A Bravo Christmas Wedding by CHRISTINE RIMMER

Author:CHRISTINE RIMMER
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-03-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Walker went to her.

How could he help it? Why would he want to help it?

Lots of reasons. But he wasn’t going to think about those reasons now.

Now he was going to taste her. His second taste, after the one last night, when she took his shirt in her fist and brought his mouth down to hers and gave him a mind-numbing dose of everything he’d been missing.

He pushed himself away from the door and covered the space between them in three long strides.

And then, at last, he was in front of her, breathing the spice and citrus smell of her, cradling her angel’s face between his two hands. “This is bad.”

Her bronze gaze didn’t even waver. “So bad, it’s good.”

He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. His brain was mush and his body was aching. He wanted to eat her all up in one greedy bite.

But he made himself take his time, forced himself to sink slowly into this, their second kiss. She sighed, opening. And he went deeper, savoring her. Dazed, thunderstruck, he drank her in.

Rory. A grown woman. Right here. In his shaking arms.

She whispered his name, “Walker,” her breath warm and sweet in his mouth. Her hair was down, silk and shadow, brushing across the backs of his hands.

He let his touch drift lower, fingers learning the velvety softness of her flesh, memorizing as he went. Along the smooth sweep of her neck, out across those pretty shoulders, down her arms until he could curl his fingers around hers.

“Walker,” she said again.

And the way she said it, that little hitch in her breath between one syllable and the next...

It undid him, turned the hunger loose in him so that he clasped her shoulders, his fingers digging in, and drew her close to him at last, dipping his tongue in deep.

She fit just right, curving in against him, wrapping her soft, bare arms around him. “Walker...” It came out as less than a real word, more like a sigh that time. More like a plea.

He knew her so well. Knew her beauty, her strength, her eagerness for life and every experience. Her frankness and her no-nonsense ways. Her willingness to work. The sound of her laughter, the shape of her mouth. Her heart, which was big and generous, always ready to give.

But in this way, as a woman he wanted, a woman he held in his hungry arms? Hardly at all.

He caressed her, forcing his impatient hands to go slowly, stroking down the slender shape of her back, into the dip at the base of her spine—and lower. She surged up closer, lifting her hips, pressing them into him, her softness cradling the aching bulge in his jeans.

A deep groan rose in his throat. He framed her face again and pressed his forehead to hers, trying to ease himself down a little, to slow his breath—and his need. “If we keep on like this, Rye’s desk will get a workout.”

She turned her

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