The Taming of Lord Scrooge

by Renee Ann Miller

  The kiss felt combustible, consuming—the way smoldering paper burst into flame. So many sensations bombarded her at once. The feel of his hard body, the scent of him, and the taste of brandy on his tongue as he stroked it against hers.

  Eve pulled back. If they didn’t stop, they’d end up in a tangle of limbs on the entry hall’s cold floor. She wrapped her fingers about his and pulled him toward the steps.

  Once on the narrow stairs, Julien stepped behind her. He placed his big hands on her waist and moved her along as if she walked too slow.

  Though still a bit nervous, she smiled. She had a feeling it took a great deal of restraint for him to not toss her over his shoulder.

  They entered her bedroom, and he softly closed the door behind them. Light from the fire flickered to cast wisps of yellow and orange on Julien’s face. He looked as serious as the kilt-wearing Highland warrior he resembled.

  He took a step toward her.

  She took a step backward.

  “Have you changed your mind, Evie?” The deep timbre of his voice caressed her senses. “Tell me and I’ll leave now.”

  “No, I’m leading you to my bed.”

  “Ah, then I should move faster.” He grinned, showing that devilish dimple of his, and walked toward her.

  She retreated until the backs of her legs touched the soft counterpane that draped over the edge of the bed. Holding his gaze, she wet her dry lips.

  “Don’t do that, love. It makes me want to do things to you, then beg you to do the same things to me.”

  Eve wasn’t quite sure what he meant. She tipped her head to the side and tugged on her lower lip. “Really? Like what?”

  A line pinched between his brows. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

  Should she admit she didn’t? She shook her head.

  “Then, my dearest Evie, I will take a great deal of pleasure in showing you.”

  Perhaps she should have been frightened by the determined look in his eyes, but she wasn’t. No, his words caused anticipation to flow through her. She had a feeling that whatever he was going to teach her would be something she would never forget, a wicked memory she would savor after he returned to Dartmore House.

  As he took the last steps separating them, he dragged his shirt over his head, exposing the hard-molded surface of his chest.

  He was beautiful, with skin stretched over strong muscles. The beat of her heart notched upward. Her breathing turned rapid.

  “Let’s get this off you.” He slipped her robe off her shoulders and it puddled at her feet.

  Wanting desperately to feel his skin against hers, she pulled her nightgown over her head, as he had done his shirt.

  “Good Lord,” he mumbled as his hot gaze drifted over her. Then his mouth came down on hers.

  Her eyes drifted closed. She centered her senses on his kiss and the feel of her naked breasts touching his chest and the way the curly hairs there scratched over her pebbled nipples.

  Julien inched back slightly, allowing room for his hand to palm the pliable flesh of one of her breasts. Not the soft way he had earlier. This touch was firmer, eliciting heat that centered in the place between her legs.

  With his hands on her waist, he lifted her so she sat on the edge of the bed. He crouched and drew his hands up the back of her calves.

  Goosebumps scattered over her skin.

  His mouth nipped and kissed its way up one of her legs, leaving a trail of warmth everywhere it touched. He skimmed his hands up the insides of her thighs, spreading her legs wide, and drew a finger over her slick folds.

  Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and moaned.

  She’d thought he was confirming that she was ready for him, but she jumped when the rough texture of the beard that now shadowed his jaw scratched at the smooth skin of her inner thighs.

  Where was he heading? The puff of his breath against her sex answered that question. His tongue touched her.

  The air in her lungs froze. She forced it out with a low moan. “I think I might die.”

  He laughed—a low rumble. “I assure you, you will not.”

  She sucked in another breath as his tongue touched her again and again. Every nerve she possessed seemed to have shifted to where his tongue stroked. Pleasure built as she edged closer to her climax. She knotted her hands in the smooth texture of Julien’s hair as if fearful he would pull away before the sensation crashed over her.

  He made a noise, a sign he was enjoying this as much as she was.

  How wicked they both were. But she wouldn’t protest. No, she was about…yes, nearly there. Her thighs tensed. She fell onto her back and knotted her hands in the bedding as her pleasure came over her like a cresting wave with enough force to bring someone to their knees.

  Her surroundings came back to her slowly. Julien in all his masculine, naked glory stood looking at her. When had he removed the rest of his clothing? How long had she been lying here in her sated state?

  Julien grinned.

  Just like a man to look so pleased with himself. Honestly, he did deserve to strut around the room—that had been intense.

  She couldn’t help her own smile.

  “Scoot back, Evie, love.”

  “I don’t think I can move,” she teased, even though she did as he said. Though beyond pleased, she wanted more. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin on her palms. Everywhere.

  Julien stretched out next to her.

  Eve set one hand on his shoulder, the other on the firm plane of his chest. Slowly she slipped the hand on his chest downward. His cool skin heated under her touch. Below his abdomen, she trailed a finger over the thin line of hair, closer to where his thick, jutting manhood stood proud.

  His muscles under her hand tensed.

  “Don’t stop.” His voice sounded infused with gravel.

  Stop? It was the furthest thought from her mind. She wanted to take him over the edge, as he had done to her—to feel his body quiver under her touch. She curled her fingers around his thick penis.

  Julien sucked a breath in between his teeth. Briefly, his eyes closed, then locked with hers again.

  She scooted her body downward and placed tiny kisses over his manhood, from the tip to the base.

  He swore. “God, help me.”

  She almost laughed.

  Suddenly he was dragging her upward.

  “I wasn’t done,” she protested.

  “You were about to end things a bit too quickly.”

  “Do you mean…?” She blinked.

  “Yes. Definitely. A few seconds more and…” That boyish dimple returned. Julien settled between her legs, and she threaded her fingers into the silky mass of hair at his nape.

  He entered her—a slow slide of hard flesh. Filling. Consuming. Possessing.

  She cantered her hips, allowing him to seat himself deeper within her and arched upward to meet him. The pressure within her was building again.

  His slow movements picked up speed. Evie drew in a stuttered breath as, once again, she grew closer to her release.

  “Evie, love,” he murmured. He pumped faster. The muscles in his face and neck tightened.

  Like lightning her pleasure struck. Fast. Furious. Unstoppable.

  Julien’s hips bucked again, and uttering a groan, he pulled out and spilled his seed on her belly.

  * * * *

  The sun reflecting off the snow outside made the morning light cutting through the edges of the bedchamber’s curtains brighter. Eve rolled over, aware that Julien was no longer in her bed. The sheets were too cold, as was her body absent the heat of his strong arms wrapped about her. For a moment she stared at the empty spot beside her and wondered if she’d dreamed last night.

  The dent in the pillow next to hers—along with the fact that below the bedding she lay naked—said n
o.

  She smiled. Last night had been a glorious attack on her senses. Every touch amplified the powers within her to feel, breathe, smell. Eve recalled the press of Julien’s lips against hers, the weight of his muscled body, the scent of him, and the taste of salt when she’d licked his skin. Most of all, she remembered the way his manhood filled her until her body reacted by climaxing, along with what he’d done with his wicked tongue. That memory caused a quick pulse to beat between her legs.

  Had he gone back to his bedroom, fearing Mary could walk in on them? Eve peered at the intense light filtering around the edges of the curtains. Holding the blankets about her naked body, she bolted up into a sitting position.

  Goodness. The tree!

  It was past the time she should have risen. She needed to go outside and cut a tree or Mary would be devastated.

  With the blanket still wrapped about her cold body, she grabbed an old dress out of her armoire and dashed out of her bedchamber and into the bathing room to wash up and get dressed.

  Julien’s door was closed, but Eve’s heart sank when she noticed Mary’s door wide open and her daughter’s bed empty.

  Guilt flooded through her. Was the child downstairs staring at the spot where the small tree was usually set up? Would she come upstairs teary-eyed at any moment?

  Frantically, Eve washed, put her dress on, and slipped on the thickest pair of woolen socks she owned.

  Perhaps she could slip out of the house and place the tree in the kitchen and tell Mary the elves who delivered it were new and unaware it should have been placed in the parlor.

  On the tips of her toes, Eve crept down the steps. Halfway down the stairs, the sound of Mary laughing caused Eve to pause.

  As fast as her feet could move, Eve raced down the stairs and stepped into the parlor.

  There in the corner of the room was the biggest Christmas tree she had ever seen, and Julien and Mary were placing her handmade ornaments and gingerbread cookies on the branches.

  Chapter Nine

  Am I dreaming? Eve nearly rubbed at her eyes as she peered at the massive Christmas tree in the corner of her parlor. There was no way Mrs. Campbell had cut and dragged that tree into the house, which left only one other person who could be responsible.

  The tall, kilt-wearing earl who was helping her daughter hang pine cones, gingerbread men, and Eve’s handmade ornaments on the branches.

  Julien took a gingerbread man from the tray Mrs. Campbell had placed them on.

  Eve frowned as he bit off the foot, then hung the spiced biscuit on the tree. Her regard shifted to another gingerbread man, and another, also missing feet as if a mouse had nibbled at them.

  “You’re not supposed to do that.” Mary wagged a finger.

  “I cannot help myself. They are quite good. Your mama didn’t bake them, did she?”

  “No. Mrs. Campbell doesn’t normally cook, but she bakes these cookies every Christmas. Mama’s cooking isn’t that terrible.”

  “Open your mouth so I can see if you have any taste buds.”

  Her daughter stretched her mouth wide. “Ahhhh.”

  Julien peered down. “Hmmm.”

  “Are mine missing?” Mary asked, eyes wide.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t have the foggiest idea where they’re supposed to be.”

  “You’re silly.” Mary giggled.

  “Earls aren’t silly,” Julien said in a serious voice.

  “I think it’s better than being grumpy.”

  “Earls are supposed to be grumpy and full of self-import.”

  Her daughter frowned as if she had no idea what Julien was talking about. “I don’t think you’re right.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit intimidated by me?”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t think so.”

  A smile spread across Julien’s face.

  Eve started to step into the room but stopped when her daughter said, “Mama’s getting better at cooking. Her scones used to be so hard I couldn’t bite them.”

  “Hard enough that if you dropped one on your foot it might break a toe?”

  Mary nodded.

  Eve should be offended, but her daughter was only telling the truth. She was a wretched cook. Her shoulders slumped. It would probably be best if she didn’t do the book on household management.

  “We hang this ornament near the top of the tree.” Mary unwrapped the tissue paper protecting the stitched angel with wings Eve had sewn several years ago.

  “It’s lovely. Did your mama make it?”

  “She did.” A proud smile turned up her daughter’s lips. “She sews much better than she cooks.”

  “Definitely. How about if I lift you up, so you can place it where it goes?”

  With barely contained excitement, Mary bounced up on her toes.

  Julien lifted the child by her waist.

  Mary placed it near the top. After he set her down, her daughter wrapped her small fingers around his. “The tree looks beautiful.”

  An odd expression settled on Julien’s face as he stared at where Mary held his hand.

  The sight of them standing before the Christmas tree holding hands made Eve’s eyes mist. Soon Julien would leave. The freezing temperatures holding the denizens of Dartmore under a blustery chill were easing. Already thick slaps of snow slipped off the roof to splatter on the ground. She blinked away the moisture and stepped into the parlor. “It is beautiful.”

  Julien’s gaze traveled over Eve, sending pleasant waves of heat down her body. She could tell by the way his green eyes turned darker that he was remembering their lovemaking.

  “Mama, look at the tree the elves brought last night! It’s so big, I cannot reach halfway up. Mr. Earl had to lift me, so I could put the angel near the top.”

  “You did a spectacular job. It’s absolutely perfect there.”

  Smiling proudly, Mary glanced at the tree.

  Eve silently mouthed the words thank you to Julien.

  He smiled, flashing that sexy dimple of his.

  Ignoring the way her heart picked up tempo, Eve set a hand on her hip. “I take it, my lord, that you are responsible for the missing feet on several of the gingerbread men?”

  He gave what Eve presumed was an attempt at a remorseful expression that came out more devilish than anything else.

  “I’ll ask Mrs. Campbell to bake us another batch,” Julien said.

  Eve sighed. “Every year, she only bakes one batch. I’ve asked her to bake more but she is adamant they are too much work.”

  “I bet I can get her to make them.” He grinned.

  She didn’t doubt the scoundrel could get the woman to do anything he asked.

  The cat slinked up to the tree and swatted at a pinecone ornament.

  “No, Pumpernickel.” Mary picked up the animal.

  “Darling,” Eve said, “will you bring him to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Campbell to give him some cream?”

  Holding the cat, Mary nodded and skipped out of the room.

  Eve glanced at the tree, then Julien. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  There was a wicked twinkle in his eye, as if he knew exactly how she could thank him.

  Would she allow him into her bed again tonight? She had a feeling she would. Quite eagerly.

  He slipped a hand about her waist and drew her body to his. His lips covered hers, and his tongue entered her mouth tasting of ginger, cloves, and nutmeg.

  If she didn’t pull back, she’d be tempted to not wait until tonight. She set her hands on his shoulders and shifted away. Her breathing was already coming in puffs. “I need to go into the kitchen and make breakfast before someone eats all the gingerbread men on the Christmas tree.”

  “What are you making today?”

  She poked a finger into the hard muscles of Julien�
��s chest. “Scones that are hard enough to break one’s toes.”

  Julien grinned. “Were you eavesdropping, Evie?”

  “Yes, and I heard what you said about my cooking.”

  “What did I say?” He flashed an innocent expression.

  “It wasn’t as much what you said, but implied. That I couldn’t have baked those gingerbread men.”

  He ran the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “I bet I can get you to forgive me.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure. You’ll have to grovel.”

  “Oh, I’ll do more than grovel.”

  That dimple that made her want to slip her hands under his kilt returned. She gave him a playful smack on the arm and strode from the room before she was the one groveling.

  * * * *

  That evening after dinner, as Eve dried the last dish Mrs. Campbell had washed, she glanced over her shoulder at Julien standing at the stove, once again making Italian hot chocolate. Her gaze drifted over his broad-shouldered back to the kilt, then to his very male legs.

  As if he could feel her regard, he turned around.

  She couldn’t pull her gaze away.

  “Now, don’t get distracted, my lord,” Mrs. Campbell said. “Can’t have you burning our dessert. You promised me more Italian hot chocolate for baking another batch of gingerbread men.”

  Eve grinned. So that was how he’d gotten the housekeeper to agree.

  “And we don’t have any more chocolate,” Mrs. Campbell continued.

  “None? We’ll just have to get more.” He winked at Eve.

  Her heart leaped. The way he said it made it sound like he was staying. She pinched her lips together. Julien wasn’t staying. He was just humoring Mrs. Campbell.

  Eve removed four teacups and placed them on her best silver tray. She set the tray next to him.

  The scent of the thick pudding-like mixture floated in the air as he filled the cups.

  “It smells divine.”

  He leaned close. “So do you,” he whispered.

  She felt her face flush. For Christmas, she’d purchased herself a bar of soap with the floral essence of ylang-ylang. This morning she’d opened the wrapped Christmas gift and used it. She turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Campbell, would you care to join us in the parlor for the hot chocolate?”