Kissing Under the Mistletoe

"What are you doing to me?"

She reached for his jaw with one hand and stroked it. His wet stubble rasped under her fingertips. "Well, right now, I’m going to shave you." She went on her tippy-toes to move her mouth closer to his. "We can figure out the rest later."

He didn’t know how she did it—how she took something that could have been so complicated and made it simple. Easy.

Right.

She had him sit on the tiled seat at the back of the shower and filled her palm with shaving cream. All it took was the soft brush of her fingers over his neck and jaw for him to grow hard again. Damn it, he couldn’t let himself take her again.

Misinterpreting his grimace as concern, she said, "I promise I’ll be gentle," and then she was picking up the razor and moving her legs on either side of his so that her gorgeous chest was right at tongue level. Did she know how much she was torturing him as she tilted his head back so that she could run the razor over his neck?

He’d done a lot of wild things in his life, but he’d never thought one of the wildest would be having the most beautiful girl in the world straddling him in the shower while she shaved him, her lower lip between her teeth in deep concentration.

The only thing that stopped him from grabbing her and tugging her all the way onto his lap—and the erection that wouldn’t quit whenever she was near—was knowing how bad she’d feel if her hand slipped and she cut him. He was more than willing to shed a little blood to have her again, but he forced himself to keep his hands resting lightly on the outsides of her thighs as she deftly moved the razor up to his jaw.

When she was done, she quickly rinsed him clean with water from the shower spout. She leaned down and rubbed her cheek against his. "Mmm, so smooth."

No longer needing to worry about the razor, he stood up, shut off the water, and took her with him from the bathroom into the bedroom, both of them dripping as they hit the bed and fell on it together. He’d never trusted any woman to do something as intimate as shave him, but with Brooke it had felt like the way things were supposed to be. Just as it did when he rolled them over so that she was straddling him on the bed and he could nuzzle her br**sts with his freshly shaven face.

"Mmm," he murmured against her sweet-smelling skin, "so smooth."

She was laughing at the way he’d used her own words on her as he grabbed another condom from beside the bed, then pulled her down over him. He could feel her joy in the throb of her inner muscles against him with each burst of laughter from her lungs. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, and after having her twice in less than twelve hours, he should have been able to last this time.

But the way Brooke looked riding him—beyond gorgeous with her head thrown back, wet hair streaming down her back, lost to ecstasy with her hands gripping his forearms—crushed any control he should have had. He could feel every catch of her breath, every gasp of pleasure when he thrust into her and hit just the right spot.

He wanted to watch her come, but he needed to taste her more. Sitting up, he slid his hands into her wet hair and kissed her. He’d never experienced need this fierce, this consuming. All that existed was Brooke, the smooth slick of her tongue against his, the grip of her hands across his shoulders as her climax hit her hard enough that all she could do was press her cheek against his and hold on tight.

* * *

Rafe forced himself to unwrap his arms from around Brooke so that she could get dressed. But instead of putting on jeans, she took a pretty dress from her closet, along with even prettier lingerie to wear beneath it.

At his unspoken question, she told him, "I spoke with Cord before I got in the shower. He needs me to come into the city today to do a walk-through on the new storefront and sign some papers."

Rafe’s gut tightened at nothing more than the sound of another man’s name on her lips. He didn’t much care for the idea of her being away from him for so many hours, either. All these years he’d been wary of women who clung too tight, who wanted to be together every free second, yet here he was feeling exactly that way with Brooke.

"I’m sure Mia would love to have you stay with her while you’re in town. Or," he told her instead of begging her to stay the way he wanted to, "you could use my place."

She smiled at the offer, but shook her head. "I’m not planning to stay in Seattle tonight."

Though he was silently rejoicing at the thought of having Brooke back in his arms by nightfall, he said, "I don’t want you to be so tired after your meetings that you have trouble driving back to the lake."

Her chin lifted, but she gave him one of her sweet smiles. "I’ll be fine, Rafe." Her gaze heated up as she added, "And I don’t want to spend the night in the city, not when I’d much rather be here in bed with you tonight."

"How about I come with you?" He’d like to meet this Cord guy, and see what his gut told him about the man who’d managed to sign himself up as Brooke’s business partner so easily.

"No," she said with a shake of her head, "you’re just hitting your stride on fixing up your house. And this is your vacation."

She was right, but she meant a hell of a lot more to him than some house ever would. He was about to insist, when she cut him off at the pass with, "Honestly, I’ll be totally fine on my own."

Knowing it was her gentle way of telling him to back off, and trying to respect her wishes despite his concerns for her, he pulled on his jeans from the day before and went out to the kitchen to make her breakfast before she hit the road. Lord knew, they’d expended more than enough energy since the night before. But instead of sitting down with him, she simply told him she was already late, thanked him for the bagel he’d toasted and buttered for her, threw several boxes of her chocolates into a big canvas bag, then kissed him once before flying out the door looking stunning in her wrap dress and heels.