Christmas in His Royal Bed by Heidi Betts

find his attempt to trap her amusing. “But while I would like to go to bed…eventually…I won’t be doing it with you.”

    “What a shame. Although there’s always tomorrow.”

    There it was again, that calm, cajoling tone. The voice that thickened her blood and sent warm, tingling sensations to areas she’d rather not have tingling in his presence.

    “I didn’t come here for that,” she replied quietly.

    He was only an inch away now, his heated breath dancing over her cheeks and eyelashes. His mouth looked incredibly inviting, sexy and about seven kinds of sinful.

    Surely one little kiss wouldn’t hurt anything. One tiny peck to satisfy an overwhelming curiosity.

    It wasn’t smart. Was, in fact, ludicrous.

    Before she had a chance to decide if she could afford a momentary lapse of sanity, Nicolas made the decision for her.

    Seven

    O h, my .
    He tasted of wine and the strawberries and cream that had been part of their dessert, with a hint of the coffee he’d sipped afterward. Sweet and tart and smoky all at the same time.

    It was a heady mixture, but nothing compared to the feel of his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting, stroking, claiming.

    His hands gripped her shoulder and the side of her face, gently pulling her up. She wasn’t sure how it happened, had no conscious memory of moving, but suddenly she was on her knees, pressed chest to chest with Nicolas and kissing him back with equal vigor.

    While his hands kneaded and caressed her upper arms, hers clutched at his shirt, desperately holding on and pulling him closer. Her breasts were squashed between them, but she could still feel her nipples beading. Heat gathered and pooled low in her belly, and her heartbeat was a thunderbolt blasting in her ears.

    She’d been wrong about keeping her distance, wrong about trying to convince herself she wasn’t interested in this man. He was hard and strong and self-assured, and brought to life emotions she’d never felt before, at least not to this degree.

    Her fingers trailed upward to tangle in the short strands of his silky hair. The two of them were already mouth to mouth, body to body, as close as they could be while still clothed, but that didn’t keep her from exerting a small amount of pressure at the back of his skull and—if it was possible—taking the kiss even deeper.

    With a groan, Nicolas moved his hands to skim the undersides of her breasts. He cupped them in his palms, measuring their fullness and weight before letting his thumbs slide up and over the tight peaks of her nipples.

    The caress, made even more erotic by the thin layer of cool, slick material between her flesh and his fingers, gave her shivers.

    As she wriggled in his grasp, her knee bumped into the coffee cup she’d set aside earlier. The rattle of the porcelain on the saucer startled her out of the haze of passion and arousal she’d been lost in.

    She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss even though her body cried out for more. Her lungs heaved, straining for breath. Her arms and legs quivered, overcome with a lassitude she couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

    Good Lord, what had she almost done? How could she have gotten so wrapped up, so swept away by a single kiss?

    His hands remained at her breasts, his fingers lightly brushing the rigid peaks. His eyes blazed a deep, dark sapphire in the firelight, no less heated than a moment ago.

    Did he not realize she’d pulled away, or was he as blinded by desire as she’d been?

    Regardless, she had to stop this, had to make it clear to him that what had just taken place between them was a mistake. A mistake of monumental proportions that could not, would not happen again.

    “Stop,” she gasped.

    “What’s wrong?” he asked in a ragged voice. Though he dropped his arms to his sides, he clenched his hands, betraying the tension vibrating through him.

    “This is not going to happen,” she said, though her tone was less firm than she’d have