The Billionaire's New Year Gift. Emma Darcy

reveling in the thrilling sensations flooding her body. Desire, something she hadn’t felt in a long time, ignited every inch of her flesh.

      One kiss became two, two became three. Soon kissing wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

      And more.

      When Alex’s hands slid under her sweater she shivered. When they found her breasts, she moaned. When he unhooked her bra, she never said stop. When he raised her sweater to get it off, she finished the job herself.

      Then she reached for his belt buckle. The only sounds in the room were the ticking of the grandfather clock that had belonged to her grandmother Marjorie, the muted hum of traffic from the highway nearby, and their frenzied lovemaking.

      They never even made it to the bedroom, which was both a good and a bad thing. The good thing was she stopped thinking and just let delicious sensation take over. The bad thing was she stopped thinking and just let delicious sensation take over. It had been a long time since she’d felt this way.

      Maybe she’d never felt this way.

      Later, she never remembered exactly what happened. She only knew that her clothes ended up scattered over the floor along with his, that they didn’t even seek the relative comfort of the couch but fell to the carpet.

      Alex touched her and kissed her, finding every hidden place that yearned to be touched and kissed. And just at the point where P.J. thought she could stand it no longer, he thrust into her, pushing deep and hard, then deeper still. She reveled in the heat of him and cried out again and again as she crescendoed to a climax, and seconds later, he buried his face in her neck and muffled his own cry as he shuddered with his own release.

      Afterwards, they lay twined together as their hearts gradually slowed.

      It was only then that sanity returned.

      P.J. sat up. Spying her sweater she grabbed it and put it on. She didn’t look at Alex. Couldn’t. What must he think of her? She’d been wanton tonight.

      “P.J.” he said softly. He caressed her arm. “You’re not sorry, are you?”

      Oh, God.

      “Because I’m not.”

      Of course not. You’re a man. You have nothing to lose.

      “I’m…only sorry about not having a condom. Truth is, I never even thought about a condom. I didn’t think about anything…except you.” Taking her hand, he turned it palm up and kissed it.

      P.J. shivered and finally turned to look at him. Her heart thudded as their gazes met. She forced herself to keep her eyes trained on his face instead of sweeping down his magnificent body.

      And it was magnificent.

      Alex Noble was one of the finest male specimens she’d ever seen. Just thinking about how fine he was made her want him all over again.

      “Don’t worry,” she forced herself to say in as normal a voice as possible. “I’m on birth control pills.” The moment the lie was out of her mouth, she was sorry she’d said it. But what should she have said? Don’t worry, Alex. I probably couldn’t get pregnant if I tried, because my insides are totally screwed up. So you’re safe.

      Sure, the doctors had said there was a slim—very slim—chance she might be able to conceive, but they hadn’t held out much hope. In fact, the last specialist she’d seen had said in all honesty he would put her chances at about ten percent, if that. And the older she got, the slimmer that percentage became.

      At any rate, she had no intention of discussing her health issues with Alex…or any man, for that matter. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d asked her to marry him. All they’d done was have great sex.

      You just keep telling yourself that, P.J.

      “That’s good,” Alex said. “But I wanted you to know that I believe in safe sex.”

      Hell’s bells, she hadn’t even thought of that. Of course not. You weren’t thinking, period.

      Seeing the look on her face, he said, “I’m clean. I promise you. You’re in no danger.”

      She nodded.

      “I wish you’d say something.” Leaning over, he kissed her cheek, then nuzzled her ear.

      Oh, God. If she didn’t get up and away from him, she’d succumb again, she knew she would. She could already feel herself weakening. “What do you want me to say?” Even her voice sounded weak. What in the world was wrong with her? She never let a man get the upper hand. But here she was acting like some kid with her first big crush instead of a thirty-year-old, experienced, fully independent woman who should know better.

      “Say you’ll go out with me tomorrow night,” he said softly. His hand inched up under her sweater again, finding her bare breasts. When his thumb rubbed the nub of the one closest to him, P.J. fought with herself for all of about three seconds, then relaxed into him and turned her face for his kiss.

      A long time later…a very long time later…after the most satisfying and wonderful sex P.J. could ever have imagined, she finally lay sated and resigned to her fate. She knew what she was doing was crazy and stupid. She knew one of these days she’d be very sorry and probably have to pay a price for her lapse in judgment. But at that moment, she really didn’t care.

      “So what do you say? Is it a date?” Alex asked lazily.

      “Yes,” P.J. said. She could feel his smile, even though she didn’t look at him.

      “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

      “Okay.”

      “And P.J.?”

      Sighing, she finally turned her head to meet his eyes.

      He smiled. “Wear something sexy. You do own a dress?”

      For just a second, P.J. bristled. Then she grinned. “I’ve got a dress that’ll knock your socks off.”

      “I can hardly wait.”

      Alex whistled all the way home.

      P.J. was incredible. Somehow he’d suspected she would be. But suspecting and actually experiencing how incredible were two distinctly different things.

      He smiled, remembering.

      Yes. P.J. Kinkaid, alias Paige Jeffers Kinkaid, heiress to a fortune, who obviously believed in working for a living, was the perfect candidate for his Cinderella. Beautiful, smart, sexy, generous, kind and passionate.

      What more could he want?

      Courtney gave P.J. a quizzical smile. “Okay, spill. What’s going on?”

      At P.J.’s request, the sisters had met for coffee at a Starbucks near where Courtney lived.

      P.J. drank some of her latte before answering. “Remember the new guy who came to work for me? The one I told you about when we had dinner together three weeks ago?”

      Courtney grinned and broke off a piece of her muffin. “I knew this had to be about a man.”

      P.J. blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

      “About what? Has he asked you out?”

      “Yes, but that’s not it.”

      Courtney stared at her. Lowering her voice, she said, “Uh-oh. You’ve done it, haven’t you?”

      P.J. didn’t even pretend not to understand. Glumly, she nodded.

      “What’s wrong? Was it awful?”

      “No, just the opposite, in fact. It…it was fantastic.”

      Courtney sighed and ate some of her muffin. “You lucky dog. Tell me everything.”

      So P.J. did, starting