Free Mischief & Mistletoe (A Christmas Novella) by Tanya Anne Crosby Page B

gaze never left his arm. And she stared, as though transfixed at that naked appendage while yet another appendage grew more insistent yet.
    “Definitely—definitely the fever.”
    He was burning and beginning to babble, stroking her hand against his cheek, relishing the feel of her soft flesh against his whiskers. At the same moment, though he doubted she knew it, her fingers began moving within the disorderly curls at his nape, gliding over his hot skin and through his mane, caressing ever so softly, and the feel of her fingers quickened his body. Lucien’s skin twitched like a cat arching in pleasure.
    Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Your Grace,” she ventured.
    “Emma,” he whispered. His heart hammered fiercely.
    “I can’t feel your shirt collar!”
    She closed her eyes but didn’t remove her hand from his nape, and Lucien thought he would go mad if he couldn’t make love to her right here and now. “Yes, Emma,” he whispered, and his breathing quickened with the knowledge that she was equally as affected by him as he was by her. Proof was in the way she bent forward slightly, drawn to him even without her awareness.
    He guided her closer and lifted his face to meet hers, his lips touching hers gently, fully intending to seize the moment.
    Bloody hell, the initial contact was like nothing Lucien anticipated. Lightning heat sizzled through him. His body quickened when she didn’t resist, and he sent his tongue on a gentle foray of her lips, lapping, savoring them fully, restraining himself so as not to frighten her.
    Devil take him, but if her brother was stupid enough to allow her into his clutches... he was only a man, after all. He had never claimed to be a gentleman... and God only knew, no one had ever accused him of being one.
    “Your Grace,” she protested weakly.
    “Emma,” he whispered, and she trembled at the sound of her name, but didn’t withdraw.
    With a groan of pleasure and another of victory, Lucien pressed his tongue between her lips, relishing the soft, sweet warmth of her mouth. Cinnamon, he thought vaguely. Her mouth tasted of cinnamon. He savored the sensation as she accepted his tongue and met it tentatively with her own.
    “Emma, Emma, Emma…” He whispered her name and groaned, thinking that he’d surely been rewarded, when she allowed him draw her into his hungry embrace.
    He couldn’t believe Andrew Peters could be so insanely stupid as to cast his sister into the wolf’s den. God’s blood, but he thought he’d died and gone to Heaven. Although Heaven, he knew, would never be his in the end, and there would be a price to pay for even this. And yet, for this incredible moment, he would gladly pay...
    Only later...
    Much, much later.

Chapter Six

     
    Emma knew she should speak to protest, but couldn’t seem to do so... so long she had dreamt of this moment.
    It was everything she had ever imagined it would be... and nothing she could ever have anticipated.
    Kissing Lucien was Heaven.
    This moment it didn’t seem to matter that he didn’t want her—nothing mattered in the hazy, dreamy moment, but the kiss.
    Good Lord, but she just couldn’t think with him holding her so intimately.
    When he drew her nearer, she could do nothing but let him, for he never ceased kissing her... filling her mouth with the most dazzling warmth she had ever known.
    Her heart beat frantically within her breast as he guided her nearer, but she dared say nothing to break the spell. If she was dreaming, then dear God, let her dream.
    She felt herself crumple atop him... and he let out a sudden ghastly howl of pain.
    Giving a little shriek of her own, Emma disentwined herself from his arms and scrambled away from the bed, crying out as he yelped once more.
    “Damned heathen brats!” he exclaimed. And then, as she stood before him, staring in fright, he shouted again, “Infernal brats!”
    “I beg your pardon,” Emma declared, and then horrified by what she’d done—by what had very nearly