New Year, New Man. Laura Iding

once before. “Eleven-thirty.”

      “We haven’t seen enough of you over the weekend.”

      “I know, it was a short visit. But I’ve had a wonderful time.”

      A hesitation, then, “With Damien.”

      She returned his gaze, unwavering. “Yes, Noah. With Damien.”

      They danced for several seconds without speaking, which was fine with her. Then he said, “Dami’s a good man.”

      “He’s the best.”

      “If he hurts you, I might have to kill him.”

      “Oh, stop it. Dami would never hurt me. And no matter what happens, you don’t get to kill him. Murder is a bad thing— Plus, Alice would never forgive you if you killed her brother.”

      He scowled. “You’ve become so...stubborn and determined the past few years.”

      “I was always stubborn and determined, but when I was sick all the time, I didn’t have the energy to be my real self.”

      After a moment, he slanted her a sideways look. “How about Christmas?”

      She couldn’t help laughing. “Do you ever give up?”

      A wry smile curved his lips. “Never. I’m a lot like my baby sister that way.”

      “Noah, I’m serious. I keep thinking we’re clear that I run my own life at last. And then you come at me again.”

      He did look contrite. “Sorry.”

      “Are you really?”

      He nodded. “I get that you’re feeling good, doing what you want to do and loving every minute of it. And that’s great. I just... I still want to protect you. I can’t turn that off overnight.”

      “Keep working on it, will you?”

      “I am, Lucy. Honestly.”

      “Work faster, then.” She said it gently. With all the love in her heart. “Please.”

      Lani Vasquez and Prince Maximilian whirled by them, eyes only for each other. And Lucy thought of Dami’s surprise and disbelief when she’d said that there was something going on between them. Was it always like that in families? People got locked into roles—the sickly one, the grieving widower—and other family members just refused to see that the ones they love can change and grow.

      But then Noah said, “Just remember that I’m proud of you. You were right to strike out on your own, not to let my fears for you hold you back. I wish you were coming home for the holidays, but if you insist on staying in New York, I’ll get over it. Have a beautiful Christmas, Lucy.”

      So, then. Maybe her brother’s view of her wasn’t so locked in after all. She wished him the best Christmas ever and when that dance ended, he walked her over to the bar, where Dami and Alice were sipping champagne.

      Alice set down her glass and held out her hand to Noah. He led her out on the floor. They gazed at each other the same way Prince Max had looked at Lani Vasquez.

      Dami handed Lucy a crystal flute of champagne. They raised their glasses to the season. And when their glasses were empty, he asked her to dance again. It was an old standard that time, a slow holiday song: “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?”

      She felt a little sad to think that on New Year’s Eve she would be in New York and Dami would be somewhere else. But not that sad.

      Really, how could she be sad? She was getting exactly what she’d dreamed of: a fabulous Thanksgiving weekend and tender lessons in lovemaking from a man she trusted absolutely.

      When that dance was over, she whispered, “It’s long past midnight. I don’t want to wait anymore, Dami.”

      He gave her a look that was totally hot. And then he took her hand and led her out of the crowded ballroom.

       Chapter Eight

      His sheets were gold that night. Gold satin.

      They stood beside the beautiful carved bed with the finials shaped like crowns, the gold sheets turned back, lustrous and inviting in the soft low light. He kissed her for the longest time, an endless, tender, ever-deepening kiss.

      As he kissed her, he touched her, caressing her bare shoulders, her back, the curve of her waist and lower. When he stroked his hands over her hips, she moaned a little, sharply aware of her nakedness beneath the long skirt of her dress.

      Really, a woman’s panties didn’t cover all that much to make her feel so bare without them. But she did feel bare under her gown. Bare and revealed, somehow, though no one could see.

      He lifted his mouth from hers. “Luce.”

      “Um?”

      “Take off your dress.”

      “Yes.” She turned around and showed him her back. He pulled her zipper down. The dress fell away. She caught it, stepped out of it, tossed it toward the nearest chair.

      “No panties,” he said approvingly.

      She turned to face him. “I’m very obedient. When I want to be.”

      His eyes burned into hers. “The rest. Take it off.”

      So she did. Everything. There wasn’t that much. Her strapless bra. Her peep-toe shoes. Her vintage earrings and antique bracelet.

      He took the jewelry from her, set it on the table by the bed. And then, still fully clothed except for the jacket he’d taken off when they first entered the apartment, he started touching her again. He bent and kissed her breasts as his hands went roaming.

      Time fell away and her knees went all wobbly. But Dami didn’t let her fall. He scooped her up against his broad chest and then sat on the edge of the bed with her in his lap.

      His skilled, knowing hands moved over her. She looked down at his long fingers against the pale flesh of her belly. Those fingers stroked lower.

      And lower. He parted her. She didn’t have to be told. She eased her thighs apart.

      “Wider,” he whispered, the word hot and a little bit rough. He scraped the side of her throat with his teeth.

      She moaned. And she obeyed. It was only what she wanted after all. His fingers found her, delving in, moving in a rhythm her body already knew and welcomed.

      “Dami,” she cried. “Yes...more...” She tipped her head back and gave him her mouth for a slow, wet, hungry kiss.

      He whispered things, naughty things. Each whisper took her higher, closer to the sky, to the darkness and the wonder.

      To that moment when it all burst wide open into a midnight universe scattered with a million exploding stars.

      It happened so quickly: her body contracting, pulsing, a fast, hard, beautiful climax. And then he was lifting her, laying her down across the gold sheets, pushing her thighs wide again as he knelt on the rug by the bed.

      She felt his breath first, there, at the core of her. Then the skilled, tender stroking of his tongue.

      And then, just like that, she was going over again, falling from one peak into the next one. Rising, rising and shattering again, stronger, deeper, better than the first time, as she clutched his dark head and moaned how she wanted him, how right it was, how perfect, exactly what she’d been dreaming of.

      When he pulled away and stood over her, she didn’t have the strength to hold him. She let out a little moan of satisfaction, a sigh of pleasured fulfillment. Still crosswise on the bed, her legs limp and dangling over the side, she closed her eyes and drifted on a sea of delicious afterglow.

      Until he touched her again, the lightest brush of a touch, one