Royal Holiday Bride. Brenda Harlen

the warm flesh. She felt the sizzle spread through her veins and reverberate low in her belly.

      He reached for the tie at the side of her mask, but she turned her head away. Above the top of his, she saw his brows lift.

      “I’m more comfortable being Juno,” she explained.

      His smile was tinged with amusement and desire. “Then you won’t mind if I keep mine on, too?”

      She suspected it was going to be a little awkward, making love while both of them were wearing masks. But she knew it was the only way she would be able to follow through with her plan. She had no objection to removing all of her clothes so long as her face remained covered, because as much as she wanted to be naked with him, she couldn’t risk her identity being exposed.

      “No,” she responded to his question. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”

      “Okay,” he agreed.

      She exhaled slowly as her hands slid downward. Her fingertips traced over the rippling muscles of his abdomen to the top of his fitted briefs, then dipped inside. He groaned when her fingers wrapped around him, and she had a moment of worry when she registered the size and strength of him. He was huge and rock hard, and the thought of his body joining with hers made her shiver with anticipation.

      “You’re going to obliterate what’s left of my self-restraint,” he warned her.

      She tipped her head back to brush her lips against his. “Good.”

      He cupped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her off the ground in a move that was so quick and unexpected, her breath whooshed out of her lungs. He tumbled her back onto the bed, the full length of his body pressing against hers, and she gasped with shock and pleasure.

      Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and hungry. He wasn’t coaxing so much as demanding now, and she was more than happy to give him what he wanted, what they both needed. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, relishing the feel of his flesh beneath her fingertips. She arched beneath him, eager for more, for everything. He nibbled on her bottom lip, and she sighed again as pleasure drowned out caution and reason and everything else. She had no thoughts of anything but this man and this moment, no need for anything more. And then she had no thoughts at all as her mind gave way to the bliss of sensation.

      She was everything Dante had imagined … and more. Beautiful and passionate and so incredibly responsive. And she was his—if only for this one night.

      He stroked his hands slowly down her torso, a careful study of delectable feminine curves. From the sexy slope of her shoulders … to the lushness of her breasts … to the indent of her waist … the flare of her hips … then down those long, shapely legs to the laces of her sandals.

      He broke the kiss and reluctantly levered himself off of her. Her eyelids flickered, opened, and she propped herself up on her elbows. He touched a fingertip to her lips, to silence any questions or protests. She said nothing, but watched him curiously.

      He tugged on the lace that was tied just below her knee, then slowly unwrapped the cord. His fingers traced lightly over her skin as he unwound it, and he heard the catch of her breath. He took his time removing the first sandal, but when he dropped it to the floor, he still held on to her foot. It was narrow and slender and incredibly sexy. He stroked a finger along the arch and felt her shiver. He lifted her foot higher, kissed her ankle, then let his lips skim up her calf to her knee.

      He repeated the same process with her other sandal, her other leg. Then he propped her feet on the edge of the mattress so that her knees were bent and lowered his head between her thighs to kiss her through the thin barrier of lace. She gasped, as if shocked by the intimacy of his mouth on her. But she made no protest when he slid his hands beneath her buttocks, tilting her hips forward to remove her panties.

      He used his thumbs to part the slick folds that protected her womanly core and flicked his tongue over her. Once. Twice. She sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. He teased her mercilessly, alternating quick strokes with slow circles until she was whimpering. Then he teased her some more, relentlessly driving her toward the ultimate pinnacle of pleasure and leisurely easing back again. When he was certain that she could take no more—when her heels were digging into the mattress and her hands were fisted in the covers and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps—he pushed her over the edge.

      She was still shuddering with the aftereffects of her climax as he made his way up her body. He unfastened the clasp at the front of her bra and pushed the lacy cups aside. He paused, taking a moment to enjoy the glorious nakedness of her long, lean body stretched out on his bed.

      Her breasts were perfectly shaped and centered with rosy-pink nipples that he ached to touch, taste, savor. He dipped his head and swirled his tongue around one turgid peak, while his thumb traced the same path around the other. She cried out when a second climax racked her body.

      She was incredible. And he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in a very long time. As he drew away only long enough to shed his briefs and don protection, he thanked the gods that had allowed their paths to cross and cursed the fates that had decreed they would only have this night.

      When he lowered himself over her, his whole body was trembling with the anticipation of finally joining with hers. She reached for him, her hands linking behind his head, drawing him down for another kiss.

      His hands stroked over her again, arousing her, arousing himself. He could feel the blood pounding in his veins, hot and demanding. He could hear the beat of his heart, fast and fierce. Did she know how desperately he wanted her? How he ached for her?

      Maybe she did, because her eyes—those gorgeous green eyes—met his and her hips lifted, and the silent urging snapped the last of his self-restraint. He guided himself into the slick heat between her thighs. But despite her apparent readiness, his entry wasn’t easy. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands in the quilt, forcing himself to go slow, to give her time to adjust to his size. His muscles ached with the effort of holding back and his heart pounded against his ribs as he inched a little farther, swallowing her soft sighs of acceptance, of pleasure.

      He frowned when he felt an unexpected resistance, but before he could begin to comprehend what it might mean, her legs lifted to lock behind his hips, pulling him deeper so that he pushed through the barrier of her innocence.

      He held himself completely still over her, his arms locked in position, his brows drawn together behind his mask.

      How was this possible? How could he not have known? And what was he supposed to do now?

      But she seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil. Her legs were still hooked around his hips and her hands clutched at his shoulders as she instinctively moved against him, until his control finally snapped and there was nothing left to hold him back.

      He drove into her, hard and deep. She cried out, but he recognized that the sound wasn’t one of shock or fear but pleasure. She met his rhythm, thrust for thrust, in a primitive and almost desperate race toward the release they both craved. When the next climax took her to the edge and finally over, he could do nothing but surrender with her.

      It was a long time before Marissa managed to catch her breath. She felt stunned, overwhelmed and exhilarated. She’d never even imagined that so many emotions and sensations could rocket through her system at the same time.

      She’d felt desire before, subtle tugs that had piqued her curiosity and made her wonder. But there had been absolutely nothing subtle about what she’d experienced in Jupiter’s arms. It had been so much more than she’d anticipated, so much more than she ever could have hoped for, and she would always be grateful to him for this night.

      Unfortunately, she could tell that he wasn’t feeling grateful. He was angry, and she was afraid that she knew why.

      “You were a virgin,” he said.

      The accusation in his tone confirmed her fears and took some of the shine off of the experience for her. She shifted away from him, pulling up the corner of the quilt to cover herself.

      “And