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Authors: Lisa Marie Rice
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carrying his lady to their bower.
He carried her easily, as if she weighed nothing, which told her he was as strong as he seemed. He didn’t look down, though the ground was slippery and icy. He didn’t even look forward, up the path to her front door. His eyes were locked with hers, gaze so intent it was as if he were pulling where he needed to go from inside her head.
It was all so magical, so bright and fresh.
Magic didn’t exist in this world, Charity knew that. She knew perfectly well what she was getting into. This was probably a one-night stand. A two-night stand, maybe, if she got lucky. It was the beginning of the weekend, after all. But when the weekend was over, Nick Ames would get into his brand-new shiny black Lexus and head on out to greener pastures, meaning more or less anywhere other than Parker’s Ridge, which didn’t have much to recommend it to a sophisticated New Yorker.
So Charity was determined to wrest every ounce of magical pleasure from the night. She concentrated on all her senses, on this particular moment, which might never come again.
The feel of him, the heat of him, the smell of him. It was all so incredibly enticing, his arms more comfortable than the softest bed. Without thinking about it, she lay her headon his shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on her feelings. Her cheek lay against the softness of his cashmere overcoat. When she opened her eyes, she could see where his beard started. The line of his jaw was so severe it was almost at right angles and his cheekbones were sharp. As a matter of fact, the only soft thing about him was his overcoat. She rubbed her cheek against it, feeling rock-hard muscle right underneath the material. Rock hard muscle underneath her hands, too, bunching and releasing as he carried her up her icy walkway, as casually as if strolling under the warm summer sun.
No change in his breathing, though he was carrying an adult woman, as easily as if she were a child. He looked down at her. She’d been studying him and she didn’t hide it. When he glanced down, she smiled.
“Do you have your key handy?” he asked quietly.
She did. In a special pocket in her purse. He took it, then walked up the four steps onto her porch. Bending with her still in his arms, he opened the front door and carried her over the threshold.
It might be the only time in her life a man carried her over the threshold and Charity wanted to commit it to memory. Everything about it. She greedily soaked up every single sensation, all her senses alive and firing, drinking in every detail of the moment.
The feel of him beneath her hands, strong and hard, covered with the soft trappings of a businessman. The wonderful smell of him, stronger now that she was so close. It was a huge temptation not to lick him, to see what he tasted like.
The open door behind her, visible over Nick’s broad shoulder. It was like an old-fashioned painting, the yellowstreetlight perfectly centered in the open doorway, the door framing a snowy scene straight out of Currier & Ives. Snowflakes falling like featherlight stars out of the black night sky.
Nick kicked the door closed behind him and slid her down his body. There was no way on earth she could miss his erection, even through his pants and overcoat. As she felt that hard, steely column, her stomach muscles contracted and she shivered.
A second later, his scarf and her coat lay on her hardwood floor and he cupped her head as he kissed her. Deeper kisses these, harder, longer. Luscious, never ending, electrifying.
Charity was standing slightly on tiptoe, holding his thick wrists when he lifted his head, those mesmerizing cobalt blue eyes locked on to hers. His thin nostrils were slightly flared, his cheekbones were flushed red underneath his heavy tan. His beautiful mouth was flushed and wet. Still, though he was definitely aroused—the erection pressed against her belly was vivid proof of that—he looked utterly in control
He carried her easily, as if she weighed nothing, which told her he was as strong as he seemed. He didn’t look down, though the ground was slippery and icy. He didn’t even look forward, up the path to her front door. His eyes were locked with hers, gaze so intent it was as if he were pulling where he needed to go from inside her head.
It was all so magical, so bright and fresh.
Magic didn’t exist in this world, Charity knew that. She knew perfectly well what she was getting into. This was probably a one-night stand. A two-night stand, maybe, if she got lucky. It was the beginning of the weekend, after all. But when the weekend was over, Nick Ames would get into his brand-new shiny black Lexus and head on out to greener pastures, meaning more or less anywhere other than Parker’s Ridge, which didn’t have much to recommend it to a sophisticated New Yorker.
So Charity was determined to wrest every ounce of magical pleasure from the night. She concentrated on all her senses, on this particular moment, which might never come again.
The feel of him, the heat of him, the smell of him. It was all so incredibly enticing, his arms more comfortable than the softest bed. Without thinking about it, she lay her headon his shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on her feelings. Her cheek lay against the softness of his cashmere overcoat. When she opened her eyes, she could see where his beard started. The line of his jaw was so severe it was almost at right angles and his cheekbones were sharp. As a matter of fact, the only soft thing about him was his overcoat. She rubbed her cheek against it, feeling rock-hard muscle right underneath the material. Rock hard muscle underneath her hands, too, bunching and releasing as he carried her up her icy walkway, as casually as if strolling under the warm summer sun.
No change in his breathing, though he was carrying an adult woman, as easily as if she were a child. He looked down at her. She’d been studying him and she didn’t hide it. When he glanced down, she smiled.
“Do you have your key handy?” he asked quietly.
She did. In a special pocket in her purse. He took it, then walked up the four steps onto her porch. Bending with her still in his arms, he opened the front door and carried her over the threshold.
It might be the only time in her life a man carried her over the threshold and Charity wanted to commit it to memory. Everything about it. She greedily soaked up every single sensation, all her senses alive and firing, drinking in every detail of the moment.
The feel of him beneath her hands, strong and hard, covered with the soft trappings of a businessman. The wonderful smell of him, stronger now that she was so close. It was a huge temptation not to lick him, to see what he tasted like.
The open door behind her, visible over Nick’s broad shoulder. It was like an old-fashioned painting, the yellowstreetlight perfectly centered in the open doorway, the door framing a snowy scene straight out of Currier & Ives. Snowflakes falling like featherlight stars out of the black night sky.
Nick kicked the door closed behind him and slid her down his body. There was no way on earth she could miss his erection, even through his pants and overcoat. As she felt that hard, steely column, her stomach muscles contracted and she shivered.
A second later, his scarf and her coat lay on her hardwood floor and he cupped her head as he kissed her. Deeper kisses these, harder, longer. Luscious, never ending, electrifying.
Charity was standing slightly on tiptoe, holding his thick wrists when he lifted his head, those mesmerizing cobalt blue eyes locked on to hers. His thin nostrils were slightly flared, his cheekbones were flushed red underneath his heavy tan. His beautiful mouth was flushed and wet. Still, though he was definitely aroused—the erection pressed against her belly was vivid proof of that—he looked utterly in control
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