Emma’s heart pounded against her breast for she knew precisely what it contained.
His mother’s ring.
She had set it down upon Andrew’s desk and walked away, expecting never to see it again. Forgetting modesty, she dropped the covers and opened the box at once, gasping with joy—not because the ring was so lovely, with its enormous mother-of-pearl stone etched with Lucien’s family’s crest, but because this time when he gave it to her, she spied the certainty in his eyes. Words escaped her as she peered at him across the box in her hand.
“Put it on,” he entreated.
Unshed tears gathered in Emma’s eyes. She blinked them away, but couldn’t speak. Her throat felt suddenly too thick, and her vision too hazy. In fact, she couldn’t have put the ring on to save her life.
Impatient to see it on her hand once more, Lucien took the ring from the box, placing it gingerly upon her finger. He took a fortifying breath. “Be my wife,” he entreated. “I love you, Emma Peters,” he said honestly, and kissed her hand with feeling. “I believe I have from the first. I just didn’t feel worthy then—nor do I now, but I shall never let you regret it for a moment—I swear it!”
Tears rolled down Emma’s cheeks.
With bated breath, Lucien awaited for her response, hoping against hope that she would not see fit to deny him. After all he had put her through, he wouldn’t blame her if she chose to walk away. But he worried for naught, because he spied forgiveness in her eyes—and so much more—and she whispered softly, “Yes!”
His heart surged into his throat.
In that moment, he couldn’t help himself—her brother be damned—propriety be damned. He wanted her with a desire more fierce than any he had ever known. And if he was very, very lucky, she was going to be quite thoroughly ruined by morning. And then he planned to marry her in such a scandalous haste that it would lift every brow in London, if not the whole of England.
She sighed softly as he adored her mouth and he was vaguely aware that she dropped the gift box from her fingers. It tumbled forgotten to the floor with a wooden clatter.
“Lucien,” she whispered between his kisses. “What are you doing?”
Honesty had always served him best, he decided. “Making certain you have no choice but to marry me in the morning.”
Emma couldn’t stifle a horrified giggle. “You are a wicked man!” she said, choking on her emotion.
Lucien laughed softly, laying her back upon the bed, kissing her thoroughly. “So I’ve been told,” he said without remorse, and when she didn’t protest, he rolled on the bed, taking her with him. “Now tell me you love me,” he demanded, holding her firmly about the waist. “Or I will shout at the top of my lungs and wake the entire house!”
Emma stifled a shriek of surprise to find herself suddenly reversed and looking down upon him. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Lucien opened his mouth to prove otherwise, and Emma slapped her hand over his mouth, laughing. “I love you,” she relented at once.
“Say it again,” he entreated softly.
“I love you,” she confessed with feeling, and then, God help her, she said it again, “I love you, Lucien.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked as she bent to kiss him freely of her own accord.
It was the sweetest, most heart wrenching moment of Emma’s entire life. Who could have known a kiss could hold so much promise?
His hand went about her nape, holding her close, tasting her mouth with wild abandon, giving her the most wicked thrill. Beneath her, his body stirred and she exhaled in surprise and sat up straight astride him, looking down into his handsome face.
All laughter died abruptly as Emma and Lucien’s gazes locked and held.
Emma wasn’t a child by far. She knew what came next, and she welcomed it wholly. She smiled gently. “You may indeed have to rush me to the altar,” she warned.
He returned her smile. “I am fully prepared to do so without even posting the banns.”
Emma giggled and cupped his cheek, making certain that this moment was not a wonderful dream. “What now?” she asked soberly.
“Now… my dear sweet Emma… I’m going to teach you all my wicked ways,” he said and shifted beneath her.
“All of them?” she asked coyly.
“All of them,” he replied, and just so she would not mistake his meaning, he slid his hand up to cup one delectable breast. She gasped in surprise and arched into his touch and Lucien groaned deep in his throat. As he’d anticipated, her breast filled his hand perfectly, as though it were made only for him—and it was, he acknowledged, kneading softly.
“Teach me everything,” she whispered, shifting instinctively atop him, fitting her body more intimately over his, and he realized in that instant that he had quite misjudged his fiancé. She was a woman to her core.
And she needn’t ask him twice.
His body thrilling to the feel of her atop him, he guided her down so he could kiss her thoroughly, raining tiny kisses along the fullness of her lips, into the corners of her mouth, and then along her neck, and down… until he found precisely what he sought. Again, she arched at the touch, and moaned softly as he lifted himself to her breast and drew one nipple gently between his lips.
God’s teeth, but he’d waited a lifetime for this, he realized. In that moment, all trace of every other woman was eradicated from his brain; only Emma existed.
With his free hand he cherished her body, his fingers playing lightly across the length of her gown looking for the hem of her gown. He raised the delicate cloth slowly, and once again groaned with pleasure when she didn’t stop him. “Are you certain?” he asked thickly.
“Are you certain?” she asked in return.
“More certain than anything ever in my life!”
“Then teach me everything,” she entreated, and lifted up her own gown. The sight of her full breasts, illuminated by the moonlight, her skin perfect and her nipples puckered with anticipation, hardened him fully.
Driven now, his fingers sought her woman’s curls, wanting to taste her body with a fervor unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Emma couldn’t think to protest... couldn’t think to consider the consequences. Couldn’t think at all.
She lifted herself into his palm as he touched her… there. Such wicked, wicked pleasure, he was giving her—she couldn’t bear it.
He caressed her with his thumb, his eyes closing and his nostrils flaring like a hunter scenting his prey, and he drew circles around the bud of her womanhood.
Lucien felt himself pulsing beneath the weight of her body as he brought forth her wetness. And then, hoping not to shock her, but mindless with desire, he drew his fingers to his lips to suckle the sweet moisture.
She tasted like heaven. His Emma. His sweet, sweet, Emma.
She nearly unmanned him on the spot as she bent to kiss him fully upon the lips, the shocking gesture more erotic and powerful in its sweetness than any masterful courtesan could ever have elicited from him.
In one swift movement, he turned her upon her back, and began to free himself from the gaol of his clothing as she watched.
She was so ready for him that it was all he could do to remove his breeches quickly enough, and still, with that brief separation, she did not protest.
Emma watched Lucien with a sense of wonder. His body was sculpted and hard, so unlike she had imagined. He straddled her, peering down at her hungrily and her breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat.
She didn’t fear this, she told herself. Though the look in his eyes reminded her of a hungry wolf’s, it was also possessive and full of adoration.
Finally, beyond a shadow of doubt, she knew… he was hers, and she was his.
When he lifted himself atop her, Emma deliriously welcomed his weight.
Pressing himself atop her, Lucien groaned in anticipation. Nestling himself against her softness, he rocked against her, his movements slow and erotic and he whispered, “Let me love you
this way always. Bring sunshine into my life, laughter into my house, joy and song into all my Christmases.” He slipped lower, settling himself between her thighs.
“Always,” she promised and parted her legs to receive him.
Lucien groaned with pleasure and she whimpered softly as he entered her. He reached the barrier of her maidenhood, and he bent to stifle her soft cries with his mouth.
Unable to bear it any longer, knowing it would go easier for her if he pierced her quickly, he cried out and thrust deeply, breaching her maidenhead in one powerful drive. And then he loved her slowly, reveling in her body, kissing her thoroughly, giving her his heart.
When Emma cried out softly and her body tightened beneath him, he thrust his head back and cried out in ecstasy. His body shuddered violently with pleasure and he clung to her possessively.
Afterward, he held her close as his body continued to convulsed with pleasure.
Moonlight spilled in from the open window to highlight her face and her tears—happy tears. As far as he was concerned, she was his wife from this moment forward. “Merry Christmas,” Lucien whispered huskily, reaching up to kiss her tears away.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, and held him close.
More Books by Tanya Anne Crosby
The Highland Brides
The MacKinnon’s Bride
Lyon’s Gift
On Bended Knee
Lion Heart
Highland Song
The Medievals
Once Upon a Kiss
Angel Of Fire
Viking’s Prize
The Impostor Series
The Impostor’s Kiss
The Impostor Prince
Single Titles
Happily Ever After
Perfect In My Sight
Sagebrush Bride
Kissed
Novellas
Lady’s Man
Highland Song
Mischief & Mistletoe
Married at Midnight
Romantic Suspense
Speak No Evil
Look for Highland Fire January 2014
Also look for Tell No Lies March 2014
About the Author
Tanya has written seventeen novels, all of which have graced numerous bestseller lists including the New York Times and USA Today. Best known for stories charged with emotion and humor, and filled with flawed characters, her novels have garnered reader praise and glowing critical reviews. She lives with her husband, two dogs and two moody cats in northern Michigan.
For more information:
Visit www.tanyaannecrosby.com
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Mischief & Mistletoe (A Christmas Novella) Page 10
