A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

something, too, still in French. And she had a feeling it wasn’t a nice word. He pulled away from her, rolled into a sitting position and froze for a moment, before standing and walking into the bathroom.

      Well, just great. They’d done it and now he was fleeing the scene.

      She didn’t know what to do. If she should get her clothes back on and leave, or stay in the bed or … she had no idea what the protocol was really.

      Luc returned before she could decide. She was still lying on top of the covers all melted, and pale and naked. She felt like a little snowshoe hare ripped from the safety of its burrow. And that made Luc the fox. Or something.

      She was fuzzy on … fuzzy animal analogies.

      “Now,” he said, his voice cold, “you should have told me that.”

      “What?”

      “Were you a virgin?” he asked, standing nearer to the bathroom than to the bed, as if he was pondering running from the scene of the crime.

      “Technically. Yes. I mean … I did stuff with Clint. Sometimes. Not so much for the past … while. But he said he wanted to wait. And I thought … that’s so great. Because he loved me enough not to satisfy himself right away. He loved me enough to make it permanent first because he was that sure. Except really, it was just that it was so easy for him because he was that unattracted to me and I … Luc, I needed this. I needed someone to want me.”

      “Just someone?” he asked, his voice rough.

      “No. I don’t think it could have been anyone else. I couldn’t do that with a stranger, not after I waited so long. Not after it was built up to be such a big thing in my head. I needed it to be with someone I trusted. And I trust you. So please don’t look at me like I kicked your puppy because that’s messing with my confidence.”

      “I can’t offer you marriage, not like him.”

      “Well, I don’t think I want the kind of marriage he’s offering. Actually, no, I know I don’t. And I knew with total certainty the moment you kissed me that I didn’t want a passionless relationship. The thing is, we’d gone without passion for so long, obviously we never really had it, but we substituted it with this wonderful, warm caring and I was completely taken in by it. I forgot that marriage was supposed to be more than friendship. I was only thinking of it in terms of … family. Of making him my family. Of blending our families. Because it’s what everyone wanted.”

      “You’re right,” he said. “Marriage is more than friendship. And it’s more than a business deal, which during my own engagement I failed to realize, which is just one reason, I’m sure, my fiancée found what she was looking for in the arms of my brother. But marriage is also more than sex. This won’t give you more. I can’t give you more.”

      “I know that,” she said. “And we would be a terrible couple. Because you would always ask me to bring you coffee and you’re grumpy, and you’d have to hear me sing twenty-four hours a day, so I wasn’t suggesting that it was the magic marriage component that meant you and I should—” Heat flooded her face and she stuttered over the next words. “It never even crossed my mind, I’m not that naive.”

      “Funny,” he said, leaning against the wall, still completely naked, “because I thought you were that naive. Seeing as how you were a virgin and all.”

      “Virgin does not equal naive. Granted, not realizing for nine years that the guy you’re in a relationship with is really not that into you, because you’re not checking the right box on your legal forms, if you know what I mean, is kind of naive. But I had a blind spot because I’d known him for so long.”

      “My point exactly. I’m not naive.”

      “No one would ever accuse you of it.” She slid off the bed and stood for a moment, then tugged back the covers and climbed back in, covering her body.

      “Now what?” he asked.

      “I don’t know. We’re sort of stuck here, aren’t we?”

      “We are,” he said, crossing to the foot of the bed and standing there, naked still, and much more casual about it than she felt. “So what do you want, Amelia?”

      “What do you want, Luc?”

      “Me? I’m a man. I would like nothing more than to crawl back into bed with you and spend the entire day inside you, but considering … I feel the choice should be yours.”

      Her heart was hammering hard, her mouth completely dry. “I want that, too,” she said, the words spilling out of her. “I want … I want you and me and this. And you know what? I have for a long time, but I didn’t even want to acknowledge it to myself because it seemed so wrong that my boss could get me hotter asking me to fetch him a file than my fiancé could by kissing me, but it’s the truth. It’s been the truth and I …”

      Just like that, he was over her, kissing her, tugging the blankets back, his warm body covering hers. “This,” she said, “is my new favorite way to spend a snowstorm.”

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      IT GOT DARK out early, and Luc didn’t care. It didn’t matter what time it was. Not when they had a fire going in the living area of their suite, not when he was holding Amelia, naked and bundled in a blanket, against his body.

      Not when he felt this good.

      Enjoying something, enjoying being with another person, was strange. Or maybe not so strange. He’d always found her to be more enjoyable than most people, so it stood to reason that spending time with her like this would be a good experience.

      Though, he hadn’t expected to spend naked time with Amelia, for all the reasons they’d already both gone over. And yet, right now, it just didn’t seem to matter.

      The way that the firelight made her face glow was infinitely more important. More important still was the way her curves felt beneath his hands. The way her breasts fit so perfectly in his palms …

      All of that seemed infinitely more essential than an ethical employer/employee relationship and unresolved engagements. Though, some time ago, she’d taken her ring off and stuffed it in the bottom of her gigantic purse. He’d been far too gratified by that.

      “Can I ask you a personal question?” Amelia asked, snuggling into him.

      “You’re naked, I’m naked, I don’t think anything is too personal at the moment.”

      “Fair point,” she said. “But you’re not going to like this.”

      “Try me.”

      “Okay … if you didn’t love Marie, why are you still angry with Blaise?”

      She was right, he didn’t like the question. If only because he didn’t readily have an answer for it. He didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on it, he’d just been content to allow his brother to stay at a distance. The rift was fine with him.

      “She was mine,” he said.

      “Obviously she wasn’t, Luc,” Amelia said. “And I’m sorry if that’s harsh, but it’s true. Clint wasn’t mine. Not really. Or he wouldn’t have wanted someone else. And I wouldn’t be so … not brokenhearted. And I’m not. So what he did was wrong, and the position he put me in was wrong, but I’m not going to be mad at him for the next eight years. It wouldn’t have been a good marriage, and if he wants something else, and I want something else, we shouldn’t be together, right?”

      “He hates me,” Luc said, his voice rough. “He always has. Because I stayed with our father. Because … I’m the oldest. I had to. I had a responsibility to the business. And I think Blaise always felt I betrayed them in some way. That I was part of their banishment back to Africa. But that was our mother’s