Free Winter's Heat: A Nemesis Unlimited Holiday Novella by Zoe Archer Page B

each other, tasting, claiming. He had a warm, spicy flavor she devoured, her tongue slick against his as they almost fought to see who could take more of the other into themselves.
    This is what had haunted her all these months. This passion they created that coursed through her in drugging, sparking cascades. More than physical need, it was the want of one self for the other, for all that they were, brought into bold relief by desire. He kissed her as though his next breath demanded it.
    She stifled her gasp when his other hand boldly cupped her arse and pulled her snug against him, hips cradling hips. Despite layers of heavy clothing, she still felt the press of his arousal, right against her own aching center. Instinctively, she rocked against him. Sensation pulsed through her. He gripped her hip tighter, urging her close, rising to meet her with a delicious grind.
    Her body was alight. The fire surged along her limbs, in the sensitive places of her body. Her breasts were straining and tight against the bodice of her dress, and slickness gathered between her legs.
    She almost growled in protest when Michael’s mouth left hers. But then she bit her lip to catch her moan when he dragged his lips along her jaw. He took her earlobe lightly between his teeth, then continued nipping and kissing his way down her throat. She felt the heat as he seemed to breathe her in deep, nuzzling against her hair, drawing in her scent with a primal need.
    Her high-necked dress frustrated them both, but he had nimble fingers, and in moments, the buttons lining her bodice loosened. Cool air touched her flesh, replaced almost immediately by his mouth, with more kisses and even a savoring lick of her skin.
    She pulled off his cap and clutched his head close, reveling in the sensation, even as her undergarments thwarted his attempts to taste more of her. One of his deft hands found its way beneath the edge of her corset, his fingers sleek and hot on the tops of her breasts.
    Ada pressed her lips tight, fighting to smother her sounds of pleasure. Yet when his fingers found the hard point of her nipple and stroked, a quiet moan slipped from her.
    They both froze. In the absolute silence of the servants’ quarters, her muted cry seemed as loud as a shout. Though no footsteps sounded, or doors opened, Ada scrambled off of Michael. She hastily fastened the buttons of her bodice, fingers shaking, as she struggled to calm her breathing. Michael shoved on his cap to cover the tangled mess she’d made of his hair. Grimacing, he also adjusted the crotch of his trousers.
    She couldn’t blush or feel embarrassed. She’d wanted this. Him. But they were getting closer to figuring out the Larkfields’ plans. There was no surer way for them to be sent packing than being discovered on the verge of making love right there in the linen closet.
    He stood, and helped her to rise. Neither spoke. But his gaze—half in shadow, half in moonlight—seared her. His hands knotted at his sides, as if fighting the urge to touch her.
    He stood and silently opened the door. They walked to the window on the landing, and he climbed up into it. With one last, burning glance, he slipped through the window and then began to climb down.
    Hands shaking, she closed the window. A light snow had just begun to fall. He’d have a cold walk back—but maybe he needed the chill as much as she did. Silently, quickly, she hurried down the corridor to her bedroom.
    As she shed her clothes and donned her nightdress, she felt like another woman had taken control of her body. No, that wasn’t true. She seemed more herself than she’d ever felt before. The Ada who explored crumbling ruins by moonlight for clues to a crime, the same woman who’d climbed part way up the side of a building, and the person who’d allowed herself at last to give in to the passion that had always roiled within her—that was the real Ada. Not the housemaid with ambitions to become a housekeeper. Or the shopgirl