Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) by Elyssa Patrick Maggie Robinson Page A

all he wanted.
    He drew her closer, sweeping his tongue lazily on her palate and inside her cheek. She felt herself turning into pudding, vanilla as opposed to plum which was a dense, solid thing. She was getting soft and mushy. The English used ‘pudding’ to describe all desserts, but nothing could beat the sweetness of Griffin Archer’s kiss.
    He was proficient, taking his time, minding the details. He must be like that at work, coordinating all the variables until everything came together in one perfect combination. Carrie’s scalp tingled and her stomach gave that tell-tale tug. It was as if Griffin had pushed her lust button and there was no retreat or reset.
    She was supposed to be resisting his seduction. Hell, in their little play, she’d never even told him her name. Did he go around kissing every strange girl he met? If he did, he was good at it and they were damn lucky.
    Since he was still massaging her breast, it was only fair she did something to him with her own hands. What? She touched his cheek, discovering tiny bristles. They must be super-blond, for she’d seen no evidence of any five o’clock shadow. Carrie couldn’t check the color out now since her eyes were resolutely shut, but she let them tickle her fingertips.
    He had great skin. Warm. Everything about him was pretty great, really. Especially his tongue, which was doing things to hers she hadn’t known were possible. She hadn’t had a proper kiss in years, though this kiss would soon border on improper if she had any say in the matter.
    Carrie took his hand from her breast and led him to the hem of her sweater. Mrs. Stephens had bragged how smart her nephew was, citing IGCSE scores, whatever they were, and he didn’t need written directions to find his way under the fabric. Carrie sucked in her little pooch and prayed for him to go north. She was wearing white cotton granny panties, something she would have avoided if she had known she would miss the ferry and be compromised by a viscount instead.
    Griffin stroked upward to her peach Victoria’s Secret bra—it at least was worthy of inspection, almost new with pretty lace edging. He peeled the left cup down and suddenly she was being held skin to skin and feeling treasured. His thumb worked a circle around her aching nipple. If it got any sharper, she might stab him. He made a stuttering sound in his throat, sounding as excited as she was.
    His left hand was buried in the hair at her nape, and goose pimples were dancing down her spine. It was impossible to sit up straight anymore, and as lovely as touching his bristly cheek was, Carrie wanted more. She slid two fingers under the ‘v’ of his sweater. Jumper—that’s what they called a sweater in England, which made no sense to her at all. Jumpers were like sleeveless dresses here. The pulse at the base of his neck twitched as she smoothed her forefinger over his clavicle. Or maybe his collarbone. She was as stupid about anatomy as she was about penguins.
    Griffin didn’t know her shortcomings, although he must have figured out her bra was padded by now. He gave a little growl and nipped her lip, the metal of the chair scraping against the concrete as he pushed closer. Carrie was going to fall through the slats of the worn webbing any second now, and with the greatest reluctance she drew back and broke the kiss.
    Griffin opened his eyes and she felt punched by their intensity. His hand was still under her sweater, but the delicious circling had stopped.
    “We should—”she began nervously.
    “I’m sorry—”
    They had both spoken at once.
    Carrie took a deep breath. “Why are you sorry?”
    “Answer me first. What do you think we should do?”

Chapter 4

    B Y NOW, IMAGINARY Fitz would have barked himself hoarse and torn Griffin to shreds for importuning his mistress. His hand still covered the gentle swell of Carrie’s perfect breast, and his tongue had recently tasted heaven. He felt like a dog himself, off his leash and in