Blame It On Christmas

She went up on her tiptoes and brushed her mouth over his. “Oh, yes I am. I’m so damn serious it ought to be against the law.” She slid her fingers into his silky hair, cupping his skull, massaging his neck. “Kiss me, J.B.”

If this worked, she was going to write a book about curing claustrophobia.

His hands landed on her shoulders, but she wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he was doing. There was still a glassy-eyed element to his gaze.

“Mazie?” The way he said her name made the hair on her nape stand up. She knew exactly the moment his arousal broke through the grip of the visceral fear.

This time, the shudder that racked him was entirely hedonistic.

She didn’t have to ask again for a kiss.

J.B. took control as if he had been kissing her always. His mouth settled over hers with a drugging sensuality that took the starch out of her knees and left her panting and helpless in his embrace.

Her arms linked around his neck. “This is nice.”

“Screw nice...”

His rough laugh curled her toes. No wonder she had kept her distance all these years. At some level she had always known this could happen. She wanted to kick off her shoes and drag him to the floor, but everything was dusty and cold and hard. Not a soft surface in sight.

Once upon a time she had fantasized often about kissing J.B. Vaughan. The reality far outstripped her imaginings.

He was confident and coaxing and sexy and sweet, and she wanted to give him everything he asked for without words.

Thank God there wasn’t a bed in sight. Otherwise, she might have done something really stupid.

His tongue stroked hers lazily. “I know what you’re doing, and I don’t even care. I should have kissed you years ago.”

“You did,” she reminded him.

“That didn’t count. We were kids.”

“Felt pretty grown-up to me.” In fact, the adult J.B. was reacting much as the teenage J.B. had. His erection pressed against her belly, making her feel hot and dizzy and very confused.

This wasn’t real. All she was doing was taking his mind off their incarceration.

He tugged her shirt loose and slid his hand up her back, unfastening her bra with one practiced flick of his fingers. Stroking her spine, he destroyed her bit by bit. “I always knew it would be like this,” he groaned.

“Like what?” The two words were a whisper, barely audible over the loud pounding of her heart.

“Wild. Spectacular. Incredibly good.” He put just enough space between them to let him cup her breasts in his hands. “Ah, Mazie.”

His hands were warm. When he thumbed her nipples, the rough caress sent fire streaking throughout her body.

“Wait,” she said. “My turn.” She tugged at his soft shirt and sighed when she uncovered his muscled rib cage and taut abdomen. He was smooth and hard and had just enough silky hair to be interesting. She stopped short of his belt buckle.

J.B. nibbled the side of her neck. “Have you ever had sex standing up?”

“Um, no.” Her brain was screaming at her to slow things down, but other parts of her body were having so much fun that sensible Mazie didn’t stand a chance. “Have you?”

“No. I think it’s one of those movie things that might not be so great in real life.” He paused, his chest heaving. “But I’m willing to give it a try.”

This was insane. They had gone from Mazie trying to distract J.B. from his claustrophobia to jumping each other’s bones at warp speed. Though she knew it was suicidal, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Kiss me again,” she begged. Anything to keep his mind off doing something they both would surely regret.

He granted her wish and then some. First it was her breasts. He bent and tasted each one with murmurs of approval that did great things for her self-esteem. Then he moved up to her neck and her earlobes, and finally, her lips.

Oh, wow, the man knew how to kiss. She didn’t even care how many women he had practiced on. The result was mesmerizing.

There were really only so many ways a man and a woman could put their lips together. Yet somehow, J.B. managed to make each ragged breath and groaning caress new and desperate.

He tasted her, and shuddered when she slipped her tongue between his lips and returned the favor. Need—hot and heavy—poured through her limbs and pulsed in her sex. It had been an eternity since she had experienced this level of arousal. Suddenly, she knew she would die if she couldn’t have him right here, right now.

Trembling and weak, she clung to his broad shoulders. “I’m not on the Pill,” she said. “I don’t have any protection.”

He bit her bottom lip, tugging it, turning her legs to spaghetti.

“Condom,” he moaned. “Wallet.”

“Yes.” One part of her stood as an onlooker, marveling at her reckless behavior.

Really, Mazie? J.B. Vaughan? After he shot you down all those years ago and ignored you ever since?

Do you really want to do this?

She did. She really did. Maybe she always had.

J.B. removed her top and bra and draped them carefully over the door handle of the safe. Then he turned and stared at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, unable to pretend sophistication. There had been two men in her life. Not a big number.

He ran his hand from her bare shoulder down her arm, manacling her wrist and reeling her in. “You’re exquisite, Mazie.”

The recollection of a teenage J.B. had always messed with her head. The popular boy with the raw sexuality and the wicked grin had rejected her and made her feel less than feminine, less than desirable.

It was difficult to reconcile that memory with the present.

“I’m glad you think so.”

His slight frown told her he recognized her equivocation. He kissed her temple.

“I love your hair.” He ran his hands through it. “It bounces with life and passion. Like you, Mazie.”

The sudden segue from frantic hunger to tenderness unsettled her. It was one thing to get caught up in the moment. She didn’t trust J.B.’s quiet gentleness. A man could use sex to get what he wanted. Maybe in the midst of their madness, J.B. had recognized her vulnerability where he was concerned. Maybe he hoped to use it to his advantage.

“Kiss me again,” she begged. Boldly, she cupped the length of his sex through his pants. He was hard and ready, so ready that the evidence made her want to swoon like some fainthearted Victorian maiden.

Mazie had been abstinent by choice for the past two years. No man had tempted her, not even a little. Now here was J.B. All wrong for her in every way. But at the moment, oh so right.