Free Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17) by Kirsten Osbourne Page B

mice in my desk, I was ready to climb atop my desk to get away from them.  When I shrieked all of the children laughed.  It was hard to keep their respect, when they'd heard me scream like a little girl."
    Lars did his best not to laugh aloud at the picture she painted.  "And so you answered my advertisement."
    "Oh, it was so much worse than that!  The oldest boy from the family who was still in school came to me after class one day to tell me what a horrible teacher I was.  And he put a copy of the Grooms' Gazette, the newspaper his sister, Elizabeth Tandy publishes, right there on my desk.  He told me since I was so useless as a teacher, I should become a mail order bride.  There was nothing left for me in Beckham."
    "He didn't!  The boy should have been beaten!"
    "Yes, he should have.  Instead, I read through the newspaper as soon as he left.  And I saw you asking for a bride, and there was something about your words that made me want to marry you and no one else."
    "So you answered my letter, even though you knew you'd never settle for a man who didn't love you?"  Lars was still baffled about that.
    "I was convinced I could change your mind, you see.  I'm not sure how was I was going to change your mind.  That part was always very fuzzy in my head, but I knew I could."
    He shook his head at her, turning her to face him more fully.  "With kisses maybe?"
    She blushed.  "I'd never been kissed.  How could I think I was so good at kisses that I could make a man fall in love with me?"
    "Practice makes better."
    She giggled.  "Practice makes perfect."
    "Oh, there's no perfect way to kiss or do anything else.  Practice will make you better though."  He used his index finger beneath her chin to turn her face up to his.  "Want to practice?" 
    Meg swallowed hard.  Looking up into his eyes, all she could think about was letting him kiss her.  She wanted that kiss so badly.  Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips, and when he still didn't kiss her, she frowned at him.  "Are you ever going to kiss me?"
    He laughed.  "I was waiting to find out if you wanted me to."
    Instead of waiting any longer, she caught the front of his shirt in her hand and pulled him down to kiss her.  She opened her mouth for a deeper kiss just as he'd taught her, her hands moving over his broad shoulders.  She was surprised at how much she'd grown to look forward to each kiss from him.
    Lars pulled her tightly against him, half onto his lap.  He splayed his hands over her back, touching as much of her as he could.  He felt her corset through her blouse, and immediately wanted her to take it off.  He hated corsets.  They kept a man from being able to feel the woman in his arms.
    He drifted one hand around to the front of her, cupping her breast in his hand and squeezing it gently. 
    She stiffened in his arms. No one had ever touched her there.  She wanted to protest that it was something he shouldn't be doing, but she didn't know.  It felt wrong, but he was her husband. 
    Finally, she gave herself over to the sensations.  His fingers weren't hurting her.  They felt good against her breast.  She moved her hands over his hard back, surprised at how strong he felt.  The man was so lean, probably from living off of his own cooking, but he was strong.  She could feel his muscles rippling beneath her fingers.
    She wanted to see him with no shirt on, but she knew it was wrong to ask.  Did what was right or wrong matter just then, though?  She pulled back from his kisses, looking up into his face.  His lips were moist, and half open, and his eyes looked—sleepy wasn't the right word, but she wasn't certain what was.  His eyes looked heavy-lidded and sexy.
    "Lars?" Meg asked softly.
    He opened his eyes and looked down at her.  "Yes?"
    "Would it be wrong of me to take your shirt off?  I want to touch you."
    He shook his head.  "We're married.  Nothing we do, as long as we both want to do it, is wrong."
    "Oh."  She thought