Free A Dixie Christmas by Sandra Hill Page A

cold, dreary day in Princeton, that my evening would end in such a blaze of unexpected manna from heaven? But wait a minute. I don’t like that look of second thoughts creeping onto Annie’s face. “Don’t go shy on me now, Annie.”
     
    “I’ve never behaved this way before  . . . so forward and uninhibited,” she confessed, hiding her face in her hands.
     
    “Your eagerness excites me. Tremendously. Don’t you dare stop now,” he said in a suffocated whisper, prying her fingers away. “I have plans for you that require a major dose of forwardness and un-inhibition.”
     
    “You do?”
     
    Was that hope in her voice? “Absolutely. Are you afraid?”
     
    “No. Are you?”
     
    He laughed outright. God, how he loved her openness.
     
    “Listen, Annie  . . . stop, you witch  . . . I can’t think when you do that.” She was leaning forward, her hair a thick swath curtaining his face, as she still straddled him. Back and forth, she was brushing her breasts across his chest hairs.”
     
    “That’s the point, isn’t it? Not to think?”
     
    He leaned up and gave her a quick kiss. “You don’t act like any virgin I’ve ever known.” Not that I’ve known very many . . . or any, for that matter, that I can recall.
     
    “Just because I didn’t do that , doesn’t mean I didn’t do anything,” she said, meanwhile kissing a little line from one end of his jaw to the other.
     
    Clay fought against the roil of jealousy that ripped through him at the thought of any other man touching his Annie in any way . Had it been the milkman, or someone else? How many someone elses? “Annie, you’re driving me mad. Be still for one moment. Please.”
     
    Surprisingly, she did as he asked. Of course, when she stilled, she also sat upright, square on his already overeager, over-engorged erection. He closed his eyes for one second, to keep them from bulging clear out of his head. Finally, when he managed to speak above a squeak, he said, “We’re not going to make love tonight, Annie.”
     
    She stiffened at once, and her face went beet red. “You don’t want me?”
     
    “Of course, I want you, but I refuse to make love with you on an uncomfortable sofa  . . . out in the open  . . . with a houseful of people  . . . no matter what you say about sleeping patterns or rules for . . . uh, courting.”
     
    She pondered his words, then seemed to accept their logic. “So, we’re not going to make love tonight ? Will we ever?”
     
    “Oh, for sure, darling. For sure.”
     
    She smiled widely at that.
     
    “And there’s another thing, Annie-love. We have to talk about this thing that’s happening with us.”
     
    “It is  . . . strange.”
     
    “Strange, overpowering, confusing. I have an idea, Annie. Let’s go out tomorrow night. Slow down this runaway train. See where this relationship is going.”
     
    “I like the sound of that.”
     
    He took a breast in each hand then and admired the contrast of the firm, white mounds against his darker skin. “I love your breasts. I love the way they aren’t big, but appear to be so because of your thin frame.” He stretched his head forward to savor one of them with his mouth.
     
    She made a keening sound low in her throat, halfway between a purr and a cry for mercy. “I thought we weren’t going to make love,” she gasped out.
     
    “True. We’re not going to make love. But we can make out. A little.”
     
    “Oh, goody,” she cooed. Before he knew what she was about, Annie slid a hand between them and caressed him. “Does this count as making love or making out?”
     
    He about shot off the couch. And all he could think was, Who the hell cares? “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Annie.” Very carefully, he dislodged her grasp and placed both her hands at her sides and held them there. “You’ve been running the show for much too long in your family. It’s time for you to sit back and let someone else take over.”
     
    Her chin