Father Christmas (26 page)

She felt faint, as if all
the blood rushed from her head downward to where his mouth touched
her. Her hips grew heavy, her body trembled, and she choked back a
gasp as he traced a line downward with his tongue, refusing to stop
when he reached the edge of her bra. He kissed her through the
lace, gliding over the curve of one breast until he could close his
mouth over the swollen nipple. In her heart she heard the echo of
his husky voice, speaking the one word he’d uttered in the living
room:
Come.

They were both still half-dressed. And he
was a Daddy School student with only one fully functioning hand.
How could he have aroused her so intensely, so quickly?

“
John...” His name emerged
on a broken sigh.

He straightened up, capturing her gaze with
his. “Take it off,” he whispered.

Oh, God. She really
wasn’t
that
daring, was she? She
really wasn’t prepared to continue stripping for him.

Except that she wanted him. Her passion was
greater than her panic.

Biting her lip, she slid her shirt from her
shoulders, then reached behind her and unhooked her bra. It slid
down her arms and joined her shirt on the floor. Anxious, she
glanced at him.

He must have realized how much courage this
act had required of her. A faint smile crossed his lips, grateful
and frankly carnal, before he brought his mouth back to her. She
felt the scratch of his bandages against her side, the seductive
massage of his fingers against her other side as he took one nipple
and then the other into his mouth. She clung to his shoulders,
trying not to dissolve into a seething puddle of sensation.

Sinking to his knees, he kissed a path to
her navel, flicked his tongue over it, and rubbed his chin against
the button at the waistband of her slacks. “I don’t think I can do
this,” he said, making a desultory attempt to open the button with
his left hand.

She gazed down at him, and he peered up at
her, looking uncannily like Michael when he was trying to get away
with something. John’s expression was a bit naughty, a bit hopeful,
and completely irresistible.

Unlike Michael, though, he also looked
unbearably manly, his hair as dark as night, his jaw shaded with a
day’s growth of beard, his lips damp from kissing her. His eyes
were as sharp and piercing as darts, cutting straight through her,
as if he could see her secrets, her deepest desires.

She couldn’t deny those eyes.

She didn’t want to.

Swallowing hard, she popped open the button
and inched down the zipper. John did the rest, shoving her slacks
and panties down her legs and then trailing his hands back up to
her bottom. He kissed the curve of her belly and then lower, a
light, tantalizing brush of his tongue between her legs.

A small cry escaped her, partly from shock
and partly from the jolt of sensation that flared through her. He
rose to his feet and gathered her to himself, taking her mouth in a
long, dizzying kiss.

Somehow, despite his bad hand, he managed to
remove his own jeans without any difficulty. He pulled her body to
his, and she experienced another jolt of heat as he pressed himself
to her. After a swift, hard kiss, he drew her toward the bed and
down onto the thick burgundy quilt.

She needed to catch her breath—and so,
apparently, did he. For a long, lovely moment they just lay side by
side, facing each other, their heads settling into the pillows. He
had the most beautiful face Molly had ever seen. It wasn’t pretty
or polished, but every feature was eloquent, conveying a blend of
trust, affection and yearning. The combination was so potent, so
poignant, she wanted to reassure him, open herself to him and
promise him things he would never ask for.

Instead, she leaned forward and kissed his
nose, the edge of his cheek, the point of his chin. He skimmed his
hand along her side and forward, exploring the roundness of her
breasts. She ran her hands up and down his back, and his muscles
flexed beneath her palms. She kissed his throat and he sighed. She
touched his nipples and he gasped. Her hands journeyed across his
ribs and he gasped again, this time recoiling slightly.

“
What?” she asked, worried
that she’d done something wrong.

“
Nothing,” he murmured,
nudging her hand away from his chest.

She realized that she’d touched his bruises,
still livid so many days after his encounter with the thug. “I’m
sorry, John. I forgot—”

“
It’s all
right.”

It wasn’t all right. She slid down until she
could kiss the discolored skin, wishing her kisses could heal
him.

He pulled her back up to the pillow, rolling
with her until she lay under him. His thigh nestled between her
legs and he moved it against her, sending shimmering heat up into
her.

She tried to concentrate on the mere feel of
him, his weight and power and size, but she couldn’t. There was too
much else in this bed right now—his pride and stoicism, her
profound longing, the ugliness and danger of his work, the
pensiveness she felt about the holiday this year.. The son he
loved, and his determination to do right by that son. Her own
affection for his son, and her concern for John’s safety.

She loved him. She knew it and it frightened
her, because John had never offered a hint that he returned her
love. But she couldn’t lie to herself. She knew the truth when it
punched her in the gut. The truth was, she loved John Russo.

As if he sensed the change in her mood, he
rose, propping himself up on his arms. His right arm buckled, and
he collapsed against her and cursed.

“
Are you okay?” she asked,
horrified.

Groaning again, he slid off her and sprawled
out on his back. “I’m fine. Just...”

“
Just what?”

“
Mortified.”

“
Mortified?” She pushed
onto her side and peered down at him. A trace of a smile curved his
lips, and she felt some of her concern ebb away. “Why?”

“
Look at me.” He shook his
head, his smile failing to disguise his annoyance. “I’m operating
at half strength.” He raised his bandaged arm, then pointed to his
discolored ribs.

Just hearing him admit his insecurity made
her love him more. “If this is what you’re like at half strength,”
she said, skimming her hand gently over his chest, “I don’t think I
could survive you at full strength.”

“
Molly.” He gazed up at
her, ran his thumb over the curve of her lip and smiled bleakly.
“I’m really a lot better with two working hands.”

That might be, but Molly was absurdly
aroused by what he’d accomplished with just one hand—and two legs,
and two lips, and a naughty tongue, and a magnificent chest, and
his own arousal, which was definitely not at half strength.

Mustering what little courage she had left,
she slid her hand down his body through the dark, wiry hair below
his abdomen to his hard length. She skimmed him with her palms. “Do
you want me to leave?” she asked with feigned innocence.

He closed his eyes and groaned at her touch.
“No.”

“
Then you’re just going to
have to stay where you are and let me do the rest.”

His eyes flew open and he stared at her, a
daring, searing gaze that almost made her lose her courage right
then. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said, his voice a dark
rumble.

“
Why? You like to be in
charge?”

“
Yes.”

That was blunt. “Well, tough luck, Detective
Russo of the Arlington Police Force,” she retorted, feeling a fresh
burst of audacity. If he’d challenged her at all this evening with
his steamy gazes and his orders for her to undress, nothing
challenged her more than this.

Her sudden bossiness seemed to intrigue him.
That hint of a wicked smile returned. “Tough luck?”

She tried to suppress a grin. “Oh, yes,
John. Very tough.”

“
I think I’m worried.” But
he didn’t look worried. He looked downright pleased—and if
possible, more aroused than before.

“
Trust me,” she said,
wishing she could trust herself. She had no idea how to be in
charge in bed. The only thing she knew how to be in charge of was a
preschool.

Even though she felt way out of her depth,
he seemed to be responding quite intensely to her gentle caresses.
She tightened her hand and he responded even more intensely. A
broken groan escaped him, and he eased her hand away.

“
I thought I was in
charge,” she protested.

“
It feels too good.” He
lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, then placed it on his
chest. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her
fingertips.

“
What do you want me to
do?” she asked, feeling as if she’d failed, somehow.

“
Come on top of me,” he
murmured. “Let me feel you.”

There were advantages and disadvantages to
loving a man of few words. The main disadvantage was that he always
left her wanting to know more. The main advantage was that he
stated his wishes quite clearly.

She did as he asked, easing herself down
onto him. He massaged her shoulders, her sides, the outer curves of
her breasts, her waist. Then he drew her toward him, arranging her
legs so she was straddling his hips. She braced herself on her arms
and he touched her breasts. What he could do to her with one hand
was astonishing.

His fingers glided down her body and she
shuddered, her hips moving of their own volition, her fingertips
digging into his shoulders. “Look at me, Molly,” he whispered when
she closed her eyes.

She obeyed, forcing her lids open and
peering down into his face. His gaze reached into her like his
hand, stroking her soul as his fingers stroked her flesh. Her
muscles tensed, her body needing more, needing him.

She whimpered, deep in her throat, and
arched her back. “Are you still in charge?” he asked.

Through a haze of passion she saw his smile.
She opened her mouth to answer, but he flicked his thumb against
her in such a way she could only moan. She might have been
imagining it, but she thought she heard him moan too, as if seeing
her so aroused aroused him, as well.

“
There are condoms in the
drawer,” he told her, gesturing with his idle right hand toward the
night table beside the bed. He let go of her, and the loss of his
touch chilled her. She groped frantically through the drawer, her
hands trembling as she pulled out the box. She searched John’s
face, hoping that he would take over from there. But he only lifted
his bandaged hand and smiled again.

Anyone who could awaken such heavenly
sensations inside a woman could certainly tear open a foil wrapper,
with or without two working hands. But now, when she was on the
verge of burning up, John was going to feign helplessness.

She did what she had to do, her fingers
still shaking, her breath shallow. When she had him ready, she
turned back to him and found his smile gone, his eyes luminous. He
clamped his hands over her hips and pulled her down onto him,
thrusting deep.

For a moment she refused to move. She wanted
to savor the perfection, the glorious possession of his body. Soon
she would want more, but this one moment, this first taste... It
was heaven.

Her fingers curled against his shoulders and
her breasts skimmed his chest as he rocked her body with his,
helping her find her rhythm, angling her to take even more of him.
She understood what he’d meant when he said it felt too good. What
he was doing to her felt much too good, immeasurably too good.

Her body absorbed him, welcomed him, let him
lead her onward. The boundaries between them blurred and vanished.
John was a part of her, his body locked inside her, carrying her
with him until they were both on fire, exploding with pleasure,
closer than two people could possibly be.

She sank onto him, too weak to move. He
stroked his hand languidly up and down her back. She cuddled
against him, cushioning her head with his shoulder. His skin was
warm, satiny against her cheek. She could hear the rapid pounding
of his heart.

A long while passed, neither of them moving,
nothing said as their bodies slowly cooled off, their pulses slowed
and they separated. John kept his arms snugly around her, giving
her a sense of safety. She shouldn’t feel safe. She’d just admitted
to herself that she had fallen in love with him.

“
Are you okay?” he asked
quietly. He sounded weary.

Her emotions were raw, but other than that
she was splendid. “‘Okay’ would be an understatement,” she told
him.

She couldn’t see his smile, but she could
picture it. “It’s been a while for me,” he said. “I hope I wasn’t
too rough.”

She took a minute to
digest his comment. She’d never before known a man who could say so
much in so few words. In his statement she heard strains of his
obsessive responsibility, worrying over how she was and whether
he’d caused any problems for her. She also heard
it’s
been a while
. For some reason, that
surprised her.

“
I’m sure it’s been longer
for me,” she said. “I’m three steps short of being a
nun.”

“
Three steps?” He
chuckled, sliding his hand up into her hair and letting it spill
through his fingers. “You don’t seem like a nun to me. A nun would
never take charge the way you did.”

She laughed out loud, her lips bumping
against his chest as she did. “You’re the biggest con artist in the
world—telling me to take charge. You were in charge the whole
time.”

“
Like hell.” He edged out
from under her and rolled onto his side so he could view her. A
lock of hair fell across her eyes, and he lifted it back into
place. “You made me crazy, Molly. I could scarcely think, let alone
control myself. You were running the show.”