Yes.”

Jason's smile wavered and he glanced over his shoulder at the house. Was that anxiety in his question? Jason had always seemed eager for Luke's return.

“I was just going back inside. Come in. He's probably up by now.” Meg walked back along the jetty. Jason fell into step beside her.

“I'm on my way to meet someone and I want to go before there's any more snow. I haven't got time to stop. I'll call in later.”

She shrugged. “I'll let him know to expect you.”

“And let him know…”

She waited for him to finish.

“Nothing,” he finally said. “Just…put in a good word for me, will you?” She walked round to the front of the house with him. As he drove away, she climbed the stairs.

The front door swung open. Luke, in jeans and bare feet, pulled an olive-green T-shirt over his head. He tugged the hem of the shirt over the plane of his stomach and looked past Meg. Jason's red Corvette disappeared around a bend in the road, leaving it empty and still. “Damn.” Luke's gaze came back to her. “How long was he here and what did he want?”

“Not long and to know if you were home.” Meg stepped past Luke and into the house. The Christmas tree dominated the entranceway. They'd kissed here last night. Her face heated with the recollections of where that had led to.

Luke's hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her when she would have walked away, turning her back to face him. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that yes, you were home.”

“What else?”

Meg tugged her hand free. “Ask him yourself. I don't want to be a pawn in your petty squabbles.”

“They're not petty.”

“No, I suppose not.” For all that she hadn't known Luke long, she knew him well enough to be certain of that. “But I still don't want to be caught in the middle of whatever it is. I think Jason really did try to help me while you were gone.”

“If he did, it was for his own reasons.” The creases in his brow deepened. “He blackmailed my mother.”

A woman who'd devoted her life to others. A year after her death, the villagers still spoke of her with love, talked about her compassion and understanding and her ability to get things done. They'd probably still be talking about her a decade from now. And Jason had blackmailed her? “No.” He wouldn't have, would he?

“Right up until her death. I didn't find out till I went through her papers in Indonesia.”

“I remember your saying you'd discovered something about him. You were so angry.”

“Still am.”

As Meg repositioned a gold bauble on the tree, she could just make out his distorted reflection in its surface. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I haven't made a final decision. I want to talk to him first. Confront him with it.”

“Will you bring charges?” She turned back to him.

Grimness tightened his mouth. A mouth that could give such pleasure. “Most likely. After I strip him of the car, the house and the job I gave him.”

“Oh.”

“Don't play the disappointed-in-me card, Meg. The man was blackmailing my mother. I owe it to her.”

“You're right, and I'm not disappointed.”

“But?”

“I just wondered if that was your only option.”

“Unless you can suggest a better one, one that does justice to my mother?”

As Meg shook her head, he slid his phone from the pocket of his jeans, punched in a number. “Jason. You should have stuck around.” Did Jason hear the command in the quietly spoken sentence? Meg tuned out the short conversation as she walked away. Luke caught up with her in the kitchen as she was pouring two coffees. “He'll be back later today.”

She passed him a mug. As she lifted hers to her nose to inhale the fragrance, the ring on her finger caught her eye. The dinner was over, there was no need for her to wear it any longer. Putting down her coffee, she twisted
the simple gold band from her finger and held it out to him.