Caught in the Billionaire's Embrace / The Tycoon's Temporary Baby. Emily McKay

      Almost.

      As if reading her mind—again—he started to lean forward, dipping his head toward hers. Knowing he intended to kiss her, Della turned quickly away. Why, she had no idea. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him, too. But she still couldn’t quite bring herself to allow it. She wasn’t the woman he thought she was. She was beginning to wonder if she was even the woman she thought she was. Soon, she would be someone else—entirely and literally. And in a couple of hours, she and Marcus would be nothing but a fond memory lodged in each other’s brains. What kind of memory did she want to be for him? What kind of memory did she want him to be for her?

      Marcus didn’t give her time to think about it, because the moment she had her back to him, he coiled both arms around her waist to pull her against himself. His broad chest more than spanned her shoulders, but his long torso aligned perfectly with hers. It was at the small of her back where she felt him most, however, because as he drew her closer, rubbing their bodies together, he stirred to life against her.

      Della’s heart rate quickened at the realization that he was becoming as aroused as she. Heat coursed through her when he dipped his head to hers, his mouth hovering just over her ear. His breath was warm and damp against her skin, at odds with the snow, clouding her senses until she was dizzy not knowing what was what.

      “I can say the snow isn’t lovely,” he murmured, his voice as hot and demanding as the rest of him, “because I’ve seen something much lovelier this evening. In fact, you, my intriguing Della, are absolutely electrifying.”

      Instead of replying to that—mostly because she was afraid of what she might say … and even more afraid of what she might do—Della leaned further over the railing and into the falling snow. She turned her face to the caress of cold air, hoping it would be the antidote she needed to quell the swirling, simmering sensations inside her. Instead, her new position pushed her backside even more intimately against Marcus, and she felt him swell to even greater life against her.

      She swallowed hard at the recognition of his condition, curling her fingers tightly over the metal railing, afraid of where her hands might wander otherwise. She wasn’t so lucky with her thoughts, though, because they wandered plenty, telling her things she didn’t want to hear. Things about how she would never meet another man like Marcus, and how he could be out of her life in a matter of moments, and how there was nothing sadder in life than a missed opportunity. So she tipped her face upward, welcoming the soft cascade of snowflakes, hoping they would numb her brain and make her forget …

      … everything. Every ugly memory of where she’d grown up. Every miserable feeling she’d had since discovering the truth about Egan Collingwood. Every anxious moment she’d experienced since discovering even worse truths at work. Every terrible shudder of loneliness that had plagued her over the past eleven months. Every reason why she shouldn’t do exactly what she wanted to do with Marcus. He was the surprise birthday gift that fate had presented her, sporting a big, satin bow.

      Again, as if he’d read her mind, he covered her hands with his and gently urged them apart, opening his jacket over the front of her dress so that he could slip his fingers between the two garments. They went immediately to her rib cage, strumming it as if fine-tuning a delicate instrument. Ripples of pleasure wound through Della as he touched her, and she sighed her delight, her breath a puff of fog in the frigid air. Unable to help herself, she leaned against him, reaching behind herself with both hands to curl her fingers into his hair. Marcus used her new position to plunder her at will, covering her breasts with sure fingers.

      “Oh,” she murmured at his touch. “Oh, Marcus.”

      He said nothing in response, only dipped his head to her neck to drag kisses along the column of her throat. One hand gently kneaded her breast, while the other began to venture lower, moving along the elegant curves of her waist and hip and thigh, where he bunched the fabric of her dress in his fist. Slowly, slowly, oh … so slowly, he drew the garment upward, until Della could feel the cold and snow on her stocking-clad legs. Because of the gown’s length, and because of the cold, she’d worn tights that rolled just above the knee, leaving her thighs bare. When she felt the whip of cold on her naked skin, she gasped, not only because of the frosty air, but also because she realized how far, how fast, things had progressed between them.

      “Marcus,” she began to protest. But the words sounded halfhearted, even to her own ears.

      “Shh,” he told her. “I just want to touch you. I just want to feel your skin beneath my fingertips.”

      She told herself to tell him he’d done that by holding her hand, but the words stilled before emerging. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s touch. Too long.

      She’d forgotten how delicious it felt to be this close to another human being. Had forgotten how essential it was to share physical intimacy with another person. Had forgotten how exquisite it could be, how alive it could make her feel. Had forgotten—

      Marcus found the leg of her panties and pushed it aside, threading his fingers into the damp, molten core of her.

      Oh … oh, Marcus … She’d forgotten how that could feel, too.

      “You’re so wet,” he murmured against her ear, obviously surprised by her response to him. “Della … oh, sweetheart … it’s like … It’s like you’re already ready for me to—”

      He moved his fingers against her again, eliciting a groan from deep inside her. Her fingers fell to the railing again, convulsing on it, then relaxed, then gripped the fixture again. Hard. She turned her fists first one way, then the other, then began to move them up and down along the length of the railing, the way she would touch a man’s—

      Marcus stroked her again, and somehow, she knew he was watching the movement of her hands and thinking the same thing she was thinking. Feeling the same thing she felt. Wanting the same thing she wanted.

      He nuzzled her neck again, this time nipping her lightly with his teeth, an action she found unbelievably erotic. In response, she moved a hand behind herself and fumbled for his belt, working both it and the fly of his trousers open with trembling fingers.

      Well, why shouldn’t she? It was her birthday. She was celebrating. She’d already given herself so many gifts tonight. Why not one more? Why not enjoy this man the way they both wanted to enjoy each other?

      When Marcus realized what she was doing, he moved away from her long enough to help her complete the action. She started to turn around, but he placed both hands firmly on her waist and held her in place with her back to him. So she reached behind herself and thrust her hand into his trousers, finding him naked and hard and ready. He gasped at what must have been the coldness of her hand, but she quickly warmed them both. Cupping the heavy head of his shaft in one hand, she palmed him over the satiny balm of his anticipated release before moving her fingers lower along his length. And lower. And lower. Until she caught her breath at just how magnificent he was.

      She honestly wasn’t sure what she had been thinking she would do next, and in that moment, Marcus’s thoughts seemed to mirror her own. Dropping one hand from her waist, he fisted the fabric of her skirt again. Only this time, it was in the back, and this time he hiked it over her waist. As Della clung to the damp railing, Marcus pulled down her panties, pushing them past her knees. Della did the rest, stepping completely out of them.

      And then he was moving behind her again, deftly rolling on a condom he must have had at the ready. But then, he was notorious, wasn’t he? She had only a scant second to marvel at how he was sexually indiscriminate enough to be so prepared for sex, yet responsible enough to take such a precaution. Then, as the snow cascaded around her, Marcus thrust himself into her from behind, burying himself deeply.

      When she cried out at the depth of his penetration, he gently covered her mouth with his hand. Then he began to move inside her, pulling himself out almost completely before bucking against her again, going even deeper. She had to bite her lip to keep herself silent, but he rewarded her by moving his hand between her legs and fingering the damp folds of her flesh. Of course, that only made her want