Diana Palmer Christmas Collection: The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means / True Blue / Carrera's Bride / Will of Steel / Winter Roses

“This…isn’t wise,” she said against his chest.

“No, but it’s sweet. Dorie…!” He cried out hoarsely, his whole body shuddering.

Her hand stilled at once. “I’m sorry,” she whispered frantically. “Did I hurt you?”

He wasn’t breathing normally at all. His face was buried in her throat and he was shaking like a leaf. She brushed her mouth over his cheek, his chin, his lips, his nose, whispering his name as she clung to him.

His hand gripped her upper thigh, and it was so bruising that she was afraid she was going to have to protest. He fought for sanity, embarrassed by his weakness.

She was still kissing him. He felt her breasts moving against his chest, intensifying the throbbing, hellish ache below his belt.

He held her firmly in place with hands that shook.

She subsided and stood quietly against him. She knew now, as she hadn’t eight years ago, what was wrong with him. She felt guilty and ashamed for pushing him so far out of control.

Her fingers touched his thick, cool hair lovingly. Her lips found his eyelids and brushed softly against them. He was vulnerable and she wanted to protect him, cherish him.

The tenderness was doing strange things to him. He still wanted her to the point of madness, but those comforting little kisses made his heart warm. He’d never been touched in such a way by a woman; he’d never felt so cherished.

She drew back, and he pulled her close again.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, calmer now. His hands had moved up to the silken skin of her back, and he smiled under the whisper of her lips on his skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

His fingers slid under the blouse again and up to explore the softness of her breasts. “Why?” he asked.

“You were hurting,” she said. “I shouldn’t have touched you…”

He chuckled wickedly. “I made you.”

“I still can’t go to bed with you,” she said miserably. “I don’t care if the whole world does it, I just can’t!”

His hands opened and enfolded her breasts tenderly. “You want to,” he murmured as he caressed them.

“Of course I want to!” Her eyes closed and she swayed closer to his hands. “Oh, glory,” she managed to say tightly, shivering.

“Your breasts are very sensitive,” he said at her lips. “And soft like warm silk under my hands. I’d like to lay you down on my grandfather’s desk and take your blouse off and put my lips on you there. But Mrs. Culbertson is making coffee.” He lifted his head and looked into her dazed, soft gray eyes. “Thank God,” he whispered absently as he searched them.

“Thank God for what?” she asked huskily.

“Miracles, maybe,” he replied. He smoothed the blouse up again and his eyes sketched her pretty pink breasts with their hard dark pink crowns. “I could eat you like taffy right now,” he said in a rough tone.

The office was so quiet that not a sound could be heard above the shiver of her breath as she looked up at him.

His pale eyes were almost apologetic. “I think I have a death wish,” he began huskily as he bent.

She watched his mouth hover over her breast with a sense of shocked wonder. Her eyes wide, her breath stopped in her throat, she waited, trembling.

He looked up, then, and saw her eyes. He made a sound in the back of his throat and his mouth opened as he propelled her closer, so that he had her almost completely in that warm, moist recess.

She wept. The pleasure grew to unbearable heights. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she pulled him closer. She growled sharply at the sensations she felt. Her hips moved involuntarily, searching for his body.

The suction became so sweet that she suddenly arched backward, and would have fallen if it hadn’t been for his supporting arm. She caught her breath and convulsed, her body frozen in an arc of pure ecstasy.

He felt the deep contractions of her body under his mouth with raging pride. His mouth grew a little rough, and the convulsions deepened.

Only when he felt her begin to relax did he lift his head and bring her back into a standing position, so that he could look at her face.

She couldn’t breathe. She sobbed as she looked up into his pale eyes. The tears came, hot and quick, when she realized what had happened. And he’d seen it!

“Don’t,” he chided tenderly. He reached for a handkerchief and dried her red eyes and wiped her nose. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I could die of shame,” she wept.

“For what?” he asked softly. “For letting me watch you?”

Her face went red. “I never, never…!”

He put a long forefinger against her lips. “I’ve never seen a woman like that,” he whispered. “I’ve never known one who could be satisfied by a man’s mouth suckling at her breast. It was the most beautiful experience I’ve ever had.”

She wasn’t crying now. She was staring at him, her eyes wide and soft and curious.

He brushed back her wild hair. “It was worth what I felt earlier,” he murmured dryly.

She colored even more. “I can’t stay here,” she told him wildly. “I have to go away…”

“Hell, no, you don’t,” he said tersely. “You’re not getting away from me a second time. Don’t even think about running.”

“But,” she began urgently.

“But what?” he asked curtly. “But you can’t give yourself to me outside marriage? I know that. I’m not asking you to sleep with me.”

“It’s like torture for you.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “But the alternative is to never touch you.” His hand slid over her blouse and he smiled gently at the immediate response of her body. “I love this,” he said gruffly. “And so do you.”

She grimaced. “Of course I do,” she muttered. “I’ve never let anyone else touch me like that. It’s been eight years since I’ve even been kissed!”

“Same here,” he said bluntly.

“Ha! You’ve been going around with a divorcée!” she flung at him out of frustration and embarrassment.

“I don’t have sex with her,” he said.

“They say she’s very pretty.”

He smiled. “She is. Pretty and elegant and kind. But I don’t feel desire for her, any more than she feels it for me. I told you we were friends. We are. And that’s all we are.”