A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

      But he didn’t care just now.

      “Amelia,” he said, his voice low, rough, almost unrecognizable even to his own ears. “I am your boss. And this is a vulnerable situation for you.” He was tripping over his English now. He wasn’t sure if what he was saying made sense. All of his thoughts had reverted to French. And he was trying to translate the words coming out of his mouth as quickly as possible. “But, and forgive me, you are oiled up and you’re naked. And I want…. If you want me to stay over here, I want you to say so. Now.”

      Amelia could only stare at Luc, her heart in her throat, her entire body shaking.

      The massage had her feeling loose, and very languid, which was a word she didn’t think she’d ever embodied before.

      And he was right. They were naked. And oiled up. And yeah, she’d said that would never happen. But right now it was happening. And he was looking at her as though she was a woman. A woman he desired. Not a woman he cared for. Not a woman he hoped might fix him.

      His eyes burned with heat and passion, the kind that had never, ever been directed at her before, and until that moment, she hadn’t realized it had been missing.

      But it was. And suddenly she felt parched for it. Needy. Desperate.

      “I don’t want you to stay over there,” she said, her words coming out in a rush.

      “Well, thank God for that.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      IT WAS INSANE. And it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She hadn’t made any decisions about Clint yet, and technically, regardless of the circumstances, they were still engaged. Which meant that she should tell Luc to get back on his side of the room.

      And she should flee to the safety of the divider. Flee and put her clothes back on and lace her boots up tight so that she was too much trouble to undress.

      That thought made her heart hiccup in her chest. Undressing? Was that where this was going? Was that what the look on his face meant? That undressing was imminent? That kissing was imminent?

      He stood up and moved to the table, putting his palms flat on the table, on either side of her thighs, his dark eyes intent on hers.

      “Just … kissing right?” she asked.

      “Just kissing,” he said, lifting one hand and cupping her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Just lips.”

      “I think … I think I can handle that.” Except she wasn’t sure at all. Because he was Luc, her boss, her almost-friend. And she hadn’t been kissed by anyone other than Clint in … ever. And it had been years since it had made her stomach knot up and her breath shorten. Years since it had mattered at all.

      Clint had gotten comfortable like socks. And now that she knew his secret, she understood why. And she felt … unattractive. She felt unwanted. She felt as if he was keeping her around for comfort. And she wasn’t wrong. He wanted an ideal, a certain lifestyle. And she suited that.

       It didn’t stop him from finding passion with someone else.

      No, it hadn’t stopped him from finding passion with someone else. And catching him with a slightly damp, freshly showered man in a towel in his living room early this morning—was that really only this morning?—had explained a lot. But it was his response that shocked her, that kept the ring on her finger and made her feel as if … as if somehow she was the one doing the betraying if she suddenly had a problem with the status quo.

      If she wanted something more than what they had.

      Well, she did, dammit. She wanted to be wanted. She wanted to be kissed. If nothing else, she wanted to be kissed.

      So she was the one who closed the distance between her and Luc. She was the one who angled her head and touched her lips to his.

      His mouth was warm and firm, skilled. He opened to her, his tongue touching the tip of hers, sending a bolt of lightning straight down to her stomach, and parts lower.

      He tightened his hold on her chin, holding her still as he deepened the kiss. She wanted to wrap her arms around him. To pull him against her, to press her breasts to his chest and do something to alleviate the ache that was building between her thighs.

      But she was afraid to do that. Afraid to deviate from his plan. Because obviously he had one. He was so clearly in control of it all, his lips so practiced and perfect on hers.

      He was, without a doubt, about a thousand times the kisser Clint was.

      And it didn’t even make her feel guilty to think that.

      He released his hold on her chin and put both of his hands on her hips, tugging her forward, stepping between her legs as he did, his mouth hungry on hers.

      She was starving for this. Not just for the physical contact, but to be wanted. To have a man touch her as though it were essential to his well-being. To have him taste her as though she was dessert and not the salad he had to have to stay healthy.

      That was what she was to her fiancé. And she realized it with blinding clarity, as Luc tugged her tight against his body, bringing the part that was aching for him into contact with his hardened arousal.

      Oh … wow. Yes, this had been lacking entirely in her life for … ever.

      She wrapped her arms around his neck, throwing herself into the kiss completely. Because she deserved it. Because she was so tired of being socks and salad.

      Because she was tired of waiting for a man who just didn’t want her.

      Luc slid his hands around her, cupping her butt and urging her forward. She went, wrapped her legs around his hips, everything lining up even more perfectly now. She gasped as a bolt of pleasure went through her, as her entire body shook with need. Need that she hadn’t even known had been in her.

      She’d never considered herself an overly sensual person but she was doubting that assessment now. She slid her hands down over his chest, beneath his robe. Felt the hardness of the muscles there, the heat of his skin, and his raging heart, hammering against her palm.

      He wanted this, too. He was shaking. He was losing control. He was hard for her.

      The realization sent a surge of power through her. For the first time, she felt as if she had power as a woman. For the first time, she realized what she could do to a man. There was nothing wrong with her. The relief she felt … there were no words.

      She moved her hands lower, and Luc pulled away, wrapping his hand around her wrist, tugging her arm upward, his focus on her engagement ring, his eyes fierce.

      “No,” he said, his voice ragged. He moved away from her, running his hands over his face. “That should not have happened,” he said, bending down to collect his folded clothes from the chair. “It should never have happened.”

      “Wait …” she said, reeling from the change in activity. He’d just been kissing her, drinking her in as if she were water in the desert, and now suddenly he was … across the room, and now behind the divider. Dressing. “What?”

      “You are engaged,” he bit out, his tone uncompromising.

      She stood up and eyed the screen. “Yeah, I am. And it’s my engagement, so I think it’s my … problem,” she said.

      “But I am your boss, and that means I need to exercise a little bit more restraint than that.”

      “Oh, boo. Why is it that everything I do is so … Why does everyone else get to just dictate the terms?” She wrenched her robe off and tugged her clothes on. “Why is it my function to make everyone else comfortable while … while I just atrophy?”

      She jerked open the door to the massage room and walked toward